“What’s this?” he called to his friend.
“Little lady is lost!” the other man replied. Lady Catherine could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She tried to step away from him, but her back met the solid wall behind her.
“Please, I’m just-“
“We’ll help you find your way, little lost one.” The man who had been relieving himself on the wall reached for her, and then Lady Catherine suddenly felt the wall fall away from behind her back.
“Oye, you two! What do ye think yer doin’? You knew ye can’t sample the goods without payin’ fer them!” Lady Catherine stumbled backwards and only righted herself when the firm grip of the woman shouting at the two men caught her under her arm and helped her. She looked up into the face of a woman with fly away hair that she was sure was blonde, but slicked with oil. Her face was pock marked and she was missing some teeth, but she surprisingly masked the stench of body odor with an excess of perhaps rose water or some other floral concoction.
“Pay for the goods?” Lady Catherine asked, but the woman ignored her. She continued shouting at the men who eventually waved them off. The woman pulled Catherine in and slammed the door on them, shutting out the cold. She did not utter a word to Catherine, and marched her towards a set of stairs at the back of the room. Catherine noticed a sea of faces, all weathered and haggard staring back at her. She tried not to crinkle her nose at the odor, but she felt the only reprieve she felt came when she was hauled up the stairs of the shop. The smells on the second level were different; musky and thick. She couldn’t place them until she heard the accompanying sounds. It brought her back to a memory during her adventures with Thomas, when they had rounded a corner into a dark alley whilst they were chasing a stray cat. They came across a man and a woman intertwined. That couple was making the same sounds that were emitting from the rooms now.
“Oh! Oh! I know where I am. Excuse me Ma’am. You’re mistaken, I’m not..”
“Quiet!” The woman opened the door at the far end of the hall and shoved Catherine inside. She was in a small room with a single bed and a couple of chairs set in front of a fire. “Claire!” The woman stuck her head out of the room and whispered into the darkness of the hallway. “Bring us a tray betwixt yer company.”
The woman shut the door and turned to Lady Catherine, who had moved closer to the fire. Her feet were freezing and her hands felt like they’d turned to ice, but what was sending chills down her body was the way the woman was looking at her then.
“So, what’s a highborn lady such as yerself doin’ in the Chapel? Hmm?”
Catherine puffed herself out, prepared to tell the woman off, but then thought better of it. For all she knew, the woman would march her right back downstairs and toss her back out into the snow, ripe for the plunking for the two men waiting outside.
“I was looking for work, Ma’am,” Lady Catherine began. “And before you consider it, I am not a...fallen woman. I was simply looking for menial tasks such as washing, cooking or cleaning, I…”
“Is that so? Are ye sure yer not of the kind to be persuaded? Ye’d be surprised how many of yer class have come through me doors and been lookin’ fer...work, as ye so kindly put it.”
Catherine felt her cheeks flush. “No Ma’am. That is not the kind of work I intend to procure. Now, if you’ve naught in the way of what I’ve described to you, I’ll be thanking you kindly and I’ll just be on my way.” Catherine took a step towards the door and the woman lifted an eyebrow.
“Sit, my Lady. I’ve ne’er forced a woman into a position she didn’t want to be in herself. All of me girls are happy as they can be in this life. Ye look a fright. And besides, ye don’t want to be runnin’ out where Walter and Arthur can have a go at ye still.”
Catherine froze and looked at the kindness on the woman’s harsh face. If there was any truth in the world, this was it. This woman had faced hardship and built a business using the only thing she had to give to the world. When she became too old, she found struggling young women and looked after them. Lady Catherine was always told that women of ill-repute were the lowest, vilest women of them all, but here was evidence that they were just trying to survive.
“Thank you, Mrs...?”
“Ye can call me Madame Kingston. It sounds prettier than any Mrs. I always fancied the French are a prettier lot? Have ye met any?”
