The three of us had been staring at one another for the past minute without saying a word.

I finally broke the silence. "Uh, I will head out. Sorry to...uh...sorry to bother you."

I tried to back out of the cottage but the woman hurried to me, grabbing my hand with hers that had been...

I tried not to cringe.

"Imelda." She hugged me. "I have been looking all over for you. Where have you been?"

Yeah? In the man's throat?

"Oh, I just took a walk around the city," I replied vaguely.

She glanced at my clothes. "This is not your dress and it is terribly out of fashion."

I nearly pulled my dress out of her slimy hand. "I ran into a little accident on my way. Miss Bella Castilla gave me this dress to return home in."

"That's very nice of her. I would be sure to thank her later."

The longer we spoke, the more confident I was of this woman's identity– Imelda's mother, Antoinette Danbury. I was told Imelda's father was dead, yet Imelda's mother was wearing a see-through night slip and moments ago, on the lap of another man. My gaze strayed to the man who sat on the couch like he owned the place, particularly to his left ring finger where unsurprisingly, a ring sat.

Was such promiscuousity common in this time?

"Oh, Immy. This is Owen." She leaned on him like she was a high schooler introducing her childhood crush to me, the parent. "Earl Owen Davidson," she said, placing extra emphasis on the 'Earl'.

I guess my unimpressed stare shook her a little because her pasty smile faltered. "Go on, Immy. Say hi."

Deciding to spare her more misery, I dipped into a curtsy. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Earl Davidson."

Earl Davidson let out a laugh that irritated me more than anything had in the past few weeks. "She is delightful, Ann. You should bring her around the Davidson house sometime. I would like my son, Roland to meet her."

From the smile on his face, I knew that Ronald and I will not be having just a casual meeting. Disgust bubbled up my throat and threatened to spill into words I was sure to regret.

Antoinette, on the other hand, was all smiles, excited that her teenage daughter would be opening her legs to a stranger to advance her place in society. That meant it was not the first time. Imelda was not a virgin and her mother had probably played a huge role in it. In the worst-case scenario, Imelda might have even been forced.

I immediately decided to turn down his invitation as subtly as I could. "My lord, even meeting you is already a privilege. I shall not dare ask or accept more from you. If you don't mind, Mother, Earl Davidson, I will be off to bed now. It has been a tiring day."

Before I was dismissed, I stumbled past the adulterers and into the other compartment of the house. Two doors faced each other. I looked through the first one. It had a large bed in the center with a trunk of open clothes beside it. There was sparse furniture and lots of knickknacks and useless gifted items lying around. I opened the door to the second room. The pile of different colored dresses of identical design to the one I wore that afternoon informed me that the room was mine. If I was wrong, I would switch when Antoinette came in here.

After hurriedly undressing, I offered a silent prayer to God that I didn't make a mistake, in case Antoinette brought in Earl Davidson to finish their self-exploration activities.

I fell asleep in an instant.

***

Antoinette reminded me of a non-player character in a role play videogame who only had one role and one way to think.

In the game that was Andrea Taylor's or, more accurately, Imelda Danbury's life, Antoinette's role was to be a petty, sole-minded mother whose mind was centered around rising in high society. I could infer that much as she yelled at me the following morning for refusing Earl Davidson's invitation. I didn't even pretend to try to listen to her.

Instead, I focused on my tea leaves, thinking of my roommate in college who always had tea leaves on her bedside table, saying they predicted her future. Last I heard, she was in jail for robbing the supermarkets in her hometown of their tea leaves. This had happened only three months after she was checked out of rehab.

Fingers snapped in my line of vision. "Are you even listening to me, Imelda?"

No. "Of course, Mother. You said I should offer myself as an unpaid prostitute to any man who asks," I replied and took a delicate sip of my tea, watching her face turn a dangerous shade of red.

"Imelda, how can you say that? You know what I expect of you."

I nodded. "How could I not, Mother? I need to charm my way into high society-"

Antoinette nodded, pleased that I was using the proper terminology that made her evil seem less than what it really was, but I wasn't done.

"-by opening my legs for any nobleman who asks me to."

Antoinette raised her hand to hit me.

I swirled my tea, staring at her hand with a daring expression. "Ruin my face and see what the girls in my embroidery class would say when I tell them the reason."

Her hand returned to her side immediately. I smiled coldly at her, glad that she behaved exactly as I thought. Antoinette would do anything to maintain and elevate her societal image, even giving up her dignity and self-respect. In extension, she expected Imelda to do the same. Scars did not do well for societal image, not even in 2024, not to talk of the 19th century.

"That's what I thought." I stood up to clean my plate in the washbasin. Antoinette held my hand.

With a somber expression, she started. "Immy, you must know how difficult it is to survive as a knight's family and your father is dead. Your brothers are only Bow Street Runners and shop owners. One even became a priest. You are our only hope for a good life. Is it so wrong–" she choked on a sob. "--so wrong for me to wish that you marry into the best families by any means possible?"

