Pride of the King, The (17 page)

This time Lauren stopped as if waking from a trance. She realized that someone was calling to her from inside an elegant white coach. Cautiously, Lauren approached the vehicle. The heady scent of gardenias met her nostrils as a woman leaned out the window. There was the rustle of expensive fabric as she held out her gloved hand.

"Please. Come here. You are such a jewel." Dressed in a light blue
palonaise
, the woman smiled approvingly. She took Lauren's chin turning her face back and forth. "There is potential here," she mused. "Much potential."

Lauren looked at the woman. She wore a thick coating of wax and powder and although there was some wrinkling around her blue eyes, she was a handsome woman. Her blond hair was dressed fashionably under a large plumed hat, and her fitted gown revealed a supple figure.

"Oh, but you
are
lovely, child," she cooed. "I can see it, even under all that grime." Turning to the coachman she asked, "What do you think, Nemi?"

The elderly black slave leaned over and nodded his head.

Lauren backed away.

"No, please, I mean no harm," the woman implored.

Lauren did not trust her and began to retreat down the street. Suddenly the pain in her belly returned, and she doubled over clutching her mid-section and staggering. Her head began to spin, and she crumpled to the ground.

*             *              *

Lauren regained consciousness sometime later. She was resting deep in a feather bed covered with a cream-colored duvet. She heard a fire was snapping and popping nearby, but she was too weak to look around.

Lauren drifted back into delirium until a voice urged gently, "Here drink this." It was hard to focus, but she could see a pair of dark hands holding a cup of broth for her. She took several sips and slid back down.

"She will live, Nemi,” said a woman standing not far away. "And she will fetch a good price. It is a shame she’s not a virgin."

The voices continued on for a few minutes then faded off. Again Lauren drifted off to sleep, but the voices returned once more demanding this time she eat something. When she opened her eyes, she recognized the woman from the coach and her black servant. They left some steaming cabbage soup on the nightstand as Lauren pulled herself up to look around the room. There was only a bed and a nightstand in the room, but everything was tidy and well kept. A tub of water sat in front of the fire with a crock of soft soap, and she remembered the woman had told her to bathe.

Gingerly, she slipped from the covers and cautiously tried to stand. There was a dull ache between her legs, but she managed to pull herself over to the tub slowly. Lauren let her shift drop to the floor and stepped carefully into the warm water. It had been months since she had run soap over her body, and the sensation was delicious. When she finished scrubbing herself, she slid down into the tub to rinse her hair. After drying herself, she eased a clean shift over her head and slid back into bed where she began to untangle her auburn tresses with a comb they had left. The effort was too much, and she sank back down into the feather bed.

"
Tres bien
," murmured a soft voice from the door. Lauren looked up, and there in the candlelight was the Dutch woman again.

"I know you are French. I heard you cry out when you were delivering your brat. My name is Madame Vanoss," and she swept over to Lauren picking up a handful of her hair. “Magnificent!”

The smell of gardenias was overpowering, and Lauren turned her head away choking from the heavy scent.

"I am Dutch, but I speak your language,” the woman said. “I ran an establishment on the outskirts of Paris years ago. You are very lucky to be alive." She raised a handful of Lauren's hair to her cheek and said, "I want you to wear your tresses down when customers come for you. It is very lush and beautiful. You are a jewel, a true flower. Maybe I will even keep you for myself."

Lauren stared at the woman. She was confused and weary and wanted to be alone. Suddenly, Madame Vanoss bent down and brushed her lips across Lauren’s neck. When she recoiled, the woman simply smiled and swept from the room.

*             *             *

Slowly Lauren gained strength and weight. Madame Vanoss’ slave, Nemi was a kind and diligent nurse insisting that she eat and take his folk medicines regularly. The miscarriage had weakened Lauren severely, but gradually she recovered. She knew the child had died, but she did not allow herself to grieve. There was no room for sorrow, only survival.

Madame Vanoss did not visit often, but when she did, Lauren refused to look at her and kept conversation at a minimum. She hated the woman with her heady perfume and seductive manner. Lauren understood life in this house and what it meant. Many times, she had watched the strumpets of New Orleans soliciting, and she knew that soon it would be her trade too, but as terrifying as the prospects were, returning to starvation seemed worse.

Gradually, Lauren was able to leave her bed and walk around the house. It was a large two storied gabled structure in an unsavory location near the wharf. Madame Vanoss posed as a milliner, and her small sham of a shop, bulging with ribbons and fabric, boldly faced Broad Street. No one in the community was fooled about her profession. It was common knowledge she ran a house of pleasure. She employed fifteen girls all of whom were thin and drawn with sallow complexions. In spite of their youth, the girls looked depraved and wanton. They awoke late in the day and retired late at night after the last customer was sated. Lauren watched them lounge and drowse throughout the day on divans in the back of the shop smoking pipes filled with a pungent, brown substance nodding and bobbing their heads lazily.

The girls did not associate with Lauren at all; in fact, they looked upon her as a rival. She did not care to know them either, preferring to stay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She could hear the girls in the halls at night, giggling as they escorted customers to their rooms, and many nights she heard other sounds, sounds which terrified her.

One evening Madame Vanoss swept into the room looking particularly striking. She was dressed in an azure gown with a white lace stomacher with her heavily powdered hair piled high on top of her head. "You are well now, and you are to have your first customers tonight," she said in French, her accent thick with Dutch. She stroked Lauren's cheek.

Pulling on her silk gloves, Madame continued, "We are entertaining some of our finest customers this evening and that is why I am having you come out tonight. I have been saving you for our most esteemed guests."

In an effort to thaw Lauren, Madame Vanoss ran her fingers lightly up and down her arm. "Are you nervous, little one?"

Lauren said nothing.

