Sinful Seduction (16 page)

The pattering of feet heralded Eddie's arrival, and Maggie smiled despite herself. If her eyes didn't deceive her, it was the little urchin who'd played his fiddle at Mrs H's birthday party. My, how he'd come up in the world. Instead of rags, he was wearing a neat black uniform and he actually had some meat on his bones.

‘Sorry, Gladys,' he panted. ‘I was ‘umping coal up them stairs. Wotcher want?'

‘Tell Mrs Wilkes she has...' she ran her eyes disparagingly over Bert and Maggie ‘...visitors.'

‘Yes m'm. Right away, m'm.' The lad looked at the ‘visitors' and his grin disappeared as he recognised Maggie. ‘Wot you doin' here, miss?' he gasped. ‘This ain't no place for a lady like you...' but a swift clip round the ear from Gladys brought the conversation to a premature close.

‘None of your bleedin' business what she's doin' here,' she snapped. ‘Just you get about your own and tell Mrs Wilkes she's here.' She raised her hand again. ‘Before I gives yer another one.'

Clutching his ear Eddie fled, but his words had filtered through Maggie's fog of fear and it finally dawned on her exactly what kind of place Bert had brought her to. It was a house of ill repute, and her stomach churned with consternation and distaste. Waiting on Lady Georgina had been bad enough, but at least she'd been respectable - even if her husband hadn't. Did Bert really expect her to be a maid here? Dance attendance on a houseful of loose women?

Her horrified thoughts were interrupted by Eddie's return. ‘I'm to take ‘em up to Mrs Wilkes' office,' he announced. ‘She'll see ‘em now.'

‘Get on with it then,' sniffed Gladys, nodding brusquely at Bert and Maggie. ‘Just follow Eddie. He'll take you up.' Bert jerked his head and Maggie reluctantly did as she was told.

As they walked through the green baize door that separated the servants' quarters from the main house, she stopped and gawped around her. Even her former employers hadn't lived like this! The carpet was so thick that the heels of her shoes sank into the pile and the hand painted wallpaper, illuminated by the flaring gas mantles, was a riot of exotic birds and plants.

But it was the oil paintings that caught her breath. She'd never seen anything like them in her life. Instead of portraits they were depictions of scenes of sexual depravity. Naked women writhed in ecstasy with one man, two men - she shuddered - even with animals! It was disgusting!

Maggie was unaware that she'd stopped walking until Bert's heavy hand thumped her between the shoulders. ‘Gerra move on,' he snarled. ‘You heard wot that Gladys said; old Ma Wilkes don't like to be kept waiting.'

Eddie stopped in front of a heavy mahogany door and tapped gingerly. A muffled voice called, ‘Come in', he pushed it open, stepped back to allow them to enter, then closed it discreetly behind them. Swallowing nervously, Maggie walked forward, with Bert on her heels. She didn't know what she'd been expecting; some fat vulgar slut with her face plastered with powder and rouge? Whatever it was, Mrs Wilkes did not fit her mental picture. Small, neat and dressed in sober black, her grey hair drawn tightly back beneath the kind of lace cap favoured by the queen, she sat primly behind a heavy oak desk, with her hands folded in her lap. She could have been a respectable housekeeper on some country estate rather than the madam of a notorious brothel.

But it was her eyes that gave her away. Maggie remembered a picture she'd seen in a book once, of a snake mesmerising a helpless rabbit, and the eyes that regarded her now were as cold and dead as that snake's. The thin lips parted in an icy smile. ‘Well?' she asked, her voice as well bred as her appearance. ‘And what can I do for you?'

Bert shuffled his feet and smiled back ingratiatingly. ‘I brung me daughter,' he blustered, waving a hand in Maggie's direction.

‘So I see,' said Mrs Wilkes, leaning back and running her eyes over Maggie. ‘And what, pray, am I supposed to do with her?'

‘Well, I thought she could work ‘ere,' he muttered.

Mrs Wilkes raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you indeed?' she smiled. ‘And what makes you think I would want her?'

‘She's a pretty gel,' he said, beads of sweat beginning to break out on his forehead. ‘And nice fresh meat too,' he went on eagerly. ‘She'd be worth a packet. A virgin. Never been touched.' Maggie whirled round and stared at him in horror. He hadn't brought her here to work as a maid at all!

