Dark Shadows

by Jana Petken

  As she continued to stare now at her opulent surroundings, she noticed that not only were the girls she shared the downstairs room with in attendance, but that they had been joined by some twelve or thirteen other women she’d never laid eyes on before. She studied their mannerisms and body language. She questioned their seemingly satisfied expressions. Why, she wondered, did they seem to be so unaffected by this house of horrors? They appeared to be actually looking forward to being violated. She wondered if perhaps they had lost the will to fight the nightly invasions of their bodies. She also asked herself if she too would become compliant and accepting as weeks passed into months. The prospect scared the living daylights out of her.

  Mercy noted that every girl was dressed in a gown which was beautiful yet daring in cut. Although gowns varied in colour, their designs were very much the same. They were fashionable and full-skirted, revealing tiny waists below tight bodices. The necklines were low off the shoulder, with stays and corsets pushing the breasts upwards, precariously holding nipples just below the neckline. She looked down at her own breasts and blushed. The green satin gown left nothing to the imagination. The sight of her deep cleavage made her feel every bit the whore she was to become.

  Mercy was scared. She could admit this to herself but not to Julia, who discreetly held her hand under the folds of her gown. She glanced at her young friend and hid her pity and her thoughts. Julia was like a young girl dressed in grown-up clothes. She was tiny in height and so skinny that her underdeveloped breasts looked more like an extension of her ribcage. She was a child in every way. She possessed an endearing unworldliness, but that would disappear tonight, and in its place would come a hellish experience she couldn’t even imagine at this moment.

  Mercy sighed. She had seen cruelty and vulgarisms that had no doubt been absent from Julia’s innocent and sheltered life. Even at school, she had listened to girls her age talk about being bedded by boys and men for a penny or the price of a loaf of bread. She knew exactly what was going to happen upstairs when she was taken – but Julia?

  As the room filled with men, Mercy thought back to her first few days in captivity. They’d been filled with fear and, most of all, sadness. She’d cried for home and her family. She had wept so much that she would have sworn on a Bible that she had no tears left to shed. The humiliation, physical and mental torture, and loss of freedom had taken their toll on her appearance. Her chalk-white face and wide eyes only enhanced her beauty, but Mercy was unaware of what others perceived when they looked at her. All she could see reflected in a mirror was hatred and fear on a face she barely recognised.

  After her ordeal on that first day, when she’d been poked and prodded beyond human decency, she had attempted to concentrate on one thing and one thing only. In order to survive, to find some measure of contentment in this life on Earth, she would have to risk all, even death. Thoughts of murder and escape consumed her every waking moment. Her eyes had searched for ways out, just as they were searching now, casually sitting in a pose that Parker had taught her.

  Mercy watched the men walking nonchalantly around the salon, eying the couch areas where the women sat. They looked at her and her fellow captives from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes, as though they were a herd of cows at market. They had all come through the salon’s open double doors. She believed that just beyond those doors would be the main entrance into the house. She presumed this because she’d seen a glimpse of hallway when they’d been marched through the kitchens and into the salon. She couldn’t imagine any other main entrance bar the one off that wide-open hallway.

  She wished she’d been allowed to see the house before tonight. Had she seen upstairs, where the main door was situated, she’d now have a better indication of an escape route. Maybe later on, when the place was busy and women were moving up to the bedrooms, she would somehow find a few seconds to slip by the crowd and flee in the direction she guessed the main door to be.

  Julia interrupted her thoughts with a squeeze of the hand. “Mercy, I want to go home,” she said with a throaty sob.

  “Me too, but we can’t. Everything will be all right,” Mercy told her for the hundredth time, whilst still thinking about an escape plan.

  “I’m so scared. I just want to die. Please don’t let any of these men take me. I didn’t know there would be so many, and they’re so old. Promise me I can stay with you.”

