She must be a street girl, Mary thought in a panic. A girl who sells her body for money.
Despite Charlotte’s offer, Mary could not help thinking that she would end up as a street girl when she rejected marriage to the Duke and she lost everything. It was like a nightmare that plagued her in the back of her brain ... but it was always a mysterious thought. Not something that she knew anything about. Seeing a real-life street girl standing in front of her made the nightmare all too real.
“You have a kind heart.” Daisy interrupted Mary’s thought pattern, causing her to jump. “Like I said to you before, there are not many people who care much about the living conditions of the working classes. Even if there is never anything that you can do, it is enough that you care.”
I care because I might end up as one of them, Mary thought desperately, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Th ... thank you,” she stammered as a reply instead. Even if Daisy was more her friend now, this was something she could not discuss with her. This was the sort of thing that she could only talk about with her sister, who might well understand her. She would have to make a call to her whenever she got the chance.
Mary could not stop her mind however much she wanted to. The last thing she wanted was to imagine taking the place of the girl, standing in the street and trying to lure the men towards her. With her title and position, the worst thing she had to worry about was a man kissing or touching her in a slightly inappropriate way. That was enough to ruin her reputation completely. How much would she be ruined if she were a street girl? She shuddered at the mere idea of it.
It was not something that Mary ever wanted to experience.
She could not imagine herself existing in those cramped houses, living among so many other people. And not just any people. Loud, dirty people with terrible smells emanating from them. Maybe she was not so unkind that she viewed the poor as only a parasite, but she did not want to be anywhere near them either.
“Daisy, did you grow up on a street such as that one?” Mary asked nervously as they pulled away from the horror and closer to Gloria’s home. Mary had been on this journey a hundred or so times before, but she had never bothered to look out before. Now, she wished she hadn’t again. Mary did not think that was a sight she could ever recover from. “Is that how you lived?”
“It was not that street.” Daisy’s lips tightened together. “But it was quite similar.”
Mary gulped and nodded slowly. Daisy knew so much more about the world than she did; she had knowledge that Mary did not even know she was missing.
“That is why I am so glad to work in your home.” Daisy’s face lit up, and a bright smile spread across her lips. “The roof over my head is so much better at your house.”
Mary had visited the staff quarters only once before when she was young and wandered off. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she explored the only part of her house that she had never seen before, although when she was caught, she acted as if she had gotten lost.
Mary did not say it to Daisy, but she did not think what she had under her roof was wonderful. It was small, very basic, incredibly boring to look at. Yes, maybe it was better than living on one of those streets, but was it fair? How had they come to live in a world where the lives of everyone were so different? One person lived in unnecessary luxury while the next could barely feed their children; one road was glamorous and lovely, the next dirty and smelly.
It seemed to Mary that something needed to change, but she did not know what. She just hoped that there was some miracle that ensured the lives of the poor ended up better before she became one herself.
“I think that we are here,” Daisy spoke out once more, causing Mary’s head to snap up to look at her. “The driver is stopping. This is Gloria’s house, is it not?”
Mary twisted her head to see the home that was more familiar to her than anything else she had seen today. This was the home of one of the most famous dressmakers in the whole of London; all the Ladies loved to see her because she made the finest things. Mary was lucky, but still she felt hollow. It did not feel right to spend so much money on an item of clothing that she did not really want, for a ball that she was not really keen to attend when there were people that had nothing.
Unfortunately, there was nothing that she could do about it now. The driver had brought her all the way, and she had to keep her appointment.
This is just to show Walter that I am trying my hardest, she tried to make herself feel much better. At least it is for a good reason.
But as she stepped down from the carriage with the help of the driver, she was not convinced at all. All of a sudden, nothing felt quite right anymore.
***
Mary felt exhausted as the carriage drove her away from Gloria’s house once more, returning her back to her own house. She had been pulled, twisted, measured, and prodded for hours on end. She had felt so many different fabrics and discussed so many colours that it left her feeling dizzy.
“You did not seem to enjoy yourself today,” Daisy commented as she cocked her head at Mary. “Do you not enjoy dress shopping? That seems like something I would think would be very enjoyable.”
Of course, that was something that Daisy had never experienced, which was just another thing for Mary to feel guilty about. Daisy only had her work uniform, as far as Mary knew. “Oh, y ... yes,” she stammered. “I guess I am just not quite myself today.”
Daisy did not push it. She could just tell that this was something her friend did not want to talk about. She watched her out of the corner of her eye instead, searching for a moment where she would look more approachable, but her expression remained closed off and sad all the way back home. Mary did not even make the effort to look out the window again; it was almost as if all she could see were her feet.
Mary barely even knew where she was anymore; a cold sensation had her gripped as her brain whirred rapidly. The choice that she had in front of her was becoming increasingly difficult with every passing second. It should have been simple; she did not love or even like Duke Edmund Smith, so she should not have to marry him, but that was not the way that the world worked.
Maybe I will end up like Charlotte after all. Maybe we are both destined to end up miserable and stuck.
What would her father think if he could see their sadness? Would that have caused him to change his mind? Maybe if he could see the terror in his eldest daughter’s eyes, he would help her to escape her marriage, even if that was unheard of. Maybe he would allow Mary the choice if that happened.