by Meg Buchanan
They moved on, and he walked with Sophie up the curving gilded staircase hung with large mirrors in golden frames. Their reflections caught in each mirror they passed.
He watched Sophie in her soft silk gown become more and more remote. Her hand dropped from his arm, and she kept her eyes downcast examining the carpeted treads. He could sense the change in her. Like she was withdrawing into herself, slowly fading away, pretending she was in another world the way she did in the foyer.
As they worked their way up to the landing her lips moved in time with each foot fall counting the steps. When they reached the door, she stopped and her hands fluttered to waist height, half supplication, half surrender, a strange, helpless, palms turned up gesture.
“Do you want to go back downstairs?” he asked because that was what this looked like. She shook her head, gave a soft sigh, stepped towards the door, opened it, went into the room, then stopped and waited as he entered too. The room was somebody’s idea of a bedroom in a bordello. The draped silk, the four-poster bed, the profusion of cushions. Gaslight muted the colours of the strange garish furnishings.
She shut the door behind him and locked it, then stood motionless in the centre of the room. In the dimly lit room with its flickering light he wasn’t certain how to reassure her.
He sat on the bed and tried to work out how to proceed. He knew she wasn’t completely averse to being touched, she held his arm and allowed herself to be guided through a room, but she’d withdrawn permission now.
She was so out of place, a child in a vamp’s dress. At the back, its long row of tiny buttons reached from the neckline to below her waist. Her hair tumbled and curled, her face like moonlight, eyes pools of darkness, her lips a soft bleached curve. Beautiful, ethereal and unapproachable.
He decided against following her around and cornering her the way he did with a horse. He stood again and making no sudden moves wandered over to her.
He’d use logic. “You do understand, I have to be near enough to touch you to fuck you? I presume that’s why we’re here.”
Sophie watched his progress without retreating this time. “Of course, I understand that,” she said, sharply.
When he was close, she looked up at him. “Please help me,” she said.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
She nodded.
Chapter 8
THEY SAT SIDE BY SIDE on the end of the bed.
Sophie talked in a whisper. “A little more than a week ago, Miss Pryor brought me to the club.”
“Do you know why?”
Sophie nodded, “She said my father owes her money and he won’t pay it,” she said haltingly as if she only half believed it herself, and wasn’t sure how he’d react
“So, they took you?”
Sophie gave a slight nod. “Miss Pryor said he gave me to her and I have to do whatever she asks me to. She said she owns me now.”
“She can’t own you, you can leave.”
Sophie shook her head. “I’m watched all the time, and if I leave Miss Pryor said they will take my mother as a replacement.
He took her hand and held it with some idea of comforting her. “And your father chose this for you?”
Sophie nodded. “That’s what Miss Pryor said. She said my father had the choice of being killed or he could give me to her.”
“Where does your mother think you are?”
“She thinks I’ve gone to visit my aunt in Sydney. My father told her Miss Pryor is a friend of my aunts and would enjoy my company. They said we would visit my aunt together.”
“Your mother believes this?”
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know, but she allowed it. I’m sure my father thought I was only to be her assistant. And the first day that is what I was, I wrote letters and took messages, but everything changed when she asked me to serve at your table.”
“Are there other’s here like you?”
Sophie nodded.
“How many?”
“Some,” she said vaguely.
“You all work as companions?”
“No, the others work in the club. Miss Pryor said they go with a different man each hour,” Sophie shrugged as if that sounded very unlikely.
“Why is a companion different?”
“A companion only goes with one man. I’m to be your companion tonight.”
“You could refuse.”
“I tried, but Miss Pryor said I have to do what she tells me to. When you read about murders in the papers, Miss Pryor said she orders them. And if I refuse the next victims will be my parents.”
“I could go to the law.”
Once again there was a vigorous shaking of her head. “Miss Pryor said if I tell anyone she’ll send me somewhere no one will find me, and I’ll still have to work for her.”
“As a companion?”
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know, but she said if she isn’t satisfied you are happy with me tonight, she will punish me.” This was said in the smallest voice, and Sophie looked up as she said it, her voice uneven.
Cold chills ran down his spine as he watched her face, she looked terrified again. “How will she punish you?”
Sophie shrugged helplessly and stopped talking; instead she studied their hands.
“What is the punishment, Sophie?
Sophie glanced at the mirror on the wall and tears slid down her cheeks. She pulled her hand away and helplessly wiped at the tears, smearing them. “I can’t cry. Miss Pryor won’t like this. I have to be happy all the time.” That explained the rapid mood changes and the false glittering smiles every time Charlotte was near.
“Sophie.” He went back to what appeared to be frightening her the most. “What is the punishment?”
She took a deep breath and slowly ran her tongue over her lips as if she was working out a way to start. There was a long moment before she found a way.
When she did start talking it was quietly, her voice barely perceptible. “After you and Mr Jones left last time,” she said and looked sideways at him. He nodded.