  Mercy followed Julia’s tearful eyes and saw what she saw. She realised that she she’d been so busy planning an escape that she hadn’t noticed the arrival of even more men, now packed into the room like matchsticks. It was all beginning.

  A woman captured with her was already being escorted out of the room by a man and Madame du Pont. It would be her turn soon, Mercy thought. There were so many men in attendance that it left her in no doubt that every woman there would be used more than once during the long night ahead.

  Mercy turned her head and looked into Julia’s eyes. This was no time to lie to the young girl. She could not protect either of them, and she would not promise Julia anything, as much as she wanted to. “Julia, you can’t stay with me. You know that you will be going with a man. You must know this. You have to be brave no matter what happens. When you’re chosen, think about home, your family, your life in the country with your brothers and sisters. Hold on to your thoughts and separate them from your body. Float away with them. Let them take you to your favourite places with your favourite people. No man can take your thoughts, Julia. They’re yours. And don’t refuse. Don’t cry. Smile and don’t look afraid. You’ve got to do all that’s asked of you, as we all must.”

  “But I can’t,” Julia insisted. “The very thought of a man old enough to be my grandfather lying on top of me, putting that thing inside me, is revolting. I would rather die. I wish Madame du Pont had killed me – cut my throat open instead of that other girl’s. At least I would be at peace now, as she is. Will it hurt – the man’s thing?”

  Mercy unclasped their hands and told Julia to sit up straight and smile. Parker was staring at them with those cold, unfathomable eyes.

  She thought about Julia’s question and decided that she would have to tell her what she perceived to be the truth. “I imagine it will hurt a bit, more than Madame du Pont’s finger. But, Julia, I know girls who like it, so maybe it won’t be too bad. And just look at us. We’re nicely dressed. We don’t look like prostitutes, do we? Maybe these men will be kind to us. Look at those girls over there, the ones we don’t know. They don’t look afraid, so it can’t be all that bad.”

  Julia’s eyes glanced at a couple of girls they had never seen before. She turned and whispered in Mercy’s ear, “They look as though they’re enjoying themselves. They’re even smiling and giggling like silly girls. How can they be happy when I would rather end my life than sit here? Oh, Mercy, if only I had the courage to run right out that door.”

  Mercy felt her anger growing. Julia was drawing far too much attention to herself. She was making a right scene, all teary-eyed and the like. Parker and the madam would punish them both later. She whispered sharply in Julia’s ear, “Don’t cry a single tear. I’ll not be having it, do you hear me? You’ll get us both into trouble. Stop pouting right now before someone sees you. The other girls have done this before. I bet you they all hate being violated, just as you and I hate the very thought of it. But we’re prisoners. We are not bad. We shouldn’t feel ashamed or disgusted with ourselves. We just have to pretend like all the others. There’s nothing else for it.”

  Julia nodded. “I’m sorry, Mercy,” she said.

  At that moment Mercy looked up to see Madame du Pont introduce one of the girls to a man who was clearly interested in her. He took her hand and kissed it. Mercy couldn’t remember her name; for the life of her, she couldn’t remember. The girl stood up and curtsied to the man, and then he led her away.

  “Remember, Julia: no matter what, don’t fight. Just open your legs and let them touch you and do what they want with yo
u.”

  Mercy watched the men blend easily into the salon’s highly charged atmosphere. Madame du Pont mingled, her hand kissed so often that Mercy thought she looked and behaved like a queen holding court.

  Parker, Sam, Eddie, and the house servants serving champagne were circulating unobtrusively, keeping watchful eyes on girls and customers alike. Mercy concluded that Madame du Pont was very good at her job. She introduced the girl of choice with pleasantries and gushing compliments. There was no money exchanged, Mercy noted. The old hag must take the money from the men out of sight, perhaps somewhere between the salon and the bedroom. Mercy couldn’t know for sure, of course, but she was convinced that she could be chosen at any time.

