Jeyne ushered Grantaire into a deserted bedchamber, velvet cushions covering the low divan. There was a heavy scent of sweetsleep in the air, hanging like a golden haze in the room. Grantaire suspected that he would be utterly intoxicated by any more than an hour or two in the room. Drink tended to be his poison of choice, although he had partaken of the occasional toke of Dornish sweetleaf once in a while. The evidence seemed to suggest that Jeyne was a far heavier user. He wondered briefly whether she needed it's sweet oblivion as much as he needed the drink.
She closed the door behind them waiting until he had made himself comfortable on the bed. "What would be your pleasure, ser? Do you want more wine? Some food?"
He noticed she was still pale and trembling, ill at ease at the thought of being with him. She was a pretty girl, but her obvious fear of him and any other man kind of negated any arousal he might have been expected to have as a man about to dally with a woman.
That's the trouble, isn't it?, he told himself. She's not really a woman of the world, is she? She's a poor frightened girl, terrified by the demands of this place and her superiors.
He was starting to suspect she had been forced to work here, by whom he was not sure. Does that mean that Sansa was forced to work here and she escaped?
Jeyne handed him his goblet, her hands shaking so much that he thought she was going to spill it all over him.
Poor girl! I don't know if I can blame Sansa for fleeing from a place like this. But that doesn't explain what she is doing with our group and more importantly what she truly wants with Enjolras? He tried to steel his heart despite his conscience, which had picked a fine moment to awaken and trouble him. I'm doing this for the group, for Enjolras, he told himself.
She reached up to the neck of her silken gown and undid the jewelled fastening, the material slithering down her body and pooling in a mass of silk. "Do- Do I please you, ser?" she stammered, biting her lip and raising anguished eyes towards his.
He took pity at the misery in her voice. He really couldn't do this. It was just completely wrong.
He felt like a monster for even entering the room with her, seeing her bared and trembling in submission. She knelt prostrate at his feet, waiting for his signal. He saw the livid pink strips and scars on her back and winced, appalled despite his habitual cynicism by the sight. What in the name of seven hells have they done to this poor maid?
"You don't have to do that, Jeynie. Please-" he said, gently raising her so she could meet his gaze. "Be easy, lass, I don't want anything from you."
She glanced at the door over her shoulder with a terrified look. "You don't understand, my lord, I must. "
Must? He definitely didn't like the sound of that!
"What do you mean, 'you must?'"
Jeyne flinched at the sudden sharpness in his voice. Grantaire found he had to soothe her again, before she would trust him once more. Jeyne was terribly skittish and so easily frightened. He must try not to forget that.
I must remember to be kind to her. She has to trust me, or this isn't going to work at all. "If Ros and the others check up on us, if I don't please you in every way possible..."
"Would they hurt you?" he asked bluntly.
She looked at him with scared dark eyes, but she eventually nodded, with just the slightest most subtle movement of her head. As if she was petrified of being caught passing any information to him about what her life was really like here.
He noticed the slight glance towards the corner of the room. Following her gaze discreetly, he noticed at the very edge of his sight a small grille which was set high up in the wall. It was cunning enough that it would not be noticeable at first glance, unless you were actively searching for it, but once Grantaire actually started to look for it, his keen eyes wondered how he could have ever missed it. Is that a viewing hole?
So we're being watched as we speak? The situation becomes more and more murky by the moment.
Grantaire pushed aside his pity and his anger at her treatment. Right now, to help Jeyne he was going to have to be as compassionate and kind as Courfeyrac or Jehan would be, and as practical as Combeferre. For a moment he wished that his friend was here. He would know what to do in this situation.
"I won't give them any chance to complain about how you served me." It made his heart twinge inside his chest to see the spark of hope in her eyes at his words. Oh Jeyne, you deserve better than this!
Upstairs at the Musain
Musichetta and Eponine had dragged the big heavy metal tub to the room and filled it up with hot water. It was communal bath-day, and though Sansa would have preferred to avoid it, it would have brought up more questions than she could have explained away if she had skipped another one. Besides, she desperately wanted to be clean and fresh again. If she ever got away from here, and by some miracle returned to her family once more, she would never take such creature comforts for granted ever again.
Her employment with Musichetta at the tavern depended on keeping on her good side. If she started getting suspicious about her new employee, Sansa would be in big trouble, and she was no nearer persuading the group to aid her getting north through the Riverlands to Riverrun.
As pleasant as it has been to be among friends, I have to move on. I have risked too much staying here, she told herself; even though the thought of leaving one man in particular made her traitorous heart ache.
You must not think of him, he is not for you. Enjolras would despise you if he knew the truth. It's better this way! What can you do, but hold him back from his work, and estrange him from his comrades?
She knew the painter Grantaire suspected her lies - he had from the beginning- and now Courfeyrac had unwillingly told her that they believed she had escaped from a pillow-house. That she was a runaway loose woman!
"What on earth are these?" Eponine exclaimed, staring with undisguised horror at her back. "Gods, these must have hurt some, Sansa. What made these?"
Musichetta came to look, frowning as she did so. "That can't be a lash or a strap; the mark's too wide, surely. It's bruised and cut." She shook her head. "You poor lass, what have you gone through? No wonder you were grateful for the work, weren't ye?"
Sansa froze as she realised what her friend was looking at. How could she have been such a little fool! To forget her scars as she hadn't a care in the world! She was getting far too complacent, lulled into ease by the companionship these new friends had shown her.Sansa scrabbled away, trying desperately to hide the fading marks on her back, but she knew it was far too late.
"Please, please, you mustn't look! You can't see, ever!" She was shaking her head frantically, her voice rising in a panic. Her wet hair hung round in a curtain round her and Sansa was grateful for it's scant camouflage. Her eyes were wide in fear as she pressed against the edge of the tub, her knuckles pale with her grip.
Eponine looked appalled at the result of her query. "Sansa, dear friend, I didn't mean to upset you-"
She could feel the tears starting to come and despised herself for her weakness. She couldn't stop them welling up and nearly choking her.
"Seven Hells, she's in hysterics, what's the matter?" Musichetta said to Eponine, appalled by the state Sansa was in.
"Sansa, dear friend, what is this? Who did this to you?" Eponine's voice was gentle as she comforted the other girl.
"I can't tell you! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't tell-" Sansa was still in a state, trembling like she'd had a terrible shock. Her sobs were dying down to horrible rasping sounds, like a wounded animal gone to ground. "I have to leave, oh gods-"
"Now? Why do you have to leave?"
"I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have stared at you. Didn't realise you would get so upset. I shouldn't have mentioned anything."
"She's trembling. Gods, she's shaking like a leaf in autumn." Musichetta was muttering, searching in her bathroom chest for some salve. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but this has gone too far."
"Sansa, come let's dry off and then we'll talk. Just us girls...you can trust us." Eponine said coaxing her to a place besides the fire, eager to make amends for upsetting the other girl. "Please, I didn't mean to hurt you."
It was sweet of her, but Sansa had to steel her heart and be wary. "I'm sorry, Eponine, but I can't. I can't trust anyone."
It was a horrible wrench to have to say it, especially to the two of them who had been so good to her, but she had to stick to the rules, the rules which had kept her going throughout this ordeal. Bad things happened when she didn't stick to the rules, Hadn't she just been shown that? Her cover was near enough blown and she'd foolishly fallen for a man she could never hope to have in a thousand years. How had she ever forgotten that she was Joffrey's and he would never let her go, not while he had breath left in his body.