Five Belles to Hell

by Tony Masero

  ‘Then feast your eyes, mister,’ said the normally quiet Maggie in a sudden cheerful burst.

  They flounced inside in a noisy train and studied the decrepit interior, tittering and gaping at the ancient quality of the place.

  ‘It ain’t much but its all we got. I’m the owner, Asa Lewellyn’s the name and I’d be obliged if you’d sign in on the register.’

  ‘Can we get a drink?’ asked Molly, noticing the bar.

  ‘Sure you can. We don’t usually allow ladies in there but I’m happy to make exception in your case,’ he slapped a large leather bound register on the bar top, and then spread his hands wide on the counter. ‘What’s your pleasure?’

  ‘Champagne,’ the girls chorused.

  ‘Champagne?’ Asa looked curious. ‘That the fizzy drink them Frenchies have a passion for?’

  ‘You don’t have any?’ Clara pouted in disappointment.

  ‘No, ma’am. No call for it here, not that anyone could afford it anyway. It’s only the fancy folk can run to such. Mister Sweet Dean Pye, up at the Rolfe House, now he’s the man if you want champagne. Gets it brought in by the crate full.’

  ‘Sweet Dean Pye?’ said Belle, her ears perking up at the name.

  ‘Uhuh,’ agreed Asa, offering her a dip pen for the register. ‘Local Freedmen’s agent for the government.’

  ‘His house is near here?’

  ‘Not far out of town, you can’t miss it. Big white plantation building.’

  ‘Maybe I should drop by and pay Mister Pye a visit,’ said Belle as she scratched her name in the book.

  ‘I’m sure he’d be right pleased to meet you,’ said Asa, studying her carefully.

  Belle caught the glance, ‘What?’ she said. ‘Something I should know?’

  Asa sucked his teeth, ‘Just that Sweet Dean runs with a rough crowd sometimes. Might not be a place a lady will enjoy, if you get my meaning?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mister Lewellyn, we can take care of ourselves. Now,’ she said, slapping the register closed. ‘I presume you have other liquors than champagne available.’

  ‘We were passing,’ said Belle to the tall stoop-backed footman who answered the door. ‘And wondered if Mister Pye was accepting callers.’ The man at the door was a solemn, elderly black man with a seamed and wrinkled face. The deep grooves marked there reminded Belle of the contour lines drawn on a map of a mountainous region with the heights and depths written in swirling lines. He wore a split-tailed coat jacket with sleeves too short for his arms and he inclined his head as if being hard of hearing.

  ‘Who is it, Jacob?’ Belle heard a voice call from inside the house.

  ‘Be some ladies come calling, Mistah Pye,’ answered the footman in a deep bass voice.

  ‘Ladies?’

  The door was pulled wide and Sweet Dean Pye’s eyes rounded as he saw the smiling group of flamboyant women standing on his doorstep.

  ‘Why…. my…. oh, my,’ he gasped.

  ‘I do hope we don’t intrude, Mister Pye,’ said Belle, turning her fascinating blue eyes on him. “We were passing and could not help but notice your fine house and gardens and wondered if we might visit a while.’

  ‘Well…. yes….’ gulped Sweet Dean, amazed at such a collection of fine looking women suddenly appearing before him. Recovering himself, he turned to the footmen, ‘Jacob, show these ladies in. For God’s sake man, don’t leave them standing out here. Come on in, ladies, please.’

  ‘You’re most kind, sir,’ said Belle as she swept inside. The rest of the girls followed and dutifully emitted gasps of approval at the richly laid out foyer with gold-framed paintings, its sweeping staircase and mosaic-laden floor.

  ‘It will not be much, ladies,’ beamed Sweet Dean in an avuncular fashion. ‘But be it ever so humble, welcome to my home.’

  ‘Truly, Mister Pye,’ said Belle with admiring glances all around. ‘How on earth did you manage it when all around is such devastation and poverty?’

  Sweet Dean swelled with pomposity, ‘Not easy but one in my position, you will understand, must show some degree of standing. Now will you follow me into the salon?’

  He led the way offering the following women beaming smiles of approval.

