their heads derisively, ‘What you going to do about it, tiny?’
They pushed Elizabeth and she fell backwards onto her bottom. She had nothing, no muscles, or weight advantage over these men. They could beat her to a pulp if they so wished. However Elizabeth did seem less intoxicated than these idiots. Perhaps it was the mead in her system that made her feel braver than she actually was.
‘Do not do that again.’ Elizabeth said under her breath as Merrill helped her to her feet. This made the men laugh again.
‘Please Sir, do not.’ Merrill moaned. She was hiding behind Elizabeth, with her hands upon Elizabeth’s shoulders.
‘Or else.’ Elizabeth added, bravely.
This made the men frown. They did not seem to like being threatened. One of the men cracked his knuckles menacingly.
They made a start forward, but Elizabeth was too quick for them. Pulling a vial from her vest pocket, Elizabeth uncorked it and splashed the liquid into the taller man’s face. He howled with pain and doubled over, blinded. The fatter man did not seem to know what was going on, but decided that Elizabeth must have done something bad, because he punched her right on the nose. Elizabeth was on the ground again, but Merrill helped her up for a second time.
‘Run!’ Merrill squeaked, and together they shot off down the street, hand in hand, while the two men lumbered after them, slowed by their intoxication.
Once Elizabeth and Merrill had run a safe distance and lost the men, they slowed to a jog, before stopping and leaning upon a wall, some four blocks away.
‘Sir!’ Merrill said breathlessly, ‘What did you do?’
Elizabeth panted, holding a stitch in her side, ‘Capsicum extract.’
‘Why are you carrying that around with you?’ She asked, bewildered.
‘Safety?’ Elizabeth said with a shrug, ‘It came in handy, did it not?’
‘I guess.’ Merrill said as Elizabeth straightened up, her face illuminated by the streetlights, ‘Sir! Your nose!’
Elizabeth put her fingers to her lip, and felt the blood oozing from her nostril, ‘Oh,’ was all she managed to say.
‘Does it hurt?’ Merrill asked.
‘I am not sure yet.’ Elizabeth said mildly, ‘I have had quite a lot of mead.’
‘We have to get you cleaned up.’ Merrill insisted.
‘My home is near.’ Elizabeth said.
Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth and Merrill were in the kitchen, dabbing away the blood on Elizabeth’s face.
‘I do not believe you did that.’ Merrill said over and over again.
‘What was I supposed to do?’ Elizabeth said, ‘They were all over you.’
‘They would have beaten you senseless!’
Elizabeth gave a shrug and felt her nose. Luckily, it was not broken, though a rather large bruise had blossomed across her eyes.
‘You look an awful mess.’ Merrill said, shaking her head.
‘At least I look rather tough.’ Elizabeth swallowed, and tasted blood in the back of her throat.
Merrill raised her hand and dabbed at Elizabeth’s top lip with a wet cloth. Their eyes lingered for a moment, before Merrill looked away and muttered, ‘Thank you, anyway.’
‘You are welcome.’
~
Elizabeth could not explain why she felt so protective of Merrill. Perhaps she wanted to help Merrill succeed in a career, rather than succumb to a life of homemaking. Whatever the reason, Elizabeth vowed to be Merrill’s mentor, and guide her in the right path.
Merrill made every day at the apothecary a joy. She laughed unashamedly, was immensely funny, and adorably clumsy. She talked non-stop, and her social skills had improved greatly. Elizabeth found she looking forward to going to work in order to see her new friend, and began to dread the end of the workday when she would depart. Merrill had not spoken of her betrothal since their conversation a fortnight ago, and seemed relatively happy, so Elizabeth was not concerned. Truly, she had found an irreplaceable friend in Merrill, but Elizabeth was not sure that Merrill felt the same way. Of course, all Merrill saw was a male employer, and Elizabeth had come to accept this.
Growing up, Elizabeth had never had many friends, and to this day she did not know of one person, besides her mother, that might visit her home upon whim. Elizabeth was not the type to become lonely, and she often did not crave the company of others, though this had changed over the last few weeks.
A surge of jealousy seemed to take over Elizabeth whenever she thought about someone trying to take Merrill from her, whether it be a future husband, or a parent. She pushed these irrational thoughts aside every time they flooded her brain, and focused on something