by Ryans, Rae
“That pleases me.” His eyes darkened again. “This is my bedroom, and yours is next door. I wanted to show you that I’m close by if you need me.” Instead of walking back through the hallway, he opened a different door; it led into the living room. Books lined one of the walls and a pang washed over me. Perhaps, if he was willing, Petre would teach me to read.
“This is, as I’m sure you have guessed, our private entertainment room.” My eyes had glanced over the modern furniture and electronics before trailing back to him. His hand rubbed the base of his neck, but he smiled at me. My own lips tried to twitch upward too, but I wasn’t ready to trust him. How many stories had I heard from young girls about rich men? They all ended badly, and I’d stay smart to make sure it didn’t happen to me.
I shook the smile away and padded behind him into the next room. The walls were light grey-lavender, so light that, in the dark, they appeared more grayish than purple. The bed had a dark sloped headboard and footboard. The shape reminded me of a sleigh, and a fat man dressed in red; I’d once saw them in a picture book. My breath released. No bed poles to haunt my waking moments.
“We can change the colors if you like,” he said. I shook my head, but his back faced me. “This was my room; grey is my favorite color,” Petre added.
“No, it’s pretty.” I smiled. Even as I tried to stop it, my dry lips cracked into a grin. The air shifted as he spun around, scooped me up like a doll, and pressed me to him. I sucked in a breath, but I couldn’t shake the grin off my face. Warmth flushed into my cheeks; our eyes met, and he stepped away.
A chill shook over my skin after he dropped me, which I found odd. Petre’s hands were still icy. “Grey is my favorite too.”
Why did I tell him that? No more, I chided myself and nibbled my cheek. He’d end up being a witch, and his house made of finery and sweets. I would not become Gretel like in the story. Fattened, lured, and wind up fighting for my life. All because I fell for a line of flattery or was swooped up into his fairytale life. No, Petre bought me. I had to remember the facts. He knew Jules. Therefore, he was not my knight in shining armor. Knights didn’t frequent whorehouses, did they?
Though I wanted one; a good man to save me, or even help me find the courage to save myself. All girls did, but now I was a woman, and I had to bury those notions. Decent men didn’t exist in this world any more than truly freed women. I glanced to him again, noting the rapid curl of his fingers, and his relaxed posture. Would he expect me to run, or did he think I’d play his game, open my legs, and buy into this façade life? Were there chains hidden in his basement or skeletons rattling away in the closets too?
My weakened legs walked around the bedroom. Not because of him, no, I’d just spent the most time away from Hampshire House than ever before; split between a rail car and a carriage, neither was comfortable. But I did love this bedroom, it was larger than I expected, and there was a fireplace too. The hearth was built with grey stone like the front of the house, and a small fire was cooking inside, filling the air with an earthy scent. Windows lined two walls, and there was a set of doors leading outside. I placed my hand over the bedspread, noticing a faint hint of feathers in the air that mixed with the burning wood. It was different from my old tattered blanket or my stained mattress on the floor of a closet sized bedroom.
Lights danced and illuminated on the walls, held in by frosted glass globes. All steam powered it seemed as they used bulbs instead of flame. Uncle Jules didn’t have steam in the Hampshire House but relied on biofuel from trash like the rest of the city. My eyes roamed again, soaking in my surroundings, including my benefactor who eyed me back under the cloak of his black hair.
“I’m pleased you like it as much as I do.” My eyes narrowed. Then why give it to me?
The room was basic, yes, but it suited me. Lavish and luxury were not words that I’d use to describe me. I was simple. The first room, while similar, had shared those traits. But if this was Petre’s room, then whose room had he stayed in, and where was that woman? I noticed the yellows and pinks, and those colors hadn’t screamed of a man.
“You have a private bath too, through this door, as well as a private balcony.”
I walked to the doors and peered through the curtains. Real cloth and not the tattered old sheets of the brothel. The view of the grounds took my breath away, as mile after mile of glistening snow sparkled under the setting sun. My eyes closed, and I pictured a spring meadow in its place. A girl could get used to this. I wanted to get used to it, but the nagging questions remained, and they all began with why.
