Daffodil
Diane Thorpe
In the morning, I was led to a closed door at the top floor—there were four floors—by Honey.
“Why are there four floors Mon…Signore Huh-nay?” I asked, and adjusted the strap of my bundle on my shoulder.
True to his word, the chap from the tavern had retrieved my precious belongings.
He looked back at me and smiled. “I simply love how ye say my name. The first floor is where the guests are welcom’d in the lobby and then herd’d into the tavern t’ be entertained by us—an’ that now includes ye—an’ if they feel it, they take us…not includin’ you, as of yet.”
As of never, I thought with conviction.
“To the third floor where they are further…er…entertain’d, which is why I’m here, the chap from las’ night weren’t ready for none o’ that. The second floor is us’d only during the days as a sort o’ cute café an’ not us’d at all during nights.”
He opened the door with a skeleton key and pushed it open.
“You will be sharing this room with a few Johns and Mollies, and me.”
The room was large and had eight beds, four on each wall facing opposite one another. On the third wall was a large window with the velvet curtains drawn closed and as we stepped in, Honey marched through the room to rip them apart and opened them to the sunlight. There were about three drawing room chairs and a purple chaise lounge that seemed to be from King George’s reign. Velvet cushions and throw blankets of yellows and greens were thrown about them.
There were lamps and carafes on the nightstands at the bedsides. A wardrobe was on either side of the window and there was a third, fourth and fifth against the walls in the empty spaces. The room was quite full and the walls were painted white. I heard groans and jumped. A girl—it was a girl, yes?—sprung from her bed and stretched, yawning in only white stockings and linen wrapped around her chest.
“What ya do that fer, Hon?” she asked, and then she turned her head to look at me, “Oh, you.”
An oval faced pretty looking boy was sitting up in his bed, stretching as he stared at me with large hazel eyes and it took me a moment to recognize him. His silky bronze hair framed his face as he pulled the covers from himself.
“Sebastian?” I blinked and dropped my bag at my feet. “Sebastian! Good God, where is Peter? Where are Aderyn, Hilda, and Liza? Where is Walter? Where is…?”
He slid out of his bed and held up his hands. “Calm yer-self, woman, look aroun’, she’s nex’ tae,” he murmured, bitterly, “Leslie. Wha’ kin’ o’ a name is dhat?”
“You know their names.” I said, cocking an eyebrow, but guessed who he spoke of and turned back to the brunette girl, advancing to the bed next to her where a lump was groaning under the lacy, red linens.
I pulled the cover off and revealed a huddled up Liza, flaxen hair cut shorter to only reach her ears. Briefly, I thought that I was surrounded by a legion of blondes, before dismissing it for bigger things. Her eyes were open and she slowly turned to me, eyes wide for a moment until I fell back onto Leslie’s bed, Liza’s hands clutching my shoulders.
“Anne! Oh, thank da Low, I thought tha’ ne’ew woul’ I lay me eyes on ye agen! Da buck-tews chopp’d off me boo-tea-full ‘aiw an’ took away me dawlin’ dwesses.” She shook even as she straddled me on my bed, eyes watering with distress.
“They made me sing and perform on stage like a goddamn monkey!” I responded, getting into the spirit of complaining, hanging onto it even as my muscles relaxed onto the bed.
“You poow deaw, they—“
“Enough of this,” a stern voice interrupted our pitiful reunion and we both looked up to see Leslie glaring down at us, a shirt pulled over her and knee breeches over her stockings. “Off my bed and get changed and ready,”
“I am changed.” I said. “If anythin’ I’m strippin’ down t’ me linens an’ gettin’ a bit o’ shut eye.”
She smirked, looking down at me, and replied, “We have two shifts in this place. One from late day to late night the other from late night to mid-day, guess which one you have?”
My brow furrowed, lips parting in thought, before my weary mind could register what she meant.
