Steampunk Desires: An Erotic Romance (The Complete Collection) (7 page)

He took Eloise by the ear and escorted her down the long hallway to the aft end of the ship to a stairwell and down seemingly endless flights of stairs. Placards marked the floors as they descended: First Class; Second Class, Floor 1, Floor 2; three decks of third class; a floor marked “Crew;” a floor marked “Engineering;” and finally, a floor marked “Propulsion.” As they descended, the quality of the stairwell and the floors they saw decreased. Far from the rich extravagance she’d just enjoyed, the propulsion deck’s labeling was stenciled on in black letters above the doorway. Gone were the mahogany and brass handrails, replaced by industrial metal painted white. Gone was the carpet, replaced by plain white metal that clinked under her feet. Couches, chairs, beds, and tables littered the wide-open area that stretched out before her, terminated by a wall at the far end that extended from port to starboard. A row of buffet tables set up along the length of the wall offered fare that was nowhere near the quality of even the hors d’oeuvre she’d eaten. Her fancy clothes stuck out in stark contrast to everyone down here. Most of them wore no clothes at all, and the few clothes that were present were tattered and threadbare. Her jaw dropped, and she tried to turn to leave, but the deck manager’s grasp on her ear prevented it.

“Oh, forget it!” Eloise said hotly. “I don’t need this job anyway!”

“The ship has sailed, and unless you can pay the £50 for the amenities you just stole and for third-class lodging, you are in debt to Air Cruise Co., and I strongly recommend that you take the position to try to work off your debt,” the manager replied icily. “The Americans may have ended slavery, but indentured servitude is still alive and well here.” He paused, and then added, “And given a woman with your lack of manners, Air Cruise Co. is not likely to extend credit to you.”

Eloise fumbled through her pockets. Her mini-purse! She’d left it at home. She glowered at the manager but said nothing. The two stood on the stairs as a middle-aged, white-haired man approached.

“Oy, what’s this?” he asked. “Charles! What’ve you got there?”

The manager addressed the man with carefully measured politeness, just enough not to be rude, but not enough to convey any message other than that speaking to this man was beneath him.

“This hooligan mistress was caught making advances on the masseur in first class after stealing champagne and hors d’oeuvres,” he said. “Upon questioning, I found that she’s been assigned to your charge.” He handed Eloise’s papers to the man, who frowned, looking over them. He looked down at Eloise, who had freed herself from Charles’s grasp on her ear and stood haughtily sulking next to him. The man sized her up and frowned again.

“So, you’re the one,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at a clock high up on the wall. It read 12:30. He glanced back at Eloise, an eyebrow raised in judgment. “You’re almost four hours late,” he said at length. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll take her from here,” he said, and Charles quickly departed.

Eloise regarded this man, whose name she still didn’t know. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed and as white as his full head of hair. He was of average height and brawny, as though through years of physical work. He wore clothes, nicer than the others’, but not as nice as the ones Eloise wore. His carriage was confident but not arrogant. Eloise sensed she needed to be careful with this one; he didn’t strike her as someone who was easily manipulated, but she would give it a shot nevertheless.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Eloise said, flashing her golden smile and extending her hand. “I’m Eloise.”

The man eyed her but shook his hand. “Edwin,” he said. “Not Edward, not Eddy, not Ed.”

Eloise smiled. This might be easier than she thought. “Look, all this is a big misundersta–”

“Don’t sell me a dog,” Edwin said curtly. “You come down here four hours late, half-rats, after stealing from first class and making the move on the masseur, telling me it’s a misunderstanding?” He eyed Eloise’s clothes. “With clothes like that, you don’t need this job,” he continued irritably, his hazel eyes flashing. “What did you think, that you were gonna come down here buggering and guy-sneakering?”

Eloise swallowed. That’s exactly what she’d thought. No, that’s what she’d known! She bristled.

“Yes, that’s precisely why I’m here. That’s what I was hired to do, and I’m going to do it!” she said brashly.

