Athenia's Choice (ON HOLD)

Athenia's Choice: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

We left the shop, muttering ‘good night’ to each other as Mr Smithson locked the door. He then started climbing the stairs attached to the side of the shop.

"Where are you going?” I wondered, as Bessie drifted off down a lane.

“I live in the rooms above my shop,” my new employer replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I nodded and walked away so I wouldn’t look suspicious, but in reality my heart was beating and my stomach was churning; what was I going to do? I uncurled my hand to see exactly what I had snatched up: a hairpin.

Yes, you may find that highly amusing, but that mere hairpin was very useful indeed. I walked down some dim, grimy backstreets and came round in a full circle back to the baker’s shop. Heart swimming with excitement, relief, and rebellion, I picked the lock on the back door with the hairpin and burst into the shop.

I stood there a few moments, and then raced to the bench, pulling the aprons down over me to serve as a blanket. I let out a sigh. My blistered body was finally able to lie still, and I was finally able to rest. Even thought the bumpy panels dug into my back, I was too tired to care.

*****

The sound of something being thrust into the wall with a large bang almost shattered my ear drums. My eyes bolted open with fear, but I couldn’t see anything, for it was midnight. The strong, turbulent winds had made the door slam open. I gasped, for Mr Smithson was sure to hear that! I darted out the swinging door into the feisty weather, groping around in nothing-ness. The scarf about my head was tugged away by the gusty storm.

I staggered around and collapsed on the grass, all the energy knocked out of me, ankle throbbing. Clenching my fists, I took in deep breaths. The deafening torrent around me was closed out as I closed my eyes.

*****

I was awoken by the cheeping of birds and yowling of cats. My skin was cold and my body was even stiffer from lying on the ground last night. I tried to tidy myself and went to work, stumbling tiredly round the backstreets. It was a tiresome, bland job, which I worked at vigorously.

Bessie hardly uttered a word to me, as if she was of a higher class. I didn’t seem to have a natural talent for baking as many a time Bessie had to remove too thin/odd-shaped cakes out of my batches. My forehead was always sizzling with sweat. My arms ached from constantly using the rolling pin. The smell of new bread became repetitive and boring. I felt overwhelmed and exhausted. To be frankly honest, I wanted to go back home. I wasn’t sure where that was now.

*****

I wasn’t sure where I would be sleeping that night either. I could not risk picking the lock again and being caught. Stumbling around the silent, sleeping, town, I knew I would have to find somewhere to rest, as the night drew closer. I could not let myself get thrown into the workhouse! My stomach fizzed with nausea at the very thought, my muscles tensing up.

I started to trudge into the more refined area of the village. These houses had lawns which were clipped to perfection, and paintwork that wasn't faded nor peeling. My feet were hurting from my demolished-apart boots. All of the houses had little beacons of light shining from them, but I was too afraid to knock. I rested against a wall, sighing, hoping, praying...

*****

When I awoke, I was slumped against the hard brick wall, my clothes creased even more. I chose a different spot to sleep in every night until, after such an enormously tiring week, we were clearing everything away. Mr Smithson called us both from our tables. I wiped the flour onto my apron, hurrying after Bessie, who had already held out her battered brown purse and had seven shillings dropped into it. She zipped it up, waggling her tongue, probably debating what to spend it on.

Mr Smithson handed me 3 shillings, and sixpence, which I held in my tightly clamped fist. Those coins were mine, and were mine to keep. Bubbles of annoyance had danced in my body when Bessie was given more money than I was; I had worked my back off in those terrible conditions! But I did not complain, as we were given some more unsold buns and cakes to take home in brown paper bags.

Half an hour later, I was celebrating finding lodgings, after walking around dazedly. Mrs Carlston, head of the boarding house on Pennyfrewn Lane, accepted my offer of sixpence a day for my keep. That sadly left me with no money to spend on myself, but it was such a blessing to have a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in, even though it was only a straw mattress, a thin pillow, and a blanket.

Thirza, my roommate, had to shove all her possessions in the top drawer of our chest, to make room for mine. She gave me a steely glance when all I put in my drawer was my comb and tattered boots (I had found some better shoes in a rubbish tip!) The small room had sparse furniture, and the itchy lime green carpet underfoot got on my nerves, but it was something.

Later on, dinner wasn’t a very comfortable affair; we were all squished onto a long table eating lumpy stew and bread. Thirza threw me jealous glances, back in our bedroom, when I started devouring the buns and cakes from the bakery, deliberately licking the icing off and making ‘mmm’ noises. I was quite a selfish little monster, for I scoffed them all for myself!

Sunday, although the day of rest, was hardly interesting, nor was it entertaining. Mrs Carlston lent me a drab brown skirt and blouse to visit church in, and it was nice to actually wear something respectable! I have never cared much for church-going, as my Mama’s Catholic views and my Father’s Protestant ones greatly confused me. Thinking about Mama led me to Marietta, and a lump swelled in my throat. The sermons droned on and I was almost glad when the day was over and I had to go back to the bakery!

*****

I’m sorry if the above sounds tedious, but every story has its ‘and she did this and then she did that’ part. Well, that’s how I lived my life for the next two weeks, with the fortunate circumstance of a roof over my head. Mrs Carlston chided me for attempting to wear my Sunday best out to work, I was constantly working flat out at the bakery, and I was always pining through the windows of the dressmakers...

But funnily enough, I was almost happy. My life had reached a turning point. I had got everything into order; I had a job and a home. Nevertheless, there was a niggling thought in the back of my mind; I still felt horribly guilty over murdering Charles’ father and leaving the hunchback (although I cared more about the former.) Should I risk my newfound happiness, and make the choice of going back to apologise, or leave it on my conscience forever?