A burst of harsh laughter made her turn back to the woman behind the desk. Her shoulders were shaking with amusement. ‘A virgin!' she cackled, her veneer of culture disappearing. ‘That's a good ‘un! You must think I've still got straw stuck behind me ears! She's no more a virgin than I am!' Maggie turned scarlet with humiliation, as Mrs Wilkes wiped away her tears of laughter and regarded her with the intent gaze of a farmer contemplating buying a new cow. ‘Still,' she mused, ‘the punters ain't going to know that, are they?' She waved her hand imperiously at Bert. ‘Strip her off then, till I get a proper look.'

Hands crossed protectively over her chest, Maggie back away in horror. ‘Get away from me, you bastard,' she warned as Bert moved towards her, but it was no use. He reached out, grabbed the bodice of her dress and in one violent motion ripped the rotten material to the hem, and the dress fluttered to the floor leaving her standing naked before them.

Refusing to be cowed, Maggie lifted her chin and stared defiantly at Mrs Wilkes. Mrs Wilkes stared back, taking in the proud thrust of the heaving breasts, their soft pink nipples hardening in the cold. She ran her eyes calculatingly over the narrow waist, the smooth swell of the girl's hips, the tantalising V of soft hair at the juncture of the slender legs, and the white unblemished skin. Finally she began to smile.

‘Not bad,' she agreed. ‘Not bad at all.' She looked at Bert. ‘I'll give you five guineas for her.'

‘You can't buy and sell me!' gasped Maggie. ‘I'm not an animal!'

‘Oh yes I can,' smirked Bert. ‘You're me daughter, ain't yer? Until yer twenty-one, yer still my property. I can do what I bleedin' well like with yer. It's the law.' He turned back to Mrs Wilkes and scowled. ‘Make it twenty and we've got a deal.'

‘Seven,' the woman countered. ‘And that's my last offer.' She shrugged. ‘Girls are ten-a-penny. Take it or leave it.'

Bert shook his head. ‘She's worth more than that,' he said. ‘Make it ten.'

‘Done,' Mrs Wilkes agreed, smiling inwardly. The stupid fool; the girl would make ten times that in her first night alone.

Maggie watched in dismay as the woman opened the desk drawer and counted out ten gleaming gold sovereigns. ‘There you go,' she said with contempt, pushing the pile towards Bert. ‘Now get out of here and never come back. If I see you round here again, one of my boys'll give you a beating you'll never forget.'

Burt grabbed the coins and shoved them into his pocket. ‘Thanks, missus,' he grinned, tugging his forelock mockingly. ‘It's been a pleasure doing business with yer.'

Maggie watched in dismay as he turned on his heel and swaggered out. She bent, pulled her torn dress about her and turned back to Mrs Wilkes. ‘I'm not staying here either,' she said. ‘And you can't make me.'

‘Oh, but I think you'll find I can,' purred Mrs Wilkes, picking up the bell that stood on her desk and ringing it. A few moments later the door opened and the huge black manservant walked in. Maggie stared at him in horror.

‘Take this young lady to her room,' the woman smiled, he nodded silently, and ignoring Maggie's kicks and screams he scooped her up as if she weighed no more than a feather and carried her, still shrieking, along the carpeted corridors and up two flights of stairs to a tiny, uncarpeted room. Depositing her on the narrow bed, he left as silently as he had come, locking the door behind him. Sobbing with fear and rage Maggie flung herself against it, beating her fists against the thick wood. She had to get away! She simply had to!

 

 

 

She might as well have been a captive bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage for all the effect she had. The door remained stubbornly shut. Finally she gave up and retreated sobbing to the narrow bed. She tugged the tattered remains of her scarlet satin dress about her and sat there, knees pulled up to her chin, her frightened eyes riveted on the entrance to her prison.

It seemed like hours before she heard the sound of movement in the corridor outside. The key turned in the lock and she leapt to her feet, looking round wildly for a weapon to defend herself against whatever monster should enter. The only thing she could find was the flowered chamber pot beneath the bed. The idea of facing the devil armed only with a pot might have been amusing if she hadn't been so scared.

The door creaked slowly open and she raised it above her head, prepared to crown whoever came through it - then stopped just in time.

