The Enchanted Land

  Morgan worked hard at controlling her anger. “I was not playing any game.”

  Motherly, Nicole patted her shoulder. “Already San Francisco is hearing about Madame Nicole’s little celebration, and it is rumored that a sensational beauty is to be offered. I thought I would reassure you. The sale is by invitation only. All these men have impeccable taste and a great deal of money.” She smiled at Morgan.

  “I doubt if you would be smiling if you were about to be sold like an animal.”

  Nicole laughed aloud, a deep laugh. “How ever do you think I got into this business? Actually, chérie, the sale is very exciting. I would give a great deal to be as young and as beautiful as you. To be auctioned off, to be fought over by many handsome young men—yes, that is very exciting. It happens only once. You should enjoy it.”

  She looked again at Morgan’s furious face. “The young! They are so full of causes! This one would like to miss showing her beautiful body to men who will appreciate it. She would rather share it with only one man, one who will soon grow used to it and be bored by it. You are so lucky, Morgan, and you do not even realize it. Youth vanishes so quickly. Use it! Enjoy it!”

  She realized that her sentiments meant nothing to Morgan. “Bah! Youth is wasted on the young. Goodnight.”

  The day before Christmas, Morgan was left alone. She napped and dreamed of Seth. All day her thoughts of him were especially strong. Late in the afternoon, she heard a music box playing and turned toward the sound, to the dresser. In the mirror she saw not her own reflection, but Seth’s. He was staring at her with hatred, his features contorted. She stood frozen in horror. Then there was a muffled crash. The tinkling music was gone, and Seth’s face vanished.

  She was still locked in her place when Madame Nicole and two servant girls entered. Instantly, the large woman knew something was wrong.

  “Morgan! What’s wrong? You’re shaking.” She held Morgan’s shoulders, but the young woman continued to stare at the mirror. Nicole turned to the mirror and saw nothing. She put herself between Morgan and the glass.

  “Tell me.”

  “I saw … I saw…” Morgan’s voice was a harsh whisper.

  “What did you see in the mirror? Girls! Make the water very hot.” The three women undressed her and put her in the tub.

  Gradually, Morgan began to lose her vacant stare and Nicole breathed a sigh of relief. “What did you see in the mirror?” she asked quietly.

  Morgan’s voice held no emotion. “My husband.”

  “But Jacques said he was dead. You only thought you saw him.” Her eyes caught Morgan’s and held. Something in them told her the truth: this vision been no wishful imagining. “Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed and crossed herself. Abruptly, she left the room.

  Tonight, when Madame Nicole opened the sealed bids, she knew who would win Morgan. If only he would bid. This night she would say her rosary many times before sleeping.

  The two young girls were quieter than usual as they dressed Morgan. Her clothes were especially fine, the lace on her chemise handmade. Her corset was satin and embroidered with tiny rosebuds. The dress was also satin, a rich emerald green. It was simply cut and unadorned, but very low in front, exposing her lovely shoulders.

  The girls worked long on her hair, arranging it high on her head in loose, fat curls and waves. They kept checking the number of pins to hold it up, trying for as few as possible. Twice they removed all the pins and watched their artwork fall down her back in beautiful disarray. After the third try, they seemed satisfied. Their mood lightened as they became more deeply involved in their task, and they giggled often.

  “Madame Nicole is very pleased with you. She says you may be the best girl ever offered. The men will be very happy.”

  “We’ll show you off just right. Carrie and I have done this lots of times, but never with anyone as pretty as you. Sometimes we use makeup on the body, but you don’t need it at all.”

  As Morgan’s silence lengthened, they stopped talking.

  “Now you just stay right here while we go get ready. Don’t do anything to muss yourself.”

  It seemed only minutes before the two girls reappeared. Morgan gasped at their costumes. Their dresses were black with tight long sleeves and very low square-cut necks. The gowns were pulled in very tight at the waist, and the skirts flaring out dramatically. The dresses ended at mid-thigh. The girls’ legs were covered only by sheer black silk stockings. Each had on black high-heeled pumps.

