Slut

The Docks.

Earlier this morning she had seen him at the Docks. In the fish market.
Standing there, midst the vulgar chaos of the fishmongers.

Being there, yet not quiet belonging.

He seemed focused...searching, as though he had a tranquility inside his head regardless of the uproar that seethed around him. And his eyes moved from stall to stall, person to person. Reading faces. Facades.

A silent stranger in the raging tempest of buisness, bargains, stench and foul denigrations thrown around by the means of trade.

He seemed like an infinitely wise gentleman, even though this was no place to assess wisdom.

He was in a dark overcoat that came out as intimidating - with no hat on his head. Occasional draft of salt air tousled his dark locks whichever way they pleased.

His eyes had then moved to her, sudden and quick, but like all else, they had passed over from her to the next face...too quickly.

Oh, so quickly.

Percy had turned away too, had moved on with her job for the day. Two fleshy carps for both her sisters. Apples for her self.

Then, she had returned to the whorehouse which her sisters ran, and where she had belonged.

Although, Percy had little part in the trade of the house.

Her sisters, Ava and Emmeline had laid two choices in from of Percy the day she had turned sixteen.

They had been short of working hands in the kitchen downstairs. They had also been short of a pair of legs to spread when a drunk sailor came by, looking for some action.

Either to be a mistress and bed a man or to work ten hours a day and be a maid.

She had to chose one. She couldn't merely be a mouth to feed for her sisters.

Percy's only friend at the time, her only friend ever- Lottie, who had been a house help- had somewhat biased her decision when Percy told her sisters she wanted to be the kitchen maid.

Ava had clicked her tongue. Emmeline had patted her head.

But then with her face, not unsightly but nothing to look at, Ava and Emmeline never had much hopes for Percy in that... territory.

Percy had never thought her answer over.

Twenty and two now, Lottie had passed away a long time ago from a sickness that had left her bleeding from between her legs and Percy still scrubbed dishes clean in the kitchen downstairs.

Only now, with a loud lack of companion, Percy had taken to the books in the sunroom upstairs, where her sister's favoured masters kept a decent collection of very resourceful books.

The books had helped Percy learn a lot. A Lot.

She now knew why seasons changed. She knew how to plant a tree. Also, how to keep one alive.

How to hold a pen. Fix a book. Write a poem.

Well, no....not quite.

She could never know how to write a poem and God, had she tried.

All that, Percy had learnt from book. From being born as a daughter of a lady from the street and having lived all her life in a brothel, Percy had learnt other things. She learnt precisely what happened behind closed doors at night.

She had understood why she should fear men. She had learnt exactly where not to be at which time.

And she had not been in any place she should not be when Emmeline came in knocking at her door this evening, asking her to come downstairs.