“Oh, blast it. I suppose that the rest of you will have a nice rest.” I grumbled and Liza and I got up, her to her bed and me to the one Honey was standing by and pointing at.
Liza fell asleep mumbling about her ‘boo-tea-full ‘aiw’.
“This will be yer bed, Mr. Anthony.”
What did that little measle call me? He grinned at my frown.
“Ms. Anne,” he said.
“Ms. Diane,” I answered.
He ignored me this time, “…but you shall need a change in wardrobe. Perhaps Tulip—Claire could help you, but you shall have to settle for Leslie.”
Grumpy, mean Leslie? Oh, never mind that.
“Throw dat away. I ‘ad a pa, an’ I li’ed on a Na’y ‘essel, by god! I’ll know wha’ t’ wear.”
I zipped the bag open, the new dress and my old one peaked out but I threw them aside, to reveal all my little treasures. Honey interrupted my thoughts and grabbed my arm so that I faced him, now with a vest and cravat over his shirt.
“Whatever the outcome,” he said, “it is preferred highly that you come dressed as a female today. Now, come with me. No need for that fiddle.”
“Salve, Signore and/or Signora, may I offer you a sandwich or a scone?”
That was what had been coming out of my mouth for the better part of the day. Perhaps, Hilda and Liza were right; my apparel had been shockingly similar to the uniform of the café. Now, I was sitting in the men’s clothes Clarence—Claire?—leant me outside the brothel—ahem, I mean, Jardiner de Beauté (Garden of beauty or Beautiful Garden, something around that meaning)—on a stool besides Honey under a parasol that he leant me, playing black jack with my father’s cards.
“Sixteen, hit?” I asked him, crossing my legs but he kicked them and I separated them.
“No,” he answered, and shook his head, scratching his scalp.
His smooth black hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
I pulled the card from the top anyways and grinned.
“Ah, bad choice, Huh-nay, a five,” I told him.
His mouth opened and he took the card from me. “What? Gods damn it!”
“Mark your cards, Huh-nay,” I said, shrugged and looked around. “You owe me twelve shillings.”
A group of women dressed alike eyed me incredulously and I showed them my cards and mouthed, ‘Would you like to join?’ The largest of the three scowled at me and yelled something unintelligible, waving a silver cross.
It looked expensive.
Honey giggled.
He shook his head, smiling and sat back in his stool. He showed no intention of wanting to play again. Most people who passed by looked at us disdainfully but some winked at Honey. I didn’t mind, he was, after all, a whore.
I wouldn’t sweeten it. A whore is a whore.
“Why are d’ere so many ‘ere?” I wondered aloud.
“This is a port town, you gump,” he replied simply eying my deck suspiciously.
Did he suspect me of cheating? Well, all the cards were marked, of course, just the way my father had taught me to…but who didn’t mark cards, hm?
I stared at him, and noticed black marks at the corner of his eye, stretching under his eyes smoothly, like a raccoon.
“I want out of here.” I announced to him, resolutely.
I was surprised when he snorted, “Join our club. We meet every moonsday to sup.”
I frowned at him and stood from the stool, deciding to lean against the oak railing that separated us from the streets instead.
“No,” I hissed. “I shall be out of here in one day.”
“Believe what you believe,” he said. “We all once thought we would make it out.”
I ignored Honey, finding myself slightly annoyed with him, the sure way he said everything, as if all was set in stone.
“I. Am. No. Whore.”
There was silence for a moment, the chatter of the streets being the only thing filling it. My eyes widened and I almost gasped, scrambling to find something to make that sound less offensive, but then he replied.
“I never said you were, Daffodil.”
I looked out at the street, and the people walking about it. A girl’s eyes locked with me but then she quickly looked away, muttering something under her breath, while crossing herself discreetly. A carriage passed and men in red uniforms strolled by, looking around their environment nervously. One nodded at Honey, and then said boy, as if on cue, blushed and looked away. I was displeased to see the satisfied smirk of the man as he walked away, a new bounce in his steps. I went over what Honey said and turned to look at him. He was looking right back at me, challenging.
