Belle

  ‘Faldo, no, no,’ she cried out. ‘Surely I don’t deserve this?’

  She fought to get away from him, but that only inflamed him more. He pounded harder and harder at her, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh on her buttocks, and the excitement of such a brutal and frenzied attack made his heart race.

  Belle was terrified. Faldo might have been cold and undemonstrative with her for some time, he might have shocked her earlier when he struck her, but she would never have thought it possible that he could become a crazed brute pummelling into her like those terrible men did back in Paris.

  First she attempted to fight him off, and when that made him even more ferocious, she tried putting up no resistance. But she couldn’t stop herself from crying, not just because he was hurting her physically, but because he wanted to humiliate her. His face was buried in her neck, and as he panted and wheezed his breath was as hot as steam from the kettle.

  It went on and on; his shirt was wet with sweat, and his breathing more laboured. But when he began to make a kind of strange growling, yelping noise her first thought was that at last her ordeal was almost over.

  But then, while still inside her, he arched his body away from her and clutched at his chest with one hand, and although the light in the bedroom was dim she could see his face had turned a deep mottled red. Instinctively she knew something was badly wrong.

  ‘Faldo!’ she shouted, wriggling from under him and at the same time pushing him down on to the bed and rolling him on to his back. ‘Mary, Mother of God, what is it?’ she asked, for his eyes were rolling back into his head and he was jerking as if having a fit.

  She ran to the kitchen and got a glass of water and a wet cloth. But the water just ran out of his mouth when she tried to make him drink, and putting the cold wet cloth on his forehead didn’t seem to have any effect.

  ‘Faldo, listen to me,’ she pleaded with him, ‘try and tell me what’s wrong.’ But even as she spoke she knew he was unable to answer, that this was something really serious and she’d got to get a doctor for him.

  She dressed herself quickly, then turning back to Faldo she tucked his penis away in his pants and buttoned them up. Without even stopping to grab a shawl, she rushed out on to the street. As was usual at ten at night it was deserted, so she ran up to Canal Street where she hoped she might see a policeman or a cab driver who might know where to find a doctor.

  Luck was with her. Two police officers were walking down Canal Street together. ‘Please help me!’ she shouted as she ran towards them. ‘A friend has had some kind of turn. I don’t know how to find a doctor.’

  Less than five minutes later the younger of the two men entered Belle’s house with her. The other officer had gone off to call on a doctor.

  For a brief moment Belle thought Faldo had recovered, for he’d turned on to his side and in the dim gaslight he looked as if he’d just fallen asleep. But something made her stand back and let the officer go forward to examine him.

  He put his fingers on Faldo’s neck, then felt for the pulse in his wrist. The officer straightened up and turned slowly round to look at Belle. ‘I’m very sorry, miss,’ he said. ‘But your friend is dead.’

  ‘He can’t be!’ Belle exclaimed, clamping her hand over her mouth in horror. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her, that one minute Faldo was red-hot with anger and passion, the next dead. Was she responsible?

  Her cheek was throbbing where he’d hit her, and she remembered that he’d said he wanted her heart, and all at once she was sobbing.

  ‘I’m so sorry, miss,’ the officer said. ‘Can you just tell me who you both are and what led up to him having this turn you spoke of?’

  She looked at the young man bleakly. He had bright blue eyes and he looked very sympathetic, but she knew she mustn’t let that influence her into telling him the whole truth.

  ‘His name is Faldo Reiss, and he came round about nine to visit me,’ she sobbed. ‘We were talking for a while in the kitchen, then he said he felt a bit strange. He looked very flushed and hot. He stood up to go out the back way for some fresh air, but he was staggering, so I led him into the bedroom to lie down. Then he was breathing really hard and holding his chest. I tried to give him a drink of water and sponge his forehead, but when he couldn’t speak I ran out to get help.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ the officer said. ‘Now, you said he’s just a friend. So where does he live?’

