The Harlot (20 page)

“Justice,” Gregor repeated, with some unease. For it was what drove him, too.

 

Jessie was allocated a small room in the top attics. The window was tiny and at the level of the floor, for the room was up under the eaves. She was grateful, however, that she did not have to share with another maid, a possibility that had been mentioned at one point. All the servants were very curious about her, quizzing her about where she had come from and who she knew in this area. Jessie had handled them well, but was eager most of all to make the acquaintance of the master of the house.

So far she had not seen him, although she'd heard voices raised as if in anger, coming from the parlor where she
had met Mistress Wallace. That first night she retired with disappointment, but felt hope for the following day.

At first she could not sleep, because her thoughts kept running back to Gregor. She craved the pleasure of lying alongside him. But this separation was just as well, she thought, for she would have to do without him soon enough.

It did not help that the attic was stifling hot, and she had to lie atop the bed in her shift, casting aside the blanket. Eventually, she drifted to sleep.

She awoke sometime later when a man entered the room.

He held a candle aloft and she could see from his fine clothes that he was the master of the house.

Jessie sat bolt upright, staring.

Her thoughts scrambled as she tried to remember her purpose and act appropriately. She let out a stifled scream, not loud enough to wake everyone, but loud enough to inform him that she was horrified to find a man in her room.

She pressed herself back against the wall and put her hand to her throat. “Who are you? What do you want of me?”

The man gave a most lascivious smile. “I have come to examine my new serving girl. I am the master of Balfour Hall. You may call me Master Wallace.”

“Yes, sire. Master Wallace. Forgive me. I am most astonished to find you here while I am in a state of undress.”

Jessie tried to get a quick look at him before she lowered her gaze and cowered in her corner appropriately. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with intense eyes. His hair was thick and wavy, silver peppered with dark strands. He had once been handsome, she surmised, although his character marred his good looks somewhat. There was petulance in the set of his mouth, and the glint of greed in his eyes.

“Stand up, girl, let me get a look at you.”

Jessie did not expect to be meeting him this way, but Gregor had prepared her well.

Her mind ticked over fast, and as she rose to her feet she moved her hands. With her right forearm, she made as if to cover her breasts, squeezing them together beneath her thin shift. She pushed the other hand between her thighs as if to cover her intimate parts in reaction to his presence. He would believe her chaste, but his attention would be drawn to the places she touched.

It proved fruitful.

He moved his candle up and down, brazenly examining her.

Jessie did not like the man. She told herself that it did not matter. She had often serviced men she did not like, in order to fill her belly. This should be the same. But it wasn't. It felt somehow more uncomfortable to her.

Just then the door of the room creaked open, and Mistress Gilroy stood there with a candlestick. She had a shawl flung over her nightdress.

The mood altered quickly.

“Lurking, are we?” Wallace snapped in her direction.

The housekeeper stood her ground silently, and whatever small persuasion it was, Wallace lingered only a moment longer, and then went to push past her. Mistress Gilroy turned her face away, and as she did, Wallace paused and ran a finger along her jaw.

The woman closed her eyes, and Jessie was not sure if it was from pleasure or dislike. It was a curious exchange, and it occurred to Jessie that the housekeeper had chosen that room for her on purpose, because her own was close by and she would hear if the master came a-calling. There was some history between these two. Whatever it might be, Jessie was glad of the opportunity to gather her thoughts.

When the master was gone, Mistress Gilroy stepped into the room. “You are safe for now, my dear.”

She acted friendlier than she had thus far, and Jessie nodded, giving her a weak smile.

“There is only so much I can do to protect you. If you honestly cannot find work elsewhere, be prepared to do whatever he asks, but mark my words—he can be a cruel man.”

Jessie could have guessed as much. She was unsure how to respond, but Mistress Gilroy reached out and squeezed her shoulder, then took her leave.

Jessie let the darkness soothe her. That she would be able to get close to Wallace was undoubtable. The man was a leering seducer. She would not need to seduce him at all. At first she'd wondered at Gregor's choice in her, but he had been right to choose a woman who would honestly not be afraid of such a man. He had prepared her as an innocent, because that's obviously where Master Wallace's tastes led him. Soon she would have his ear, and Gregor would know everything he needed.

