But he didn’t talk much. Not a word about his own situation or where she was bound for. In the dining room he replied if another passenger spoke to him but didn’t start conversations. Belle guessed he was afraid she would entreat someone to help her, and of course she was watching out for the right person.
They were second-class passengers, as everyone was who had a cabin on the same level as them. There were only about twelve first-class passengers, whose cabins were on the deck above, and they ate in their own dining room where the food was probably much nicer.
At Cork they’d taken on a hundred or so third-class or steerage passengers. They were housed down in the bowels of the ship, and Belle had heard one of the officers informing them very curtly that they were only allowed on certain parts of the deck at certain times. From the glimpses Belle had got of them as they embarked at Cork, she could see by their worn clothes and boots that they were poor. She remembered from school being told about the early Irish immigrants to America, and that they suffered terrible conditions on the voyage; she hoped these poor people wouldn’t be treated so badly.
Almost as soon as Belle had found herself locked in the cabin, she’d made a plan. Realizing that Etienne was not going to tolerate disobedience or rudeness, she decided to try to soften him up with charm. Each time he came back to the cabin she greeted him warmly, asking how cold it was on deck, who was up there and other such things. She made his bunk for him, kept her things tidy and as far as was possible treated him as if he really was her uncle.
She felt he was responding to this too, for he came back to the cabin often to suggest they had a stroll around the deck or went and sat in the comfortable chairs in the lounge on the top deck to look at the sea.
She turned away from the porthole as she heard Etienne coming in. ‘Hello, come to liberate me?’ she said with a smile.
‘There’s a storm brewing,’ he said. ‘Some folk are already feeling seasick. It’s usually better to be closer to the fresh air when the sea’s rough. Would you like to go up to the lounge?’
Belle had decided that Etienne was an attractive-looking man. His icy blue eyes might have been a little frightening at first, as was his threat to her, but he had a well-proportioned nose and a generous mouth, and his skin was smooth, clear and golden as though he’d been in the sun recently. Unusually, he didn’t have a moustache or beard, and she liked that. His hair was good too; she was so used to seeing men with thinning hair slicked down with oil, or around Seven Dials they left it unwashed and untrimmed. But Etienne’s hair was clean, thick and fair, the kind she was sure Mog would say was made to ruffle.
Belle had peeped out from behind the curtain earlier today to see him stripped to the waist to wash and shave, and had been quite taken aback to see he had a hard, powerfully built muscular body like a prize fighter’s. He was younger than she had first thought too, she would guess only about thirty-two or thereabouts. It was all this, his comparative youth and good looks, that made her feel hopeful she could get him on her side.
‘That would be nice, Uncle,’ Belle said with a grin. ‘Maybe we could have a cup of tea too?’
Etienne did order them tea and a cake, and as they sat by the window looking out at the sea, Belle noticed three smartly dressed young women sitting together. They were no more than twenty-three or -four and they must have come on board in Cork for she hadn’t seen them before. Two of them were quite plain, but the third was very pretty, with flame-red curly hair.
‘That red-headed girl would be just right for you,’ Belle said. ‘She’s really pretty.’
‘And what makes you think I want to find a young lady?’ Etienne replied, a faint smile playing at his lips.
‘All men do, don’t they?’ she retorted.
‘Maybe I’ve already got a wife,’ he said.
Belle shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘What makes you say that?’
She wanted to reply that no wife would like a husband who took young girls to work in brothels, but that was likely to anger him.
‘You look lonely,’ she said instead.
He laughed for the first time and his eyes seemed less cold. ‘You are a funny girl, old beyond your years. How does someone look lonely?’
‘Like they’ve got no one to care about them,’ she said, and she thought of Jimmy and how his face had lit up when she said she’d be his friend. She wondered if he had asked Mog where she was. If he knew she’d been snatched, was he worried about her?
‘I do sometimes feel lonely, but then everyone does,’ he said.