  ‘In Houston, Texas,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know the address. He works for the railway, you see. He comes to New Orleans most weeks with his work.’

  The officer’s eyes narrowed as if considering something. ‘Are you English?’ he asked.

  Belle nodded. She was terrified because she knew it wouldn’t be long before she was asked far more probing, difficult to answer questions. Faldo had an important position with the railroad company. He might have been vile to her tonight, but she still cared enough for him to try to prevent a scandal which would hurt his wife and children. There was also Martha to worry about. If she got wind that Faldo died, and where, she might put two and two together.

  ‘You say he was your friend?’

  Belle’s stomach lurched at the police officer’s question because she guessed he had already surmised that Faldo was more than a friend. He was young, no older than twenty-five, at least six foot, nice-looking, with light brown hair cut very short, and the bright blue eyes she’d noticed earlier. But however nice he looked, police were by the very nature of their job worldly types and hard to fool.

  ‘Yes, just a friend,’ she said. ‘He was very kind when I first arrived here and helped me get this place to live. He usually pops in to see me whenever he’s here on business.’

  The officer was jotting down what she’d said in a notebook and asked again for her name. She had to say she was Anne Talbot as Faldo had opened the accounts at the two shops with that name and it was possible the landlord had that name too. But before he could ask her anything further, the other officer arrived with the doctor and the three men went into the bedroom.

  Belle stayed in the kitchen and put the kettle on to make some coffee. Her heart was thumping so hard she was sure the three men would be able to hear it.

  The doctor, a short, stout man with a bald head and glasses, came out of the bedroom after only a few minutes. ‘Well, my dear, the signs are that your friend died of a heart attack. I am very sorry, but I will make a call to the mortuary and get them to come and collect him.’

  The officer who had been asking the questions and who had told her his name was Lieutenant Rendall, stayed behind when his colleague and the doctor left.

  ‘This must be very hard for you,’ he said as Belle poured him a cup of coffee. ‘Have you got any family you could go to?’

  Belle told him she hadn’t and began to cry again. He patted her on the hand and asked if Faldo was her lover.

  ‘No, he wasn’t,’ she sobbed. ‘He was a married man with children. That is why this is so terrible. I hope you can avoid telling his wife anything about me, as she’ll probably jump to the same conclusion.’

  ‘She surely would! And if you don’t mind me saying, Miss Talbot, few wives would appreciate their husband coming to see someone quite as pretty as you,’ the officer said, and the way his eyes twinkled suggested he didn’t believe what she’d told him. ‘But as long as the inquest doesn’t show anything odd or unexpected, I can see no reason to tell his wife anything more than that he died in a boarding house.’

  Belle thanked him.

  ‘But I am curious as to why an English girl should come alone to New Orleans,’ Rendall went on, fixing her with his bright eyes. ‘New York or Philadelphia I could understand, even Chicago, but not down here. New Orleans is a dangerous city.’

  ‘I came with someone else, then he left me,’ she said impulsively. ‘And as soon as I can raise enough money to go home, I shall be gone.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me about him?’

  Bel
le almost laughed, for this man had an engaging manner. ‘No, I don’t want to tell you about him,’ she said. ‘What I’d really like is for this horrible night to be over. But I suspect I’ll never sleep well in that bed again, not after Faldo died on it.’

  ‘I could escort you to a boarding house for the night if you wish,’ Rendall said. ‘There is a quiet, decent one just around the corner in Canal Street.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you,’ she said. ‘But I can’t afford to pay for a room somewhere else. I’ll manage here.’

  ‘Do you have a job?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I work at a milliner’s,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask where. ‘But it doesn’t pay very well.’

  ‘Was it Mr Reiss that hit you?’ Rendall asked, looking at her intently. ‘I thought it was a shadow on your face earlier, but I can see now you have a bruise coming up on your cheek.’

