Belle

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ Etienne said in a low voice. ‘You’re quite safe. We’ll be on the other boat in seconds.’

  He was right – almost as he spoke she felt a bump as the seat reached the other boat. Etienne jumped off and helped her out too. They were on what looked and smelled like a fishing boat. The bosun’s chair was hauled back up, and before Belle had time to adjust to the rocking motion of the little boat, it began to chug away from the big ship.

  A small, stocky man in waterproofs came over to them. ‘Into the wheelhouse with you,’ he said curtly. ‘Sit down on the floor out of sight.’

  Belle might not have felt seasick during the storm on the big ship, but she felt very queasy once she was squashed up in a corner of the wheelhouse. It wasn’t just the smell of fish, or the rocking motion of the small boat, but fear, for she had no idea what was in store for her. The man at the helm didn’t speak to them, or even turn to look at them as they scuttled into the wheelhouse. It was as if he thought that by not acknowledging their presence, he could pretend he didn’t know they were aboard.

  Belle was scared. If she was entering the country illegally, what would happen to her if she tried to leave it? She felt angry with herself that she hadn’t run away from Etienne instead of going along with his escape plan. How could she have been stupid enough to believe he was going to show her the sights of New York or send a postcard home? Wasn’t it far more likely that he was going to take her to some terrible place, even worse than the brothel in Paris? Why on earth had she started to trust him?

  Etienne didn’t speak to her at all as they sat hunched up on the floor, and as Belle felt she might endanger herself even more by saying anything, she stayed quiet too. They had been on the boat for about twenty-five minutes when suddenly there was bright light coming in through the wheelhouse windows, and Belle could hear men shouting to one another.

  ‘We’re approaching the docks. They’ll be mooring any minute,’ Etienne whispered. ‘We stay here until they tell us it’s safe to go.’

  ‘Where do we go?’ she whispered back fearfully.

  ‘To a hotel, just like I told you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tell you this was how we were going into New York, just in case you panicked.’

  ‘What if we get caught?’ she whispered. ‘Won’t they shove us in prison?’

  He took her two hands in his and lifted her fingers to gently kiss the tips of them. His eyes were full of mischief. ‘I don’t ever get caught. Back in France they call me L’Ombre, which means the shadow.’

  ‘You make a very good guide,’ Belle said as they came down the gangplank of the little boat which had taken them out to see the Statue of Liberty. ‘Maybe you should take that up instead of working for bad men.’

  It was dusk now, and growing very cold, but the last two days had been bright and sunny and they’d walked miles and seen so much: the Flat Iron Building, the first of New York’s skyscrapers, the Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park … they’d travelled on the ‘E’, a train which ran high over houses and offices. Belle had eaten her first hot dog and marvelled at the grand shops on Fifth Avenue, but also seen enough grim, overcrowded tenements to realize there were even more desperately poor people in America than there were back home.

  Etienne had been as good as his word, getting her safely from the fishing boat to a guest house on the Lower West Side. Although the neighbourhood looked every bit as squalid as Seven Dials, and certainly didn’t live up to the way people back in England imagined Americans lived, the guest house was comfortable and warm, with steam heat, hot baths and indoor lavatories.

  ‘It’s been good to show you round,’ Etienne said. ‘I just wish we had a couple more days for there’s a great deal more I’d like to show you. When I get back to France I shall have to continue in the same line of work, for I have no choice, but when we get to New Orleans I will try to influence your new mistress into taking very good care of you.’

  Belle was holding his arm and she squeezed it, knowing he really did feel badly about his part in her capture. She also knew why he had to go through with it, because he’d finally told her his story.

  He was born and grew up in Marseille, but his mother died when he was six, and his father turned to drink. Etienne stole first out of necessity. His father spent every penny he made on drink, and someone had to put food on the table, clothes on their backs and pay the rent on their two rooms.

  But by the time he was fourteen he had become a skilful burglar, and targeted the grand hotels all along the Riviera where the very wealthy stayed. He went after jewellery which he then fenced for a fraction of its real value in one of the many little jewellers in the narrow street down by the harbour.

  He was eighteen when he was caught red-handed one night in the room of a man who had become a millionaire through, it transpired, extortion. He was offered a choice: work for this man, whom Etienne chose to call Jacques because he couldn’t reveal his real name, or be thrown to the police, who would no doubt make sure he got an extremely long prison sentence as he’d been a thorn in their side for years.

  Etienne explained to Belle that at the time he thought he was the luckiest man alive to be offered work with Jacques.

  ‘I could hardly believe it. He sent me to London where I was given English lessons. I stayed in a nice place called Bayswater, and I had further lessons on the habits of the English aristocracy so that I could rob them. But whereas in the past I would be stealing a diamond ring or some emerald ear bobs, left on the dressing-table, now I was to be clearing out a safe containing hundreds of pounds worth of jewels, or conducting a confidence trick on someone which would make them part with thousands of pounds.’