“Jobe already left your—” He walked out of the bathroom and whistled. “—beautiful view.”
“It’s breathtaking.” I turned around.
Petre’s onyx gaze met mine. “Yes, indeed it is.” The hairs stood up on the back of my neck, and something told me he wasn’t referring to the snowy landscape. “Come, let me finish, and then I’ll leave you to unwind.”
Before I could respond, he grasped my hands and tugged gently. He walked me through the bathroom, which featured a white clawfoot tub. My breath hissed at the sight of it, and I recalled my death vision. The vanity caught my eye, fully stocked with cosmetics. Uncle Jules didn’t allow me to wear makeup. I’d tried some a few years ago, and he made me scrub my skin raw. When I finished, he had whipped me.
“Mellissa will have towels soon if they’re not in your linen closet.” He tapped on a built-in cabinet. “She’ll attend to all your personal needs and accompany you when I cannot.”
I nodded, gulping at the thought of having servants waiting on me. Dizziness swept over me at the mere thought of having my own maid. Maybe there was a God after all, and he granted me all of this finery for the sins of Jules. Time would tell; time had never lied. Many times, I’d attended to Uncle Jules, praying and wishing he would ask about my day and go on his way. Those prayers and wishes remained unanswered. More often than not, his actions grew ruthless as time progressed, and I had become complacent even though I hadn’t wanted to.
“Korrigan, are you all right?” Petre’s hand had stroked a stray hair away from my face, before cupping it with his cold fingers. “You went pale there for a moment, sweetling.”
His touch was freezing, and only years of keeping my emotions barricaded stopped me from flinching away. A single recoil or wince was disobedience. Those pain-ridden reminders took weeks to heal depending on the force used. Over time, I learned to hide my reactions in placid looks or false smiles.
“Overwhelmed,” I said. “Your home is more than I expected. Uncle Jules didn’t tell me anything.”
The warmth on his face melted away, and I sucked in my breath. Even without marriage, my contract bound me to him for the next five years. Jules let the detail slip when he’d reminded me who and where I belonged. Petre stepped toward me. My heart raced with each passing breath, and I dropped my gaze to the floor. The chill of his body sent gooseflesh over my bare shoulders, but his peppery scent did something I couldn’t explain. Heat, it warmed me inside, but hotter than a blush. That had never happened before.
“Dearest,” he said, his finger lifting my chin. My eyes met his for a moment before he brushed his lips over mine. Unable to stop the reaction, my lips moved to meet him. “Rest, we’ll talk more soon.”
No one had kissed me before. I dropped my mouth to speak, but chose to nod instead. My voice, nope, didn’t trust it. Petre turned, glancing over his shoulder as he left the closet. His grin widened to display those dimples. My hand touched my mouth. That kiss burned my lips. The peppery scent … No, I shook the absurd notion away. I wanted to do that again if for any reason, to prove myself wrong. Yes, I must confirm for myself.
My lone suitcase sat at my feet and held all I owned. A few pairs of jeans, some old shirts, and my underwear, mainly, in addition to one gift Jules gave me. A locket, containing pictures of my parents, or so he claimed. I never wore it, and I wasn’t going to start now. They were a young couple, and I didn’t resemble either of
them.
Opening up the case, I made to put the items away, only to discover each drawer already filled. The items, I assumed at first were Petre’s, but they were women’s clothing –dresses, pants, and skirts- in a size zero and two. My face scrunched; how had he known my sizes? I unpacked my few belongings anyway, shoving them wherever I found the room, just in case there was a mistake, or these items belonged to someone else. Even with all his kindness, I would not assume when it came to him or his home.
Unpacking ate up a whole five minutes of my time, but I wasn’t ready to face him again. On my way back to the bedroom, I eyed the tub. The smooth seductive porcelain called to me, as did the large glass bottles hanging off its side. Not able to resist the temptation, I started a bath. At the least, it would help me relax and ease my sore legs. While I still didn’t have towels, Uncle Jules had allowed me to bring my worn robe. He doubtless thought the moth-eaten garment would remind me of him, and he was right. Like a specter, the man haunted me and drained my energy away.
