❝𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 ❞
a bastard girl forced to dress up
as a boy for her mother's sanity
travels down the same path as she
falls for a boy that was destined
for someone else
𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐱...
The apothecary was cramped, men and women of all ages peering at the jars and pots jammed onto the multitude of shelves lining the tiny shop. There was a silent hush as people flitted through the wares, searching for their ingredients for medicine and home remedies. The only sounds were the occasional piercing of small tinkling pleasantries or haggling, the scuffle of feet, and the clink of jar lids being replaced and such, accented by the sharp ding of the cashier till being opened and shut.
In the corner of the shop was a strange burly figure, propped up against the counter with a broom in hand. Their garments were unlike any social trend, much less one seen on the street. They were wearing a baby-blue frock that reached to their knees, unidentifiable stains and repairs littering the hems and edges. They had a small off-white worker's cap tied around the top of their head, pale locks of bone straight blonde hair pricking out from the edges. They wore a long-sleeved garment underneath the dress matching the colour of the cap, and, most peculiarly, had a pair of boy's breeches underneath the dress. They were watching the bustling crowd with dull eyes, sweeping every now and then to appear busy.
"Bryne!"
Bridgette's blue grey eyes swiveled to glance at the male store owner. "Boss?"
He was an aged man, almost no hair upon his crown, but wispy silver threads twisted into a braid hung from his chin all the way down to his mid-chest. His eyes were but narrow slits, the papery wrinkles lining them, accenting his black eyes, concerned over something or another. His skin was mottled with sunspots, contrasting with the man's light skin tone. His voice was clear and sharp like glass, not deep like a valley but clean as a stream.
"Come!" The store owner spoke in a dialect of Oriental origins, and the girl stepped forward towards the man with purpose, not dilly-dallying in the slightest.
"Yes, boss?" Her voice peaked through, soft and dutiful. The aristocratic accent seeped through as a soft undercurrent, a more commonplace urban London accent taking its place.
"Take this man's order, quickly and efficiently. A child must see the world to prepare oneself for life."
"Yes, master."
Contrary to the fine line that her lips were set in, her eyes brimmed in appreciation and gratitude of being acknowledged. It had been six months since she had started working as an apprentice in the Oriental apothecary, no other shop accepting her credentials. The store owner who went by the name Jin had accepted her as his apprentice, warning her that he would not accept any more than the best work. She was most grateful for the opportunity and threw herself into the work, cleaning and dusting shelves, sorting out medical herbs, occasionally delivering packages across their small corner of London, and dealing with unruly customers. For once, her built shoulders and strength was useful in something outside the wealthy art of fencing.
This was the first time that Mr Jin was trusting her to handle customer's order by herself from top to bottom, a high privilege from the strict man. It hadn't been easy adjusting, but after six months, she had begun to pick up the flow, even striving hard to learn the few foreign phrases that Mr Jin would throw at her. The rest of her time was spent in the small nook of books on the second floor almost taking up all her sleep time.
Mr Jin left the front counter, slipping into the throng of customers, answering them with fluency in the same foreign dialect she learned a few phrases on. She faced the man, who looked like a typical London worker, the soot and ash still streaked on his cheeks and gave him a strained smile.
"What would you need today, good sir?"
His gruff voice replied dully, if not outright demeaning. "You got anythin' for a cough, chink?"
She could see the prejudice in eyes, a commonplace sight from the British who would rarely come into the apothecary. Her chest swelled in the injustice, but her mouth was fixed in a polite smile. Mr Jin had already coached her on what to do with customers such as him. She took a deep breath and replied in the evenest tone she could muster up.
"Certainly, sir. That would be two shillings."
The man's beady little eyes almost popped out of his ruddy face. "Two shillings? What kind o' sham chu chinks runnin', eh? Think ya can trick meh?" He thumped his chest, sending coal dust flying in a cloud of soot. "My ancestors smitted you lot way back then, and I sure as hell can do it now."
"Sir," Bridgette stretched out her arms in the vicinity of his movement space, ready to catch any lash outs. "If we cannot come to an agreement, I have no choice but to escort you from the premises."
"And what are you gonna do if I ain't gonna come willingly? What, yer gonna make my nappy and spank me over the knee? Or are ya gonna shave yer head and use those loony mantras?" He guffawed and sneered.
His arm reached out to swipe the small pouch on the countertop that she had fetched for his cough, but she smacked it away. "Sir, I think you should leave now."
"WHY YOU-"
Everything happened so fast. One moment, his fist was hurtling forward to her, and the next, his face was getting friendly with the wood of the countertop. There wasn't much of a struggle, between his unfit and dazed state and her own well-developed shoulders and muscles. Her heart was pounding, her cheeks felt flushed, and her eyelids held a dizzying fire that was threatening to boil over.
Don't touch me, don't touch me, don'ttouchme-
She didn't register the hands that eased hers off the white pig, nor did she feel herself being led to the back room and sat down. "Rest, Bridgette."
That night, her cheeks bled transparent rivers down their rough and ashen face, disappearing into her blonde locks.
