Easton's Gold Read Online Free

silently on the bed. Her heart pounds as she waits for Philippa to retaliate. Nothing happens. In the light from the window, she can just make out Philippa’s form—prone, face up, the moonlight catching her tears.
    Satisfied there is no danger of immediate reprisal, Gabrielle gets up and goes back to her bed.
    She slips the sheet and blanket over her and lies, face up. She knows she should feel relieved—judging from the snivelling noises coming from Philippa’s bed, her tormentor has been tamed—but she doesn’t.
    Philippa’s sobs become louder. There are little gulps and coughs too. Eventually Gabrielle hears Maria slipping from her bed to comfort her friend. “It’s all right, all right,” she coos rhythmically like a mother comforting her child. “We’ll keep out of her way. It’s all right, don’t cry, don’t cry.”
    Gabrielle wonders why she still feels so uneasy. Is it fear they will tell Jacques and somehow get her into trouble with the Marquis? Or is she afraid they will bypass the Marquis and throw her onto the streets? She has a brief vision of Jacques throwing a sack of her belongings out of the attic window, and the sack—merely a tied sheet—opens on impact, spilling clothes, a blanket, her comb, her nightdress, and her carved wooden box onto the mud. She sees herself fighting back the scavenging street urchins as she tries to re-secure her possessions.
    But she knows this can’t be her fear. She suspects the incident won’t even be talked about tomorrow, let alone spun into a story that could eject her from the house. Her agitation, she realizes, is more vague and threatening. As she stares into the bluish darkness and listens to Philippa’s sobs and Maria’s banal attempts at comfort, the answer to what she is feeling comes to her in a phrase: pure loneliness. Annoying, insufferable Philippa has Maria to guide her through the night, even when she has brought her wounds entirely upon herself.
Who do I have? An elderly, kind noble who employs me. But this is where I sleep and where I should feel at one with my surroundings
.
    She knows she will never be accepted by Philippa, Maria, and Jacques. And she wants acceptance. The sound of Philippa’s crying makes her chest ache. She ought not to feel sympathy, yet she does. She would like to be the one comforting Philippa, not the one alone and helpless, staring into the night.
    She feels like a star without a constellation. She burns unseen and for no one.
    __________
    F LEET TRIES TO SHUT OUT THE babbling crowd and focus on his thoughts. His fingers rest upon the purse in his tunic, and he is not worried about being robbed. Yet every step he feels the hands of others, hands that accidentally tug or prod; hands gesticulating, arguing, exchanging dice, and squeezing. It is a city of hands, and they are in constant motion like bees circling a hive.
    This is not the first time Fleet has tied up his punt at the south bank after dark, not knowing his destination or purpose. It is not the first time he has wandered this stretch of the city, recoiling at the sight of caged cockerels and harnessed bears. One of these huge animals passes him now, two brawny men tugging its chains. A group of small boys follow, throwing stones at the bear’s rippling hide.
    Cages and chains churn Fleet’s stomach; the squawk of fighting birds sears his brain. A moment ago his cheek felt the spray of warm blood from one of the cockpits. He felt something inside him jump, and he had to swallow it down. He averts his eyes from the games but can still hear the shrieks and cries of the crowd as they frolic in the ecstasy of a win or shake their fists in the frustration of a defeat.
    Despite everything, he is drawn to this place. He is drawn to the orange bonfires that illuminate the street every forty paces, sending sparks wavering into the black night. Fire soothes the ague of his mind. The