The Courtesan. Julia Justiss
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gentleman on the steps waved a languid hand. “Just settle our, ah, ladies into the coach while I conclude the negotiations with their charming employer.”
“It’ll be fifty pounds and not a tuppence less,” the older woman was saying. “Not with ye taking off the best of me girls at the very start of the evening.”
“A vast sum, ma’am,” the gentleman said, extracting coins from his purse. “But how can I quibble when the company is so lovely? Now, my sweet, don’t be bashful.”
With that, he pulled from the shadows a slender lass who seemed, to Belle’s eye, to be scarcely in her teens. Shrinking from the light, the girl raised a hand, trying to cover the bare skin revealed by her skimpy bodice.
“Please don’t, sir,” she protested when the man, laughing, brushed her hand away and bent to kiss one nipple, clearly visible beneath the gown’s thin material.
Instantly Belle was transported to another time and place, when another young girl had vainly tried to hang on to the last shreds of her modesty.
A wave of heat swept through her, intensifying the lingering nausea in her gut, and for a moment, she feared she might faint. An inexorable need for cool air to clear her head of the memories and her stomach of the queasiness set her feet in motion. Several moments later, she stood at the top of the stairs beside the madam without any recollection of having traveled there.
But she was utterly sure of her purpose. “I, too, require a lady this evening,” she told the woman. “This one—” she pointed to the cowering girl “—will be perfect. Whatever the gentleman is offering, I’ll double it.”
For a moment, the man on the steps sputtered a protest. Then his eyes widened and his indignation faded to a smile. “Lady Belle, a pleasure! We should be delighted to invite you to join our humble gathering.”
“Regretfully, that is not possible, sir. Watson,” she called to the bodyguard who’d trotted up in her wake, “escort the girl to my coach.”
“Right ye be, Lady Belle.”
The gentleman on the steps opened his lips as if to object, but after glancing at Watson’s impressive bulk, he must have realized that, alone, he could not hope to prevail. His smile more forced now, he bowed. “I must cede to your wishes, Lady Belle. But I consider that you owe me a favor—which I hope to redeem later.” He ran a hot, speculative glance over her cloaked figure.
Dismissing him with a noncommittal nod, Belle turned back to the madam. “My man will return to pay you. Good evening, ma’am,” she said and paced back to her coach.
She found the girl huddled at the far corner, arms wrapped around her torso as if trying to take up as little space as possible. The flickering carriage lamp revealed her small, pinched face and large, fearful eyes.
“What…what be ye wanting with me, ma’am?” she asked.
What reprobate would trifle with this child? Belle wondered. But the girl’s wary pose and the arms braced defensively over her body told Belle more eloquently than words how life had treated the lass, despite the her fragile air and apparent youth.
“What is your name, child?”
“J-Jane Parsons, ma’am,” the girl replied.
“Don’t be afraid. I require no, ah, personal, services from you, nor am I taking you to a gathering at which you will be forced to entertain. You know who I am?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Everyone knows the beautiful Lady Belle.” Looking wary, uncertain but resigned, the girl watched her.
Belle smiled wryly. What did she intend to do with this child whose services she had purchased on a whim for an outrageously inflated price?
See to her needs first, she supposed. “Have you supped yet, Jane?”
The girl’s large eyes widened further. “N-no, ma’am. Mrs. Jarvis don’t feed us nothing ’til morning—and then, only if we…we pleased the customers.”
The fierce anger that always smoldered deep within Belle fired up again. Swallowing the curse that sprang to her lips, she silently damned all licentious men and the women who pandered to them.
After signaling the coachman to depart, Belle turned back to the girl. “Then first, you shall eat. After that, you may rest, if you like. My companion, Mae, has gone to a party, so my house will be quiet.”
Though the girl’s disbelief was patent in the dubious nod she returned, she said nothing more. The rest of the short drive was accomplished in silence.
Upon their arrival, Belle ordered food and bore Jane up to her chamber. Meekly the girl followed Belle’s bidding that she wash, seat herself near the fire and wrap up in the thick woolen shawl Belle gave her. Her impassive countenance registered no emotion until Watson bore in a tray laden with cold meats, cheeses and fruit.
A gasp escaping her, she turned to Belle and asked if the meal was meant for her. Upon Belle’s confirmation, she applied herself to the food with the fervor of one kept for too long on near-starvation rations.
Occasionally the girl directed a sidelong glance at Belle, as if she feared at any moment she might change her mind and have the tray removed.
By the time Jane consumed the last crumb, her wariness had vanished. “Thank you, Lady Belle,” she said, her dark eyes glowing with gratitude. “I disremember when I last ate so fine!”
Carefully Jane removed the shawl and handed it back to Belle. “Thank you, too, for the loan of the wrap. Now, whatever it is ye wish me to do, I reckon I’m ready.” Taking a deep breath, she squared her thin shoulders.
The forlorn valor of the gesture went straight to Belle’s heart. “Truly, Jane, I have no other task for you.”
For a long moment the girl stared at her. “No gentleman be waiting to…to sport with me, or with us both?”
Belle couldn’t repress her grimace of distaste. “Certainly not!”
Before Belle could divine her intentions, Jane burst into tears and threw herself at Belle’s feet.
Belle reached down to pull the weeping girl up. “Hush, my dear. Sit down and calm yourself.”
By the time Belle had soothed Jane, the conviction had settled bone deep.
Under no circumstances was Belle going to send this child back to a brothel. Not tonight.
Not ever.
“I’m sorry to weep all over you, ma’am! But…it’s been so long since someone treated me like…like an honest lass.”
“How did you come to be at Mrs. Jarvis’s house?” Belle asked.
“I never looked to do such a shameful thing, I promise you! Last fall, a stranger come to market day in our village, saying he was a London merchant looking for girls wishful of working in the city. I’m right good with a needle, and clever at dressing hair and such. Weren’t much for me at home, so me and two other girls, we signed up. Mr. Harris paid for our tickets and bundled us off on the next mail coach to the City.”
All too conscious of the fate that could befall a young girl stranded alone, Belle asked, “Were you separated from your group on the road?”
Jane shook her head. “No, ma’am, Mr. Harris watched us real careful all the way to London, then turned us over to a lady—the hiring director, he said. She brought us tea and asked us what work we was wanting. I got powerful sleepy then, but I thought ’twas just the trip being so tiring and all…”
Though Belle felt certain she knew what came next, she prodded gently. “And then?”
Jane gave a shuddering sigh. “I woke up later in a strange room with naught of my own but my shift! Afore I could figure out where I was, Mrs. Jarvis come in. She said she would treat me nice, because there’s men what will