  ‘It’s so rare one sees ladies of such quality hereabouts,’ said Sweet Dean, once they were all seated on padded gold backed chairs before the tall windows in the airy high-ceilinged room. ‘Normally we are beset by harried creatures and old crones, it is such a breath of fresh air to see so magnificent a collection of beauty, I am overwhelmed. Tell me though, what brings you to this dingy part of the South?’

  He sat in regal splendor with his back to a great marble fireplace, his plump hands rested on his ample stomach and appearing the perfect country gentleman who was lord of all he surveyed.

  ‘We are merely touring,’ Belle allowed. ‘A brief visit of curiosity to see the state of things after the recent wars. Perhaps amiss, but you know how it is with us ladies, always curious.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed. You are from the capital?’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘And how are things there these days?’

  ‘Oh, lively times,’ interjected Clara brightly. ‘There’s always something going on. Balls and concerts, masques and the theatre, it is all most diverting.’

  ‘But why here, of all destinations? Surely there are more fitting places one might visit besides this poor and destitute town?’

  ‘We felt there was a cold wind from the north,’ Belle said, throwing in casually a known phrase of recognition by the Knights of the Golden Circle. ‘It brings a black raven with it, so unwelcoming don’t you think?’

  Sweet Dean’s features froze. He paused a moment before gathering himself.

  ‘The bluebird does sing sweeter in the south,’ Sweet Dean offered in slow answer, his eyes never leaving Belle’s.

  ‘So nice to meet a fellow traveller,’ said Belle with a smile.

  Sweet Dean cleared his throat, his brow creasing. ‘Some refreshment, ladies? What will you have, iced tea? Some light collation perhaps?’

  ‘Aha!’ laughed Molly. ‘You have found us out, sir. We are here under false pretenses.’

  Sweet Dean quirked a curious eyebrow, ‘How so?’ he asked.

  ‘We have heard in town,’ said Clara, leaning forward conspiratorially and fluttering her eyelids seductively. ‘That you have something that we crave.’

  ‘Oh, really,’ harrumphed Sweet Dean doubtfully. ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘Why, champagne, of course,’ Molly burst out with an excited giggle.

  ‘Oh, that,’ gasped Sweet Dean in relief. ‘Of course. Jacob!’ he shouted. ‘Fetch these ladies a bottle from the cellar, bring glasses.’

  ‘May I call you ‘Sweetie’?’ said Molly, wriggling her nose provocatively. ‘You’re such a sweet man. And that name too, Sweet Dean, it’s so fitting.’

  ‘Well…. yes, I suppose, why not?’ blushed Sweet Dean.

  ‘Now, ladies,’ reprimanded Belle. ‘Maybe we are taking up too much of Mister Pye’s time. I’m sure he is a busy man. Maybe we should take our leave.’

  ‘No, no,’ insisted Sweet Dean. ‘I will not hear of it. Look, here is Jacob with the champagne and then I must show you the gardens. They were in a terrible state when I came here but now I have the nigras working to restore everything. It’s all a part of the Freedmen’s Bureau policy, you see. To give these people worthwhile occupation now they have shed the chains of slavery.’

  ‘Oh, how noble,’ fawned Belle, in an appeal to his vanity. ‘What would these poor people do without men such as you, Mister Pye? People willing to sacrifice their time and effort to free them from the bonds that kept them under so harsh a regime of labor for so long.’

  ‘Many died in the late war to make it so,’ said Sweet Dean reverentially. ‘I am nothing in comparison. Merely a vehicle of the Union’s charity.’

  Jacob set down his tray of champagne flutes with a rattle that seemed somewhat out of place, it
was almost as if the clatter were a sign of his disapproval.

  ‘Jacob!’ snapped Sweet Dean in a hard reprimanding tone. ‘Those glasses did not come cheap.’

  ‘Sorry, Mistah Pye.’

  ‘Pour the drinks man,’ he ordered sharply with a glowering look at the footman.

  ‘But such good works, sir, cannot go unrecognized,’ Belle interrupted with an admiring glance, her stunning good looks not failing to work their charm.

  ‘The doing is all the recompense I require, dear lady. What is my poor salary beside the smiling faces and well-fed and healthy bodies of those under my wing? That is reward enough, I assure you.’

  The women clapped gently in appraisal and Sweet Dean bowed his head and waved their praise aside, his face a picture of innocent and saintly denial.

