Belle

  Then there was the police. They were bound to come back and ask her more questions, especially if anything odd came up at Faldo’s post mortem. Once they found out about her past they might even blame her for his death. Yet even more alarming now was that the people who had been behind buying and selling her might want to silence her permanently.

  She was terrified. If she went to the train station one of Martha’s spies might tip her off and they’d come after her. A ship was probably the best plan, but she didn’t have the first idea how to fix that up.

  As she packed her suitcase, she tried to tell herself that she’d always known this day would come, because she’d bought the suitcase for this very eventuality. But still she sobbed, for she had never expected that it would be under these circumstances. She had selected things for her home with such care, and it hurt to have to leave them all behind. The blue fan decorated with gold cherubs that she’d fixed above her bed could go with her as it folded away to nothing, but she couldn’t take the picture of an exotic beach because it was too big. She had idled away so many hours imagining staying in a little straw-roofed hut on such a beach, with swaying palm trees, white sand and turquoise sea. She’d dreamed too of a man like Etienne taking care of her. But the picture and the lovely red hearth rug in the living room and all the other pretty things she’d bought would have to stay here.

  She had more clothes now than she’d arrived with, four dresses, various petticoats, chemises, stockings, drawers and shoes, but she no longer had a warm coat, for the old fur one she was given in France had been left on the ship when she arrived in New Orleans. The weather here might still be mild, but she knew that once she got nearer to New York it would turn very cold.

  An hour later Belle was in Canal Street, her arm aching from carrying the heavy suitcase the short distance. She had pushed the keys of the house back through the letter box as she left, assuming the landlord would call once he’d been notified that Faldo had died.

  Waving down a cab, she asked him to take her to Alderson’s and wait while she shopped, then to take her down to the docks.

  Belle felt a slight pang of conscience as she charged the expensive grey coat with black lamb collar and cuffs, plus a black lamb hat to match, and a dark blue wool dress, to Mr Reiss. But she reminded herself that she had always been careful with her spending until now, and he owed it to her anyway for the bruise on her cheek and for treating her so badly before he died.

  By mid-afternoon Belle was close to tears for she was unable to get a passage on a ship. While she understood from the various agents she’d spoken to that most of the ships were merchant vessels which didn’t carry passengers, the ones who did take them wanted to see her papers before selling her a ticket.

  The docks were a stinking, sweltering, raucous hive of activity. Burly men sweated as they loaded and unloaded ships, shouting to one another as they lowered or lifted huge wooden cases with pulleys. Others rolled barrels down gangplanks, then trundled them over the cobblestones to waiting drays.

  Overloaded carts and barrows drawn by tired old nags rumbled through the throngs of people. There were even cattle, horses, and goats being driven off ships. At one point a few steers had broken away in panic, scattering the sailors, stevedores and other people on the wharf. Belle had been constantly jostled, leered at and pestered by beggars, and a young negress in rags had even tried to snatch her hat from her head.

  She was hot, tired and very anxious. She had been told a thousand times that New Orleans was a dangerous place but it wasn’t until today at the docks that she really felt it. There were gangs of filthy, tow-haired, almost naked children no older than five or six darting around looking for things to steal; she had seen the very lowest kinds of prostitute with most of their breasts on show haranguing men in broad daylight. There were countless drunks, and others, she felt sure by their yellowing gaunt faces, were opium addicts. She had heard so many different languages, and seen every nationality from Chinamen to Red Indians. While it was true that she’d been aware from her first day in New Orleans that it housed people of every colour and creed, she hadn’t until now been brought face to face with those who lived at the very lowest and poorest level.

  As a precaution she had tucked most of her money into a purse secured inside the waistband of her skirt before she left the house, but she could see from those around her that everything she had – clothes, shoes, and her suitcase – were prime targets for thieves. She didn’t dare relax or allow herself to be distracted for a second. Yet as time passed she became more afraid, for if she hadn’t found a ship by nightfall she would be forced to find somewhere to sleep, and the prospect of the kind of bed she’d find in this area was too horrible to contemplate.