“Yes, I have, Madame Kingston. They are a beautiful, aren’t they?” Catherine permitted herself to sink into one of the chairs by the fire, and she was grateful once she had because the muscles in her legs had been screaming since she started warming up. She sincerely hoped Madame Kingston was as sincere as she was letting on, because she sorely needed the rest.
At that moment, a knock sounded on the door and Madame Kingston opened it for the woman who must be Claire. She carried a large tray with some bread, cheeses, and a couple mugs of what Catherine suspected was ale, although she had never tried it herself.
“Eat up for the now, you two,” Madame Kingston told Claire. “I’ll be back when I sort out the next round of business downstairs. She grabbed a hunk of bread and exited the room, leaving Catherine to face Claire, who was a slip of a woman. She looked tired and worn out, but she had a pleasant face and a bright smile.
“Begging your pardon, my Lady, but what brings you to Madame Kingston’s?” Claire sat in the chair opposite Catherine and reached for the bread and a mug of ale. Catherine almost said something, not being accustomed to not standing on ceremony. She would have been first served if they were at a proper meal, but as it was, she wasn’t in her polite social circles. She reached across and grabbed a piece of cheese which she was surprised to find hadn’t started to turn yet.
“Madame Kingston says it don’t do to have her girls sick with stomach rot. She gets us the best food she can when it’s available. Has a cook and everything. Although, we always think the food she buys at the market is better than Cook’s.”
“I suspect that’s the case for everyone with a cook. Ours has only last year learned not to splash the tomato soup in with the potatoes. It makes quite a gruesome sight on the plate.”
“Oh, I love potatoes! We don’t get them much here. But...what’s a tomato?” Claire’s innocence made Catherine wince. Of course fresh vegetables would be hard to come by here in the White Chapel district.
“It’s another vegetable,” Catherine said. Claire shrugged and continued to eat.
“So, did you get caught with an illicit lover of some kind? Is that how you’ve fallen, my Lady?” Claire took a sip of her ale and made a face, looking at the mug with disgust. “Looks like Cook forgot to scrub this one. There’s something floating in it.” She set the mug aside and Catherine looked deep into her own mug.
“Oh, I’m not fallen. Not really. Except, the tongues of the ton have been wagging again and they don’t like that I don’t conform to their societal standards.”
“Conform?” Claire looked puzzled.
“Um, I don’t like to follow the rules.”
“Oh I see. Well, that won’t do you much good with Madame Kingston. She likes rules. She doesn’t let any man hurt us, and he’s gotta pay up front if he wants to keep our company. And we can’t take business on the side if we want to stay with Madame.”
“Oh, I see. Miss-?”
“Bonnefant.”
“Miss Bonnefant,”
“Oh, you can call me Claire,” Claire said. “We aren’t proper here like where you come from, my Lady.”
“Yes, of course. Claire, when I say I am looking for work...I don’t mean...that is to say, I’m not, well,” Catherine searched for the right words, but came up empty. “I want work washing or cooking or cleaning or something. I’m not…”
“Oh, you’re not a courtesan, my Lady. Madame Kingston likes the big fancy French words.” Claire giggled, and Catherine found her humor infectious.
“Yes, I suppose I am not.”
“It’s alright. I ain’t judging, even if you was. I like you,
my Lady.”
“I like you too, Claire,” Lady Catherine admitted. “I hope if Madame Kingston has something for me, we might become friends. So if you want, you can just call me Catherine.”
Catherine had never had a close friend of her own before. She had hoped Sophia would have been one of those friends, but she had ruined that when Sophia met Viscount of Bradford. Catherine felt the pang of guilt when she thought about her actions. But they had just become friends when Sophia became besotted and forgot all about her. At least, that’s how Catherine felt. Wasn’t it enough that her own father had forgotten all about her?
Catherine shook her head, trying to put all of that ugliness behind her. Catherine finished her bread and began rubbing her hands in front of the fire.
“Catherine,” Claire mused. “That’s a nice name. A name of a lady.”
