WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE

by When Dreams Come True(Lit)

  With that in mind, Pierce had even gone so far as to visit the moneylenders. They were not an avenue for him. They wanted Cornish King as collateral and the interest rates were so exorbitant, Pierce feared he would lose the horse anyway.

  Meanwhile, his mind was constantly on Eden. He was very angry with her. She’d used him, betrayed him… and still he missed her.

  He’d wake in the middle of the night unable to return to sleep. He wondered what she was doing and whether she missed him.

  And there were darker questions too. Jealousy almost made him insane when he thought of how knowing she was in the ways of men and how she might have learned those lessons.

  Finally, on the third day, against all reason, he paid a call at the Abbey, the brothel owned by Madame Indrani. It was located in a discreet neighborhood not far from the Bank of England. The homes lining the streets belonged to tradesmen and shopkeepers. Madame’s house was the largest on her block. It sat next to a small vicarage and was surrounded by a high wall for privacy. Iron gates opened to a drive leading to the front door.

  Pierce hesitated at the gates and then, almost drawn against his will, he approached the front step and rang the bell. Firth answered it immediately, his large frame filling the doorway.

  “I’m here to see Madame Indrani.”

  “Do you have an appointment with Madame?” There wasn’t a flicker of recognition on his solemn face.

  Pierce handed him his card. The giant flicked a glance at it and then, without question, escorted Pierce to a library. “I will present your card to Madame.”

  In the library, as well as the rest of the house, incense perfumed the air. Large vases of flowers set on every table and the whole decor was one of obvious elegance and extreme wealth. The furniture showed a definite woman’s touch. The desk and chairs were carved with birds and flowers. Huge pillows were stacked on the floor and on the long divan which took up almost one wall of the room. A painting of a lush, naked Turkish woman hung over the divan.

  It took Pierce a moment to recognize the woman in the painting as a much younger Madame Indrani.

  The library door opened. “Lord Penhollow, what a surprise,” Madame Indrani said in her accented English. She glided toward him, the bangles on her wrist making a soft musical noise with her movements. She wore a red and gold brocade gown and a turban of matching fabric. The light streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows caught the gold in her dress and made it shimmer.

  “I understood that you rarely visited London,” she said, before adding bluntly, “Why are you here now?”

  Why was he here? Pierce wondered that himself. He stood awkward and stiff in the middle of the room.

  Madame draped herself dramatically on the divan. “Obviously you are here about Eden,” she answered herself. “Am I right?”

  “In a way.”

  “I pray nothing is the matter with her?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “That is good. Please, sit down.” She waved her hand toward the other side of the divan and reached for a carved wooden box on a table in front of her. Inside the box were long, thin cheroots. “Would you care for a smoke?”

  Pierce sat uneasily on the plush cushions and shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  “Then you don’t mind if I do?” She didn’t wait for an answer but placed one of the cheroots between her lips, fit it off a candle burning on the table, and inhaled deeply. She leaned back on the couch, relaxed. “You have come because you have questions, whether you wish to admit it or not,” she said, smiling.

  When he didn’t reply, she continued, “You wonder where she came from? What type of life did she lead? It is giving you problems, this idea of accepting the woman you thought she was with the woman she is.”

  “You are very perceptive, Madame.”

  She shrugged. “It is a good talent to have in my business. Tell me, my lord, how did you find the location of my house?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I am always curious.”

  “I asked several friends. One of them is a patron of yours.”

  “And did you speculate whether or not he knew your wife?”

  “Yes, damn you,” Pierce said, the words concise.

  Madame laughed quietly. “He wouldn’t, you know. Eden was like a beautiful rare jewel kept only for certain people. I knew Ibn Sibah would buy her, but she is so gifted musically. There were times when I had to have her play for special guests. Have you heard Eden play yet?”

  “Yes.” He now knew one of the reasons he’d come—jealous curiosity. It burned inside of him.

  Madame stubbed out the cheroot. “Come,” she ordered, rising.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To show you what you think you want to see.”

  Pierce had no choice but to follow her. She led him across the main hallway to a large parlor tastefully decorated in green and rose. It was the sort of place his mother and her friends would enjoy using for a cozy chat. Then Pierce noticed the smell of stale tobacco and alcohol lingering in the air in spite of the windows being open and the burning incense. A large bar was hidden on the opposite side of the room behind a set of screens.

  “Here is where my gentlemen guests meet my ladies,” she said with a sweep of her hand. She nodded to the pianoforte. “This is the instrument on which Eden learned to play. I believe it is important for every woman to know something of music. It calms the savage soul, and men too,” she added as a small jest.

  She did not wait for comment but took Pierce up the wide, sweeping curve of stairs. On their way up, they met two women dressed for shopping coming down. If Pierce were to have met these women on the street, he would have thought them ladies of breeding, not ladies of the night. From under their eyelashes, they watched him pass with more than just idle curiosity. They had Eden’s openness about them and appraised him with the eye of experience.

  “Do they know who I am?”

  “I imagine so,” Madame answered. “In a house full of women, there are few secrets. In spite of her beauty, Eden was very popular. They were all concerned about her fate when we learned she had disappeared.”