  ‘So little time,’ he said sadly. ‘And so much to do.’

  ‘Then let us at least drink a toast to you, Mister Pye,’ said Belle, raising her glass and thinking at the same time what an obnoxiously pretentious ass he was.

  They all lifted their glasses and drank the toast, and then Molly got up and crossed boldly over to Sweet Dean. She leaned over him so he might feel the heat of her body, smell her perfume and see the swell of her breasts close up.

  ‘Now, Sweetie, dear. You promised us a walk in your garden, will you show us the way.’

  He blinked and looked up at her smiling face, enraptured by her forward yet husky whisper. His crooked finger worked its way around his collar which had suddenly become a fraction too tight, ‘Of course, my dear, and your name is?’

  ‘Why, you may call me Miss Molly. And I am so pleased to be here, will you let me take your arm?’

  As they walked to the salon door and opened it, Jacob entered again at the same time coming to collect the glassware, a large oval tray under his arm.

  All three collided awkwardly in the doorway and the tray fell to the ground with a loud crash.

  ‘Jacob!’ bawled Sweet Dean. ‘You ignorant old fool.’ In a fluster, Sweet Dean attacked the man, flapping his hands like the wings of an angry bird and beating at the man’s head. ‘Get out!’ he cried at the cringing footman, who was although elderly, still able enough to fight back if he had chosen to do so. ‘Go on, blast you! Get out,’ Sweet Dean booted the man in the backside and pushed him away.

  ‘So sorry,’ he said to Molly, his face red and his features convulsed in anger. ‘One has to contend with these idiots on a daily basis. You must excuse, I hope you will.’

  ‘Why,’ said Molly, taking his arm again. ‘I had no idea you were so forceful, Sweetie.’ Her expression over his shoulder to those behind though was a look of distain at his arrogant behavior.

  As the girls walked amongst the flowerbeds chattering and enjoying the splendor of the trimmed garden, Belle drew Sweet Dean to one side.

  ‘I have word from Xavier Bond,’ she said quietly, waiting for his reaction.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Sweet Dean answered, his bland expression giving nothing away.

  ‘ The Phantom is ready and waiting. All is prepared for the shipment.’

  ‘That is good to hear,’ admitted Sweet Dean, eyeing her keenly with a sharp glint in his eye. He was treading warily and still not sure if Belle was the genuine article.

  ‘The Grand Knight wishes to know if all is well at your end.’

  ‘I am surprised Senator Bond sends someone like you,’ mused Sweet Dean suspiciously. ‘You and this strange collection of women. Who are, exquisite as they may appear, all no more than ladies of the night, are they not?’

  Belle smiled, ‘You are very perceptive, as The Grand Knight advised me. But then what better way to elicit information from our adversaries.’

  Sweet Dean sniffed, looking away distractedly at the giggling girls and struggling to make a decision. Should he speak out plainly or was this merely a ploy to get him to expose his connection with the Circle.

  ‘I am to tell you that you have been noted by the Spinks review board,’ said Belle urgently, prodding at his ego and trying to draw him out. ‘Your name specifically has been mentioned.’

  ‘My name!’ gasped sweet Dean, suddenly paying close attention. ‘But how so? How can this be, I am most careful.’ With the knowledge his identity had come to light and was receiving particular attention, Sweet Dean suddenly shed caution to the wind as an overriding fear rose up in him. ‘My God! What have I done, how is it they know me?’

  ‘You have not taken into consideration the Bureau’s other agents,’ Belle explained, playing the moment for all it was worth. ‘The bounty you have recovered is out of proportion. The others draw so little from the funds whilst your withdrawals outstrip them all and amass so great a pot; it is like a red flag in a green grass field. You were bound to draw attention to yourself.’

  ‘I did not know,’ fretted Sweet Dean. ‘What am I to do?’ he begged, his face crumpling as he wrung his hands together. For Belle it was like watching a recalcitrant schoolboy who had been discovered spying on his sister whilst she bathed.

  ‘All is not lost. You have time to make your escape. You have the money recovered from the Bureau’s funds?’

  ‘It is safely laid aside,’ Sweet Dean went on hurriedly. ‘It is ready for movement, we have been delayed only by some intrusive lawman.’

  ‘Lawman! Who is that and what’s his business here?’