  ‘Here, miss, the Kentucky Maid is shipping out to France tonight.’

  Belle was surprised by the young boy addressing her, and she was reminded poignantly of Jimmy back in London, for he had the same red hair and freckled face.

  ‘Where? Is she carrying passengers?’ she asked.

  The boy pointed further down the wharf. ‘She ain’t really a passenger ship,’ he said. ‘But I knows the skipper and I reckon he’ll take you.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked sternly for she’d never seen the boy before, and it was odd he knew what she was after.

  ‘I’m Able Gustang, I do a few odd jobs down here on the docks. I heard you talking to the shipping agent, and reckoned you seemed like you was desperate to get away. Are you on the run?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, but she almost laughed, for his similarity to Jimmy was striking and it made her feel she could trust him. He was very skinny, bare-footed, and his ragged pants were cut off at mid-calf length. She thought he was probably only about twelve. ‘But I came into America without any papers and I do so want to go home,’ she explained.

  ‘Was you a whore? They’re the ones that usually ain’t got papers,’ he said.

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ she retorted, but she wasn’t sure she sounded indignant enough.

  ‘Well, I ’spect it were a man that brought you here anyways,’ he said, squinting at her because the sun was in his eyes. ‘That’s what happens to pretty girls.’

  Belle smiled. ‘You remind me of someone back home. But I’m tougher than I look, so don’t even think of trying to cheat me. You get me fixed up and I’ll reward you.’

  ‘Ten dollars?’ he asked.

  ‘Fair enough, as long as the ship is seaworthy and I won’t have to sleep in the hold, or with the skipper.’

  Able grinned then, showing several missing teeth. ‘This one will want to, but he can be a real gent. I done a few jobs for him, he’s all right.’

  The Kentucky Maid was a sizable steamer, but Belle’s heart sank as she got closer for it looked rusting and neglected and she doubted a freighter would offer the kind of comforts she’d had on the passenger ship she’d arrived in New Orleans on. But it was going to Marseille, which was at least a whole lot nearer England than New York. And anyway, this late in the day she couldn’t afford to be fussy.

  ‘You stay here a minute and I’ll go and see the skipper,’ Able said. ‘Don’t run away, will you?’

  Belle assured him she wouldn’t, and watched the boy bound up the gangplank with the confidence of a grown man. About ten minutes passed, in which she got more anxious by the minute, when suddenly Able appeared on deck with a short, stout man wearing a peaked cap and with gold braid on his dark jacket. He was looking at her and Able was talking excitedly, waving his hands as if driving home a point.

  Able ran down the gangplank to Belle. ‘He’s scared you’ll be trouble,’ he said. ‘He don’t like carrying unaccompanied ladies because they get seasick and expect special treatment. But if you can convince him you ain’t like that, maybe even give him the idea you’ll be useful for a bit of cooking and what-not, I reckon he’ll come round.’

  Belle braced herself as she went up on deck to meet Captain Rollins. She knew she’d got to be very careful. If she w
as too accommodating he’d assume he could have his way with her the whole way to France, but if she was too frosty he’d find an excuse not to take her.

  She gave her best wide-eyed smile and held her hand out to the man. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, captain. I am so grateful that you can take me as a passenger.’

  ‘I haven’t decided whether I will yet,’ he said sharply. His eyes were so dark they appeared to have no pupils, and despite being short and stout he was quite handsome, with clear, golden skin and well-shaped features. ‘I need to be sure you won’t be a liability.’

  ‘I will stay in my cabin all the time if that is better for you,’ she said. ‘Or I could help your cook. I’m a good sailor; on the way to America all the other passengers suffered from seasickness except me.’

  ‘Why don’t you have any papers?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘Because I was abducted back in London,’ she said. ‘I was witness to a murder, and the murderer snatched me to stop me speaking out.’

  ‘A little extreme, bringing you so far away,’ the captain half smiled.