  Morgan had never seen a woman expose her legs before. If the dresses had reached even to just the ankle, they would have been indecent. But this was beyond her imagination.

  “These are our special dresses for the sales. Aren’t they pretty?”

  “But so much of you is exposed! How can you appear before men like that?”

  “Like this? Honey, you’re going to expose a lot more tonight.”

  Morgan stared at the girl. “What do you mean?”

  “Carrie didn’t mean a thing. Now you come along.” Over Morgan’s shoulder she gave Carrie a stern look.

  Morgan met the other three women in the hall, each attended by two servant girls dressed exactly like the two beside Morgan. The four captives barely nodded to one another, each apprehensive about the events to follow.

  They were led to a narrow backstage area. They could hear the muffled coughs and voices of men—many men—on the other side of the curtain.

  Madame Nicole rushed to them. “Girls … be careful they do not muss their dresses. It will be Mary first, Jessy, Alice, and last”—she looked adoringly at Morgan—“our Morgan.” She was gone, and soon they heard polite applause.

  As Nicole addressed her audience, her voice purred. “My dear gentlemen: The first lady is Mary. Mary will need some taming to overcome some of the unpleasant aspects of her personality. But as our Mr. Shakespeare has noted, there are ways to tame a shrew.” Polite laughter. “I apologize for the need for Samson, but I hope you will agree with me that Mary is well worth the extra effort.”

  They heard the soft sounds of an orchestra.

  “What do you think is going on?” Jessy leaned toward Morgan.

  They heard Mary’s voice from the stage. “No!” Then the crack of Samson’s whip.

  Alice looked anxiously at the other two women, quickly losing some of her recently acquired courage. They heard Mary sobbing. After a few moments the music stopped and they heard the tearing of paper.

  “Mr. Thomas Millsant has just made a purchase,” Nicole called out cheerfully.

  There was a rustle of curtains at the other end of the stage, and the three women turned to see Mary, her face buried in her hands, her body gleaming in the dim light.

  “Oh, my God! She’s naked!” Alice seemed ready to faint.

  Before Jessica could speak, her maids were hurrying her to the other side of the curtain. Morgan had a glimpse of Jessy’s frightened face before she disappeared.

  Again Morgan heard Nicole sketching the personality of one of “her” women. She exclaimed over Jessy’s sweetness and complaisance. Again there was music, but there were no screams of protest from Jessy. There was polite, interested applause when the music stopped.

  Morgan did not look at the opposite end of the stage when Jessy left it. She tried to make her mind blank, to will it somewhere other than where it was. She knew now what was to happen to her. Alice walked past her. Only vaguely did she hear Madame Nicole expounding on Alice’s virtues and virginity.

  It seemed only seconds had gone by when she heard applause, much louder than before, and Madame Nicole’s voice announcing the winner.

  Her two servants helped her stand up. They smoothed her hair and dress. Morgan heard Madame Nicole.

  “Now, gentlemen, the one you have waited for, the one all San Francisco has heard about. I must warn you now that if the bids are not high enough, I will reject them all. Now we will show you our jewel.”

  The music began and Morgan was led out onto the stage. She was glad there was
so much light in her eyes, because she could not see the men in front of her. She tried to concentrate on something pleasant, but could find nothing.

  The girls walked her back and forth across the stage and then, as she knew they would, they began to undress her. As they removed each layer of clothing, they turned her around to show off all the parts of her. Morgan was aware of low, quiet male voices.

  Her body was bathed in the pink light the hundreds of candles gave off. It took the assistants nearly half an hour to remove Morgan’s clothes. Finally, she stood clad only in high-heeled pumps and black silk stockings, held in place by lace garters just above her knees. The girls turned her around and removed the pins from her hair, allowing it to cascade down her back.

  It was then that the applause broke out. It seemed thunderous, as if hundreds of men were out there. She heard chairs moving back, scraping the floor. She wanted to run, to hide, but the girls held her arms and Samson blocked the exit.

  They led her off after what seemed hours. They had walked her back and forth again, while her hair was down.

