Pregnancy was another worry. So far Martha’s sponges and douches had protected her, and indeed the other girls in the house, but Belle knew that in other houses the girls weren’t so lucky. They had the choice then of visiting Mammy Lou, a mulatto woman who could get rid of unwanted babies, or having the baby and taking the chance on her madam letting her stay in the house. Belle knew Martha would never agree to any of her girls bringing up a baby in her place. There were cat houses in the back streets where there were several babies and small children living in an upstairs room but Belle had heard they were dosed with ‘the Quietness’, a cordial made by Dr Godfrey which was laced with laudanum, and when they were bigger they were farmed out. Even back in London Belle had heard of children sent away to stay with women who made a business out of minding children. They got no tender love and care there, mostly they weren’t even fed adequately, and it was said to be just the same here in America.
But for now Belle felt she must concentrate on pleasing Martha, because she still had a feeling the woman didn’t really like her. There was nothing tangible to confirm this, just the odd dark look or a sharp word, but the other girls often told her stories about how vindictive Martha had been in the past to girls who’d upset her in some way.
Belle didn’t find it easy to suck up to her like the other girls did. She avoided letting Martha see her reading the newspaper or a book, guessing that was one thing which set her apart as different, and she never aired her opinions either. But Belle wasn’t made to be subservient, and she couldn’t bring herself to act dumb to please a woman who bought and sold human beings.
So it seemed to Belle that Hatty’s idea of finding a man who wanted her as his mistress was the only way out of her predicament. She didn’t want a husband; it wouldn’t be right to marry knowing she was intending to run off. But a married man keeping a mistress was already being deceitful, so he deserved to be deceived himself.
Every night Belle jotted down in her diary all the gentlemen she serviced, and later she’d think of each one and make further notes: what she thought of him, what he looked like, how often he visited Martha’s, and if she was his favourite. There were many men who visited Martha’s on a regular basis and always asked for her. She separated out those she liked especially, and those who bought her presents, and finally those she thought were probably rich enough to keep a mistress.
It came down to just two men: Faldo Reiss, a jovial Texan who had an important job on the railways, and Captain Evan Hunter, who owned several ships which sailed out of New Orleans. Faldo was in his fifties and had a wife and four grown-up children back in Houston. Evan was a little younger, around forty-seven – he’d never mentioned a wife or children but his home was in Baton Rouge.
What Belle needed to establish was whether the two men had legitimate business in New Orleans, or whether they went out of their way to come here to Martha’s just to see her.
It was frustrating that Martha didn’t encourage any man to stay longer than half an hour in the girls’ rooms. This was because she could make far more money with a succession of men than one staying for several hours, or even all night. Half an hour was just about the right length of time for the sex, but it left no time for talking. There was time in the parlour, but the other girls and Martha always had their ears flapping, so Belle couldn’t hope to have an intimate conversation with anyone.
On a Friday night right at the end of July, rain was belting down so hard that the drains couldn’t carry the water away fast enough and Basin Street became like a river. The girls called it a hurricane, but then they were always talking about hurricanes and how scary they were, with roofs being ripped off houses and trees being uprooted. Martha agreed this could be a hurricane, although it was a month early, but she said the girls were exaggerating and that in all her years in New Orleans she’d only ever seen one roof ripped off.
Belle had seen rain as hard as this dozens of times in England, but there it was always cold. This rain was like a warm shower, and she wasn’t surprised that people were still out on the streets regardless of getting soaked.
But the rain was keeping gentlemen away. By nine in the evening only two had come in, the Professor was wilting at his piano and the girls were so bored that they were sniping at one another.
Anna-Maria, who Belle had discovered at least a year ago was extremely treacherous, asked Suzanne why she had chosen a green dress as it made her look sallow. This wasn’t true – Suzanne had glossy, coppery-coloured hair and green suited her.
‘I don’t mean to be unkind,’ Anna-Maria simpered. ‘I just think someone ought to tell you.’