  The planted smile on Mercy’s face hid her thoughts, much darker now. She had witnessed a young girl’s throat being cut open, blood spurting all over those standing too close. The girl’s innocent face in death and the callous way she had been disposed of afterwards were sights that would haunt her forever. Mercy’s lips continued to spread in a seemingly easy smile. She was not going to end her days an old prostitute, imprisoned and then thrown onto the streets when she was of no more use. She was not going to be killed at the hand of an old painted woman either. She was getting out of here, come hell or high water.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jacob Stone and his three companions stood in the salon, champagne flutes in hands, and observed the gathering. The men had cut their usually long dinner short to accommodate Jack, who had continually urged the others to eat faster for fear of being late and missing Madame du Pont’s finest.

  Jacob was relaxed and felt energised. The dinner of freshly cooked pigeon pie in flaky pastry had been the type of meal he had sorely missed at sea. The good food and amiable company had lightened his mood. He now felt quite amenable towards Madame du Pont’s whorehouse and looked forward to taking one of her delightful young ladies.

  Jacob’s father had bought Jacob’s membership years ago, telling him that Stone Plantation’s business had grown exponentially over the years because of Madame du Pont’s establishment. “With the right people and atmosphere, you can endear yourself to prospective clients – as long as you remember to lose a poker hand to them a couple of times,” his father had added with a wink of the eye.

  Jacob smiled now, remembering the last time his father had been here with him. He wanted poker, he’d insisted. Instead his father had taken three whores during the evening and had missed the poker game altogether.

  Jacob used this clandestine club for business purposes, for the most part. He had gained a new client or two on almost every visit so far, as only the rich and powerful frequented this club. Cotton factory owners, local government officials, immigration officers, judges, and even the mayor came to this mansion, all wondering how Madame du Pont came by her virginal upper-class whores.

  Having sex with the younger whores was never on Jacob’s agenda. There was something distasteful about bedding a youngster, even if she was willing. He would take his time and let the others rush to claim the so-called du Pont virgins. He had no desire to break a woman in, preferring a more experienced and comfortable lover.

  He grinned at Jack and said, “Well, Jack, who takes your fancy this fine evening?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m in paradise, my boy. I may be getting on, but I feel I could use Madame du Pont’s entire stock tonight. Last time the wife let me in her bed was over a year ago, and I’m not one for going with slaves. It can get messy with half-breed piccaninnies running around the place. So what’s a man to do? I can’t spill my seed when I’m dead, can I? And if I don’t spill them soon, they’ll turn into damn trees and sprout out my damn ass! What about you?” Jack asked. “Is it poker or are you going to do the right thing and enjoy yourself for once?”

  Jacob looked from woman to woman, scattered on couches like cushions, and smiled a cheesy grin. “Don’t you worry about me, old man. You just get to it. I’m still looking. I’ll find you later.”

  With that, Jacob left the others, crossing the length of the room to stand alone. He spotted Madame du Pont whispering in a man’s ear. He watched her nodding her head in agreement with something the man said and studied her further. Although he disliked her, he also found her amusing in so many ways. Her clownish over-painted face, multicoloured wigs, and exaggerated French accent were all part of her facade and fascination. She was undeniably clever and resourceful. There was nowhere that resembled this place, nothing to compete with the class of prostitutes on display or the exclusive membership that included rich and powerful men who could buy and sell him twice over.

  As he watched her laughing now, he couldn’t help but admire her business prowess, which had nothing to do with his personal distaste for her as a human being. He leaned against a wall and shook his head in amusement. Madame du Pont’s fair-coloured wig was bouncing and shaking atop her head as though it might fall off or fall onto her face. Jacob had the urge to laugh. Her hair was so laden with fancy combs and jewels that he was surprised she could even manage to hold her head up. He wondered why no one told the woman just how ridiculous he looked.

