Page 21 of The Lovers
Elise carefully extracted the leather pouch, making sure the coins didn’t jingle, and pulled out a few coins. Edward would never notice, but the money would make all the difference to her. Elise replaced the purse and tiptoed out of the room, breathless with victory. She quickly changed her shoes, pulled on her gloves, and made her way down the stairs and back out into the garden. There was a door built into the wall, so no one would see her leave. The fluffy snow of the morning was already beginning to melt, turning into slush underfoot. Her footprints would vanish with the melting snow, which was an added bonus. Elise slipped through the door and closed it behind her, breathing the air of freedom for the first time since the wedding.
Elise pulled on her hood and walked briskly toward the river. Not many people were about just yet, but the city was coming to life: shops opening, farmers making deliveries now that the gates to the city were open, and wives and servants heading out to buy supplies for the day. Elise took a deep pull of fresh morning air. It felt wonderful to be out, especially on her own. She was as good as invisible, and the freedom of anonymity was intoxicating. She’d never given much thought to freedom before, but now that she was a virtual prisoner, it took on a whole new meaning, and she understood why men were willing to die for it. Having say over one’s own life and future was worth everything—even one’s life.
Elise stepped into a boat and took a seat in the stern. “Take me across, please,” she said to the ferryman, who grinned at her, happy to have a fare so early in the morning. His lantern swung behind him as he pushed off and rowed them toward Southwark.
“Ye’re out early,” he commented as the boat sliced across the still waters. A hazy mist rose off the water, offering an extra layer of protection from prying eyes. Somewhere, a bell began to chime, and then several others joined in. It was eight o’clock.
“So are you,” Elise countered.
“Well, I’ve got to earn me living,” he replied. “A family don’t feed itself, if ye know what I mean.”
Elise nodded, not interested in pursuing the conversation. She felt exhilarated and reckless as the boat nosed its way toward Southwark. She only hoped it wasn’t a wasted journey. Elise paid the ferryman and stepped onto the shore. For a moment, she considered visiting the girls, but if her father found out that she had been wandering about on her own, he’d put a stop to her outing right quick. Instead, she headed in the opposite direction toward Borough High Street. The area where her family lived was still considered respectable, but this part of Southwark was anything but. There were many inns that catered to travelers, and the area was famous for its gaming stews, brothels, and various other base entertainments. Elise glanced toward the bulk of King’s Bench Prison but hastily turned away and hurried along the street and past the Tabard Inn. She’d never actually seen the inn close up but had read of it in theCanterbury Tales, which she had “borrowed” from her father. The historic inn had served as a meeting point for pilgrims setting out for Canterbury.
Hugh de Lesseps would have had her whipped for reading such bawdy and irreverent balderdash instead of tracts more appropriate for women, but Elise had quite enjoyed the tales. A passage came to mind as she hurried past the sprawling inn and turned onto St. Thomas Street.
Bifel that in that season on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay
Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,
At nyght was come into that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde;
The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
And well we weren esed atte beste.
She felt as if she were making a pilgrimage but of an entirely different kind. Elise looked at the buildings, which leaned against each other like drunken men. There were countless narrow alleys that seemed to lead nowhere in particular, and only people who resided in them had a reason to enter. She finally found the house she’d been looking for and knocked loudly on the door, turning her head from side to side, as if she were going to be pounced on by her father or her husband at any moment. Elise’s heart thumped in her chest.
“Oh, please be there,” she whispered. “You have to be there.”
She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard footsteps, and the door swung open.
“Good Lord. Elise. Come in.”
Elise slipped inside the house, glad to be away from the prying eyes of the city. She pushed back her hood and surveyed the humble dwelling. It was small but tidy, with one narrow window that didn’t allow in nearly enough light. The room was dim, lit by a single candle whose flame flickered in the draft created by the opening and closing of the door.
Elise and Gavin stood facing each other for a moment before Elise walked into his arms and buried her head in his chest. She hadn’t meant to cry or give in to self-pity, but seeing Gavin’s smiling face was her undoing. He held her close as she cried, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort.
“You came,” he whispered. “You really came. I’d nearly given up all hope of ever seeing you again. I started to believe that you were content in your marriage and had forgotten all about me.”
“I have thought of you every moment of the day,” Elise confided. “I have longed for you, and I have wondered how you were.”
“Come. Sit down. Let me get you some warm broth. You look frozen through.”
“It was cold out on the river,” Elise replied as she took a seat at the scarred wooden table. She gratefully accepted a cup of broth and wrapped her hands around the warm metal.
“Are you still planning to sail for the colonies?” Elise asked as she took a sip of broth. It wasn’t very flavorful and lacked salt, but it was warm and dispelled some of the chill that had seeped into her bones.