Catherine glanced at Claire, who looked dreamy. She was young, maybe a year or two younger than Catherine, but she looked as if she had seen the world twice over, and endured hardships throughout. Catherine loathed that the cruelty of the world often extended to the fairer sex, but she was never one to sit by and let it happen to her. Her resolve to save enough pound to retire herself away and live on her own hardened even more.
“You’ve had some education yourself,” Catherine noted. Claire’s speech wasn’t a mix of the local accent.
“Yes, my family was middle class,” she explained. “I had a tutor growing up, and then my older brother fell into a bad way after Father died. Mother went not long after that, and then we were out on the streets because of his gambling. I had nowhere to go, so Madame Kingston took me in.”
“That’s...that’s terrible!” Catherine stood and began pacing. The anger she felt towards the men in her life, in the lives of the women she encountered daily, infuriated her. Men played God whilst the women were meant to follow in their wake subserviently and breed. She would never let herself become that. She wept internally for Claire and the injustice of it all.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to anger you, my Lady…”
“I’m sorry Claire. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry because it seems the fate of our lives is always in the hands of inept men!”
Claire giggled again and Catherine sank into the chair, her ire abating. “My Father is trying to force me to marry the Baron Desmond of Clearwater Manor.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad, marrying a baron.”
“Well, it is. He’s thrice my age! Who wants to be married to an invalid!”
Claire gasped and then stifled another giggle. Catherine knew that saying something so dreadful was sure to come back on her, but there weren’t enough words in the English language to describe how she felt about being forced to marry a man who was old enough to be her grandfather!
“I’m sorry that was rude,”Catherine said, remembering her manners.
“It was funny, my Lady.”
“Please, do call me Catherine. I rather wish no one here knows who I am.”
“We all feel that way, and then there comes a day when we all wish there was one person who knew us. I mean really knew who we were, deep down, past the soiled reputation.”
Catherine looked over at Claire and then reached across and squeezed the other woman’s hand. When she sat back she saw the look of fatigue so ancient in the other woman’s eyes, it made her heart hurt.
“I won’t ever forget your kindness tonight, Claire Bonnefant. You can count on that.”
At that moment the door to the chamber opened, and Madame Kingston walked in.
“Claire, you’ve company waitin’ downstairs. Get on with yerself.” Claire rose from the chair, curtseyed, and closed the door quietly. Catherine felt as if she left a little piece of her soul sitting in the chair beside her. She would not be forgetting about Claire any time soon.
“Well, Cook says ye can help her out. She don’t want ye doin’ none o’ the cookin’ but ye can scrub an wash. Ye can help wi’ the soiled linens on wash day, too.”
“That’s wonderful. What’s the cook’s name?” Catherine sat up straight in her seat.
“Cook.”
She blinked and looked at Madame Kingston. She didn’t have a name?
As if reading her thoughts, Madame Kingston replied, “some in this business don’t know where they come from. Ye ken? And some don’t want to be known.”
“I understand, Madame.”
“I suspect ye do. Now, I don’t want any drama in my house, ye hear? I want ye to really consider what yer doin’, my Lady.”
“Yes. I know what I want from this. And if it makes it easier for the sake of anonymity, call me Catherine.”
“Alright Catherine. Pay is a ha’penny a week, and that’s all I can offer ye. It’s comin’ out o’ Cook’s wages and she a might sore at ye at the moment, but she’s blind in one eye and can’t say nay to the help.”
“I understand. It will be more than enough, thank you.”
“Alright. I’ll take ye and introduce ye, and then I suggest ye come back tomorrow evening after dinner. I don’t know all the details of yer situation, but I get ye don’t want to be found out by yer family. So ye can start tomorrow night, and we’ll have ye on yer way home before the dawn every day.”