Edwin’s tone was cold and grim. “No, I think you’re going to start on bed duty. If you behave yourself, maybe you’ll earn the privilege of getting buggered yourself.”

Eloise’s jaw tightened, and her face turned red with anger. “Now, see here,” she said, raising her voice, “do you know who I am? I’ll have your job for this! And I decide when and with who I will do the buggering; nobody tells me when to get buggered!”

Edwin snorted. “Whoever you think you are matters not to me. On this ship, you’re a thief, a debtor, and my subordinate. Keep it up, and I’ll see to it that the only sex you ever see is the crunchy post-coital drippings of the crew.”

Eloise’s anger had swiftly turned to rage and fury. She cocked her arm and swung. This old man was not going to interfere with her plans! Edwin saw the blow coming even before Eloise wound up to deliver it. He sidestepped, taking hold of Eloise’s collar and belt as he did so, and using the upstart’s forward momentum, Edwin effortlessly sent her sprawling on the floor several feet away. Eloise’s chin hit the hard metal, and she bit her lip, drawing blood. She groaned. A crowd of mostly naked plebeians had made a circle around the two of them. Eloise had never been bested before, certainly not this ignominiously, and she didn’t like it. Her chin hurt, but her pride was mortally wounded.

“Edwin, what happened?” asked one of the crew, a soft-spoken woman with large eyes and no clothes.

“Just a difference of opinion,” Edwin said mildly. He put his foot in the small of Eloise’s back. “Right?” he asked, and Eloise nodded. “Go on about your business,” Edwin said to the crowd. “She’ll be fine.”

After the crowd had dispersed, Edwin hauled Eloise to her feet. “Feel better?” he asked ironically. Eloise sulked.

“Good. While you’re sulking, you can start changing beds,” he said, prodding her in the back towards the starboard side of the large open room. They proceeded down a hallway that ran bow to stern, lined with doors to cabins on the left and head-height portholes to the right, until another hallway split off on the left. They turned down this hallway, which extended from port to starboard, and proceeded halfway down. To the left was a door marked “Bipolar Collection Room” with the symbols for Mars and Venus interlocked. To the right was a door marked “Female Collection Room” with two Venus symbols interlocked. They turned to the left and entered the room. Rows and rows of beds laid out in a grid appeared before them. Some were made while others had the sheets mussed or removed and stacked on top. There were a few couples in the room, in various stages of copulation. Eloise’s jaw dropped in amazement. So it was true! She had no time to think about it, though.

“First, you strip off the sheets,” Edwin said, demonstrating on one of the beds and indicating that Eloise should do the same to the neighboring bed. Eloise stood petulantly, arms crossed. Edwin raised his eyebrows in warning. “If you’re no use to me,” he said, “I can put you in the bilge until you change your tune. How’s that sound?”

Eloise was not familiar with nautical terms. “What’s a bilge?” she asked.

“Think sewer,” Edwin said with a half-grin, half-sneer and a wink. “‘It would be a shame to get bilge all over those nice, fancy clothes.”

Eloise swallowed. Edwin had already proven that he could easily best her in a fight. She could run away, but to where? The ship was in the air; she’d seen that from the portholes as they’d walked here. There was no place she could likely go that she wouldn’t be found. She sighed. Making beds suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Reluctantly, she began stripping the bed as Edwin had indicated.

“Good choice, girl,” Edwin said, his demeanor lightening slightly. “You bundle those up and drop them in this chute here.” Eloise had not noticed it before, but a square box sat in the corner, about three feet tall and two feet on a side, with a large, square hole in the top. She followed Edwin’s example and tossed the soiled bedding down the chute. Peering down after it, hot, humid air assaulted her, and she saw a huge laundry container with other soiled laundry. Laundry crewmembers could be seen as they appeared and disappeared from view, taking various pieces and sorting them.

