Beginnings & Endings |h.s.|

four

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A single silver penny clanked as it dropped to the tiled floor below and rolled out of sight. Margaret lent down on her knees and stretched her arm underneath her single-sized bed, moving the small tattered blanket out of the way with a swift brush of her fingers. She moved her hand around in a sweeping motion, searching for the silver penny that had now rolled away from her reach.

Margaret felt frustration oozing through her body. It had been four days since the start of her job selling breadsticks at Covent Garden Market and each day had shown Margaret significant difficulties. Each time she struggled, got ignored or denied a chance at selling her baked goods, her mind flashed back to a time when her parents expressed their utmost support for Margaret. Her parents had risked so much to allow Margaret the opportunity to escape the terrors rising in France and to land in a safe haven, and she felt as though she was letting them down. Great Britain was not the land of milk and honey that the rest of the world had seemed to advertise.

Just this morning, Johnny had come into the building's lobby, calling his tenants downstairs for a meeting, wherein he had requested that payment for the week's rent be handed over by the end of the day. All in all, the four days of work had provided Margaret with a total of one shilling, which was exactly twelve pence. After handing over her settlement to her landlord, Margaret had six pence remaining - barely enough to buy herself a loaf of bread and some milk to last the week, never mind the possibility of buying herself a new dress for work.

Margaret was concerned for herself, but at the same time, her determination shone through. She wanted so badly to succeed here in Great Britain, she wanted to make her parents proud. And so with that thought in mind, Margaret gathered up the coins she had remaining, shoved them into her dress pocket and headed out the door of her room.

If there was one thing Margaret was good at, it was baking, which included finding ways to spruce up the simplest of baked goods with her creativity. Margaret made her way through the town's busy streets until she came across what she had been looking for - a field that looked as though the last time it was gardened or sustained was in 1890.

That morning before paying Jonny her settlement, Margaret had asked Jonny for a moment of his time alone, wherein she had pleaded the chance to bake and sell other goods, besides for only breadsticks. However, Jonny's response had been a unclouded no, with the explanation that other venders who worked for him were already selling loaves of bread, rolls and other assortments of baked items. What a Jonny lacked was exactly what he expected Margaret to provide for his market - breadsticks.

Margaret aimed to search the unruly grassland for as many delicate flowers as she could find that were still attached to healthy stems, and within an hour of walking the field, she had collected a basket full of ghost-white gyps and paint-colored daisies. Much to her delight, she had also found a spot wherein rosemary plants were growing and she decided that it would only be to her advantage to steal a few stalks to enhance the flavors of her breadsticks.

Margaret soon noticed that her change in ingredients and presentation was making the world of difference. With customers' eyes catching the bundles of breadsticks being beautiful wrapped in stems of white gyps and yellow daisies and catching a whiff of the scent of rosemary lingering in the air surrounding her stall, Margaret had managed to double her sales. She was bringing in two full shillings for the week, which at first, she was adamant would be enough to support her. However, what Margaret was unaware of at the start of the week was that with increased sales came the increased need for ingredients, which would cost Margaret all the savings she required to sustain herself.

Over the course of the previous week, as Margaret continued selling her newly spruced up breadsticks, the young man with kind eyes who adorned the soot-covered blazer stood leaning against the wall he had adopted as his new spot. For hours on end, the young man watched as Margaret's eyes lit up with each purchase she was able to make and he also watched the worry coursing through her features each time she desperately tried selling her breadsticks to no avail. Every day that week, he had debated with himself in walking over to spark up a conversation with the accented young lady, but each time, he had allowed the scales of his mind to tip against his favor, as fear overruled his curiosity. The young man was afraid to come across as a stalker, seeing as though the amount of towns folk meant that Margaret never sold to the same customer twice. With his attendance at her stall, he was concerned for coming across as obsessive.

Nevertheless, the young man had assured himself that today would be the day he would not give into the fear. Today would be the day he would walk right up to the lady with the golden brown locks, support her business and if he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him, perhaps he would also ask about her accent. The thought of the curious young lady finding out who he truly was lay dormant in the back of his mind and bothered him not one ounce.

With that assurance in mind, and the ball of bubbling fear being pushed right down into the pit of his stomach, the young man strutted over to Margaret's stall.

"Two pence a -" Margaret began, her eyes on her bundle of breadsticks as she shifted them over in her small palm to ensure the bright yellow daisies were in view for the new customer. However, as Margaret's eyes trailed up from the breadsticks in her palm to the soot-covered blazer worn by the man stood in front of her, Margaret's breath hitched in her throat. "Oh, hello. It's lovely to see you again," Margaret continued. With a gentle smile on her face, she reached her arm out in between the two of them, allowing her hand to gently sweep itself across the young man's shoulder.

The young man stood dead still, with not even the sound of his disgruntled gasp being heard as it was muffled by the stiffness he held in all his muscles. Not only had the petite young lady remembered him, but she had remembered the tiniest of details about their previous interaction, despite it being a full week before. The lady with the golden locks that shone in the sunlight had remembered his soot-covered blazer and almost instinctually reached out to rectify the mess that laid upon the shoulder pad. This thought left the young man's head spinning.

Margaret retreated her hand, confusion and a hint of fear clear in her features. Perhaps the young man before her had no recollection of their previous encounter, which embarrassed Margaret immensely and she dipped her head down, allowing her fingers to fiddle with the stems holding together the bundle of breadsticks in her palm. Yet, she raised her head once again when she caught the words, "Good day to you, Ma'am. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance once again. "

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