Bordello Secrets
by Heather Lynne Whittington
Breathless Press
Calgary, Alberta
www.breathlesspress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Bordello Secrets
Copyright© 2011 Heather Lynne Whittington
Published by Breathless Press at Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-926930-88-6
Cover Artist: Dara England
Editor: Kristie L. McKinley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in
print without written permission, except in the case of brief
quotations
embodied in reviews.
Breathless Press
www.breathlesspress.com
Dedicated to my writing group,
MSVWA. Without you,
I would never have found the courage to share
my work with the world.
Thank you.
Heather
Marie arrived in Nice during the summer of 1901. Her mother’s harsh words still jangled in her ears as she descended from the train. “Now that your father’s dead, I can’t feed you and my babies too. You’ll have to go.”
She dashed away the tear forming along her bottom lashes. Smoothing a hand down the front of her gray woolen vest with one hand and checking her hair and the tilt of her hat with the other hand, she blinked her eyes clear. Barely eighteen years old, and she already felt ancient.
She held her chin up as she made her way from the train depot to the street. People passed around her like a river flowing in both directions at once. Marie checked the small scrap of paper in her gloved hand. One of the black feathers in her hat came loose and drooped down to dance around the address scrawled there. She pressed her lips together and tried resetting the feather to stand up next to the others on her hat. She patted the brown hair trying to escape from beneath the brim and then headed up the street.
The crowds sucked her breath away as they pressed in around her. Nothing in her former country home prepared her for the mass of bodies scurrying about from building to building like ants. Marie peeked in the windows, noting the splendor of the dresses and hats that made her clothes seem dowdy. A glimpse in the window’s reflection of her bustled skirt billowing into a short train, as well as the puffed gray sleeves of her outer coat, caused her to frown.
After a few yards, the buildings fell away from the cobbled road. Green trees sprouted nearby and offered shade during the warm day. Marie already felt the sweat staining her undergarments and corset, but her Mama raised her to be a proper lady. Except for her face, fabric covered every inch of skin. She touched a finger to the cameo pinned at the top of the high neck of her blouse. It was the only thing her father gave her, many years ago when she was a child.
Soon Marie saw the rising towers of “The Votre Bonheur” mansion before she saw the path leading to it. The size of it arrested any visions she might have created in her mind. A sprawling construction with emerald lawns and stately trees, the place breathed elegance and refinement.
No one would know just by looking that it housed a brothel.
Marie shook her head. “’Your Bliss,’ indeed,” she murmured. “Bliss for the patrons, perhaps.”
Standing before the massive brown double doors with panes of etched glass, Marie searched for a bell of some kind. While she examined the carved wood, the left-hand door suddenly opened. The tallest woman Marie had ever beheld stepped through. Her face, though lined with age, was powdered to perfect paleness. Her eyebrows were nearly nonexistent, and Marie wondered if they had been plucked away. The woman also looked like a breast-heavy pigeon. Her corset cinched her waist in so tight that her bosom rose to dizzying heights. As she was clad all in black, it was hard to determine the nature of the embroideries on the lady’s gown. However, Marie could not miss the rings on several fingers of each wrinkled hand, sparkling with diamonds and rubies.
“Yes?”
The woman sounded like a trumpeter frog. Marie stifled a nervous giggle. “I’m looking for a position”
“Come in.” She stepped aside, allowing Marie to enter the dark hallway.
The first thing Marie noticed was the predominance of red. Red glass candle sconces adorned walls with red roses that floated above a dark red carpet. The chairs were backed in red velvet and stitched with gold embroideries. A grand piano gleamed in one corner. Large paintings of women and men in sensual poses hung everywhere. Marie sighed with relief that the subjects were at least all clothed.
Women of different ages were scattered around a room Marie later learned was called “the greeting hall.” They wore garments made of fabrics much lighter than those she wore, and of much brighter colors. Their hair hung loosely from knots at the backs of their heads. Marie’s eyes widened as she spotted white ankles beneath the ruffled skirts, and face paint on their lips, cheeks, and eyes.