‘Back home there was a lady who looked after me when I was small. She said that it was good to feel lonely sometimes because it makes you appreciate what you have,’ Belle said. ‘I didn’t appreciate anything at all, not until I was snatched off the street and taken away. Now all I can think of is back home, and that makes me lonelier still.’
‘You were snatched off a street?’ Etienne’s brow furrowed and he looked very surprised.
Belle had assumed that he knew everything about her background and why she was in France. To find he didn’t gave her a ray of hope that she could gain his sympathy.
‘Yes, I witnessed a murder, and the man that did it brought me to France. I was sold to a brothel and I was raped by five men in as many days before I became ill. It seems the madam in that house sold me on then, and my new owners, whom you must work for too, nursed me back to health.’
He looked a bit shaken by this.
‘It’s no good you looking like you didn’t know this, you must have known what I’d been through, and what’s ahead of me,’ she said tartly.
‘I never ask anything, I just do what they require,’ he said. ‘But then, I’ve never before been asked to take one of their girls anywhere. This is the first time.’
‘Do you think it is right to force a young girl into such a thing?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ he said hurriedly. ‘But that is my personal view. You see, in my line of work I have to do many things I would rather not do, but that is part of the job. I have no choice in the matter. They gave me this job because I know America well.’
‘But aren’t you ashamed of doing bad things for money?’
He looked at her hard for a moment and then smiled. ‘You have been so composed so far that I thought you were eighteen at least, but I see now that you still have the idealistic mind of a child. What did your father do for work? I’m sure that even he had to do some tasks he didn’t like.’
‘I don’t know who my father is,’ Belle said truthfully. ‘But I know what you are getting at because I was brought up in a brothel. My mother ran it. Some people would say that was bad, but I know she didn’t hurt anyone, and none of the girls who worked for her were forced into it.’
He looked so surprised at her coming from such a background that she went on to tell him a little more about it, and how she was kept unaware of the exact nature of her mother’s business until that fateful night when Millie was killed. ‘My mother wouldn’t have made me be a whore,’ she finished up. ‘She and Mog wanted me to have a respectable life and they must be in agony not knowing where I am or what has been done to me.’
‘I haven’t hurt you, have I?’ he said, as if that made his part in this all right. ‘Like your mother, I had little alternative but to do what I do, and I always try to use the minimum of force. You are a smart girl, Belle. I know you have decided to try and win my trust, which is always the best ploy in a situation like we have. But however much I sympathize with you, I have to follow the orders I’ve been given, or I will be maimed or killed.’
He said this so casually that Belle knew it had to be true.
That night a storm blew up and the ship was tossed around like a stick in a flooded river. Belle felt fine, even though it was disconcerting to be almost thrown out of her bunk and to be in a cabin that felt like a mad fairground ride.
But Etienne wasn’t faring so well. When Belle heard him groaning, she jumped ou
t of her bunk to get the slop pail kept in the small cupboard under his bunk. He was violently sick several times in close succession, until he had nothing left to bring up but bile.
She finally had the opportunity to leave the cabin without his supervision to empty the slop pail, but she was so concerned for him she did nothing more than that, and then went to find a steward to ask if the ship’s doctor could come to him.
The doctor never arrived. It seemed there were so many sick passengers that he concentrated on seeing the most vulnerable ones, the very young and the very old. So Belle was Etienne’s nurse. She held the bucket for him to be sick in, sponged him down, made him sip water, and changed the sheets on his bunk when they became soaked with sweat. She barely slept at all and had very little to eat either for she didn’t like to leave him for more than a few minutes.
But on the evening of the fourth day, the rolling and pitching of the ship eased and Etienne was more peaceful. Belle went up to the dining room then, wolfed down a hearty meal herself and got some soup and bread for Etienne.
‘You’ve been very kind,’ he said weakly as Belle helped him to sit up and put pillows behind him to support him.