"Of course you are. Don't worry.” She pulled open her drawstring bag and drew out a tin box and pipe. She dropped the articles into Lauren's lap and said, "Here, smoke this. One puff is all you need to feel relaxed. It’s quite effective I assure you, and it will make your job ever so--painless."

Madame Vanoss waited for a reply then shrugged. "I will have Nemi deliver your gown shortly. I want you to look your best. This is an unusual arrangement, a mother and son together,
but
they are paying dearly for you."

Lauren continued to stare straight ahead.

Madame Vanoss started out of the room but before leaving turned and raised one eyebrow, "Look at me!”

Lauren did not comply.

The woman snapped, "
Look
at me!"

Lauren turned and looked at her. Madame Vanoss' blue eyes were hard and cold. "You will comply with the customer’s needs and give them the pleasure they seek. If you do not, you will be back on the street by morning. Is that understood?"

Reluctantly, Lauren nodded. Madame Vanoss had spoken.

Chapter 21

The evening progressed at an agonizing pace. Mechanically, Lauren dressed in the immodestly cut teal gown that Nemi delivered and let her copper hair fall about her shoulders per Madame's instructions. After finishing her toilette, she sat down rigidly on the bed and waited, struggling with fear but reminding herself that there was a roof over her head and food in her belly. The tin and the pipe remained on the nightstand untouched. Lauren was determined not to use the substance. Joining the other girls in that state of delirium was not an option. She must remain alert.

Suddenly, there were footsteps in the hall, and Madame Vanoss swung the door open. She swept in all powder and gardenias and announced, "This is my Lauren. Is she not lovely?"

A stocky older woman stepped into the room with a frown on her face followed by a paunchy effeminate fop sporting a powdered wig and patch.

"Yes, yes," the older woman said impatiently, pulling off her gloves. "I can see that she is lovely. Now that will be all."

The woman dismissed Madame Vanoss abruptly. Madame Vanoss did not seem pleased, but when the woman handed her a wad of notes she curtsied deeply and left the room.

Too terrified to move, Lauren remained motionless reminding herself this would soon be over. Mrs. Neville Bench and her son Cornelius exchanged looks.

"I understand that you speak no English," the woman said to Lauren in French.

"I do not," Lauren said refusing to look at either one of them.

"Why are you here in this house?" Mrs. Bench continued.

"Because I have nowhere else to go."

"Have you done this sort of work before?"

"Never."

The young gentleman threw his cloak down on Lauren’s bed. Boots and all he jumped onto the mattress carelessly leaning back onto the headboard with his hands behind his head.

"Come here," he demanded.

Cornelius Bench had Lauren turn around as he ran his eyes up and down her figure. She complied stiffly, her copper hair falling over her neck and down her back. "Drop the shoulders of your gown."

"
Pardon
?" she said startled.

"You heard me."

Swallowing hard she pulled down her gown.

"Lower," he ordered.

Slowly she pulled down her bodice.

"Stop!" he barked as the gown reached the tip of her breasts. Knitting his brows, he leaned forward and inspected her shoulders. "She's clean, Mother," he announced.

"Cornelius," said Mrs. Bench as she sat down heavily into an armchair. "I need a light." She spoke rapidly and addressed everyone as inferiors, including her own son. Opening a thin, gold case, Mrs. Bench withdrew a small brown stick and held it to her lips.

Cornelius sighed and slid off the bed, lighting her tobacco.

"I don't believe a woman should smoke a pipe," she said letting out a puff and looking at Lauren. "It's so pedestrian."

Without waiting for an answer she continued, turning the smoking stick in her hand. "These are called cigarettes, my dear. They are all the rage in London and ever so much more refined than a pipe." Again, she drew a long puff into her lungs then let out the smoke leisurely. "Now dear, where were we?"

There was a knock on the door.

"Answer that," she demanded of her son.

With another sigh, he opened the door, and Nemi stood holding a tray with a steaming teapot, three cups and some dainties. He put the tray on the table in front of Mrs. Bench and slipped discreetly from the room. With fingers like plump sausages, the matron stuffed a lemon pastry into her mouth, licked her fingers and demanded of Lauren, "Now, some tea."

Lauren moved stiffly to the tray and poured the tea knowing they were scrutinizing her.

"Is anyone looking for you?" Cornelius asked taking a cup from her.

"No."

"Where is your family?"

"In New France. I have one sister. She is a nun."  

Cornelius laughed "My, how very Cain and Abel of you. One a nun and one a--"

“Corny! That is enough!" Mrs. Bench reprimanded. She continued to draw on her cigarette watching Lauren closely. "Have you any schooling?" she asked.

"No--no," stuttered Lauren. "You two are my first customers. Madame Vanoss gave me no special instructions on how to--”

"Not that you little fool," the matron said sharply. "Actual schooling as in books?"

"Yes, I can read," murmured Lauren looking from Mrs. Bench to her son. "I am afraid I don't understand."

"You don't have to
yet
," muttered Cornelius as he moved to a mirror and fussed with his wig.

"Who taught you to read, a parent?" asked Mrs. Bench.

"No, I attended finishing school at the Ursuline Academy for Girls in New Orleans."

Cornelius stopped arranging his wig and looked at his mother.

The woman smiled slowly and said, "Well, well. I think we have all that we need."

Mrs. Neville Bench and her son left the room briefly and returned with a cloak for Lauren. "Here put this on. We must leave immediately.”

Cornelius opened the door.

Mrs. Bench demanded, "Quickly now!"

The couple hustled Lauren down the stairs and out into a carriage. The horses blew steam and stomped in the cold night air as the three jostled into their seats. The coachman snapped his reins and with a jolt, they were off. Lauren looked at the Benchs for an explanation but was met with only silence so she sank down into her fur lap blanket and waited.