Catherine nodded and rose. Madame Kingston led the way. This time when she walked down the stairs and through the room with the tables and chairs, she caught a glimpse of what was going on under the tables but learned quickly not to look. She walked behind Madame Kingston and met Cook, who was a dumpy old woman with wispy gray hair and one milky eye. Catherine caught a glimpse of the washroom she would be working in and had to remain passive. The first thing she would do would be to scrub the scrubbing room when she started tomorrow night.
After Cook berated her in a Cockney accent so thick she couldn’t understand a word of it, Madame Kingston chuckled and swatted at the old woman with a rolling pin. Cook seemed to settle down after that, and continued rolling and punching dough. Catherine assumed she had been dismissed so she turned back around to follow Madame Kingston out, but quickly ducked back in the kitchen when she saw the man standing in the doorway. She would have recognized that man, especially by his eyes, anywhere, anytime. What she didn’t understand was: what was Thomas doing in Madame Kingston’s House of Ill-Repute?
Chapter 3
Catherine continued to peer around the corner, waiting to see what Thomas would do now that he was here in the brothel. Would he go upstairs with one of the women? Had he fallen from the graces of society himself? It certainly didn’t look that way, given the riding cloak he had on, the fine breeches, tailored jacket, and hat. He looked like a gentleman, and even more handsome then Catherine remembered. But what was he doing here? Catherine fanned herself, wondering how she was going to get past him without being noticed. She had so many other questions. What had happened to him? Why did he leave without writing her a letter, or sending word of what had become of him? He was her dear friend. He accepted her for who she was, and then disappeared without a trace. Catherine was learning that disappearing men and friends were a constant in her life, but that did not make it hurt any less. She yearned to rage at him, cry, and make him answer all of her questions. But as she looked around and saw the two forms hunched together in the corner, she knew she could not talk to him here.
Catherine did not want to wait it out with Cook. The woman continued glaring at her with her one good eye, casting daggers in Catherine’s direction. But she had no other place to go. Suddenly, she felt someone tug on her arm from the shadows. She jumped and found herself staring at Claire, who pressed a finger to her lips. Catherine followed, and Claire led her down a hallway and through a door. The door led outside, and she mouthed goodbye before shutting the door quietly behind her. Catherine looked left first, and found the way barred by a stone wall. She began walking to the right, where she first met the vagrants, and she dearly hoped they had since departed the premises. Madame Kingston’s house of ill-repute was at the outskirts of the White C
hapel district, and she didn’t want to encounter anyone with ill intentions towards her. That, and she definitely didn’t want to see Thomas, whom she recognized instantly. He had the same jovial smile that crinkled his eyes; eyes so amber they almost looked feline.
As she rounded a corner, Catherine ran into someone, and realized with a start that it was Thomas himself! She drew her cloak around her tighter and hid her face in the folds of the material. “I’m sorry, Miss!” he said, and she felt his hand brush her elbow as if to steady her. Without answering him, she hurried on.
Catherine looked up as she rounded more corners, putting more distance between herself and Thomas...or was she trying to put more distance between herself and the White Chapel District? She shook her head, casting out that thought. She did not care where she took work. She drew the line at selling her body, as her father was already trying to do that. She knew there would be a learning curve working at Madame Kingston’s, but she had to try. She could not stop thinking about Thomas, though. This obsession would be a problem, considering that she was only a few turns away from the townhouse. She needed to focus if she was going to climb the tree without breaking her neck.
Thankfully, it took her a few moments to get up the tree. Catherine peered into her bedroom, praying that Sarah hadn’t come in and locked the window. Then she would need to default to her second plan and sneak through the back door. Her room looked undisturbed, so she slowly pushed open the window and climbed inside.
Once she was inside, she checked to ensure that the wig was still in place, and she hastened to change and down the bowl of cold soup that Sarah had left on a tray just outside of the bed curtains. She put everything away in time for there to be a knock on the door, and she was just settling into bed when Sarah peeked her head in.
A Rogue's Courtship: Clean Regency Romance Collection Page 2