So this was how she got Imelda to do her bidding. Emotional blackmail. I've met so many people who did this. Mrs. Taylor, my own mother was an expert.

I stared at her amused as she spoke. When she finished and stayed silent waiting for me to break and jump into her arms, I tapped her shoulder. "If you don't mind, I cannot be late to my embroidery class, Mother."

Antoinette gasped and stumbled backward, using her trembling hands to hide her colored cheeks. "What has gotten into you, Imelda?"

"Dignity. Don't you think it is a necessary trait in a young woman like myself?"

Antoinette looked behind me. "H-Henry, say something."

"No, no, no," a deep voice said behind me. "You will not involve me in this."

I turned around and ran headfirst into a chest. Large, calloused hands grasped my arms.

"Immy, are you alright?" Henry said. I blinked at him, staring at his kind, brown eyes and then at the scar that ran the length of the left side of his face. I instinctively felt he was trustworthy.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" He leaned closer to me, making me lean back.

I shook my head and stepped away. "Can you please take me to my embroidery class, Henry? Mother seems to be wasting an awful lot of time this morning," I said, looking for a way to get out of here.

Henry's eyebrows rose slightly. "Did you just say please?"

"Hey, what do you take me for? Those naughty kids in-"

I stopped short before I could say 'Nanny McPhee.' Emma Thompson wasn't even born yet.

"In what?" Henry prodded.

"Never mind. Just take me."

Henry glanced at Antoinette who was pacing holes in the floor. "Of course. I just came to get a shirt I left last weekend."

Antoinette and I remained facing away from each other until Henry returned.

"Well, since we're done here, let's get going, Immy."

"I expect you home early and in your best clothes. Owen is bringing Ronald here," Antoinette said with as much force she could muster in her voice.

Henry stilled, his grasp tightening on my hand. I placed my hand gently on his to loosen the grip, then walked menacingly towards Antoinette who stood as straight as anyone could in a silk nightgown.

"You, Mother-" I leaned down to her height. "-can give the shameless Earl and his equally shameless son the directions to a brothel. That will not be so hard, would it?"

Antoinette suddenly grabbed my arm. "Come here, you stupid girl. If you do not re-"

"Enough, Mother," Henry roared. "If you do not let go of Imelda this instant, you will be very sorry."

Her grip loosened. I yanked my arm out and stormed out of the house and ran out to the field, my vision clouding with tears.

"Why are you even crying? You're not Imelda Danbury. Her life is none of your business. You'll go home soon," I muttered to myself as I wiped my eyes furiously.

But what if I don't ever go home?

A new batch of tears fell. I clutched my chest as my heart constructed, trying to drown out the screaming match that was going on inside the cottage.

Was this how Fiona felt whenever Dad and I were arguing because of her?

Stumbling to the ground, I began to pull out grass. The activity seemed somewhat therapeutic. Background noises began to fade till the point I could only hear a ringing sound in my ears.

"Why should women be most recognized when they open their legs for a man? If that disgusting Earl was discovered cheating, I'm sure the consequences would not be the same as for his wife. Stupid society. Stupid patriarchy. Stupid chauvinistic men with their stupid waistcoats and stupid carria-"

A voice broke through her haze.

"Imelda, Imelda," Henry called as he repeatedly shook her.

When I finally looked up, he cupped my face. "Did that man touch you?"

I shook my head, still picking at the grass. I would have bitten him till I drew blood.

"Mother let it slip that he was not the first man she brought to visit you. Can you remember how many and who they were?" he pressed on.

Tears prickled my vision again. Imelda might have unwillingly lost her virginity to some man with a kid her age and only Antoinette knew that. The weight in my chest got heavier.

I forced myself to shrug in response to Henry's question.

A video loop played behind my eyes: one of my father telling me I'd have worth only when I married a rich man. I dug my fingers into my hair to suppress it. My hand instinctively reached for my handbag that would have my medicine in it.

It wasn't there. My shoulders slumped. I was in the 19th century without my anxiety medication.

I pulled out the grass faster.

Henry pulled my chin up. "Immy, please look at me."

I shook my head.

"Imelda, please."

I looked up suddenly, wiping my tears haphazardly since my hands could no longer stay still. "C-could you...could you t-take me to Miss B-Bella Castilla's house?"

¬¬¬

Mini history lesson: 

The 'Bow Street Runners' are regarded as one of the first professional police forces in Britain and was established in 1749 to combat the increasing crime in London and the inefficiency of existing law enforcement like parish constables, night watchmen, and thief-takers. The modern concept of a police force did not exist till 1829, so law enforcement was handled by these Runners. They didn't have an official ranking system, uniforms, or badges and used their reputation and connections in the community to carry out their investigative duties. Also, they were a form of 'contract' workers, that is, they were hired and paid by victims for investigation and obtaining information. This is why Antoinette says that Imelda's brothers who are Runners cannot drastically elevate their standard of living because their wages, although generally higher than other skilled workers, were not fixed.

I am not an academic so it is advised that you visit your web browser for more info.