‘Someone ought to tell you that you’re a lying bitch,’ Suzanne retorted, getting to her feet and looking down at the other girl menacingly. ‘You’re jealous of me because that rich banker asked for me yesterday.’
‘He won’t ask for you again now he knows how dirty you are,’ Anna-Maria snapped back, jumping out of her chair. ‘I know you don’t wash between clients, you stink like a polecat.’
Suzanne sprang at the other girl with her long nails poised to claw her face. Belle didn’t like Anna-Maria much, and felt she deserved a scratched face for being so nasty to Suzanne, but Martha was likely to put all the blame on to the one that struck the first blow. So Belle jumped up too and stepped in front of Anna-Maria.
‘That’s enough,’ she said in the kind of firm voice she’d often heard Mog use with the girls. ‘Anna-Maria! You will apologize to Suzanne, that was an awful thing to say and it isn’t even true.’
Hatty, Polly and Betty all began to add their opinions. Betty said that Anna-Maria deserved a good thumping as she was always making mischief.
‘Watch out I don’t claw you as well,’ Anna-Maria yelled at Betty, trying to get past Belle. ‘You’re just jealous of me too.’
The Professor began to play louder, and at that moment the parlour door opened and Martha stood there, her double chin quivering with anger.
‘What is this?’ she asked, looking at each of the girls in turn.
None of them answered. It was an unwritten law that they didn’t tell tales on one another.
‘I suppose it was you, Belle?’ Martha snapped. ‘I can see by the way you are that you’ve been intimidating Anna-Maria.’
‘I haven’t,’ Belle said, aware she was still standing right in front of the other girl, and maybe that did look like intimidation to someone just coming into the room. ‘Tell her, Anna-Maria?’
‘She was, she’s always pushing me around,’ Anna-Maria burst out.
By lying she’d just knocked out the code of silence, and all the other girls began to shout out what had really happened.
They were all still shouting and adding other grievances about Anna-Maria when suddenly Cissie’s voice cut through the noise to say a gentleman had called.
It was Faldo Reiss, the big Texan, but although he was usually impeccably dressed in a pinstriped grey and white tail coat and stiff-winged collar, tonight, soaking wet, he looked ridiculous as he stood in the doorway of the parlour.
The girls fell silent immediately. Belle wanted to laugh, for with his wet clothes sticking to him and plump belly, hair and moustache dripping wet, he resembled a walrus.
‘How good to see you, Mr Reiss,’ Martha gushed. ‘The girls were just having a little debate. You look almost drowned, you poor man. Cissie will take your coat and hat, and do come in and have a drink.’
Belle pulled herself up sharply and went over to Faldo, smiling a welcome. ‘How nice to see you, Mr Reiss. I hope you didn’t risk getting pneumonia just to see me?’
‘I would risk anything to see you,’ he said gallantly, taking the glass of whisky Cissie offered him and downing it in one.
‘Could we dry his clothes for him?’ Belle turned to Martha to ask.
Martha gave a kind of bodily quiver, as if she was trying to shake off the incident she’d broken up a few minutes earlier. ‘Yes, Belle, that would be kind. Would you like to go up with Belle,
Mr Reiss, or was it another girl you wanted to see?’
Belle sensed Martha hoped it was another girl he wanted. But Faldo smiled and said it was Belle he wanted.
As they went out of the room, Belle couldn’t resist smirking back at Anna-Maria.
Up in her room, Belle urged Faldo to take off all his clothes. She said she’d give them to Cissie to dry down by the stove in the kitchen. ‘Mind you, they won’t be dry in just half an hour,’ she said, as he began to peel them off.
‘I’ll pay to stay all night,’ he said all too eagerly. ‘Will that be all right?’
‘I’ll have to consult Madam,’ Belle said, lowering her eyes coyly. She wasn’t keen to have him there all night; he was a big man, and the thought of him wanting to do it over and over again wasn’t inviting, but then, she had wanted an opportunity to get to know him better, and this was it.
