Chapter 2: Desperation in the Streets

Dawn found me stumbling through the cobbled backstreets of the city, clutching my meager trunk to my chest. The golden sky of morning felt cruel against the chill in my bones. Just yesterday I'd ridden these streets in a gilded carriage; now I crept along like a thief, shrouded in the remnants of my ruined ball gown. I had no destination in mind—only the desperate urge to flee far from the echo of society's scorn.

My father's mansion was perched on a hill outside of town; I had wandered for miles on foot through the night. By the time I reached the city proper, my slippers were in tatters and my feet blistered and bleeding. Each step sent a jolt of pain up my legs, but I pressed on, too numb from shock to care. Passersby on the early morning streets stared openly at the disheveled woman I had become. I caught sight of my reflection in a shop window: hair once impeccably coiffed now tumbling in wild disarray, eyes red and hollow from crying. I hardly recognized the wretched creature gazing back.

Hunger gnawed at me fiercely. I hadn't eaten since the banquet at the ball, and the rich pastries and champagne felt a lifetime away. As the morning wore on, I swallowed my pride and approached a familiar bakery on High Street, one I used to frequent when accompanied by servants. The sweet scent of fresh bread made my stomach cramp with longing. Summoning courage, I stepped inside, hoping perhaps the kindly baker's wife would not recognize me in my dishabille.

But recognition flared in her eyes almost instantly, followed by something like pity and distaste. "Mademoiselle Renelle?" she asked in a hushed tone, glancing to the only other patron present. I opened my mouth, trying to find words—an explanation, a plea. Heat flooded my face; what could I possibly say? That I had fallen from grace overnight and now begged for scraps?

"I... I have no money with me," I stammered finally, voice barely above a whisper. My throat burned with humiliation. "If you might spare just a loaf, I promise I shall repay—"

She cut me off sharply, fear creeping into her expression. "I'm sorry, I can't help you. Please leave." Her gaze darted away, and I realized why: the other patron, a well-dressed matron, was watching our exchange curiously. The baker's wife dared not show charity to a disgraced woman, lest gossip stain her business too.

A flush of shame scalded my cheeks. With a strangled apology, I fled the shop empty-handed. Outside, despair nearly brought me to my knees. They would rather let me starve than risk association with me. My scandal had spread its poisonous tendrils quickly; by midday, all of society would know of my downfall.

The sun climbed higher and the spring air grew unseasonably warm. Exhausted, I found myself in a narrow alley off the main boulevards, sinking down atop my trunk. The alley reeked of refuse, but at least it offered some privacy from prying eyes. As I unlaced my ruined satin slippers to rub my sore feet, tears of frustration blurred my vision.

"How has it come to this?" I whispered to no one, burying my face in my hands. Just two days ago I was choosing flowers for my wedding and daydreaming of... of Julien. At his memory, a fresh wave of agony rolled through me. I wondered if he still lived, if my father had truly thrown him in prison. The thought of him behind bars because of our folly twisted my insides with guilt. I had no way to find out or help him—not as penniless and powerless as I was now.

My stomach growled loudly, a painful reminder of my most immediate need. Wiping my eyes, I forced myself up. Crying solves nothing, I scolded silently, recalling my governess's motto from childhood. I had to find food and shelter before nightfall. Pride be damned—if begging was my only option, so be it.

I left my trunk hidden behind some crates in the alley and ventured back into the streets, this time avoiding those who might know me. Near the market square, I came upon a cluster of paupers and beggars gathered by the roadside, their palms outstretched as a wealthy-looking carriage rolled past. The sight sent a jolt through me: I was closer now to their lot than to the finery inside that carriage.

Swallowing a lump of bitterness, I approached a portly gentleman who had stopped by a fruit cart. He wore the frock coat of a prosperous trader. Perhaps kindness lived in some hearts. "Monsieur, please," I said softly, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Might you spare a coin? I... I have fallen on hard times."

He looked me over, from my tangled hair to the mud staining the hem of my once-lovely gown. A slow smile spread on his lips—more leer than compassion. "Well now," he drawled, "hard times, is it? A pretty thing like you must have some way to earn her supper."

His meaning was unmistakable as his gaze lingered on the swell of my breasts visible through my torn bodice. A flash of indignation warred with desperation inside me. I backed away, mumbling an apology, face burning. He laughed under his breath as I fled, tossing a copper coin at my feet as though to taunt me. I left it lying in the dust.

Humiliation chased me with every step. I wandered aimlessly, mind clouded with fear. By nightfall I will have nothing—no food, nowhere to sleep, I thought frantically. The idea of returning to my father, begging his forgiveness, flitted through my mind, but I knew it was useless. He had made his feelings brutally clear. And Lord Beaumont—no, I could not even consider seeking help there. He despises me now, likely telling anyone who will listen that I was a Jezebel who deserved every misfortune.

Afternoon shadows lengthened. Weak with hunger, I eventually slumped onto the stoop of a closed tailor's shop, trying to conserve my waning strength. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw the condemning stares from the ball, heard the sneers. For so long I had lived for the approval of those people. Now I was nothing to them—worse than nothing, a cautionary tale.

As dusk fell, the alleyways grew dangerous. I stirred myself and retrieved my trunk, knowing I needed to find a safer place to spend the night than the open street. Memories of comfortable feather beds nearly brought me to tears again. Focus, Vivienne, I chided. You survived this day; you will survive the night.

I headed toward the river, where I recalled a dilapidated inn that housed travelers of ill repute—sailors, drifters, perhaps a fallen woman like myself. It would not be respectable, but respectability was a lost cause now. I had only hope that the innkeeper would accept the last item of value I possessed: my mother's ruby brooch, hastily pocketed from my trunk.

Night had fully fallen by the time I reached The Wretched Hen (a cruelly fitting name for such a place). The wooden sign hung askew, and yellow lamplight flickered in a few windows. Summoning courage, I entered the smoky common room, keeping my eyes down to avoid the curious stares of rough-looking patrons hunched over drinks.

The innkeeper, a balding man with a scarred lip, eyed me dubiously as I offered the ruby brooch in exchange for a small room and a little food. He bit the gem to test it, then shrugged. "Two nights, and a bowl of stew. That's all," he grunted.

Relief flooded me as I nodded in agreement. It was exorbitant, I knew—the brooch was worth weeks of lodging at least, but I lacked any power to bargain. At least I would not sleep in the gutter tonight.

Later, alone in the cramped attic room that smelled of mildew, I forced down the bowl of thin, greasy stew brought up by a serving girl. It turned my stomach, but it eased the hunger pangs. In the feeble candlelight, I assessed my situation. Two nights paid for, nothing else of value to my name. After tomorrow, I would be back on the streets unless I found money.

As I lay on the lumpy straw mattress, loneliness and dread pressed on me. My old life truly was gone. I thought of Julien again, tears slipping silently down my temples into my hair. I had no idea how to save him—or if he even wanted me anymore, after I'd brought ruin upon us. Eventually, exhaustion dragged me into a fitful sleep.

That night, I dreamed of the masquerade and those final blissful moments in Julien's arms, but in the dream I heard mocking whispers all around us. I woke before dawn with a strangled sob, determined that I would not let those whispers be my end. If the world had cast me out, I would find a way to survive without it. Little did I know how far that determination would carry me—or what it would cost.