However, when Jessie sat down on her cot, the room seemed suddenly gloomier and more oppressive. There was barely a light at the tiny window by her feet, and it felt more cell-like than any she had known so far. Moreover, she felt as if she were back there in Dundee, scraping for her living, saving every penny she did not need for food or lodging. She had been spoiled, in between. Comfortable quarters and regular food.
And Gregor.

His image burned in her mind.

Yes, it was going to be difficult from now on, because she had bonded with him. He only wanted her for this task, but she had grown to care for him far too much. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to be strong, but the feeling did not come. Hunching over her knees, she pressed her palms to her eyes,
attempting to push down the knot in her chest. But it would not be quelled, and for the first time in many, many years, Jessie Taskill cried herself to sleep.

“BEGGING YOUR PARDON, MASTER WALLACE
, may I enter in order to clear the grate?” Jessie stood just inside the doorway to the master's parlor and wiped her hands on the muslin apron she had been given.

Master Wallace was seated at a fancy table covered in papers. His head rested in his hands as he studied something there. Above the table rose shelves of boxes and books; it was a complicated affair with many drawers. He lifted one hand, which she took as a sign of consent.

She sidled past him slowly, clutching her brush and pail, but he scarcely lifted his head. This was no good. If she was to attract his attention, she would have to appear more interesting than whatever it was he was currently looking at. She cleared her throat. “I will try not to distract you from your work, Master Wallace.”

He lifted his gaze and studied her for a moment, recognition flickering in his eyes. She noticed how the lace cuffs on his shirt were ink-stained, and he wore only a waistcoat, no frock coat. His silver-and-black-streaked hair was ruffled where he
had rested his head in his hands. After a moment he nodded and gestured her toward the fireplace. At least she had forced him to take notice of the fact it was her, and not some other serving girl. That was a start.

She had begun the day much more determined, for her strange encounter with the master of the house looked more promising in the light of a new day. It was what she was here for, after all, and she could not let her attachment to Gregor make things difficult for her. After some lengthy self-chastisement she had scorned her tearful behavior of the night before, and strengthened her will. The faster she got on with it the quicker it would be over. She would grit her teeth, as she had so many times before, discover information for Gregor, and be out of this place quickly enough.

Thoroughly girded and prepared, she went about her duties with a fury. By midmorning she'd made sure that everyone else was occupied with work when it came time to clear the ashes. Mistress Gilroy seemed unwilling to let her attend to the task in the main parlors, but there was no one else available, and Jessie assured her she would do it and be quick about it.

As it turned out, she completed the clearing of the ashes and the laying of a new fire, and he had scarce made a sound other than to mumble over his papers. With the job completed, Jessie rested back on her haunches and put her hands on her hips. She'd arranged herself in a pretty pose and produced an excessive amount of wiggling of her hips and shoulders, but he had not lifted his head once to glance over at her. All that preparation and she couldn't manage to draw his attention away from whatever it was he was looking at.

This could become vexing.

She glared at his back.

Nevertheless, the night before had been a different story, and she reminded herself of that. The fact that he might be a
night prowler occurred to her, but time was short and Gregor would appear that evening, expecting news of her progress. She was not about to sacrifice her meeting with Gregor to wait for Master Wallace to appear in her quarters with his wandering hands. This called for more desperate measures. Besides, she was curious as to what he was so fascinated with over there, and rued the fact that she could not read.

As she passed back across the parlor, she stumbled and set down her wooden pail. With a loud cry of dismay, she dropped to her knees and began sweeping the floor as if ashes had spilled on the rug near his table. “I beg your pardon, sire. Please forgive the disturbance. 'Tis terribly clumsy of me.”

Ivor Wallace looked up from his papers and pushed the spectacles he was wearing down his nose as he observed her jiggling bosom.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Please, sire, do not tell Mistress Gilroy about my clumsiness. I am on trial, and I hope to secure a permanent position in your household.”

Jessie bit her lip as she wondered if her current position—on her hands and knees, with her rear end tilted appropriately and her breasts spilling from her bodice—might help in such a quest for permanent work. Apparently so, because Master Wallace shifted his chair away from the desk, abandoned his spectacles and rested his hands on his widely placed knees.