I removed my clothes and placed them to the side, vowing to find the hamper when I was through with my bath. The water steamed and burned my skin as I stepped into the tub. My body crouched down, and I braced for the wounds to sting. I took in a sharp breath as my teeth mashed together.
Stung was an understatement. “Oh, my goodness.” I gasped as a knock sounded on the door.
“Lady Korrigan, I brought ye towels; may I enter?”
Before I could respond, the door opened. Mellissa, whom I’d met downstairs, smiled wide as her eyes washed over me. I hadn’t looked at her before. Her grey hair was high in a bun, and the soft wrinkles of her face set more laugh lines than frowns. She froze, the towels dropping, and a hand flying to her mouth.
My cheeks flared, and I whisked a finger to my mouth to shush her. I couldn’t read anyone’s mind, but she looked as if she were about to scream bloody murder. Surely, my back wasn’t that dreadful, and it couldn’t be because I was stark naked. Her lips closed, and she nodded as wetness pooled in her eyes.
“Who did this?” she hissed, shaking her head and finger at me. “I know Lord Petre didn’t.”
Lord? Funny, Jules left off the Petre part too and everything else about him. What did a Lord need with a courtesan and why marry one? The little voice in my head screamed a warning.
“It’s okay,” I said, unsure of what else to say.
There wasn’t a handbook or anything for this. My life was what it was; the welts and scars left behind were pieces of me. I hadn’t enjoyed it, and I was already ashamed of it. All the women Uncle Jules kept, some were like me, and not even legal when we began training. The abuse had proven better than freezing and starving on the streets. In return for our services, we had some food, shelter, and clothing. This was how the world worked, and Mellissa should’ve known that too.
Petre, perhaps he wasn’t much different. Maybe he didn’t beat his slaves, but he visited Jules’ brothel, purchased me, and brought me here. The man couldn’t hurt for company; his money alone would attract available women in droves. A large house, land, steam powered electricity, and a staff … even Uncle Jules didn’t have those luxuries. Why would he want to share them with a courtesan? My brain refused to let go of that question.
“No,” she said. “No, this tis far from okay. Does Lord Petre know about ye?” I shook my head and tried to sink further away into the water, but it ached and stung the tears out of my eyes. “He will fix this; ye must tell him the truth.”
Without a time machine heading back to my fourteenth birthday, no one could fix me. I blinked as that memory tried to resurface. That was four years ago, and when my personal hell truly began. “It’s time you earn your keep, sweetheart.” That’s what Jules said to me as he unbuckled his pants. I recalled it clearly, right down to the sweaty odor as he thrust himself in my mouth. He hadn’t cared if I gagged, scraped my teeth, or cried that night.
The blood drained out of my face as the images flashed before my eyes. He said he’d waited fourteen years for that moment. My grip loosened, and I slid into the tub, ignoring the pain. The emotional onslaught hurt more than physical wounds ever could. I’d trusted him, was just a kid, a stupid, naive child, and he’d stolen that from me.
“Please tell him,” she said again, but her voice was a million miles away. My teeth clattered, and I stared at the waterspout. “Lord Petre isn’t a monster, but he’ll make sure whoever harmed ye pays.”
I couldn’t. How would he believe me, if he knew what Uncle Jules did to me? Yes, I was a virgin in the sense I told him, but I wasn’t innocent or pure. The men, they stole from me the fractures of my soul like all the girls, forced me to do things. I shook my head and gagged at the memory. I drew my knees to my chest and lowered my head. Melissa shushed me, dropped to the side of the tub, and brushed my hair out of my face. Hot tears rolled down my face as the elder maid comforted me, and I cried even more. Was this what a mother felt like? A friend?
“No one will touch ye again, lass, ever.” Her accent tickled my ear with her brave words. She was a servant, but above me. Paid to clean and attend, where my job was to please and make men feel loved. They had every right to beat me if I failed, because I only had the right to life and air to breathe. Everything else fell to my master to provide. Jules reminded me every day. Without a master, I’d die, but now it hadn’t seemed like such an awful idea. I’d held on, surviving each day by telling myself things would change; everything would get better if I could hold on. My eyes swept over the steaming water. I didn’t want to go back, and that was what Petre would do.