  He said that for a few years it was good to have hand-tailored suits and silk shirts and stay in the best hotels, and he was making more money than he’d ever dreamed of. But a scare with the English police had made him go back to Paris to lie low for a while, and during that time he went home to Marseille and met a girl he fell in love with. He wanted to marry her, and he felt it was time to put the money he’d made to good use and start a legitimate business, before his luck ran out.

  ‘So I told Jacques my plan, and he asked that I give him another two years. When that was up I went back to Marseille and married Elena, and in partnership with her brother who is a chef, we opened a restaurant there. But I was wrong to think I could just say goodbye to Jacques; he didn’t like anyone to escape from his net. Every now and then he would send word that he had a job for me, and I couldn’t refuse him.’

  ‘Was that jobs like collecting me?’ Belle asked.

  ‘No, I told you I had never done anything like escorting girls before. It was always strong arm stuff,’ Etienne explained. ‘Mostly I have to threaten someone who isn’t toeing the line, or maybe is standing in Jacques’ way. Often I have to use violence, but you must understand these people were all thugs and gangsters, so it is nothing to me. But I wish now that once I had the restaurant I had refused point blank to do any more work for him.’ He sighed. ‘He wouldn’t have liked it, he would have made things tough for me, but by going along with it I’ve just got in deeper and deeper.’

  Belle listened to him attentively and asked if there was any way he could get out of it now.

  ‘By escorting you here I have put myself in an even worse position,’ Etienne replied glumly. ‘Strong arm stuff between thugs and gangsters is understood and accepted by most people, but now Jacques has involved me in trafficking such a young girl, he has got an even stronger hold over me.’

  ‘What does your wife think about this?’ she asked.

  ‘She thinks I am an aide to a businessman with many companies, and although she doesn’t like me to be away from her, she likes the extra money I bring home. If I am truthful, I always enjoyed being the big man who sorted out grievances between criminals. But I don’t feel that way now, not now Jacques has made me do this job. Trafficking young girls is wicked, and I do not wish to have any part in it, nor would I want my wife an
d children to ever discover that I have done.’

  ‘We’re kind of in the same position, aren’t we?’ Belle said glumly. ‘I can’t run away from you now because I’d be afraid what would happen to you. And you can’t help me go either because of what might happen to your wife and sons.’

  He turned to her and cupped her face between his hands. ‘Belle, I would take that risk if I could be certain you’d be safe, for I could easily tell Jacques the immigration people caught you, and he’d believe that for he’d have no way of checking. But what would become of you? You would either have to find work here, with all the risks that go with being a young girl alone in a dangerous city. Or you’d tell the authorities that you were brought here illegally, and get them to send you back home.’

  Belle knew that hope must have registered on her face, for he shook his head.

  ‘That might seem the perfect solution to you, but this man Kent you tell me about back in England, he will hear from New Orleans what has happened and he’ll have to get to you and kill you to save himself. I know how these men work, as he will be much the same as Jacques.’

  ‘Is there no other way?’ she asked.

  ‘You are a remarkable young lady,’ he said sadly. ‘It is this which makes me sure you will conquer New Orleans on your own terms. It is many things, a corrupt, dangerous place, but it also has a soul, and I think on balance you will be safer there and get the opportunity to select your own path in life.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  As the ship sailed south down the coast of America, the wind dropped, and gradually it became a little warmer and the skies bluer. On Belle’s sixteenth birthday Etienne bought a bottle of French champagne for them to celebrate.

  ‘I wish you’d told me that your birthday was so soon while we were in New York and I would have bought you a little present,’ he said apologetically. ‘You must be thinking of your mother and your Mog so much today?’

  Belle had been thinking of home. Mog had always made her a special iced cake with candles, and there would be little presents from everyone in the house. Last birthday her mother had given her the grey cloak she was wearing when she was snatched, but even that had gone now, left back at Madame Sondheim’s.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, even though she did feel very sad. ‘In years to come I’ll remember where I was when I had my first glass of champagne.’

  A few days later they were standing on deck looking at the coastline in the distance.

  ‘New Orleans is much warmer than England all year round,’ Etienne explained. ‘It has very mild winters and hot, sticky summers. But it has quite heavy rain too, and hurricanes, mostly at the end of August or the beginning of September.’

  ‘What else can you tell me about it?’ Belle was growing very scared now, for within twenty-four hours Etienne would be handing her over and he’d have to return to France.

  ‘It’s a place for fun,’ he said, his eyes lighting up as if he had good memories of there. ‘People come over the weekend to let their hair down, to dance, gamble, find a woman, and hear the music. The music is what stays in your head long after you’ve left New Orleans. It wafts out of every bar, club, dance hall and restaurant, follows you up the street and into your dreams.’

  ‘And if they make me do that thing?’ She blushed scarlet for she couldn’t bring herself to speak openly of what she knew would be expected of her. ‘Is there anything you can tell me that would make it easier to bear?’

  He put his hand on her cheek, his eyes tender now as if he wished he could reassure her that wasn’t going to happen. ‘If I was you I’d try and think about the money. Slavery is dead, and you should get half of what you earn, if you stand up for yourself. And put the money somewhere safe, it’s your future you are saving for.’ He paused for a moment as if thinking what he could say about the actual act.