She took his clothes and shoes downstairs, passing them on to Cissie.
Martha was still in the parlour, and as Belle went in she sensed tension and guessed she’d been telling the girls off. Belle asked if she could speak to her privately. When Martha came out into the hall she explained, and asked how much it would be if Faldo stayed the whole night.
‘Five hundred dollars,’ Martha said curtly.
Instinctively Belle knew that was a far higher price than was normally charged, especially in such bad weather when they were unlikely to get any other business. But she had a feeling Martha had picked on such a high price hoping Faldo would refuse it, which would make Belle lose face in front of both her and the other girls.
‘I don’t know if he likes me that much,’ Belle said with a little grin. ‘I can only ask him.’
As she went back upstairs, her satin gown rustling, she could sense Martha’s eyes following her, and her animosity. It made Belle feel uneasy, but she really didn’t know what she could do about it.
Faldo was in bed when she got back to her room. He had a big, flabby white chest, and where he’d rubbed his hair dry on her towel it was standing up like a porcupine.
‘I don’t think you’ll want to stay all night, she says it will be five hundred dollars,’ Belle said in a small voice.
He made a loud guffaw of laughter. ‘I call it a bargain to stay with you,’ he said. ‘Pass me my pocketbook on the table, honey. I’ll add another twenty so we can have a bottle of champagne too.’
As Belle came back up the stairs a few minutes later with the champagne in an ice bucket and two glasses, she could hardly contain her delight. Martha’s face had been a picture when Belle gave her the money, struggling between pique because she’d been mistaken about Faldo, and sheer greed that she’d got so much money on a bad night.
But Belle’s delight was not in making Martha eat humble pie, but in Faldo’s reaction. He wanted to be with her, and he’d asked for champagne, which implied he saw this as a special occasion. She was determined to make sure it was one.
A little later, sitting up beside him in her bed drinking the champagne and laughing with him, Belle remembered what Etienne had said about loving her clients a little. Physically Faldo was not very attractive; in fact, he was very odd-looking. His head was small and egg-shaped and completely out of proportion with his big frame. His eyes were like black boot buttons and his nose was too big, and with his big flabby belly, yet skinny arms and legs, he was all wrong. Yet despite that he was a nice, good-humoured man, who’d always treated her well. He didn’t appear to have any of the disturbing little fetishes other men had, and he smiled with his eyes as well as his mouth.
But now he seemed in no rush to have his way with her, she was seeing yet another side of him. It was good just to lie back on the pillows and talk; she never had a chance to do that with other men. He told her how he had to ride the railway a great deal to check that the passengers on the trains were being treated properly, that the trains ran on time, and that the stations along the routes were maintained well. But he was also involved in decision-making about new railways, negotiating the deals for the land they crossed, and buying up or building hotels and other related businesses by the railway stations.
He had the ability to make even rather mundane things interesting, but once he got on to the subject of different parts of America, the wildlife and the Red Indians, he was spellbinding. ‘It’s God’s own country,’ he said with real fervour. ‘Vast plains, huge forests, wide, fast-flowing rivers and mountains so beautiful they bring a lump to your throat.’
Then he wanted to know about England, and although Belle did her best to describe London so he could imagine it, she was ashamed that she knew so little about the city of her birth.
She wanted to ask him about his wife and children, but she sensed he wouldn’t welcome such questions. So instead she told him how she had been snatched off the street and eventually brought here.
He looked thoughtful as she told him the story, and when she’d finished he took her hand in his and squeezed it.
‘It’s men like me who make this lucrative market,’ he said sadly. ‘We only see the excitement, the colour and the thrill of sporting houses. We don’t ever think how the girls came to be there. I sure do feel ashamed now.’
She squeezed his hand back and cuddled closer to him. ‘Don’t be. You are a good man. There aren’t any girls in this house who aren’t willing. Even if I hadn’t been forced into this way of life, maybe I would’ve come to it anyway. You weren’t the one who captured me, or one of the men who raped me in Paris. I like being here with you. I really like you.’