  The girls put her arms into a robe and she collapsed into tears on the bed in her room. Madame Nicole came in close behind her. “You were sensational! My sale will make history! A standing ovation!”

  “You got what you wanted. It’s over for you, but for me it is only just beginning. I’m sold to God only knows who. To some man who will use me in any way he pleases.”

  Nicole loved her girls in her way, and it hurt her to hear the venom in Morgan’s voice. She took her in her arms, Morgan sobbing on the woman’s ample breast. “No, chérie, I am not without feeling. For years I held these sales in New Orleans. This is only my second sale in San Francisco, and because of you I am already a great success. You have made a new name for me, and I am grateful.”

  She held Morgan’s shaking shoulders. Looking into her tear-filled eyes, she explained, “I was young once. I do know what it means to love someone, truly love someone. I have given you a new chance in life. I did not take the highest bid, and I pray no one will find this out. Your benefactor will suit you well while your broken heart mends. When you are well again, when your mind is as beautiful as your body, you will be able to begin again, to look for another love.”

  Morgan wiped her eyes. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, what you mean.”

  Nicole stood up. “You will, and I hope that someday you will not hate me. It is not easy to sacrifice a good profit. Girls! Get Morgan’s traveling outfit. Mr. Shaw has a carriage waiting.” She gave Morgan a nod of farewell and left.

  “Mr. Shaw! Such a handsome man.” Carrie rolled her eyes.

  “Madame Nicole will tan you if she finds out what you’re saying.” Both girls giggled.

  “Why are you acting like this, first Madame Nicole and now you two? What’s wrong with this man, this monster she’s sold me to?”

  The girls looked at one another and dissolved in giggles. Their fingers were shaking so that they could hardly finish the closings on Morgan’s chocolate-brown cape.

  “Get out of here—do you hear me?” Morgan’s voice was low, but getting louder as her panic rose. “Get out!”

  Quickly, the girls left the room, clicking the door closed behind them. Immediately it opened again. Morgan didn’t look up, but continued staring at her hands. “I told you to get out. I’ve had enough of…”

  She looked up into the eyes of an extremely handsome man. He was probably in his forties, but his skin was clear and youthful. His hair was blond and waved back from his head. His eyes were blue. His shoulders were wide and his chest thick, tapering to slim legs.

  Morgan stared, speechless. He seemed too perfect to be real. He motioned for her to look in the mirror. What she saw startled her. Their reflections were very similar. Their hair and eyes were surprisingly alike.

  “It’s as if we were brother and sister, don’t you think? I was startled at the resemblance myself, when I saw you inside. Turn around and let me look at you.” He took her chin in his hand. “Mmm, yes. I was afraid Nicole had used makeup to cover flaws, but I can see there are none.”

  Morgan jerked her head from his hand. “I assume you are Mr. Shaw.”

  “You do not have to say that as if I were an insect. Yes, I am Theron Shaw. You may call me Theron.”

  “Well, Mr. Shaw,” she emphasized the words, “what do you have planned for your slave?”

  “My slave? Well, I guess you would feel some hostility after that rather vulgar performance of Nicole’s. But I do have plans for you. It’s rather late now and I am tired. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and we can spend the entire day discussing your future. Shall we go?”

  “My wish is your command.”

  “I can hardly wait for you to stop this ugly sarcasm. You will stop it, won’t you? I mean, it’s not your normal personality to be so cynical, is it?”

  She didn’t answer, but he was beginning to puzzle her.

  “Just let me say goodbye to my friend.” Morgan heard Jessy’s voice behind her and turned to hold out her arms. “I got me a pretty man. My girls say he’s really rich and a real lover, too.”

  Her smile showed real happiness. “They told me the trick Madame Nicole played on you. I’m real sorry, Morgan, you deserve better.”

  “Are you coming, Jessica?”

  “Be there soon, love.”

  “Hear that? He calls me Jessica. You cheer up and maybe we can visit each other soon. Goodbye.” They kissed one another’s cheek once more and parted.

