The Pudding Lane Witch, page 7
He woke Gweneviere by pushing her shoulder until she faked her awakening, to remind her that, as a part of their union, she was to fire up the bakery ovens each day, even if it was around five in the morning. Gweneviere walked over to the vanity table on her side of the room and sat naked in front of the mirror. It was only now, for the first time in early daylight, that she could see the aftermath of Thomas’ doing. Her chest and stomach were covered in patches of red and purple. Some were bruises and others sores from being so violently rubbed into the bed. She exhaled deeply before trying to compose herself and getting on with the day at hand. She supposed that if this were to be her life, she had better deal with it, as sad as it may be. There was a bowl of clean water to her left and a cloth on the right. She held her hand above the bowl of water and warmed it through to make it less harsh on her tender skin. Dipping the cloth into the warm water, she, as gently as she could, cleansed herself, but even being as careful as she was, she still caught her face twitching in pain in the mirror. As much as her eyes wanted to carry on crying, there were no tears left, and besides, she wouldn’t allow herself to waste any more on him. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of making her cry. Today would be the first day of her plan to absorb as much as she could from this fraudulent marriage and get out. She just needed to survive long enough to set up a life for herself, alone, or at the very least with a man who wasn’t such a soul sucking pig.
Once Gweneviere had dressed herself, she made her way down to the bakery and, as she passed the living room, she could see Thomas sat in his chair, shovelling porridge into his mouth, most of which was just being stickily gathered by his beard. She was surprised to see that he had managed to do something for himself, as she half expected to be asked to make it for him. Nevertheless, she carried on down to the bakery, and luckily, after the banquet last night, she was still full and didn’t need any breakfast before getting to work firing up the ovens.
She opened the door that led to the back room of the bakery. It was in total darkness, blocked off from the shop front’s vast window and the morning sunshine that poured through it. Instead, Gweneviere lit a few lanterns, that she could just about make out, on the walls. Sensing the oil within them, she sparked them to life, causing the scene around her to become a much warmer one. Now that she could see what she was doing, she headed over to the furnace that looked as if it was large enough to house almost a hundred loaves of bread at a time. Gweneviere conjured up a fireball within her hands and slung it into the back of the furnace where it roared to life. She still needed to speak an incantation, as although she could create flames from nothing, she hadn’t ever needed one to last longer than an hour without fuel. She created a spell to ensure the fire wouldn’t snuff out.
“I forge this fire from the eternal flame. Let it continue to blaze until I say thy name. Gweneviere Baxter.”
With that, the fire would remain burning brightly for Thomas’ use until she returned, at the end of his working day, to put it out by merely whispering her name, her true name.
Gweneviere returned to the living room and informed ‘his royal highness’ that the bakery was ready for him to begin work.
“Ah yes, well done, Gweneviere. I knew you’d be a useful little witch. Here,” Thomas said, handing her an extremely long, comprehensive list of chores that he expected to be done daily, with an added section at the bottom of those he would allow to be done weekly.
“Oh, thanks.” Gweneviere only just managed to avoid rolling her eyes.
“Great, I expect I’ll see you later, when you bring me my lunch at noonish.”
“Lunch?”
“Yes, Gweneviere, it is a meal that well-off people have during the middle off the day. Did they not feed you lunch at the school?” he said condescendingly.
“Ah, yes, lunch. Of course they did, what would you like for lunch?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“I don’t rather know what I fancy,” he said, scratching his privates and clearing his throat. “There’s some food in the pantry, so surprise me.”
He smacked her arse in farewell and headed over to bakery, grabbing his apron on his way, before Gweneviere could further dispute his words.
“I guess I better get on with this list, then,” Gweneviere voiced aloud, to the otherwise empty living room.
It was a very meticulous piece of paper instructing exactly what Gweneviere was to do, and in the ways that Thomas liked them to be done. It was seemingly designed to leave Gweneviere without a spare second in the day; even after enacting various spells and enchantments the school taught her to make life easier, she would still have no time to rest. Despite time being against her, Gweneviere went about her day the best she could and tried to get all her morning chores done before she had to make lunch for Thomas.
It was just past noon and Gweneviere headed down to present her ‘master’ with his lunch. He was seemingly underwhelmed and unimpressed by what she had presented.
“What on earth is this?” Thomas questioned, looking down on the plate of toasted bread with melted cheese atop.
“It’s very tasty, I promise,” Gweneviere attempted to convince him.
“Where’s the meat?”
“Well, there wasn’t any meat in the house.”
“Then you go to the market and get some, for Christ’s sake!” he raged. “You’re also late. I’m starving here and now all I’ve got is this cheesy bread to last me my working day. Here, take this, and get some meat for dinner,” he demanded, stuffing some money into her hands.
“Okay, I will try to do better tonight,” she apologised, not wanting to piss him off anymore. At least going to the market for supper ingredients was already an item on the afternoon agenda, so it wasn’t actually adding to her workload.