“Please,” I begged her. “You can’t tell him.” Mellissa shushed me again. “I’m …” What was I? Relieved that someone else knew my secret or that she didn’t judge me for it. Would Petre’s reaction be the same?
“He will see fer himself eventually milady.” Yes, if we ever got that far, but there were six long months before broaching that subject. I saw no reason to bring up my past on the first day. My cheeks warmed. It wasn’t proper conversation.
I sniffled and lifted my head up. “Please don’t call me that. Call me Korri.”
She smiled, and it pinched up into her brown eyes. “When it’s ye and me, lass, I’ll call ye that.” Mellissa picked up the towels and put one under her knees. “Let me help ye wash yer hair.”
“The color will come out,” I replied, shaking my head. I’d applied a talc to cover my brands. All whores wore them when they became a certain age. Traditional color didn’t cover them, Jules had said, but the violet talc worked to blend them into my brown hair.
“Master Petre won’t care. He knows more than ye think.” I cocked my head, trying to understand. “Korri, he’s had his eyes on ye –just ye.” I didn’t know why. There wasn’t anything unique about me inside or out. What made me special to him or even Jules for that matter? I was just another whore.
Chapter Four
My fingers curled around the dark goblet. The bastard hadn’t told Korrigan anything about me. I sipped on the glass of blood, and I pondered everything from the train ride to the kiss. No wonder she was frightened out of her wits. I groaned, running my palm over my face. This might take longer than I had anticipated, but I must stick to my plan. She needed to love me, and if five years wasn’t long enough, I would find a way. Even if I had to kill Jules to secure her future … my future too.
I threw his letter into the fire. Enjoy her while you can, the note had said. I have my eye on you and more threats lined the paper. The one that stuck out more than the others was the threat never to leave her alone. Uncle Jules had reminded me of the abandonment clause. Leaving Korrigan for extended periods nullified the contract, but I figured she’d remain safe in Nova Scotia. The laws here were much fairer in Arcadia for women, and prostitution was illegal.
I hadn’t shared his beliefs. Yes, I held workers, but they received fair wages, room, and board, and I paid for their meals. Men like him disgusted me; those girls didn’t see a dime. Was I just
as guilty for using his home to find a bride? No, fate had allowed me to find her. I wasn’t seeking out a brothel when she caught my eye. My finger ran over my scar. Korrigan needed to realize that I wasn’t like him even if I was a monster beneath the surface.
“I’m nothing like him,” I mumbled, poking the fire. Metal clanked as I tossed the poker aside and downed my remaining blood. The meal helped little to satiate my flaming throat. My hunger burned for her.
The kiss; I sighed and fell back on the bed. My hand moved to my lips. She’d kissed me back too, and electricity shot through my dead heart. How would I survive the next six months, unless I didn’t kiss her? No, the maddening torture was too much. To have her near and not kiss her again, I laughed at the thought, even if that was how courting happened in my time. Wooing was an art form, to say the least, and kissing didn’t begin until the engagement contracts were signed.
I guess some ideals remained for me. Her agreement was signed, and I’d kissed her. Already, I missed her warm, soft lips and the allure of her presence. The door closed, and I sat up, listening for her. My thoughts drove me mad as I thought about Korrigan. Nothing else mattered, and I was eager to begin the courting game and rid myself of this curse. It wasn’t her; the heartbeat thudded all wrong.
My body fell onto the mattress, and I stared up at the ridiculous canopy. I planned this room for her when I’d first designed it. As I’d followed her about Delphia, I took notes and sent them home. Mellissa and Jobe had purchased and set the room during my long absence. One day there was a dream where she had reacted anxiously. I covered my mouth with my hand and whispered, “The dream came true; she froze up in here.”
As if she’d seen a phantom, but it wasn’t the one haunting me. Afterward, I’d asked them to switch the rooms since there wasn’t enough time to redecorate. They’d both receive excellent bonuses this year for their help. I always rewarded them for their extra help. Co-owning the Arcadian and Delphia Alternative Energy Initiative meant money wasn’t an object.