  She paused on the second floor. There was a line of doorways. Several other women appeared in the hallway. They lingered, watching him.

  “This is where we entertain,” Madame said, nodding toward the doorways. “Do you wish to see one of the rooms?”

  Pierce shook his head no.

  She smiled slightly and started to climb the stairs leading to the third floor.

  Pierce was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the presence of so many women, especially since many were in various states of undress. They were all attractive but most of them lacked his wife’s fresh innocence and light-heartedness.

  On the third floor, Madame stopped. “This is the floor where the girls live.” She opened the door to a room holding nothing but chairs.

  mum

  “This is my classroom. It is where I teach my girls about deportment and the matters a lady should know.”

  “You do your job well.”

  “I do, but then Eden was a good pupil. She wanted to better herself. I’ve never had a girl work as hard as she did. Please follow me.”

  She took him up another flight of steps to the fourth and final floor. Madame went to a door and unlocked it, using a ring of keys hanging from her waist.

  The small room behind the door fit beneath the gables of the house. “Eden’s room,” she said.

  Pierce went in. The ceiling was so low he had to bow his head. There was a simple cot in the room and a small chest. It appeared more the abode of a monk than a prostitute. He went to the room’s single window. It had a small balcony and overlooked a lovely garden on the other side of the wall.

  “She lived here thirteen years,” Madame Indrani said without sentimentality. “The other girls would have complained or demanded the opportunity to move to the more comfortable rooms but Eden was very happy here.”

  Pier
ce ran his fingers over the smooth wood of the chest.

  “This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it?” Madame Indrani asked. “What you wanted to know?”

  “Yes, I wanted to know.” And this was a far cry from the sort of place he’d lain awake nights imagining.

  Madame Indrani pursed her lips together, studying him with a critical eye. “I think there is something else I should also show you.”

  Pierce felt numb. “I believe I’ve seen enough.”

  “No, you must make one more visit with me.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  Again Pierce could only follow.

  Downstairs, she issued an order for Firth to prepare her carriage. It was at her door in a matter of minutes, the late afternoon sun shining off the brass trappings.

  Pierce didn’t want to go anywhere with her. Visiting this house had not laid his questions to rest.

  He stepped out the door, ignoring the open carriage waiting for them. “I’m certain I’ve seen enough. I will not take more of your time, Madame.”

  He tipped his hat and would have walked off but Madame captured his arm. “You will not leave, not yet. You came because of something more than your curiosity. You are an unusual man, Lord Penhollow, one of great passion. I recognized that quality about you the moment we met. Eden weighs on your mind, doesn’t she? You are angry with her. I can see it in your eyes, but still you care about her and that is what bothers you most of all.”

  “I don’t think this is your business.”

  “Oh, yes, it is. I have been mother, teacher, and sister to that child. I am the only one to defend her and I will not let you pass judgment until you’ve seen it all. Until you understand why she made the choices she did.” Her eyes flashed with challenge. “The question is, are you strong enough to seek the truth?”

  She dropped her hand and Firth opened the carriage door for her to climb in. “Come, my lord. Let us go for a ride.”

  Pierce got in the carriage. Firth climbed up beside the driver.

  It was a lovely day by London standards. The air was relatively clear and he could smell the coming of autumn in the air.

  From the vicarage, a young woman came out the front door carrying a flaxen-haired toddler. The woman watched them drive down the street before crossing to an adjacent park.

  “Where are we going?” Pierce asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  They quickly left the quiet respectable neighborhood behind and plunged into the heavy traffic of Threadneedle Street. Evening was fast approaching. Long shadows stretched across the streets.

  The driver made a turn and then another. Soon, Pierce didn’t recognize any landmarks. The streets grew narrower and more crowded. The number of gin shops multiplied with each block. The stench of refuse grew stronger and more offensive, while the traffic in the streets grew more crowded. The expressions of the people grew more pinched and vacant. Driving by, Pierce noticed a man get his pocket picked by a yellow-haired prostitute pretending to solicit him.

  Here the whole world seemed shrouded in shadow.

  These were the streets of London’s poor, the home to those doomed to poverty. Bustling, angry, dangerous… cruel. A man could get his throat slit without a passerby even batting an eye or he could disappear without being seen again.

  “Where are we?” Pierce asked quietly.

  “It’s called the Rookery. It is the most vile spot on earth,” Madame answered. She rode with her turbanned head held high, at home with her surroundings in spite of the richness of her dress.

  At last, she tapped the driver’s shoulder with an ivory-inlaid walking stick. Dutifully, he pulled the carriage over.

  Madame waved the walking stick in the direction of a dark alley. “Over there is where I found her, digging through a pile of garbage along with several other children. They were searching for something to eat.”

  She turned to Pierce. “Many people assume that I lifted Eden from this hellhole because of her beauty. I assure you, my lord, there was nothing beautiful about her the first time I saw her. What struck me, though, was her bearing. While the others scurried like little rats, Eden stood up and stared back at me without flinching. It was almost as if she sensed that here was her chance out of the Rookery.”