  ‘A Marshal, a man called Lomas Bell but have no fear you may tell The Grand Knight that the matter is taken care of. My men are seeing to it now.’

  Belle drew a deep breath and struggled to hide her surprise. Lomas Bell! Lomas! Here! What on earth can he be doing here in Columbine? It was time to change tack and take charge of the situation and she laid aside her earlier fawning portrayal and frowned seriously, dropping her tone to one of more command.

  ‘I think you had best explain yourself, Mister Pye. The Grand Knight will want full report.’

  Sweet Dean swayed in embarrassment. ‘It was a woman, the lady who owned this property. It was necessary, you understand, that I began to purchase the vacant properties and had to show I would brook no denial. That is how it worked, I used the Bureau funds not to supplement the black beggars here but to buy up the vacated estates across the county then sell them on, I bought cheap and sold for a handsome profit. Well, this woman was difficult, so I had her removed. Not permanently, I hasten to add,’ he waved his hands negatively in the air in an attempt to excuse himself. ‘I had her carried away, that is all. Even then I was mindful of avoiding undue attention, which is why I cannot understand the review board’s interest. Anyway, unfortunately, I had no way of knowing it was this Marshal’s sister we were dealing with.’

  ‘And this fellow caused problems?’

  ‘He did. Murdered one of my men in a particularly unpleasant manner,’ Sweet Dean curled his lip at memory of the report he had received from Wayland. ‘So the rest of my men have taken off after the man. They are a bloody crew and he will not escape them.’

  ‘Where did this lawman go?’ asked Belle.

  ‘Why to Brevet Landing, where the woman was taken. He bled the fellow dry of information before he killed him; there was nothing I could do to prevent it. If we had known, it would all have been different.’

  A sudden thought occurred to Belle at the coastal sounding name, ‘Please do not tell me that is where The Phantom is anchored also.’

  Sweet Dean hung his head, ‘I fear so,’ he admitted in a murmur.

  ‘There is only one thing to be done,’ said Belle decisively. ‘You must flee this instant. We shall take the money and carry it to Brevet Landing where both you and the cash can be put safely aboard the ship.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sweet Dean nodded. ‘It makes sense, I should go. They will hang me if I am caught.’

  ‘You know the ship’s destination? Will you be able to manage there?’

  Sweet Dean shrugged, ‘Brazil? Why not? As long as you have money you can get anything you desire in that country.’

  ‘Then happily
your future is well assured. Get yourself prepared, we shall travel together it will be a fine disguise. The gold can go in amongst the girl’s baggage and you can travel with us as our factotum, or some such. It will be perfect but we must make haste. There is no telling when the review board will call on you for questioning.’

  ‘I shall, I shall,’ spluttered Sweet Dean, his mind racing as the plan tumbled through his brain.

  ‘Ladies!’ called Belle, calling them to her. ‘We are away and we must make haste.’ She watched as Sweet Dean scurried away and waited until he was out of earshot. ‘Listen, girls. Something has arisen, this fool here has been embezzling money and an old friend of mine is engaged and fallen foul of his dishonest business. We are riding to a place called Brevet Landing and we must go quickly if we are to aid my friend, so do not tarry, collect your things quickly from the hotel and we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘What about old Sweetie here?’ Molly asked.

  ‘He comes with us. Best we keep him close for the time being.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Kirby stood over the grave, his eyes fixed on the rough wood cross they had erected.

  He ached, somehow the death of Lizbette and her unborn child had inflamed every wound he had received and his whole body seemed to be alive with pain. The pain circled his consciousness and maintained a river that ringed him and kept the hollowness inside and awareness of the outside at bay.

  Lomas watched him in the light from the lantern set at their feet, unsure of what to do or say.

  They had returned to the cliff top cottages and without a word, Kirby had taken a shovel, moved out to the point and began to dig. He had worked in the dark until Lomas had found and lighted a lantern.

  ‘She liked this spot,’ said Kirby as he dug hard, driving at the soil as if the necessary task could cover his grief as well as Lizbette’s body.

  ‘She can’t have known a thing,’ said Lomas. ‘It was that quick.’

  Kirby stopped a moment and rested on the long handle, ‘Don’t make no difference how she went,’ he said. ‘She’s gone. That’s all that matters.’