“My name is not Daffodil.” I seethed.
Did he mean to insult me?
He smirked at me and cracked his neck. I cracked my knuckles and, to my embarrassment, winced. My mother wouldn’t have shown so much as a twitch, but Goddamnit, it hurt.
“Yes, it is, Signorina Daffodil, you must be. For, it is everything that you are. Anne,”—I gave him a dirty looked—“Diane is no name here. No. I have from here on forth christened you Daffodil.”
I stared down at him for a moment before asking. “What is your real name?”
He stared up at me.
“Elliot,” he said, then, he quickly grinned, but it never did reach his eyes. “But let us not worry over such things.”
I nodded, but did not agree. “Where is Peter?”
“Peter?” His eyebrows raised and drew together, furrowing his brow thoroughly. “You mean that bloke that sat by ye las’ night?” I nodded and he sighed. “He refused to be a Molly more profusely than that girl Liza refused to become a John.” He shrugged, uneasily. “So, Miss Lucy let ‘im go. I don’t know where, before you ask.”
“And the…?” I wanted to ask, ‘and the others?’ but Honey already knew.
“Those udder girls were left w’ that Madame Jose and so were those two lads, not pretty enough, they were.”
I sighed. “I suppose I should be happy for them.” Then, a realization and a smile were etched onto my face. “It seems that there has been a separation between the Fair Lady Aderyn of Paris, France and her pretty love, Sebastian?”
Honey returned mine with a bemused look. “This is a good thing?”
“A very good thing…how I rue the very day that her mother gave birth to the vile thing Aderyn, who hates the Bard and dances like a simple whore.” I spat on the street beyond railing, and made an obscene gesture.
Honey frowned at me. What? Oh, the ‘whore’ comment? Well, at the least of things, he knew what he was.
“She does, Huh-nay. I will not—shall not—take it back, not ever.” He scowled and folded his arms in front of his chest, childishly pouting while I thought to myself, looking up at the sky, to the vessel soaring over head. “What’s that?”
My eyes narrowed, looking up at the great, flapping black flag, donning a grin. I’d never seen anything like it before. There were ships, yes, and I lived more than half of my life on one—once, with my father, and then the rest when I’d stowed away on one of my mother’s beau’s Navy vessel. I watched the head stuck over the edge, golden brown curls tumbling around his suntanned face as he smiled. I waved.
“Um,” answered Honey, snapping me away from the gaze from above, “how can you not know?”
“I, of course, I,” I said, and then I cleared my throat long enough for me to open my mouth, but also for him to speak.
“How old are you, Anne?” he asked, mind wandering, “Dianne?”
I wondered if he did that a lot, and glanced back up at the disappearing ship, watching the boy—man?—watch me, as I smiled sheepishly. A grunt escaped my lips, until Honey snapped his finger near my face, and I started.
“I’m fifteen,” I supplied, and when he slowly rose an eyebrow added, “almost sixteen.”
“Huh,” he mumbled, “you look younger. Anyways, are you up for a binding?”
Chest binding. A cloth wrapped around my unsubstantial chest so tight that it would flatten down perfect, like a smooth plain. I think not! I would never admit it aloud, but I didn’t want to be flat chested like a man…I blamed my mother.
“No,” I said, and looked abruptly from the face flying above mine when he made foul gesture at me. Of the likes I’d never seen before, I asked, face flushing with anger, “Will that ship dock…here, soon?”
My finger twitched, hand gravitating to the blade hidden in my coat, but Honey didn’t notice.
“Probably,” he said, disinterested, “it will dock in half an hour, around.”
I narrowed my eyes, gazing up at the now offensive vessel.
“Forget binding,” I said, “let’s go greet the sailors.”
“Pilots,” he corrected, and I replied, “Ah dunt care, Hon, all Ah know is d’eres a bastard what needs t’ know ne’er t’ cross me.”