After scouring the markets for the makings of a delicious dinner, Gweneviere noticed that, to her surprise, Thomas had provided her with a hefty budget. She even had a little left over, and so when she walked past a stall selling fudge, she couldn’t help herself; she purchased what she could with her remaining pennies and scoffed it on the way home, out of sight of the wicked man. After all, she had to make the most out of the small things in her day.
Once home, Gweneviere began preparing dinner in the hopes that she could produce something that Thomas would deem, at the very least, edible. It was frustrating seeing his arrogance during lunch as she had actually tried to pay attention in her cooking classes, after remembering her father’s joke about her food not being nearly as good as her mothers.
Thomas returned from work and went straight over to the dining table to await his dinner. Gweneviere, trying to be a tentative wife – or at least appear that way – poured him a glass of wine. For which, she barely received as much as a thank you. She added the finishing touches to dinner and served it at the six-seater dining table, which was a ridiculous size considering that there were never more than two of them, it would seem. Gweneviere sat herself at the opposite end of the dining table to put as much distance between them as possible. She sat and watched with anticipation as Thomas eyed up his plate, inspecting the food before he tried it.
“Is it okay?” Gweneviere asked, as he sat in silence.
“My God, Gweneviere, that’s a much better job than lunch. I especially like the meat,” he complimented, guzzling down another mouthful.
Gweneviere was just happy that he wouldn’t be in a foul mood for the rest of the evening. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Yes, it really is delicious. Tell me, did I give you enough money for everything at the market?” Thomas asked, as his open mouth churned the food in front of Gweneviere.
“Er…”
Gweneviere’s brain had an epiphany almost instantaneously after Thomas finished talking. The left-over money that she’d used to buy the fudge could be saved up for herself, and he would never know because he doesn’t go out on the market to buy food. Even better, as now was her time to milk the opportunity for all it was worth by fabricating ever so slightly.
“Actually, it was a bit tight. A couple extra pennies ought to secure us the best food the market has to offer,” she told him, hoping to expand her savings with immediate effect.
“Hmm,” he pondered aloud, making Gweneviere nervous that he didn’t believe her. “Very well, I can stretch to a couple more pennies, but that’s it.”
“Thank you. Anyway, how has your day been?” Gweneviere asked, swiftly changing the subject before he could rethink his kind decision. Though, she didn’t listen to much of his answer, as now all she could think about was where she was going to hide the money from him.
“Oh, you know how it is when you get to a certain age – it’s just the same shit every day. You get up, you go to work, and you come home to a nice meal prepared by your beautiful wife.”
All Gweneviere heard was, ‘Yada, yada, yada, beautiful wife.’ She choked on her wine as the compliment took her out of her thoughts, smiling coyly to flatter him as she pretended she knew what else he had said.
“Cheers to you, Gweneviere,” he said, holding up his wine glass before devouring the rest of his food like a ravenous dog.
Gweneviere held her glass up too, tilted slightly towards him, with another false smile. She internally revelled in the fact that she had already made a start in escaping from under his thumb.
After dinner, Thomas returned to his chair in front of the fire and put his feet up on a stool as he enjoyed another glass of wine with a book, all while Gweneviere was washing dishes, using up the rest of the day’s clean water. Thomas was wealthy enough to afford to pay the local cob to fetch them a few gallons of fresh water each day, but not quite wealthy enough to be hooked up with the latest home advancements – a running water supply – like the truly rich did.
“Gwen,” he called out from his chair.
“Yes?”
“When you’re done with those dishes, my feet could do with a good massage, I’ve been on them all day and they hurt like hell.”
“Okay,” she called back, begrudgingly. “Like I’ve not been on my feet all day running around doing errands like an idiot,” she muttered to herself while aggressively drying the last dish.
She walked over to his crusty feet, but kept in the back of her mind her new plan to get out of that house. She knelt between Thomas’ feet and the fire, the heat of which only amplifying the stench. To put it bluntly, his feet were vile; they could have easily been mistaken for the hooves of the devil himself. His toenails were curled and ingrown, with a heavy dose of fungus. He had bunions the size of golf balls and the soles of his feet were like rock; she thought about whether or not to get the cheese grater out but swiftly changed her mind when she remembered it would be her who would have to sweep up the chunks of crusty foot. He wiggled his toes at Gweneviere as if it was supposed to entice her. Instead, the sound of scraping wracked around her brain from his crunchy toes grinding against each other as he wriggled them. There was nothing enticing about the man in general, let alone his gruesome, stilton-like feet. Gweneviere rubbed some oil into his feet in the hopes that they might soften a little to make them more pliable.
“Come on, Gwen, put your back into it. These are working feet,” he moaned, clicking at her face while taking another glug of the deep red alcohol that swirled his glass.
“I’m trying.”
“Well, you’re going to have to try harder, then, aren’t you?”
Gweneviere decided to remain silent, saving her strength to try and pierce through to the part of his foot where he may still have living nerves.
“Oh, before I forget, at the weeks-end we’re going to a party hosted by a friend of mine. So I’m going to give you some extra money this week to find a dress. I want you to look as good as magically possible, understood?” He grinned, winking at her. “There’s no point in having a trophy wife if she’s dressed like a common peasant.”