‘It was lucky I wasn’t seasick too,’ she said, spooning the soup into his mouth as though he was a baby. ‘Practically all the passengers are ill. The dining room was empty.’
‘Did you seize the opportunity to get help for yourself?’ he asked, catching hold of her wrist.
He was still terribly pale, but the green tinge to his skin had gone. She looked down at his hand gripping her and frowned. He removed it at once and apologized.
‘That’s better,’ she said starchily. ‘But no, I didn’t seek help, I was too busy looking after you.’
His relief was palpable, and it crossed her mind she should have lied and said she’d told the purser or someone.
‘Then I’d better pull myself together quickly, before you take off in a lifeboat,’ he said with a smile. ‘You’d make a first-class nurse, for you have a strong stomach and an iron will, but you are kind too.’
Belle smiled because she was happy to see him so much better. But at the same time she was confused as to why she should care how he was when to all intents and purposes he was her enemy. ‘Eat up, you’ve got some way to go before you’ll be strong enough again to bully me. I’ll leave my escaping until then,’ she retorted.
In the days that followed the sea grew calmer and gradually the normal routine on board returned. Etienne recovered very quickly and was soon eating well again. But his manner to Belle had changed: he was much warmer, and instead of locking her in the cabin for long periods he suggested they played cards and board games in the lounge to pass the time.
‘What’s the place like in New York where you’re taking me?’ she asked while they played chequers.
‘It’s not in New York. It’s in New Orleans.’
‘But that’s right at the other end of America, isn’t it?’ she asked.
Etienne nodded. ‘In the Deep South. You’ll be a whole lot warmer there.’
‘But how will we get there?’
‘Another ship.’ He went on to tell her that New Orleans was completely different to anywhere else in America, as prostitution was legal and it had non-stop music, dancing and gambling. He explained that the natives were French Creoles but there was also a huge population of negroes. This was because they had flocked to the town after the Civil War and the abolition of slavery. The Union Army had destroyed most of the big cotton and tobacco plantations in the South and the displaced workforce had to find some other line of work.
‘New Orleans is a fine-looking town too,’ he said with obvious appreciation. ‘It was built by the French with elegant mansions, beautiful gardens and squares. I think you will grow to love it.’
‘Maybe I will once I get over the hurdle of selling myself,’ she said tartly.
He gave her a wry little smile. ‘You know something, Belle, I’ve got a feeling that you are just smart enough to persuade the people who’ve bought you that you’d be more beneficial to them in a different role.’
‘What sort of role?’ she asked.
Etienne sucked in his cheeks thoughtfully. ‘Dancing, singing, front of house, hat-check girl. I don’t know, but you think on it and see what you can come up with. Did your mother have anyone working in her house who didn’t go with the men?’
‘Well, there was Mog, who I’ve already told you about,’ Belle said. ‘My mother called her the maid, but she was housekeeper and cook too. In the evenings she worked upstairs. I think she showed the men in and poured them drinks – she never talked to me about what she did.’
‘A maid in a brothel usually looks after the money and minds the girls,’ Etienne explained. ‘It’s a crucial role, for she has to be diplomatic and sensitive, but tough too if necessary. Why do you suppose she didn’t go with any of the men?’ he asked, one eyebrow raised.
‘Well, she wasn’t very pretty,’ Belle said, and instantly felt disloyal to Mog.
Etienne laughed and reached out to smooth a stray curl from her cheek. ‘No one will ever be able to say that of you! But you are definitely sharp-witted, Belle, and that could well be a bonus in a town that has hundreds of pretty, but lazy, greedy and rather stupid girls.’
Belle had already worked out that whoever owned her now must have paid a very high price for her. The travelling expenses alone would be more money than she could ever imagine earning. She was puzzled, because it didn’t make any sense to buy an English girl they didn’t even know, when there had to be countless prettier and more amenable girls already there in the Southern States of America.