  “She’s good at seizing opportunities,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

  “We all are,” Madame said blithely. “Besides, beauty is such a fleeting thing, but spirit… spirit is with one forever, and I saw it in that child. I crooked my finger, that’s all, just a little movement, and quick as a wink she climbed into my coach. I asked her, Do you know who I am? She said everyone knew me. I was the whores’ mistress who took girls and gave them work. She said it just that bluntly too. The whores’ mistress.”

  Madame Indrani closed her eyes at the memory and then opened them, her focus on Pierce. “You don’t approve of me, Lord Penhollow, and that is fine. You can’t understand that for some women the only hope they have is to sell themselves. Our bodies are a commodity, a lucrative one. I’ve saved many women from a life of poverty.”

  “And given them a life of enforced slavery such as the harem you’d marked Eden for.”

  She laughed. “What do you call marriage?”

  “I call it a bond, a vow between two people.”

  “Then what are you doing here, my lord?” she asked, leaning back in the seat and putting a hand on her hip. “Why the questions? Are you discovering that ‘till death do you part’ may be a very, very long time?”

  Pierce had an urge to wipe the smug smile off her face. Firth turned at that moment and gave him a warning glance. In answer, Pierce climbed out of the carriage.

  He tipped his hat. “Thank you for the tour, Madame Indrani, but I’ll find my own way back to my lodgings from here.”

  She offered him her hand as if his had been a social call. “It was a pleasure to meet again, my lord.”

  He made a curt bow over her hand, turned on his heel, and started walking. The carriage began moving.

  Her voice drifted back to him. “Be careful, Lord Penhollow. These are dangerous streets.”

  Pierce walked on. He wasn’t concerned about being waylaid. He’d welcome the opportunity to bash a few heads. Perhaps it was just what he needed to release this anger pent up inside him.

  Eden had used him. She was accustomed to grabbing opportunities when they came her way, and he, like some lovesick fool, had played right into her hands. He’d come to Madame Indrani searching for answers, but he didn’t like what he’d found.

  Pierce stopped for a moment to gather his bearings. He’d been walking without direction and now wondered if he had started off in the wrong way. Two sailors, their arms wrapped around a girl between them, stumbled out of a gin shop and almost ran into him. The girl’s dress was down around her waist.

  “”Ere, out of the way, mate,“ one of the sailors shouted at him while the other gave him a rude shove. The trio drunkenly lurched their way down the street. No one on the street seemed to notice anything unusual about a half-dressed young woman.

  As it grew darker, the streets became less and less crowded. Pierce wasn’t fool enough to linger longer. He started walking west toward his hotel. He estimated he was only a fifteen-minute, maybe half-hour, brisk walk away. He kept his head down, not making eye contact with anyone passing him.

  A shout came from over his head. Someone started to empty a slop bucket right on the street. Pierce just managed to escape it. As he stepped back, a woman bumped into him clumsily. He felt a hand slide into his pocket. He clamped his hand down on her thin wrist. “What the bloody—”

  Any other words died in his throat. His pickpocket wasn’t a woman, but a girl. She couldn’t be older than twelve. She had haunted dark eyes and cheeks gaunt from hunger.

  “Sorry, guv, I st-stumbled,” the child stammered out. “You can release me hand now.”

  But Pierce didn’t let go of her. Instead he stared, picturing another girl in
her place, a girl with large green eyes and tumbling dark hair. A girl named Eden.

  Had Eden learned to pick a man’s pocket so she could eat? Had she worn a dress cut far too old, and too low, for her? And if she’d stayed longer, would her face be scabbed by the pox?

  Realizing where he was staring, the girl self-consciously rubbed her face with her free hand.

  “You tried to pick my pocket,” he said.

  Her brows came together and her expression softened. “I did not. I was only lookin‘ for a bit of sport.” She pressed her body closer to him. “You’d like a bit of sport, wouldn’t you, guv? We could go down this alley and

  “ave a good time for twenty shillings. That’s not much, is it, guv?”

  “How old are you?” he demanded.

  Her loose neckline hung over one shoulder. She shifted so that it exposed the soft nipple of one breast. “Old enough to know wot pleases you.”

  He released his hold, took his purse, and opened it. There was ten pounds in it. “Here, take this. It’s all I have.”

  A smile lit the girl’s thin features. “Why, guv, I can keep you happy all night for this.” . She rubbed up against him again. “And yer a ‘andsome one too.”

  Pierce placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back. “That’s not what I want. Take the money and get out of this place. Leave London. Save yourself!”

  “Why would I want to go when I ‘ave all this money ’ere? Are you queer?” She didn’t wait for an answer but turned and disappeared into the darkness of the side alley from whence she’d come.

  Pierce stood a moment, reflecting. He’d given her a chance and she’d done nothing with it. In fact, she’d judged him weak for his charity.

  He began walking again, his pace slower, more thoughtful. In the middle of the greatest civilized city known to man there was a jungle where women had little or no value… and his wife had managed to escape it.

  Once in his room at the hotel, he took out paper and pen and wrote the letter to Whitby offering to sell Cornish King.