  ‘He made a great deal of money selling me on,’ she said tersely. ‘However, I want to go home and bring him to justice. Please tell me how much you are going to charge me for taking me to France.’

  ‘Two hundred dollars,’ he said.

  Belle rolled her eyes. ‘Then I’ll have to find another ship. I haven’t got anywhere near that much.’

  ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement,’ he said.

  Belle stiffened at his tone. She knew exactly what that meant. ‘No, we will decide on a fare here and now,’ she said. ‘Seventy dollars?’

  He sniffed and pursed his lips, looking away from her.

  ‘I can just about manage eighty, but I can’t pay any more,’ she begged. ‘Please, Captain Rollins, take me with you, I promise I’ll be really useful to you.’

  He looked back at her, shaking his head slowly. But then unexpectedly he smiled. ‘All right, ma’am, I’ll take you for eighty dollars, but if you get sick don’t expect any help from anyone.’

  Twenty minutes after paying off Able and saying goodbye, Belle was in her cabin. It was so small she could only shuffle sideways along the gap between the bunks and the wall with the porthole. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have to share it with another person.

  Captain Rollins had told her to stay in her cabin until after they had sailed, in fact she got the clear impression that he actually meant for her to stay in it until he said otherwise. But she didn’t mind, she was so tired with having had so little sleep the previous night that she would be quite happy to sleep the clock round.

  The captain had informed her there were only two other passengers on board. Arnaud Germaine was French, but his wife Avril was American, and they were going home to his family in France. Belle had seen only a brief glimpse of them; Avril was around thirty-five, her husband at least ten years older. But even if they weren’t likely to be company for her, she was glad that there was at least one other female on the ship. As the captain showed her the way to her cabin, she’d been leered at by several crew members. They had all looked unkempt, wild-eyed and dirty. She intended to keep her cabin door locked at all times.

  By the third day on board Belle had settled into a routine and she’d found that the disreputable-looking crew were a mixture of nationalities. About half of them were negroes, the rest were Cajun, Mexican, Chinese, Irish, Brazilian, and the cook was Italian. But so far they had been surprisingly polite to her, perhaps because the captain had told them she was a friend’s daughter.

  She would walk on the deck for an hour after breakfast, then collect some coffee from the galley and take it to Captain Rollins to see if he had any jobs for her to do. So far he hadn’t asked her to do much, in fact it seemed he was hard-pressed to find anything for her to do. She’d sewn some buttons on a shirt and tidied his cabin, and she’d also helped Gino the cook prepare vegetables for dinner, but he wouldn’t allow her to do anything more in his galley. Talking to the captain filled up a chunk of the day, however, and she felt he liked her company.

  During the afternoon she mostly sat and read in the small, shabby room they called the officers’ mess. There were hundreds of books there, on shelves, stacked in boxes and piled on the floor, some so well thumbed they were in danger of falling apart. Belle, Mr and Mrs Germaine and the five ship’s officers ate their meals in here too. And although shabby and cramped, it was homely and comfortable.

  Arnaud Germaine studiously ignored her and she felt he knew about her background. His wife Avril looked at her curiously but had clearly been told not to talk to her. That suited Belle just fine as she didn’t want to have to answer questions. Captain Rollins could and did question her, but he was gentle about it and his dark eyes twinkled. During their chats in the mornings she’d told him more about herself than she had intended to, but even when she admitted she had worked at Martha’s sporting house he kept the same calm, faintly amused expression, and she felt that even if she was to disclose everything, he’d react just the same way.

  The ship was due to berth in Bermuda to take on water, then cross the Atlantic to Madeira before finally docking in Marseille. The evening before they reached Bermuda the captain told Belle she must stay on board the next day. ‘The authorities are vigilant there,’ he explained. ‘Well, they would be, they are English,’ he added with a wry smile. ‘You might think that would make them sympathetic to your plight, but you’d be wrong. They’d just send you back to New Orleans and prosecute me. So stay in your cabin.’