  ‘I tripped earlier on the back steps,’ she said. ‘I fell against the post on the balustrade.’

  Fortunately the mortuary van arrived just then, the horse’s hooves sounding very loud in the quiet street. Two men came in, Rendall showed them into the bedroom and just a couple of minutes later they left with Faldo on a stretcher covered by a blanket.

  Rendall said goodbye to Belle and hoped she would be all right, but he hesitated at the door, looking back at her as she sat by the stove crying.

  ‘I don’t like to leave you like this, miss,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘If you don’t leave people will talk,’ she said sharply. ‘It will be bad enough that a man died here, without one of the police officers staying on.’

  ‘Yes, I guess you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘What I kinda meant to say was that you should have someone with you.’

  ‘I’ve lived alone for a while now,’ she said. ‘I don’t have any other friends in the city; Faldo was the only one.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, and finally opened the door and left.

  Once he’d gone, Belle locked and bolted the door, and went into the bedroom. She was trembling all over and her stomach was churning. She had never felt more alone.

  She could see the indentation on the quilt where Faldo’s body had been and she could smell his hair oil and his sweat. She wanted to be able to cry for him, she owed him that much, but she was angry because he’d left her like this.

  She remembered Suzanne back at Martha’s telling her about a man who had died on her. Like Faldo, it had been of a heart attack. But the way Suzanne and the other girls told the story, it was really funny. Suzanne even admitted she’d gone through his wallet before the doctor got there and helped herself to a hundred dollars.

  But then, it was easy to laugh at an undignified death in an inappropriate place, when it was a stranger. Suzanne had claimed that most men, if they could pick their way to die, would choose to be fucking her. She joked she was going to send a card with some flowers to his funeral and write on it, ‘I always said I’d show you heaven!’

  But even if Belle had all the other girls here right now, she knew she still wouldn’t be able to find anything even vaguely amusing about Faldo’s death. He was a complicated, contradictory man and he’d been a brute tonight. He’d said that he wanted her heart, so why was he so horrible to her?

  Was this the way it would always be with men? They would want her body, but never her mind, and never be able to see past her being a whore?

  She lay down on the bed and pulled the quilt over her. But all at once it dawned on her that she had far more to worry about than what men might think of her. She was in fact destitute. The few dollars Miss Frank gave her wouldn’t keep her. Once the rent stopped being paid, the landlord would reclaim the house too. How on earth was she going to live?

  Martha would block her being taken on by any of the good sporting houses: that would leave only the dreadful places down in Robertson Street.

  Panic overwhelmed her. What was she going to do?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ‘So that’s how it is, Miss Frank.’ Belle’s voice quivered a little because she could see the older woman was horrified by what she’d been told. ‘I felt I owed you the whole truth because you’ve been so very kind to me.’

  She hadn’t slept a wink through terror of what was going to become of her. The greater part of her just wanted to run, to throw her belongings quickly into a case and catch the first train out of New Orleans. But a small, sensible voice asked her where she thought she was going to run to, because it would be hard to start again in a strange town where she didn’t know anyone.

  That same sensible voice suggested she went to Miss Frank and told her the whole story. As the older woman appeared to be fond of her, Belle thought she might agree to pretend to the police that her name was Anne Talbot if they came round asking questions. Belle hoped that with the money she earned at the hat shop, and perhaps finding some waitressing work too, she could stay in New Orleans.

  ‘You really think I would be prepared to tell lies to the police and say I know you as Anne Talbot?’ Miss Frank finally exclaimed.

  Belle heard the animosity in the woman’s voice and her stomach flipped. While she’d seen the horror on Miss Frank’s face as she was explaining, she’d made the mistake of assuming that was because the woman was distressed at the idea of her going through so much. But it was now clear she’d felt nothing but repugnance.

  ‘I wasn’t asking you to tell a lie. I have been working for you, and I can’t see that it matters what name you knew me under,’ Belle pleaded.