  ‘I think the real trick to it is making the men think they are getting something unique and wonderful,’ he went on. ‘This is easy because men can be fools, they’ll look at your pretty face and see how young you are, and before you so much as hold their hand they’ll believe you are a dream come true.’

  Belle smiled. She loved hearing Etienne talk, even if the subject wasn’t all that agreeable. That hint of French accent was so compelling, and the more she looked at him, the sadder she was that she was soon going to lose him.

  ‘But above all you have to believe you are the best,’ Etienne said earnestly. ‘The top girls in New Orleans get as much as thirty or forty dollars a time, they wear the latest silk gowns, have a maid to arrange their hair, some even have their own carriage to drive around in. Many of these girls have wealthy patrons who pay them not to go with any other man. There are other top girls who get booked for all night, every night, yet often their clients only want to go to sleep with them in their arms. And so it goes right down the scale to the cheaper sporting houses, girls who rent out a room by the hour, until you finally get to the girls who do their work in back alleys. They are filthy, depraved and disease-ridden hags, charging only a couple of cents.

  ‘You must always remember that you are a top end girl. You will look beautiful, be sweet and charming to your clients even when you want to cry. You must try to love the men for the short time you are with them, and soon you will find that you really can love them a little and you won’t feel bad about your life.’

  ‘You sound as if you really know what goes on. Have you been to these houses?’

  ‘Belle, I was a burglar, I always mixed with people on the wrong side of the fence. I got to know the girls in cat houses in Marseille like they were my sisters. They would tell me about their lives, their clients, the other girls and the madams, and I know from this that you must always keep the madam on your side. She is the one who can make your life hell if she doesn’t like you.’

  ‘You said sporting houses and cat houses – are they the same as brothels?’ she asked curiously.

  Etienne smiled down at her. ‘They use these words more in New Orleans than the word brothel. Sporting houses are usually quite grand places, often with a band playing in the drawing room. They put a screen round the musicians so they can’t see the identity of the men who come in to dance and have fun with the girls.’

  All at once Belle was overcome by emotion and she began to cry.

  ‘What is it?’ Etienne asked, putting his arms around her and drawing her to his chest.

  ‘I am going to miss you so much,’ she sobbed.

  He held her tightly and stroked her hair. ‘I’m going to miss you too, little one. You have taken a part of my heart. But I may get sent here again some day and you will be so grand and important you won’t want to talk with me.’

  ‘I would never be too grand for you.’ She sniffed back her tears and almost laughed because she knew he was only teasing her. ‘But my admirers might be jealous as you are so handsome.’

  He put his hands on either side of her head and bent down to kiss away her tears. ‘I think it might be better for me to stay away when you are older, for you will surely break my heart,’ he said softly. ‘Now, just remember what I told you, that you are beautiful and clever, and you must use that sharp mind to outfox any that would try to trap or hurt you.’

  A little later Etienne left Belle on deck while he went down to their cabin for something. Aside from when he was suffering from seasickness, it was the first opportunity she’d had to speak to anyone she chose. There were dozens of other people on deck – respectable married couples, groups of young men, a few elderly people, and even two plainly dressed women who she felt might be the churchy kind. They would be ideal people to ask for help, and she had no doubt that if such an opportunity had arisen on the steamer from France, she would have gladly snatched it.

  But she didn’t want any help now. While it was true that being delivered to a brothel wasn’t her ideal start in life, would London have been any better for her? While she was absolutely certain her mother and Mog would not have wanted her to becom
e a whore, what else was there for a girl of her background except going into service or working in a factory? To stay at home for ever was an even worse prospect, for she’d never make any friends and the days would be endless.

  Belle had often looked at the grand department stores like the new Selfridges which had opened just the year before in Oxford Street, or Swan and Edgar’s in Regent Street, and wished she could work in one of them. But even had she been able to get a good reference from someone, which was unlikely, everyone said the girls in those shops worked very long hours for very little pay and were bullied by the floor managers. She remembered how the other girls at the school she went to in Bloomsbury whispered about her. She had no doubt that kind of whispering would follow her to any job she might find. Just as Jimmy had assumed she had to be a whore because she lived in a brothel, so would everyone else.

  So she had decided she was going to do exactly what Etienne had suggested and use her wits to make a good life for herself. She wouldn’t fight being a whore, just go with it and aim for the top spot. They wouldn’t lock her in or watch her like a hawk if they saw that she was willing. And it would be good to wear silk dresses and drive in her own carriage. In fact it might even be the greatest of adventures. She was after all in America, a country where dreams could come true.

  One day, when she’d saved enough money, she’d sail home to England and open that little hat shop she used to dream about.

  That evening in the dining room with Etienne, Belle felt oddly lightheaded because she’d become resolved about her future. It was warmer, and she’d put on a lighter, pale blue taffeta dress which she’d been given in Paris and hadn’t worn before because it had been too cold. It was very pretty, with white lace ruffles on the bodice and sleeves, and she’d put a blue ribbon in her hair to match. When Etienne offered her some red wine, she accepted it eagerly for it was all part of moving on to her new way of life.