the predawn darkness. There, standing on the cobbles next to the carriage, he kissed her good night. Or nearly good morning, based on the lightening sky. He took her hand and pressed a gold guinea into it. “Thank you,” he said. Then he gave her one last peck on the cheek and stepped back up into his carriage. A word to his driver, and he was off, leaving Suzanne standing in the street.
She looked at the coin in her hand. At first she didn’t want to realize what had just happened, for the happiness of having been restored to Daniel’s affections was still full in her heart. For it to evaporate so quickly would be too painful, would leave too big an emptiness to bear. But as she stared at the gold piece, shining bright in the full moonlight, she knew the love she’d thought was hers hadn’t existed at all. She’d been paid for sex, and furthermore she’d sold herself cheap. A realmistress would have been able to negotiate a yearly stipend, and a wife would have been entitled to the complete support of all her husband’s wealth. One guinea, while a fortune to a street whore, was evidence he did not love her even enough to pay her more than once.
The emptiness, where glowing happiness had been only moments before, darkened and hardened quickly. The edges of it dried and curled so that her chest felt tight and she couldn’t breathe. Tears tried to come, but she wouldn’t let them. She grasped the coin hard in her hand until the edge of it hurt her palm. Then, slowly and with deliberate care, she slipped it into the pocket beneath her skirts. She turned and made her way into her house and up the stairs to her bedroom. There she washed herself well in the washbowl, dressed in her nicest nightgown, and slipped under the covers. She lay there, thinking about how good a thing it was that she now knew exactly where she stood with Daniel. She could now harden her heart to him and never wonder whether he might care for her. Nobody had ever loved her except Piers. Not her father, not her brothers and sisters, not Daniel, and certainly not any of the men she called clients. She now told herself what a good thing it was to know the truth. To rid herself of hope and never let disappointment cut her again, and never again waste her time pursuing something Daniel would dangle before her but never give her. She closed her eyes against the dawn, to make the world go away in sleep.
Fall came, then winter. As the days grew shorter, so did the money. By spring they would have to let Sheila go and move to a less expensive house. Each day when Suzanne awoke to hear the rattle of rain on the windows or feel the sharp chill of snow in the air, she dreaded the future. Soon rising in the morning took enormous effort and a steel will.
One evening in mid-January a crowd of five or six gathered at the Goat and Boar, around the large table near the stairs, and perhaps another three or four stood nearby, listening to the boisterous conversation. Suzanne sat with her back to the wall, the only woman at that table; a couple of young whores were chatting up three well-dressed men at the other table, ignoring the less-moneyed locals at the front. Big Willie Waterman was carrying on in a loud, braying voice to another street musician whose name Suzanne didn’t know, but she thought he played a flute. “I heard there’s a new theatre a-gonna be built.” He nodded as he spoke, with an air of inside knowledge, though he’d surely had the news by eavesdropping in the street. His perch was the back of a heavy wooden chair, his feet in the seat and his elbows on his knees, a tankard clutched in both hands and his chin nearly dipping into his ale as he hunched toward his listeners gathered about the table.
“Where?” said the other, whose round face and cheeks like apples made him appear fat, though he was not.
“Dunno,” Willie replied. “Somewhere across the river, I thinks.” He made a broad, sweeping gesture with his tankard to indicate
She looked at the coin in her hand. At first she didn’t want to realize what had just happened, for the happiness of having been restored to Daniel’s affections was still full in her heart. For it to evaporate so quickly would be too painful, would leave too big an emptiness to bear. But as she stared at the gold piece, shining bright in the full moonlight, she knew the love she’d thought was hers hadn’t existed at all. She’d been paid for sex, and furthermore she’d sold herself cheap. A realmistress would have been able to negotiate a yearly stipend, and a wife would have been entitled to the complete support of all her husband’s wealth. One guinea, while a fortune to a street whore, was evidence he did not love her even enough to pay her more than once.
The emptiness, where glowing happiness had been only moments before, darkened and hardened quickly. The edges of it dried and curled so that her chest felt tight and she couldn’t breathe. Tears tried to come, but she wouldn’t let them. She grasped the coin hard in her hand until the edge of it hurt her palm. Then, slowly and with deliberate care, she slipped it into the pocket beneath her skirts. She turned and made her way into her house and up the stairs to her bedroom. There she washed herself well in the washbowl, dressed in her nicest nightgown, and slipped under the covers. She lay there, thinking about how good a thing it was that she now knew exactly where she stood with Daniel. She could now harden her heart to him and never wonder whether he might care for her. Nobody had ever loved her except Piers. Not her father, not her brothers and sisters, not Daniel, and certainly not any of the men she called clients. She now told herself what a good thing it was to know the truth. To rid herself of hope and never let disappointment cut her again, and never again waste her time pursuing something Daniel would dangle before her but never give her. She closed her eyes against the dawn, to make the world go away in sleep.
Fall came, then winter. As the days grew shorter, so did the money. By spring they would have to let Sheila go and move to a less expensive house. Each day when Suzanne awoke to hear the rattle of rain on the windows or feel the sharp chill of snow in the air, she dreaded the future. Soon rising in the morning took enormous effort and a steel will.
One evening in mid-January a crowd of five or six gathered at the Goat and Boar, around the large table near the stairs, and perhaps another three or four stood nearby, listening to the boisterous conversation. Suzanne sat with her back to the wall, the only woman at that table; a couple of young whores were chatting up three well-dressed men at the other table, ignoring the less-moneyed locals at the front. Big Willie Waterman was carrying on in a loud, braying voice to another street musician whose name Suzanne didn’t know, but she thought he played a flute. “I heard there’s a new theatre a-gonna be built.” He nodded as he spoke, with an air of inside knowledge, though he’d surely had the news by eavesdropping in the street. His perch was the back of a heavy wooden chair, his feet in the seat and his elbows on his knees, a tankard clutched in both hands and his chin nearly dipping into his ale as he hunched toward his listeners gathered about the table.
“Where?” said the other, whose round face and cheeks like apples made him appear fat, though he was not.
“Dunno,” Willie replied. “Somewhere across the river, I thinks.” He made a broad, sweeping gesture with his tankard to indicate
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