  Theron helped Morgan into an elegant carriage. They didn’t speak until they had stopped in front of a simple, white, two-story house. It was new but unadorned, unlike many of the new houses.

  The inside was unlike anything she had ever seen. Theron looked closely for her reaction, and her surprised gasp pleased him.

  “So you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything to compare with it.”

  “Well, you see, this is my business. I am an importer and a collector. Most people decorate their houses in whatever is in fashion at the time, but I choose whatever I like from any period of history I like. That is why you see Chinese porcelains mixed with carpets from Morocco. That blue chair is Italian, late seventeenth century. I was told that it was made especially for a king, but the dealer wasn’t sure which king.” His eyes laughed.

  Theron ushered her to a beautiful staircase, the curving handrail held up by carvings of flowers and vines.

  “This staircase came from your own South. The house burned down, and this was one of the few things left undamaged. Are you familiar with Renaissance paintings? Brueghel, Rembrandt, and a new man—Ingres. I like the curve of this woman’s back, don’t you? Physically impossible, of course—but a lovely line.”

  Morgan was having difficulty absorbing everything.

  “Morgan, you’re tired. Please forgive me. Here is your room. I’m afraid you will have to take care of yourself tonight. I had no plans to bring a guest home tonight. Jeannette will take care of you in the morning. Is there anything I can get you? Something to eat?”

  Mutely, she shook her head. He bade her goodnight, leaving her standing at the closed door, her little bag of night things on the floor.

  The beauty and taste of the house had been a shock to her, but the bedroom was breathtaking. The walls were covered in a pale blue silk, lightly patterned. The ceiling was white. The floor was a highly polished parquet, with white rugs scattered about. The bed was enormous, hung in the same material as the walls. There was a low dressing table, a highboy, and a glass-fronted cabinet, all of the same honey-colored wood as the floor. The cabinet held several intricately carved jade statues. There wasn’t one article in the room that didn’t look as if it had been made especially for this room.

  It took a few seconds for her to regain her senses, to know that Theron would soon be coming to the room to exercise his rights as her owner. Quickly, she took off the brown traveling dress and stepped into the pink go
wn Madame Nicole had given her. The gown looked sleazy in the lovely room.

  She brushed her hair with the brush she found on the low table. There was a matched set for nails and hair, about twelve pieces made of a rich green marble. She climbed into bed and blew out the lamp. She waited expectantly for a few minutes, planning what she’d say to convince Theron to give her back her freedom. The day proved too much for her, though, and she fell asleep quickly.

  When she awoke, it was morning and the sun was streaming in through two French doors. A young woman in a black-and-white maid’s uniform was smiling at her, showing even, perfect teeth.

  “Good morning. Mr. Shaw said I wasn’t to wake you, but since you are awake, I’m sure he’d like you to join him for breakfast.”

  “I’m sure I have no choice in the matter,” Morgan muttered.

  The maid looked at her with a puzzled expression. “I am Jeannette. Mr. Shaw says you are to be his new assistant.”

  It was Morgan’s turn to look puzzled. “Assistant?” She saw Jeannette frown slightly at her cheap whorehouse gown.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. I will find you a robe.” Jeannette was back in seconds with a brilliant blue satin robe, trimmed with marabou at the neck and around the bottom. “Lovely, isn’t it? Mr. Shaw has exquisite taste.”

  Theron was seated at the breakfast table reading a newspaper. When he saw Morgan, he rose and took her hand to escort her to the chair beside him. “I hope you slept well.”

  Morgan was now wary of this man. When the butler stepped from the room, Theron turned to her. “Really, Morgan, there is no need to look like a scared rabbit and cringe from me. You will have every servant for blocks talking about how I beat you.”

  Before she could think of what to say, the butler returned with a plate covered by a matching porcelain dome. He set it in front of her, removing the lid.

  “Oeufs demi-devil!” Morgan exclaimed. “It’s been a year since I had eggs prepared like this.” She took a forkful as she looked into Theron’s astonished face. “Delicious! Your chef must be complimented.”