‘Going to brain me, were yer?' grinned the girl she'd seen earlier in the kitchen, the one Gladys had called Miss Millicent. She held out the tray she was holding; there was a steaming mug of tea, a pile of bread and butter and a plateful of hot sausages that gave off a tantalising aroma. ‘I come to bring yer a bit o' grub and you try and bash me ‘ead in. Fine thanks for doing yer a good turn, that is.'

Maggie's gaze moved from the proffered tray to the open door, and the girl's eyes narrowed. ‘Oh no yer don't,' she said, kicking it shut. Balancing the tray on her hip, she pulled the key from her cleavage, turned it in the lock and slipped it back again. ‘Old Ma Wilkes would have the skin off me back if I let yer out.'

Sulkily, Maggie sat back down on the bed and studiously ignored the food, but the gesture was spoilt somewhat by the audible rumbling coming from her empty stomach.

‘Please yourself,' shrugged Miss Millicent, plonking herself down beside her and putting the tray between them. ‘All the more for me.' Maggie watched, her own mouth watering, as she picked up a sausage and bit into it with relish. Grease coated her lips and fingers, and Maggie's belly growled again. She gave in.

‘Atta girl,' grinned Miss Millicent as Maggie wolfed down the food. ‘Life's hard enough without starvin' yerself into the bargain.' She wiped her hands together, produced a delicate lace hankie from somewhere and began to mop the grease from her scarlet lips.

It was the handkerchief and the bowed head that did it, and Maggie's mouth fell open as the penny finally dropped. Miss Millicent - of course! How could she have been so stupid?

‘Millie?' she gasped. ‘Millie Evans?'

Miss Millicent raised her head and looked at Maggie, puzzled. ‘That's me,' she confirmed. ‘But how did you know?'

‘I used to work for Lord Edward and Lady Georgina, too,' Maggie explained. ‘I'm Maggie. Remember? I was an upper housemaid. I became Lady Georgina's maid after you...' Her voice trailed off as she remembered the circumstances. ‘After you... er... left.'

‘After I was chucked out, you mean,' Millie corrected bitterly. She ran her eyes over the swell of Maggie's breasts beneath the torn dress. ‘Well, well, well. You were a skinny little thing when I left. Who'd of thought it?'

Maggie waved a delicate hand in the direction of Millie's flat stomach. ‘What happened to...?'

‘Lord Edward's bastard?' Millie said harshly, raising an eyebrow, and then her face softened. ‘I shouldn't call the little bleeder that. He's a smashing kid.' She smiled. ‘Takes after his ma.' Her face darkened again. ‘Thank God.'

‘So where is he now?' asked Maggie. ‘With your folks?'

‘Them?' Millie snorted scathingly. ‘That'll be right. Delighted to have their precious daughter back with a bun in the oven - I don't think.' Her lips twisted in a sneer. ‘Disowned me, didn't they, for “bringing shame on the family”. “Get out and never darken me doorstep again”, me dad said.' She shook her head. ‘I pay this woman to look after him.'

‘A baby farmer?' gasped Maggie. She'd heard about them; dirty basement rooms packed with babies, fed on laudanum to keep them quiet. Most of them were lucky to see out their first year, but who cared? There were always plenty more to take their place.

‘Course not,' scoffed Millie. ‘I ain't that daft.' She smiled. ‘Me folks might have chucked me out, but me Auntie Nan was a real trump. She stood by me.' The smile became wicked. ‘Mind you, it ain't surprising. She was barely up the aisle before her first nipper popped out.' She chuckled. ‘Practically had the wedding and the christening on the same day!

‘Anyway,' she went on. ‘Her old man's a coach driver. Got a tied cottage on one of them big country estates. She took me in, looked after me till the kid come, then sorted out this woman to take care of the nipper.' She sighed. ‘She'd have kept him herself if she hadn't had five of her own already.' She forced a smile. ‘Still, the woman as has him can't have none of her own. Treats him like he was her own.'

She shrugged. ‘As for me, with no job and no references, I ended up here.' Pushing the empty tray onto the floor she kicked off her shoes, lay back on the bed and lit up one of her cheroots. ‘It ain't so bad,' she advised, blowing out a cloud of smoke. ‘Roof over yer head, decent grub.' She gave an ugly laugh. ‘And it certainly beats sleeping in a doss house and hawking your mutton on a street corner.'