The tall lady placed a sharp-fingered hand on Marie’s shoulder, spinning her around to face her. She looked at Marie’s face, her clothes, and her figure. Marie felt her blush spreading across her cheeks in a warm wave. When the lady laid her hands on Marie’s bosom, she fell back with a gasp of shock.
The women suppressed giggles, some covering their laughing mouths with their thin white hands. The lady frowned, snatched Marie’s wrists, and yanked her close again. “You’ll be dealing with a lot more than this if I decide you stay, my dear.” Her silver hair gleamed as she tilted her head and clucked her tongue. “Never been touched by anyone there before, have you?”
Marie shook her head, her green eyes wide and frightened. “No, Madame.” “Madame Lambert.” She stepped back. “Figure isn’t bad, though it’s difficult to tell ‘neath all them clothes you got on.”
One of the women, with richly curled blonde hair and plump red lips, minced forward. With her feet planted wide and her hands on her hips, her stance implied her true nature. “Have we a virgin in our midst? That won’t last long.” She leered at Marie with eyes so dark brown, they almost looked black.
Marie shrank away from her. What have I gotten myself into?
A small girl who looked no more than fifteen came over. “Lily, don’t be like that. Don’t you remember how you felt when you first came here?” She smiled at Marie, the dimples deepening in her round cheeks. “I’m Sarah. You can ignore Lily and not feel guilty. She’s too sharp-tongued to keep many friends.”
Lily snorted and stalked off to sit alone on the piano bench. The other women giggled, then came forward to introduce themselves. The names flew through Marie’s head so fast, she knew she would be asking for them again and again later.
Madame waited not so politely for the introductions to finish. She waved her hands like she was shooing away chickens. “All right, off with ya. This pretty little thing has some hard choices to make. You all go and finish getting ready for the evening. The gents will be showing up soon.”
Chattering, the women headed for the stairs, which curved along the wall to the second story. Leaving Marie’s bag on the floor, Madame Lambert led her to a seat. She sank into an opposite chair, spreading her black skirt around her feet and folding her hands in her lap. “There’s no denying that this will be hard for you, girl. Never been touched, never been bedded. I’ll bet you’ve never gone dancing or anything like that either.”
Marie sensed the question and shook her head.
Madame sighed. “I wish I had ways of easing the pain that’s in your path, but only time will help with that. But I’m telling you right now, this is not an easy life. In the eyes of society, you will be trash.” Her eyes narrowed to slits, dark in her pale face. “Don’t hold out for any dreams of someone falling in love with you and rescuing you from this life you’re choosing, either. It won’t happen.”
Silence. Marie’s mind raced. I don’t know if I can do this. But do I have a choice?
“So what’s your decision, girl? Stay or go?” Madame pointed to the door, her arm a long spear.
Marie swallowed. “I’ll stay.”
***
Sarah was an immense help to Marie that first day. She showed her around the mansion: the wide halls lined with fancy paintings, the sweeping curved staircases, the extravagant rooms. The place was big enough for everyone to have their own room, bed, dressers, mirrors, and more. Sarah led her to the vacant room next to hers. She helped Marie put away the few outfits she brought with her.
“No formal wear, I see,” chirped a voice from the doorway. Lily leaned against the doorjamb, twirling her hair around her fingers. “And bustles! No one wears bustles anymore!” She giggled and sashayed down the hall to her own room. Marie sadly picked at the blue ribbon edging her second best dress.
Sarah shook her head. “Not to worry, my dear. Marlena is about the same size as you. I’m sure she’ll lend you something until we can get the tailor here to make some new things.”
Marie’s jaw dropped. “I can’t afford tailor-made clothes!”
Sarah grinned at her consternation. “The master of the house likes his girls to be well dressed, since we serve the cream of society’s crop in this city. He pays for our clothes. Everyone gets four outfits: evening, riding, day, and visiting. The underclothes are even more sumptuous than the outer clothes!” She winked.