  ‘It matters very much to me,’ the older woman snapped. ‘No one changes their name unless they are up to no good.’

  ‘But I’ve explained why Mr Reiss made me use that name, and how I came to be here in New Orleans. Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough by being abducted and sold into prostitution? If that happened to you, wouldn’t you have got out of it any way you could?’

  ‘I don’t believe you had no choice in the matter. I think it’s far more likely you got led astray and then made up this ridiculous story to make yourself look like a victim,’ Miss Frank said tersely, her small face and body rigid with indignation. ‘I don’t even know that I believe this man who was keeping you died of natural causes. Not when it’s clear from your bruised cheek that you were fighting! But setting that aside, have you any idea what it would do to my business if my customers knew what you are? They wouldn’t want to step inside the shop, much less try on a hat you’d touched.’

  Belle felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. She hadn’t for one moment expected that she wouldn’t be believed, nor had she anticipated that Miss Frank would see a whore as being as dangerous as someone with leprosy.

  ‘They won’t catch anything from me,’ she retorted. ‘Though they might from their own husbands, as you can bet most of them visit the District on a regular basis.’

  Miss Frank gasped in shocked horror. ‘How dare you say such a wicked, slanderous thing?’

  All at once Belle saw that she had been a fool to imagine this little spinster could possibly understand and sympathize with what she’d been through. The society she had been raised in was completely blinkered, and most women like her were entirely ignorant about even their own bodies. Even if Belle had only admitted a man had kissed her, Miss Frank would probably have reached for her smelling salts.

  But Belle was not going to beg her forgiveness for something that was not her fault. She certainly wasn’t going to resort to tears either. And she wasn’t going to let the silly woman hide behind her ridiculous, prudish views.

  ‘Because it’s absolutely true,’ Belle said stubbornly. ‘Why is it that people always cast prostitutes as the lowest form of life? They wouldn’t exist but for men. And I can tell you first hand that it is invariably so-called “respectable” married men who use them. If their wives fulfilled their role in marriage, they wouldn’t resort to it. So your outraged customers ought to look to themselves before they point a finger at me.’

&
nbsp; ‘I’ve never heard anything so shocking!’ Miss Frank gasped, her face flushing rose pink.

  ‘Shocking! I’ll tell you what’s shocking,’ Belle said angrily. ‘That you’ve had me working here day after day, acting as if you liked me. Yet when I tell you the truth about how I came to be here, you turn against me. I took you for a kind woman. I actually believed you would want to help me.’

  ‘I want you out of my shop immediately.’ Miss Frank’s voice was shrill and cold. ‘Go on now, you little strumpet.’

  Belle knew she had to leave; nothing she could say was going to overcome this woman’s prejudices.

  ‘Fine, I’ll go,’ she said, darting forward and snatching up a small pile of her designs from the work bench. ‘But you can’t keep these, and I’ll just slip down to Angelique’s to inform them their latest order was designed and made up by a whore. They’ll probably want to return the lot if they are anything like you!’

  She saw Miss Frank’s small face crumple and for a split second she was tempted to say she didn’t mean that. But she was too hurt to back down; she’d truly believed the affection she had felt for this woman was reciprocated.

  ‘I’m just seventeen. I’ve been through hell since I was snatched from my home a year and a half ago, and I’m over four thousand miles away from there, without any idea of how to get back,’ she spat out, waving the sheaf of designs she held in her hand. ‘What little security I had died yesterday with Mr Reiss, but I thought I had one true friend who would listen and advise me what to do without judging me. What a fool I was!’

  She took some small satisfaction in seeing shame flood across the small woman’s face, but turned and walked out of the shop.

  Almost blinded by tears, Belle returned home. She had no alternative now but to leave New Orleans. This was, by anyone’s measure, a very juicy story and she knew Miss Frank would not be able to keep it to herself. It would get back to Martha in no time and then she’d be after Belle.