But it did mean she must be seen as some kind of prize. So if she put that with what Etienne had said about offering herself as something else, maybe it would work.
But what could she offer herself as? She could sing in tune, but she wasn’t brilliant; the only dance she knew was the polka, and she couldn’t play a musical instrument either. She couldn’t think of anything she could do which would make anyone sit up and take notice.
Mog had said just after Millie was killed that she’d been the favourite of the house, and Belle had always been aware that Mog and Annie had given her more praise, affection and little treats than any of the other girls. She knew now that this meant Millie brought them in more money, but what was the difference in how Millie treated her clients to how the other girls did it? Belle certainly didn’t want to be a whore, but if she had no choice, then she’d rather be a great one that men paid far more for.
How on earth could she find out what made a great one? She had a feeling Etienne would know, but she was far too bashful to ask him such a thing.
Two days before they were due to disembark in New York, Etienne took Belle for an afternoon stroll around the deck. It was cold and windy, but the sun was shining, and it felt good to be out in the fresh air, watching seagulls swoop and swirl around the ship.
‘We’ve got two days in New York before we have to board the ship for New Orleans,’ he said as they leaned on a rail up by the bow, watching the sea curl away as the ship ploughed its way through. ‘I’m going to give you a choice. Either stay locked in the boarding-house room with me. Or, if you promise me you won’t run off, I’ll take you to see the sights.’
Belle had already learned that Etienne was a man of his word, and she liked that he was prepared to take her on trust too.
‘I’ll promise I won’t run off as long as you let me send a letter home to tell them I’m alive,’ she replied.
He turned, leaning his back against the ship’s rail. The wind was ruffling his fair hair and it made him look boyish and totally unthreatening. He stared at her without replying for what seemed an eternity.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ she asked cheekily.
He smiled. ‘I never understood that English phrase. Why would a cat take anyone’s tongue? But I’ve decided I’ll allow you to write a postcard home. All it can say is that you are in New Yor
k and in good health. I read it, and post it!’
Belle gave a whoop of delight. It wouldn’t get her rescued, but it would stop Mog and her mother fretting that she was dead. ‘A deal,’ she said. ‘I won’t try to run off.’
It was night as the ship sailed up the East River to dock in New York. It had been announced earlier that they would be disembarking in the morning and instructions about what they could expect when they went through immigration on Ellis Island had been given. Belle had only half listened to the officer, as she knew Etienne would know what to do. But as she was packing away her things into her bag ready for the morning, she did wonder how he intended to deal with any immigration officer who asked them awkward questions, for the captain had announced that there was a medical examination and several kinds of tests to be passed before entry into America.
She was just about to start getting undressed to go to bed, when Etienne came back into the cabin.
‘We’re leaving,’ he said sharply. ‘Put the last of your things in your bag and hurry.’
He had that tense, steely-eyed look again that he’d had when they first met in Brest.
‘How can we leave?’ she asked in puzzlement as he pulled his bag out from beneath his bunk and put the last of his things into it. ‘The ship hasn’t docked.’
‘Someone has come alongside to take us off,’ he said. ‘Now, be quick and don’t argue.’
The ship was lying at anchor, waiting for a tug to take it in at first light. It was very quiet as they left the cabin and made their way up to the lower deck. Belle thought most of the passengers must be packing or getting an early night to be ready for the morning. Holding her arm, Etienne led her to the port side of the deck where she saw Petty Officer Barker was waiting. This man had been very solicitous to Belle when Etienne had been ill. She understood why now, for he was clearly getting paid for helping them to evade the immigration officers.
In great haste, Barker grabbed her and pushed her on to a bosun’s chair, putting their bags in her lap. Etienne jumped on then, standing astride her with his feet wedged beneath her legs and holding on to the rope. Suddenly the chair was pushed out over the side and Barker began to lower it. The seat spun round crazily in the cold wind and Belle had to close her eyes for she was afraid she’d fall out into the water.
Belle Page 17