  A servant refilled his glass, and he continued to study her. She had strict written rules of the house, plainly visible on his membership document. A man could approach a girl, converse with her, but couldn’t touch. Du Pont insisted on formal introductions conducted by her or her head servant, Parker, who’d been around for as long as he could remember. After a girl had been chosen, one of the two women would chaperone the man and chosen girl from the salon and discreetly collect the money once inside the bedroom.

  Not all girls were the same price, for some were virgins or had very rarely been touched. Most men were happy to pay the extortionate fee for the pleasure of having one of these girls. It was an extremely civilised way of doing things, Jacob thought, in what was, after all, a whorehouse.

  Madame du Pont was now gently pushing the man forward. From his position, Jacob saw a very young girl rise from a green couch. She curtsied. The man kissed her hand and then led her towards the door. Madame du Pont followed, smiling at men as she passed them. Another satisfied customer, Jacob thought. His eyes followed them until they’d left the room. Then they wandered back to the spot where Madame du Pont had stood.

  He saw Mercy for the first time, sitting on the couch which had been vacated by the young girl. He sucked in his breath, stared at her, forgetting to breathe and dismissing every other presence in the room. He had not seen her here before tonight. She was a new addition to the house. He had not seen her earlier either, for she’d been hidden from view by the buxom madam and the over-excited old man whose bulging crotch had publicly displayed his enthusiasm for the young girl he was about to purchase.

  He steadied his breathing. His heart jumped in his chest. Butterfly wings were fluttering in the pit of his stomach, punching to get out. These were strange sensations, and none he’d ever experienced before. The beautiful creature he beheld was the most exquisite woman he had ever seen.

  He moved closer to where she sat, unintentionally bumping into people as he crossed the room. He could clearly see her emerald-green eyes now, staring unseeingly, wide, sad, and, in his opinion, deeply troubled. She held a soft, trembling, and awkward smile that was innocent and forced. Her perfect pink lips were so inviting that he wanted to kiss them there and then. He wanted to caress her heaving breasts. More than anything, he wanted to hold her in his arms and soothe whatever ailed her.

  She turned her head and looked around the room as though noticing her surroundings for the first time. As she moved, Jacob saw the length of her coal-black hair, kissed by candles and chandeliers. Her natural soft curls reached the centre of her back and seemed to shimmer with light, as though entwined with exquisite diamonds.

  She wore a gown of pale green. It covered a perfect body shape, from her shoulders to her pert young breasts and down to a tiny waist, where the hooped skirt then spread itself across the entire length of the couch. Never,
he thought, have I seen anything so captivating, so beautiful, so fragile, and so seemingly innocent. Why would this beautiful young woman choose this life? he wondered with a mixture of dismay and curiosity. She did not belong here. She could, in his opinion, grace the greatest of houses in the land with that angelic face and body that had no doubt lain with many men. Madame du Pont certainly trained whores well in the art of innocent seduction, for this girl’s demeanour was notably contrary to her job title!

  He had to have her, he decided, walking briskly to the doorway in order to find Madame du Pont. He would pay du Pont’s asking price; he would pay anything just to be close to the young woman who had affected him in a way that unnerved him to the core of his being. He couldn’t explain the depth of his desire. Did love at first sight exist? He bumped into another couple of men on his way out. Had he fallen under some unknown spell, drunk too much, and made himself dull-witted? Or had he simply been at sea for too long?

  Jacob reached the hallway and looked left, then right. His eyes travelled up the length of the curved staircase and then down towards the small connecting rooms off the hallway. He cursed. Where was du Pont? He had to find her before the girl was snapped up by another. He turned and strode back into the salon, feeling like a lovesick fool but not giving a damn. He intended to go to her and stand by her side. He would wait there, pushing aside every other man who came near her, until Madame du Pont came back.

  Halfway between the door and where the woman was seated, he halted in mid-step. His smiling face froze, as did his body. A jumble of emotions ran through him. Parker, the whore mistress, was introducing his prize to another man, who from the back appeared to be well into middle age.