She took a deep breath. “Miss Pryor took me out through a door in the back of her office. It leads to a small staircase, so we didn’t have to go to the foyer and use the main staircase to come upstairs. We went into a room.” Her eyes looked away now, her expression curtained by lashes. She paused, and he nodded, again encouraging her to keep going.
She took another breath. “Miss Pryor pulled the drape aside, and we were looking into a different room. I think we were looking through a mirror. I think the mirror on that wall is the same.” She glanced across the room at the mirror again, and again seemed reluctant to keep talking.
“What was in the room?”
“Four men sitting at a table drinking.”
“What was happening?”
“Nothing.” She stopped talking again.
“Come on Sophie, something must have happened.” He was starting to get exasperated by her reluctance to explain. “Four men sitting drinking isn’t a punishment.”
Sophie gave a half-smile. Interesting, the effect of crying when the girl is seventeen; she looked prettier, lashes darker, cheeks pinker, eyes freshly washed. Crying worked differently with women nearer his own age.
She took a soft breath. “Another man came in with a girl I hadn’t seen before.” Her eyes darkened, terror there.
“What happened?” Sophie bit her lip again. The tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks, but she stayed silent.
“Remember Sophie, you can’t cry,” he said softly.
Sophie nodded, and he found a handkerchief. She stood up from the bed, stepped away and dried her eyes. This wouldn’t look right. Fortunately, Charlotte was unlikely to be behind the mirror yet.
“I can’t tell you.” Sophie crushed the handkerchief in both hands. “It was dreadful.”
Maybe he didn’t need to know what she saw. He watched her stand there and struggle to keep the tears back. He heard a door slam in the distance and then remembe
red the girl he glimpsed at the club the first time and again with Seth tonight.
“What did the girl look like?” he asked.
Sophie wiped her nose, then handed him the handkerchief as if she had control and wasn’t planning on needing it again. She took an unsteady breath. “A little younger than I am.” Sophie tilted her head to one side and watched him put the wet crumpled handkerchief in his pocket.
“Keep going.”
“She was in her petticoat and her feet were bare, her face was pale, and her eyes were very dark. She had long hair down her back.” Sophie’s voice was steady but very quiet.
“What colour was her hair?” he asked, feeling cold.
“Brown, almost as dark as mine.” He was sure she was describing the girl he saw. Part of him wanted Sophie to stop talking now. He could see she wasn’t eager to go on and could guess what she was forced to watch, but perversely needed to know the worst.
“Was it the girl with Seth?”
Sophie nodded.
“What happened then?”
“He forced himself on her while the others watched.” Sophie barely breathed the words. “The girl knew what was going to happen, and she tried to fight him off.” The horror on Sophie’s face was real; her voice went up in pitch as she spoke. “He ripped her clothes, she was screaming and begging. He was hurting her; it went on for a long time. And afterwards there was blood running down her legs. She curled up in the corner trying to hide. But he started again. The other men just watched and had their drinks as if it was nothing.” She stopped talking, linked her fingers together and twisted her hands, the horror written over her face.
He stood too, reached out, took her hands, pulled her in close and held her. At least now he understood why she was so frightened.
“Did Charlotte say what the girl had done?”
She answered into the buttons of his coat. “She said the girl refuses to do what she is asked to and ran away twice. Charlotte said it will keep happening until she does as she’s told.”
“It appears the girl has given in.” Sophie nodded. He went to say something more about it then thought better of it. At least tonight judging by the way Seth was looking at her the girl would be gently treated.
“Now you work as a companion, so you are safe from that?”
“Yes.” Sophie kissed him chastely on the cheek as if she had just remembered to do her job then moved away again. “Miss Pryor said,” started Sophie. He was getting a little sick of Miss Pryor said, but let it go. “She is sure you would like to be the first.”
“To be the first?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re still innocent?”
Sophie nodded. “And I’d prefer to leave it that way.” She said it as if she was considering whether to put more ribbons on a hat or change a piece of furniture in her room.
“Why me?”
“She said you would be willing to pay a lot for this.” She waved her hand past her body. “She said you’re wealthy.”
“Not that wealthy.” He sat on the bed, flabbergasted. “Why are your wrists bruised if you haven’t been working?”
Sophie looked like she wasn’t going to answer again, and then she shrugged.
“Miss Pryor got a man to hold me when I wouldn’t watch what was happening to the girl. I fought him, which is how I got the bruises.” Sophie said this as if it was reasonable. He felt like yelling, be shocked, be horrified.
She added. “I couldn’t survive what I saw. I thought perhaps I could survive this.” She flicked her hand, a quick gesture that took in her body again, and then his.
“Very flattering.”
Sophie gave the half-smile. “Miss Pryor said being a companion is like being a wife without the cooking and cleaning, and wives survive.” Sophie looked at him doubtfully. “Don’t they?”
“I suppose so,” he said. “I don’t know a great deal about wives.” He thought about her story, especially her final comment and decided she had courage. Her only knowledge of what she wanted him to do came from watching someone raped.
He gave up the idea he’d started contemplating, of just hiding here with Sophie for a few hours. If Charlotte was watching, that wouldn’t work. He didn’t want to put Sophie at risk of being punished.
