My Lord and Master

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“How much for the girl?”

The stranger’s words rang out around the empty, early-morning marketplace.

“I-I beg your pardon, Sir?” the scruffy old market trader said timidly, a polite smile fixed upon his florid face.

“I said,
how much for the girl
?” the imposing figure repeated, his accent betraying the fact that he was not from around these parts. He cast his steely gaze first at the old market trader and then across at the trader’s meek little daughter, Angelica, cowering in the corner.

Angelica had only just turned nineteen but looked and acted much younger than her years, still so much like a schoolgirl, her thin pale limbs poking out awkwardly from her raggedy dress, her unruly flame-red hair so thick and dazzling in contrast with her milk-white skin and pale blue eyes that often, strangers remarked upon her complexion unprompted.

Angelica gazed up at this tall stranger, looking down so intensely at her, and wondered what exactly he meant by such a statement. He was obviously wealthy – that much was clear from the way he dressed, the fine leather of his boots and the cut of the cloth of his jacket, both as immaculate as the day they were made. And his eyes – well, never had Angelica seen such intense eyes before! They positively
burned
at her, causing a rather strange feeling, one that she couldn’t quite describe, to travel all through her thin, slender frame.

Why, does he mean to buy me?
Angelica thought angrily, trembling, waiting for her father to tell him to be gone and leave them in peace.
As if I’m just the same as the cattle, to be bought and sold in this marketplace! I may be poor, but I am a human being, just as he is ...

But her father did not dismiss the haughty stranger. Instead it was Angelica who he bade leave, obviously intending to discuss matters privately with this gentleman.

“Now Angelica,” her father said in almost a whisper, leaning down and putting one hand softly on her bony little shoulder, while pressing a coin into her palm with the other. “Be a dear and fetch me a half an ale from Mistress Helen’s stall over on the other side of the market, would you, girl?”

“Very well, father,” Angelica said, taking the coin and heading off from her father’s market stall, leaving the two men to talk, for despite her trepidation at what the men were to discuss, she was an obedient girl.

But as she made her way across the half-empty marketplace, bathed in morning light, through the traders unpacking their wares, ready to start the day’s labour, her fears crystalized inside her. Although her father often sent her on errands such as this, there was definitely something strange in the way he despatched her so quickly and easily; something that suggested to Angelica that he wanted her out of the way to actually discuss this ridiculous proposition with the tall dark stranger.

But maybe she’d misunderstood.

Perhaps he had meant something else when he’d said it:
How much for the girl?

But then she remembered his gaze, burning into her. She may have misunderstood his words, but there was no denying the look in his eye.

But how could he?
she thought.
Surely my very own father isn’t about to sell me off, is he? I know we are poor folk, but we are proud and we work hard. My father would never accept such easy money. It is not our way.

With this, Angelica shook the worrying thoughts from her head.
No, if anything, the reason father probably wants a word alone with that strange man
, she reasoned,
is so that he can warn him off in stronger terms without worrying me or saying anything that might upset my delicate nature. After all, these things are not to be spoken of in front of a lady, which is what I am, poor or not.

Angelica bought the ale as her father requested, and as she made her way back across the marketplace that was now sparking into life, weaving her way through the growing crowds, she saw that her father and the tall stranger were still deep in conversation.

As she walked, the crowds parted, and at just that moment, the stranger’s eyes once more locked onto hers and she felt an unexpected flash of heat run right through her.

And with that, Angelica knew with certainty that her fate was not her own.

“But mother!” Angelica gasped in horror that very same evening, casting her pretty gaze up at her mother who sat sternly in her chair by the fire, her knitting needles never stopping for a moment their insistent clicking, even as Angelica knelt at her feet, clutching her mother’s skirts and weeping. “How can you let father do this?”

“Now come, Angelica,” her mother said softly but with a definite firmness to her tone all the same, “we all knew that this day would come for you sooner or later, my love. Nineteen is too old for a girl still to be living under her parents’ roof. You know as well as I that all your schoolfellows are married by now. Why, many of them have families of their own to look after!”

Her mother sighed, her knitting needles still clicking as she spoke.

“I wanted the same for you, Angelica, my darling. You were always such a pretty thing. So striking. Your beautiful hair and milk-pale skin. There was no one more beautiful in the whole village. Everyone knew that. But you’ve always been so strange in your ways. You attracted the lads, sure enough, but soon they would drift away, enticed by the easy laughter and pretty ways of your schoolmates. I told you many a time, my dear. No man is going to want a girl sitting so quietly with her nose in a book all day. But you never listened. So we have no choice, my dear, don’t you see? Times are tough, and money is tighter than ever around here. Last month, we sold the silver. And if we keep feeding you, we’ll have no crockery to eat our dinner off. Besides, you should be grateful. Your father has found you a fine position. To work as a maid for a fine English Lord? Why! You should be over the moon at such an opportunity, my dear!”

Angelica sighed, her anguish rising to such levels within her now that she felt she might tear out great handfuls of her thick red locks and scream at the top of her lungs in frustration. It was true. Her mother had long begged her to change her ways. To laugh more easily, and to find herself a husband. But why should she give herself to the uncouth, boorish men of the village? They held no attraction for her, and it pleased her that they left her alone. Still, she had no idea that this would be the outcome.

“But this ...” Angelica continued, forcing herself to remain calm as she searched her whirling, skittish brain for the correct words. “But this seems more like ...
slavery
, Mother.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” Angelica’s mother laughed, finally halting her knitting for a brief moment in order to turn a stern eye on her daughter. “Now that’s just your over-active imagination at work once again, my pretty darling. Isn’t that right, Jack? Hasn’t our silly daughter here just got the wrong end of the stick about things as usual? She’s only to work as a maid at the Lord’s house, isn’t that correct? Jack? Jack?”

Angelica’s father, who had until this point in the conversation managed to remain silent, warming his feet by the fireside and drinking his beer, finally added his opinion.

“Aye, that’s the long and short of it,” he said gruffly, sipping from his mug, his eyes downcast, his cheeks florid and flushed, unable to quite meet either woman’s gaze, almost as if he wasn’t speaking the truth.

And from the sheepish way he was acting, and from Angelica’s memory of that stern strangers question back at the market stall that afternoon (“
How much for the girl?”
) Angelica couldn’t help but suspect that there
was
something more to it than that.

“Of course, we’re going to
miss you
,” her mother continued, unawares, a sad smile spreading across her chubby, kindly features. “Now don’t get us wrong about that, my dearest. We’ll miss you dearly of course. But you know how things have been in this family of ours. We’ve always struggled with money, and an opportunity like this ... Well, it would be rather foolish to turn it away, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so, mother,” Angelica said quietly, shooting another angry gaze at her father who was remaining suspiciously quiet throughout their discussion.

“Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’d better get some sleep, young lady,” Angelica’s mother added. “After all, didn’t he say he’d be coming for her bright and early on the ‘morrow, Jack?”

“Aye, that’s right,” Angelica’s father said, the blush deepening in his cheeks, his face full of guilt and misgiving.

Angelica couldn’t help but notice it as she took her leave of her parents and headed up to her tiny, spare, but clean little bedroom, and she wondered just what tomorrow lay in store for her ...