“Now,” Edwin continued, taking a complete set of sheets and pillowcases from a wide cabinet next to the chute, “when you put the sheets on, you square them up like this.” He masterfully placed the bottom sheet onto the bed, the left and right sides perfectly matched for length and perfectly aligned to the mattress. “The bottom sheet lines up to the foot of the mattress,” he said. “Tuck in the head end. Smooth the sheet; there are to be no wrinkles.” He demonstrated, making it look effortless. He paused, gesturing to the other beds in the room. Not a single wrinkle could be found on any of them. “Precision and excellence,” he said simply. “Take pride in knowing that you’re performing a much-needed task and performing it well.” He turned back to the mattress.

“Now, grasp the bottom of the sheet on the side and pull it up. See this excess?” He gestured to the bit of sheet that draped below the bottom of the mattress. “Tuck that in, with no wrinkles. See how the top of the sheet makes a forty-five degree angle? That’s what you’re shooting for. Next, lay your hand on the side of the mattress to keep it from wrinkling when you bring the top sheet down. Tuck it in, keeping it free of wrinkles. Do the same to the other side.”

He grabbed another sheet and laid it on top of the first one. “Do the same thing to the second sheet,” he instructed, “but align it to the head of the bed. Remember: the edge of the first sheet aligns to the feet, ‘first-feet’; the second sheet aligns to the head.” Eloise nodded, finding herself surprisingly interested in the care Edwin took to make the bed. She had always taken for granted how beds looked, but she saw now that it was not through haphazard, cursory attention that they came to look that way. Edwin finished the second sheet and then grabbed a pillowcase. “Put the pillow into the pillowcase, then smooth it,” he said as he demonstrated, “and then tuck the excess under the pillow and place it excess-side-down on the bed.” He repeated the action for the other pillow. When finished, he handed Eloise a set of bedding. “Now your turn.”

Eloise confidently took the sheets and laid them on a neighboring bed. She had to be careful, she mused, but Edwin had made it look so easy, and if he could do it, of course, so could Eloise. She fumbled with the first sheet. She couldn’t get it to go over the bed evenly. Where Edwin had flicked his wrists and commanded the sheet, Eloise was making a mess of it. She began to get frustrated. Hoping to move on, she started tucking the sheet at the head of the bed in. Edwin stopped her quickly.

“That’s not gonna pass muster,” he said firmly. “See this?” he asked, pointing to the misalignment between the sheet and the foot of the bed. “Don’t worry about trying to make it sit perfectly by flicking your wrists. That takes years of practice,” he said kindly. “Move it by hand.” He tugged gently on one of the corners, squaring it. Eloise, still frustrated, but cooled off, did as instructed to the other corner, and it, too, squared itself to the mattress.

“Very good,” Edwin said, praising her lightly. “Now, make sure the left and right sides are the same distance from the mattress, and make sure the front and back hang evenly.” Eloise went from side to side and front to back, straightening the mattress. It was frustratingly slow, not at all like it had been when Edwin did it. Edwin read her mind. “By the time you’ve made ten thousand beds, lass, you’ll be as good at it as I am.” Eloise frowned. Ten thousand beds? Surely he exaggerated! “Not a bit,” Edwin said, grinning wryly and winking knowingly.

After a few more minutes of effort, Eloise finally got the sheet aligned and the head tucked in.

“Good. Now, smooth the sheet. See the wrinkles there? You don’t want to trap those under the top sheet.” Edwin showed Eloise how to use her hand and arm to smooth the sheet, and Eloise did the same to the other side. She had to admit, the sheet looked good.

“Now the side. Lift the edge, a little more, there! Good. Tuck the side in. Mind the wrinkles. Good. Now lay your hand flat. Yes, just like that. Fold down. No, mind the wrinkles. Yes, good. Now begin tucking it in. Smooth it out. Good. Very good. One side down; now the other. Hand flat. Good. Tuck it in. Excellent!” He clapped Eloise on the shoulder. Eloise, who had never done an honest day’s work in her life, suddenly felt a sense of achievement. Something so menial as making a bed gave her a sense of satisfaction at a job well done. But the job wasn’t over, yet.