  It was stiflingly hot in her cabin once the ship had berthed. Belle knew that Bermuda had beaches just like the one in the picture she’d had to leave behind, and she so much wished she could see them. But she stripped down to her chemise and lay on her bunk with the porthole wide open and listened to the sounds of the tropical island which wafted in. Someone was playing a steel drum in the distance, and she could hear a woman calling out something, sounding just like the street traders back in London. She couldn’t see the harbour from the porthole, for the ship was facing out to sea, but as it had come in to dock, she’d seen shiny-faced brown women wearing vivid dresses carrying baskets of fruit on their heads. She’d seen men in long boats, which looked as if they’d been made from the hollowed-out trunk of a tree, casting fishing nets on the turquoise water, and plump, naked brown children jumping from the dockside to swim.

  All the crew were very excited about stopping here. Second Lieutenant Gregson had remarked that they would be blind drunk within an hour of going ashore. He’d told her that this was the place men often jumped ship, sometimes intentionally but more often because they got too drunk to get back to the ship before she sailed. He complained that it was part of his duties to try to round them all up at the end of the evening, which meant he had to stay relatively sober.

  Once everyone had disembarked and the ship became quiet, Belle felt very sad and dejected. She tried to sleep to make the hours go faster till they sailed again, but she remained annoyingly alert. She kept thinking that by the time she got to France it would be Christmas, and shortly after that it would be two years since Millie was killed and that until that night she hadn’t really understood what a brothel was. It was difficult to believe she’d ever been that naive, but then Mog and her mother had probably threatened the girls that they’d be thrown out if they talked to Belle about what they did upstairs.

  How things had changed since then! She’d travelled thousands of miles and gone from virgin to whore, child to grown woman. She didn’t think there was anything new to learn about men now; all those romantic ideas she’d once had about courtship, love and marriage were gone.

  One of Belle’s favourite ways to pass the time on the ship was studying crew members and imagining each of them in Martha’s. Gregson, the second Lieutenant, was the youngest officer and unmarried. He had the blond, blue-eyed look of a story-book hero; she thought he would be the kind to get helplessly drunk, and
when he finally got upstairs with one of the girls he would pass out.

  First Lieutenant Attlee, a forty-year-old married man from St Louis, believed himself to be some kind of Don Juan. Belle thought he looked like a weasel, for he was slightly built yet tall, with sharp little dark eyes that darted around a room as if afraid of missing something. She sensed that he was the peeping Tom kind, one of those men who got a bigger thrill watching others having sex than doing it himself.

  Captain Rollins was harder to pigeon-hole. He was very much the family man – on his desk he had pictures of his pretty wife and three children, and he spoke of them fondly. Yet she also felt there was another side to him, for when she had admitted about Martha’s it was clear he knew his way about such places. She felt he was an opportunist, and that while he wouldn’t force himself on to any woman, he was the kind to inveigle his way into a situation where a woman would find it hard to resist him. She suspected he was a passionate man who would be a good and generous lover.

  That thought made Belle smile. He might come in useful when they got to Marseille.

  Belle passed a bowl for Avril Germaine to be sick in, and wiped her forehead with a wet flannel, feeling genuine sympathy. She remembered how ill Etienne had been with seasickness, and Avril’s wail that she thought she was going to die made Belle feel she must do what she could to help the woman. As she vomited again, her face was as green as the rough blanket Belle had wrapped round her after helping her out of the soiled sheets on her bunk.

  ‘You are not going to die,’ Belle said firmly, taking the bowl from her hands and emptying it in the slop pail. She sluiced the bowl with water, then handed it back in case Avril was sick again. ‘The storm will blow itself out in a few hours and you’ll feel better again then.’

  Avril was a small, pretty woman with fair, curly hair, pale blue eyes and a complexion like porcelain. Her clothes were expensive and beautiful, and she reminded Belle of a china doll in a picture book Mog had given her when she was small. The doll had thought she was queen of the nursery because she was so pretty and the favourite toy of her owner. She was always nasty to all the other toys who she felt were beneath her. Avril was like her in every way.