No shoes in the house, April always said. He couldn’t complain. She wasn’t bossy, or one to give orders. He smiled at the idea and laughed, quietl.... No. Not his little pet. He threw his coat over the hook by the door and walked down the hallway, towards the kitchen. He heard the sound of clinking pots and faint singing. A smile spread across his face. April would never be singing if she’d heard him enter. John padded down the wood-floored hallway in just his socks, glad for them to be muffling. ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I’ve heard the cries of agony, seen the red bleeding lines of pain across the backs. I’ve seen those lines heal, the terrible scars they leave. How will I make my coin when I’m covered with scars?’ ‘You don’t have to whore. Find other work.’ She laughed at that. ‘I was a maid once. Cleaned houses for rich noblemen, you know why I don’t do that anymore? His lordship liked my—beauty, too much. He took my maidenhead from me over a hard, wooden table in the study. Then went back. More

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