He tried to reassure her. “Making love can be beautiful.”
“Vraiment?” she asked doubtfully.
“Yes, truly,” he said. “It’s different to what you watched.”
“I know it has to be,” she said barely audible and as if that was the one thing she was sure of. “I know enough to know some females enjoy it.”
“Many females enjoy it,” he said, still trying to reassure her.
He gathered her in his arms, and she was hesitant but almost cooperative. “We will go slowly and wait until you’re ready.” He needed to get her away from this place, but it wouldn’t be tonight, he and Eugene came on horseback. He needed a plan. She nodded, her hands flat against his chest holding him back.
He looked around the room, seeking inspiration. There must be something that would break this impasse, and there on the sideboard by the door, two crystal glasses on a tray and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. He stood, went over to the tray, and poured them both a glass of champagne. Then went back across the room and gave one to Sophie.
She took the glass, moved away again then nervously sipped at the bubbles, making it last and looking everywhere except where he was.
He went to her and rested a hand against her hip, then cupped her head with the other. He felt her stiffen as he went to kiss her. He stopped and leaned his forehead against hers.
“You can’t do this, Sophie. Charlotte hasn’t had time to get behind the mirror yet, but you can’t act like this when she does. I don’t want you punished.” Feeling partly responsible for Sophie’s situation was already more than enough. He probably precipitated this situation for her. He showed far too much interest in her the first time he met her when even then he knew something was wrong. But tonight, he needed Sophie to act the part Charlotte assigned her.
Sophie bit her lip and looked over at the mirror. “Perhaps if I had more champagne?” She gave a nervous laugh.
“I don’t think Charlotte would want you asleep.” Though the idea of more champagne had some merit.
“Very funny.” Her tone was sharp again. Then she sighed and finally capitulated. “What should I do?” she asked in a whisper.
“Refill the glasses on the sideboard, give mine to me and drink yours,”
Sophie bit her lip again, looked doubtful, as if that seemed too easy. Then she nodded and walked to the sideboard.
While she was pouring the wine, he removed his evening coat, threw it over a chair and sat on the end of the bed again.
Sophie came back with the glasses of champagne and sipped hers until it was finished. He had a mouthful of his, then swapped the glasses so she had the full one, and he the empty. “Drink that too,” he instructed.
“But…”
“Do it,” he ordered. She shrugged, finished his glass too and went to hand it back.
“Fill them again,” he said.
She flicked him a puzzled look, then did as she was told.
When the bottle was almost empty Sophie giggled if touched. Arched her back, curved her body, and tilted her head to the side to allow access to her neck. She unbuttoned his shirt, pushed it off his shoulders without demurring, and giggled over how to remove the cufflinks when the cuffs wouldn’t go past his wrists.
Then she knelt to take off his shoes, laughing when the first one came off. She placed it carefully on the floor and started unlacing the other. When it released unexpectedly, she landed on her backside on the floor and sat there smiling up at him, holding on to the soft leather, like a child playing a game, the sleeves of her gown had slipped down her arms leaving her shoulders and breasts bare. Her hair had tumbled free of its clips.
He stood in trousers and socks now. He reached his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled
her to her feet. As she rose, her eyes were suddenly darkly serious and never left his face.
The alcohol had done its job; she seemed tolerant if not willing. He drew her towards him, trapped their linked hands near her heart, felt the rapid fluttering. He cupped her cheek and kissed her gently. There was no resistance, just passive acceptance.
He kissed her again, and the perfume of her filled him. Using the kiss, deepening it, he slowly turned her until the back of her legs were wedged against the end of the bed. Then he gradually forced her back, sinking her onto the soft velvet covers, the feather mattress trapping her.
He lowered his body over hers, carefully. Most of his weight was on one elbow planted in the covers by her side, ensnaring her right arm. Her other arm was confined by their linked hands near her heart, her acceptance still passive and remote.
But at the weight of him, she stiffened and broke away from the kiss. She pulled wildly at the hand holding hers, their hands jerked between them as she tried to escape, and she desperately moved her head from side to side, arching her body, feet clawing at the air. “No, no, no,” she breathed. He could feel her panic.
He freed his hand and covered her mouth, holding her head still. Then trapped her legs with his, desperately trying to hide her reaction from any watchers behind the mirror.
“Shhh, little one, you can’t do this,” he murmured to her. He waited until she stopped struggling, her eyes, dark and wary and locked with his.
Chapter 9
HE STROKED HER CHEEK, kissed and murmured away the fear until she was calm.
“You’re still dressed,” he whispered. “You are safe from me.” This deflowering had seemed a straightforward transaction, something possible perhaps even pleasurable. After all, Sophie was lovely; slender, graceful, elegant, and when she forgot how frightened she was, intelligent, witty and fun to be with. But the fact they were almost strangers thrown together in the most surreal way made the task less easy to accomplish.
“We’ll just play and pretend.” If he was careful of how it looked from the mirror pretending could still be enough. She nodded accepting this, eyes still clinging to his. “If you trust me, we can make Charlotte believe.”