Jessie felt the urge to chuckle. He had positioned himself so that she might readily observe the strapping manhood he harbored inside his breeches. She took a quick glance and rounded her eyes, attempting to look shocked. Secretly, she congratulated herself for breaking his concentration.

“You are the new serving girl?”

Did he not recall her from the night before? Perhaps he had been drink-addled as he roamed the attics, prodding the serving girls at random.

She nodded.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Jessie, Master Wallace.”

“Well, Jessie, I will not remark upon your clumsiness to Mistress Gilroy, if you come over here and do something for me.”

Jessie hastened to her feet and wiped her hands on her apron. “What is it that you would like me to do, sire?”

Show me what we need to know.
An enchantment whispered through her mind. She willed it to be so.

Ivor Wallace frowned as if confused. He considered her at length, his broad mouth pursed, his woolly eyebrows drawn low.

If it were not for the mean look about him he would be a reasonably handsome man, she decided, especially given his age. He was a cold, mercenary type, however, and that made her wary.

Pointing out a small set of wooden steps located near the desk, he beckoned to her. “Climb up there and reach for the rolled map you see on that shelf.”

At first Jessie was disappointed, thinking her magic had not been inspired. However, she would get a look at what he was working on, and that was the important thing. Then, when she mounted the steps and reached for the rolled papers he had indicated, he moved. As quick as lightning he lifted the back of her skirt so that he could look at her legs while she stood there upon the steps.

A cold draft wafted up as far as her bottom, and she realized he had lifted her skirts and petticoat quite high in order to examine what Gregor had so often assured her were her delectable buttocks. Jessie had to keep her face averted in order not to laugh. Apparently she had managed to distract him after all.

For a moment she grappled for the appropriate response. She froze, then grabbed up the rolled papers and hurried back down the steps, snatching her skirts free of his hand while she did so. Adopting a horror-stricken expression, she gazed at him woefully. “Sire, you shame me!”

He smacked his lips together in a most lewd way. “In good time you will know what true shame is. I will see to it myself.”

Jessie managed to lower her eyelids and hang her head in an appropriate show of submission. Meanwhile, her thoughts shot to Gregor. More than ever, she knew why he had required a whore for this task. A less experienced maiden would have been out the door with a scream and halfway to Saint Andrews by now.

Master Wallace put out his hand and took the rolled parchment from her. A moment later he had the thing spread out upon the table, weighted at each corner with stones. She was just about to curtsy and leave when he gestured her closer. “Look at this, my dear. This is what your master owns.”

Jessie stared down at the paper, once again annoyed at her limitations. “Beg pardon, sire, but I cannot read.”

Undeterred, he pointed out the town of Saint Andrews at the top corner of the map, and some of the villages along the coast. She saw it then, which part of the drawing was land and which was sea. It was quite a clever thing. While she peered at it, her curiosity grew. Meanwhile, Master Wallace began to point out the extent of his holdings. There was a gloating quality to his demeanor, and it struck her how he wore his wealth with no regard to others and their status. Was he trying to impress her in order to have her bend over for him more readily? That was a possibility, but it only made her think how circumspect Gregor was with his wealth. She knew he had money and shares in a ship, but he only ever made a thing
of it in order to illustrate a point or issue a sound promise of payment, not to fill a young girl's head with fancy dreams and expectations.

“It is a fine amount of land, sire,” she commented, when Wallace looked at her expectantly.

Seemingly pleased, he put his arm about her waist and drew her closer. “It is indeed, and yet I am torn, my dear. I wish to support our quest for independence and have the English gone from Scottish soil. In order to do so I need to free funds, which means parting with my land. Either way, I lose something precious to me.”

He shook his head wearily.

Jessie wondered briefly if Mistress Wallace was more interested in her Bible than in listening to her husband's pontifications. Meanwhile, he rambled on about grazing land and rough pasture and things that made little sense to her.

“Be grateful that you do not have such worries,” he concluded eventually. “These matters press heavily upon me at the moment.” He gave a sidelong glance at the swell of her breasts, as if regretful. “And distract me from otherwise more pleasant pastimes.”