He turned to her and stroked her cheek. ‘I like you too, Belle. You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, with your mop of dark curls and your dancing eyes. You make me feel young again.’
When they’d drunk all the champagne Faldo scooped her into his arms in the way she felt a husband or a lover would, and he sought to please her rather than expecting her to please him.
Sex with any of her clients was quickly over and much the same whoever it was with. Faldo had been like all the other men too; there was nothing to single him out other than that he hadn’t been rough, said crude things or been unpleasant in any other way. But he was different tonight, slower, sensitive and loving. It wasn’t in the same league as Serge’s lovemaking, but it was enjoyable.
Belle glanced at the clock on her bedside table at one point and was amazed to see it was gone twelve, yet they’d come up to her room soon after nine. But he was holding back, wanting to make it last, and for once Belle didn’t try to speed things up; she was liking it, really liking it.
Daylight was just creeping around the edges of the shutters when she awoke to find herself still in his arms, and his body, which she’d thought so flabby the previous evening, now felt warm, soft and comforting. And she stretched herself along it like a cat, winding her legs over his. This, she thought, was how it must be when you were married, a cosy kind of contentment.
He made love to her again a little later and it was sweeter still than it had been the night before. She even let him kiss her, for she felt as if she should give him all that she had.
But around half past eight he looked at his pocket watch and sighed. ‘I have to go, my little flower. I have a meeting at ten and I need to go to a barber’s and get shaved and back to my hotel to get a clean shirt.’
‘It’s been really lovely,’ she said, wrapping her arms around him tightly. ‘I wish it could be like this all the time.’ In the half-light of the shuttered room he didn’t look old or ugly, just a sweet man who had made her feel happy and good about herself.
‘You are good at your job,’ he chuckled softly. ‘For a moment I almost believed you meant it!’
Belle sat up sharply and looked down at him. ‘But I did. Truly!’
He smiled and moved closer to kiss her nipple. Just that light touch sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine and she pulled him closer to her.
‘I have to go,’ he said reluctantly after a minute or two. ‘Could you get me my clothes?’
&
nbsp; Some ten minutes later he was dressed in his dry, pressed clothes. Cissie had even polished his shoes for him. He put his hands on Belle’s waist, smiling down at her red satin and lace negligee. ‘Can we do this again, sugar?’ he asked.
‘I would be cross if you didn’t want to,’ she replied, tilting her face up so she could kiss him. ‘But I feel bad that you had to pay Madam all that money.’
He leaned down to kiss her. ‘You’re worth it, sugar,’ he said with a smile. ‘But now I must hit the road!’
Belle went back to bed after she’d shown him out. She wasn’t sure exactly what she felt. She was pleased that she’d got closer to Faldo, maybe he would want her for his mistress now, and she was fairly certain he could afford to pay whatever Martha asked to release her. But she also felt sad that she was planning to cheat such a good man.
‘You can’t think about that,’ she told herself sharply. ‘Your duty is to look after yourself and get back to England. Faldo will get what he wants too.’
‘What was it like with him all night?’ Hatty asked later that same day. All the girls were in the kitchen dunking beignets in their coffee. ‘He sure must be loaded to pay so much.’
Hatty was a big, voluptuous girl with mid-brown hair, green eyes and a very kind heart. She was the one Belle confided in and sought out for company. She’d been brought up in an orphanage in San Francisco and had run away when one of the male governors tried to have his way with her. She had been forced into prostitution by a couple who pretended to befriend her, and it was these people who sold her on to Martha, along with Suzanne.
‘Or he’s in love with Belle?’ Betty said with a wide smile.
‘I think it was more because he didn’t want to put his wet clothes back on,’ Belle giggled.
She had noticed Anna-Maria was scowling and so she thought she’d better keep her real thoughts about Faldo to herself for now. ‘I thought morning would never come,’ she added for good measure.
Belle Page 27
