Evie

“Looks like you survived those gunshots alright,” Gil observes, falling into step alongside me.

I blanch, recalling suddenly the circumstances of our last interaction. Brief, but intense, a shameful, life-threatening encounter. I want to apologize to him, want to explain myself, but I don’t know how. Fortunately, Gil doesn’t seem too bothered, and while all this inner turmoil goes on in my head, he talks over me easily.

“Alex and I came to check on you later that morning but we were told you were in shock after falling down the stairs and had to stay in bed. I see you’re not injured too badly, though, that’s a relief.”

Though he’s right, something about his dismissal of my injury has me bristling defensively.

“Not injured too badly? Don’t you see the sling?”

Gil’s face somehow looks even meaner when he smiles, though I don’t sense any malice coming from him. “I see it. I also see the dirt under your fingernails. You’ve been using that hand quite a bit, if I’m not mistaken.”

Self-consciously, I ball my fist to hide my hand in my sling. “Don’t tell anyone,” I mutter. “If they hear I’ve recovered, they’ll put me to work again.”

“Work, eh? Funny place, the Stuart household. From what I’ve seen, your father has plenty of servants, and yet here you are, his own daughter, running errands in a sling with no shoes on your feet…”

So even outsiders think it’s strange, I note with a sense of vindication.

“I’m used to running errands,” I answer vaguely, not wanting to let anyone know of my plans for running away. “And I only have one pair of shoes. They’ll get worn out if I wear them too often. Anyway, I don’t mind going barefoot; I’m used to it.”

“But it’s dangerous. There might be broken glass on the street, or you might step in something unpleasant.”

“Like I said, I’m used to it. I’m pretty quick on my feet, so if there’s anything on the ground I’ll easily be able to avoid—”

Squish.

I look down at my foot, mortified to see I’ve stepped right in the middle of a steaming dog turd. And just as I was bragging, too!

I notice Gil shaking beside me and I look up to see him fighting to hold back his laughter. Red-faced, I look around for the culprit, and notice a bored looking man walking a big golden retriever.

“Hey!” I shout at him. “Clean up after your dog, you cretin! You think these streets are your backyard! Get back here!”

I start after him to teach him a lesson but Gil steps in front of me suddenly, showing me his big back. To my astonishment, he goes down on one knee.

“Get on.”

“What?”

“You can meet out justice next time; for now let’s get your foot cleaned off. Come on, I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

Embarrassed, but not liking the idea of walking around with poop on my foot either, I relent and get on his back. Gil rises easily and packs me across town to the well where we met the other night. He sets me down in a patch of grass where I can wipe off the poop while he hauls up a bucket of water. Ordering me to take a seat on a nearby bench, he takes out a rough hankie from his pocket, dips it in the water and uses it as a rag to clean the grime from both of my feet, patiently washing until the pink flesh underneath is finally revealed. I don’t know this man very well, but I get the feeling he’s showing me a satisfied expression as he tosses the hankie in the trash and rinses his hands off.

“That’s more like it.”

“It was very thoughtful of you,” I say, feeling a bit self-conscious. “But you didn’t have to go to all that trouble. They’ll only get dirty again.”

“No they won’t,” he says, and he kneels in front of me again. “Hop on, let’s go buy you some shoes.”

I don’t know what to say, and I don’t know how to argue with him. Feeling as though I’ve been struck mute, I can only obey, letting Gil carry me to the cobbler’s shop. He sets me down inside and goes to speak at once with the shoe maker. I look around the store, and my eyes linger on the brightly colored dancing slippers arrayed on one of the walls.

I’ve never bought shoes at a fancy place like this before. I usually get mine secondhand; the only time I come here is to pick up shoes for Yelena.

“Gil,” I signal him with a nervous whisper. “I can’t afford shoes from this place.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m buying,” he answers easily. To the cobbler he says, “What size do you think she’ll need?”

The elderly man comes to measure my feet and repeats a few numbers to Gil, directing him to a certain rack of shoes in my size. He muses over them for a minute, and I feel oddly nervous.

What kind of shoes will he pick for me? I wonder. Will they be the pretty ones with the flower embroidery? Perhaps a pink shoe, or my favorite color, green. But Gil turns and my heart sinks a little with disappointment to see him gripping a simple brown pair.

“These suit you,” he declares, and kneels before me with the shoes in his hands.

“Because I’m not pretty?”

“Because they seem the most practical, and I don’t know when you’ll try to climb down a well again,” he answers, looking up at me with his deep brown eyes. I don’t know why but for the second time today, my heart skips a little beat. “You would prefer something fancier?”

I shake my head, feeling a bit of heat creep into my face and neck. He’s right, they are practical. And they do suit me more than fancy shoes. Besides, I… I like that Gil picked them for me.

“We can get you prettier shoes if you like.”

“No,” I shake my head again. “If they’re too pretty, Yelena will steal them.”

He frowns at this, and I shiver as his thumb caresses the pad of my foot with an absent gesture. Then he recalls himself, and his scary face gets even scarier as he examines all the little cuts and scratches on the bottom of my foot. Looking tense but working without comment, he helps me slip the shoes onto my feet.  

“Try walking in them.”

I do as he instructs, and the shoes feel good. I communicate this shyly and Gil goes to pay the cobbler. A minute later, he leads me back out into the street.

“You did something so generous,” I say, suddenly finding it a little difficult to look him in the eye. “I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“By taking better care of yourself. Don’t let those bullies at the Stuart house get you down, or make you feel like less than you are, yeah?”

I have to wipe my eyes quickly, before the tears can fall. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Why?” he considers this. “Well, I wonder that myself. By the way, I’m still waiting for you to return my coat.”

His coat! I’d gotten so used to having it around, I’d almost forgotten it wasn’t mine! Should I tell him I’ve been sleeping with it? I wonder, glancing up at him sideways. Gil’s giving me a funny crooked smile, and I color when I imagine his reaction to such a confession.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, looking away again. “I’ll be sure and bring it next time.”

“Just hang onto it.”

“Pardon?”

Still wearing that grin, he pats my head with a big rough hand before starting away, lifting a hand in farewell without turning back.

“Let it be my excuse to come see you again.”