He patted her bottom with one hand.

Just then the door sprang open and Mistress Gilroy stood there in the doorway. “Jessie, are you done here?”

Jessie took the opportunity to step away and fetch her pail. She curtsied and took her leave. As she scurried out, she noticed that the housekeeper and the master of the house stared across the room at each other quite blatantly, and Mistress Gilroy looked most angry and disapproving.

Once again the housekeeper had taken it upon herself to protect Jessie's so-called honor. It was with some amusement that Jessie considered her reasons. Was Mistress Gilroy one of his conquests? Or was she secretly wishing she had been?

Either way, Jessie counted herself lucky. She had successfully gained his attention, avoided more of his groping and most important of all, she was able to confirm what Gregor had previously thought to be the case: Master Wallace was about to sell land. And she was in the right place to find out which lands, and when.

 

Gregor's mood was as heavy as if he was too far from land to aim for safe harbor and there was nowt but fouled water to drink. The events of the past few days—and nights—had left him somber, for they had made him think and feel too much. He lay on his bed and despised the fact that he missed Jessie's presence alongside him. The discussion he'd had with Mister Grant the night before did nothing to quell his desire to see Jessie. It should have, and yet all he could think about was being with her again and ensuring that she was safe and had come to no harm under Wallace's roof.

Gregor paced the wooden boards of his quarters until he could stand the waiting no more. Jessie was not due to leave the house and meet him until near midnight, but it was well before sunset when he rode to the nearby woodland to observe Balfour Hall from the hilltop. He secured his horse and then hastened to the edge of the forest, where he took cover in the long grass and peered down at the manor house.

Brooding on it, he was unsure which disturbed him most—the lurid images of Jessie and Wallace that assailed him, or his own reaction. His thoughts were a mess of guilt at having sent her in there.

He swung wildly between hope that his father would finally be revenged and self-ridicule over his concerns that a woman he barely knew, a woman of the streets who often showed signs of delusion, was safe and comfortable.

Who would comfort her if those fretful nightmares she
had recurred? The thought of her alone in that house while the night made her return to that dark time made him feel crazed, as if the very notion of her fearful and unhappy was a dagger to his chest.

Eventually the sky darkened. Steeling himself, he moved to the appointed place—an old oak at the very edge of the well-tended gardens. There, he waited.

And waited.

The sound of creatures in the undergrowth attested to his absolute stillness, and yet the tension he bore kept them at bay.

Where are you?
Scouring the building mentally, he wished her by his side. Finally, he saw a flash of white against the stone walls—her nightdress—as she emerged from the servants' entrance. It was hard to resist striding out to meet her. He steadied himself with one hand against the gnarled tree trunk, and checked the building to be sure that no one watched or followed.

Moments later, Jessie joined him under the canopy of summer leaves, which shaded them from the moonlight.

“Gregor,” she whispered.

“Here.” He grabbed her shoulders, examining her in what little light there was. With a weary sigh he silently cursed the passing clouds. He knew he should be glad of them for cover, but he could not welcome them when all he wanted to do was see her. “Are you safe?”

Even as he asked the question, he dreaded the answer. He had sent her in there with the task of seduction, and yet he found he could not bear the thought of Ivor Wallace touching her. What madness was this?

Jessie peered up at him. Her eyes searched his, and her up turned face in the shifting moonlight made his gut tighten, so
earnest was her expression. Eventually she broke into a smile. “Of course I am safe.”

Relief flooded him. Stroking his fingers along the outline of her jaw, he savored the softness of her skin. So delicate, so feminine. The urge to hold her in his arms was almost over whelming. “I feared that Wallace would gain the upper hand with you and you would be unable to leave.”

She gripped Gregor's hand tightly. “You trusted me with this task. Please don't doubt me now. I promise I will find out what it is you need to know, and soon. My labor was needed and I am well placed in the household. Today has gone well.”

It had gone well. Why did that make him feel angry? It didn't even matter that his enemy was close at hand, the man he had dreamed of undermining for these past eleven years. It was this woman that mattered, and when she moved closer to him, resting her free hand against his chest, he knew she'd infected his blood with a desire so strong that he was acting like a fool, and yet he did not care.