“Oh, a party? That might actually be fun.”
“Well, of course it’ll be fun, it’s a party. Oh, and don’t worry, my friend’s wife will be there, so you two can talk about how we are in bed, or whatever it is you women folk gas about. Now, get back to rubbing,” he added with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, goody.” Gweneviere faked an appreciative smile. Of course that’s what Thomas thought women talked about. If it was up to Gweneviere, she’d quite happily never speak of what Thomas had already done to her ever again. She felt physically sick every time it crossed her mind, if she was honest.
Gweneviere continued to rub his feet as she tried to concentrate on the benefits of going to the party. She could imagine meeting rich and powerful men and women there; it could be a great chance for her to make some powerful friends who might help her get a leg up in the world. She wondered if she might be able to remember her socialising classes on proper party etiquette; she’d have to rehearse with herself during the week.
As she daydreamed about the kinds of people she may get to meet, the sound of Thomas’ snoring brought her out of her trance. He was out like a light and, thankfully for Gweneviere, this meant she had time to find a hiding spot for her new income. It also meant that she wouldn’t be defiled that night, which was something to celebrate in of itself.
When Gweneviere and Thomas arrived at the party, it soon became apparent that Thomas’ friend was much wealthier than himself. Their carriage pulled up to a humongous brick manor with iron gates where guards were stationed, asking for invitations. Gweneviere had never felt so fancy in all her life. She had spent her gown money on a rather classical dress compared to the one she concocted herself for graduation. It seemed she was trying to fit in. She definitely didn’t want to stick out in this crowd for the wrong reasons. She wanted to stand out for her amazing conversing skills or be applauded for her harrowing jokes, but only time would tell how she would be remembered, if at all.
They entered the party with Thomas’ hand firmly around Gweneviere’s waist. It was clear he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight for the entirety of the night.
“Thomas, how are you?” they heard from behind them.
They turned around to see a rather fetching gentlemen who was likely no more than ten years younger than Thomas, but he most definitely looked a damn sight better. He was tall, dark, and handsome – there was no attraction, however, as he soon reminded Gweneviere of her father. Though he wasn’t as well built and filled out like her father, she couldn’t help but notice how all the middle-aged women glared at him.
“Gerald! I’m brilliant. How are you?” Thomas replied, sticking out his hand to be shaken.
“No doubt better than you, you old sod,” Gerald teased, accepting the shake before nudging his arm in jest. “And who do we have here? Thomas, you never told me you had a daughter.”
“Piss off, you cheeky git, this is my wife, Gweneviere. Don’t be rude because you’re jealous, Gerald.” Thomas gave his friend a smug grin.
“Ah, Thomas. What did you do to get this one, then? Hit her over the head and drag her to the bakery? And though my dear Gweneviere here is a beauty, I’m very much happy with my mature lady, Agatha. Agatha, honey, come over here,” he called, waving over his wife from across the entrance hall that was bigger than Thomas’ whole apartment.
Agatha was a rather pretty woman with long, thick, blonde locks of hair that cascaded onto her shoulders. They met her stunning black ballroom dress that had the most intricate lacing against the bone corsetry before it ballooned out at the hip, hitting the floor and making it look like she was practically floating as she walked. Agatha was in her late thirties, though no one knew her true age, not even Gerald. It was extremely obvious that in her hay day Agatha would’ve been the belle of the ball, but it was clear, in the way she eyed Gweneviere up when no one was looking, that the lack of wrinkles and crow’s feet adorning her face were beginning to make Agatha jealous of Gweneviere’s flawless, youthful skin.
“You remember Thomas, don’t you?” Gerald asked, looping his arm around his wife’s waist in a much gentler, more caring way than Thomas ever did.
“Of course, I remember, I wasn’t born yesterday, silly.” She giggled, patting her husband’s chest playfully.
“How did the two of you meet?” Gweneviere asked, having remained silent thus far.
“Oh, who’s this sweet young thing?” Agatha asked.
“I’m Gweneviere,” she answered for herself, sick of everyone talking about her as if she weren’t stood right in front of them.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Gweneviere, and if I do recall correctly, this old man took my husband under his wing when he was just a boy,” she began to explain.
“Yes, he was like a much, much older brother to me. He showed me how a real man takes what he wants from life, and I guess the student became the master. I’m more than ten times richer than him now.” Gerald chuckled, thinking Thomas could take the joke.
Thomas could not take the joke, and Gweneviere could see in his face that he wasn’t as happy to receive the condescension as he was to dish it out to Gweneviere.
“Though, I still owe it all to him in the end, that’s why I invite him to my fancy parties, as a thank you,” Gerald added, trying to stop Thomas from throwing a tantrum as he too began to see the embarrassment of his rosy cheeks.
“Anyway, Gwen. Can I call you Gwen?” Agatha asked, as she stood opposite Gweneviere.
“Yes, Gwen is fine,” she nodded, having realised almost everyone was going to refer to her as ‘Gwen’ from now on.
“Great, well, Gwen, we shall have to make arrangements for you to come over one afternoon for some tea and we can get to know each other better,” Agatha proposed.
