Willing (9 page)

He smiled. “None of them are like you, Constance.”

She snorted, but he continued.

“Any woman here could do what you do, physically -”

“I beg to differ.”

He chuckled. “So to speak. Yet, I bet you have many devoted clients, yes?” She nodded. “Well, it isn’t the sex that brings them back – if you’ll pardon my candor - it is the way your company feels that brings them to you. They are enlivened in your company. They feel like Gods when they are with you, because deep down, they know they are in the arms of a Goddess.”

“Oh what rubbish!”

He rose from his perch before her and took the opposite seat, pulling his trouser legs up as he settled. “It’s true! So many women in your profession have nothing left. They’re been beaten down by this life; haven’t enough energy left to simply be, let alone share with another. Then there is you.”

“And what of me?”

He gave her a once over, as though assessing her anew. “You ooze grace; pouring it out in everything you do, sharing it in the simplest of interactions. You know your worth.”

“You make me sound like a leaky faucet.”

“A marble fountain, more like. And the most surprising piece of your enigma; no matter what happens to you, you sustain it. I witnessed the way you held your head high when you found yourself stripped before a room full of strangers. It was as though you dared them to gaze upon you. Honestly, it’s quite remarkable. I completely understand why Berty suggested you to me.”

Constance leaned back in her chair again, eyeing him. “Berty did?”

“She did.”

He slumped into the chair beside her and leaned onto the armrest, drawing closer to her as he spoke. “I believe it’s that fire in you that powers our rites. For when I call upon a Goddess through you, she actually responds, because for the first time, she sees a vessel that is worthy of her. It’s far easier to summon a Goddess through a channel where one already resides.”

“You know, my services are paid for with coin, not flattery.”

He guffawed, then beamed at her. “My dear Constance, you have won me. You know, I have attempted this rite every month for over a year now. Each woman that came to me was either drained of that fire you have, or just never had it. I was nearly at my wit’s end when I came to Berty. I asked for a woman of spirit. She did not disappoint.”

Every month for a year. Constance had only attended twice. “There were ten other girls?”

“No. Much more than ten. I only just took over as septon. Before me, they’d attempted for several months. And each full moon lasts three nights. Some months we attempted a different girl each night. None of them could do what you can do.”

She swallowed. “I don’t do anything.”

“You have no idea, dove.”

Constance couldn’t meet his gaze anymore. She contemplated the number of women who had lied upon that same altar and fallen short of the circle’s needs. Octavia spoke of two girls. Two girls went missing, not thirty. Still, this was Whitechapel. Even without the Ripper, girls had a way of meeting ill fates. The Keg and Barrel kept its girls indoors, away from the darker characters, but many other girls weren’t so lucky. Perhaps Saiorse and Gilly truly had taken their wages and fled. Constance sometimes thought herself a fool she didn’t do the same.

Alisdair turned his attention to the fireplace, rising from his seat to touch the mantle and a small framed picture of Constance’s mother that rest there, turned toward the wall.

“What became of the girls?”

Alisdair turned to her, pensive. “Couldn’t rightly say. I suppose the same that happens to any girl of this trade. I did send them home well paid, as you know. Though not as well paid as yourself, for obvious reasons.”

Constance took a deep breath. “There were two that never came back.”

“What do you mean?”

Alisdair’s expression changed quickly. This wasn’t a feigned humor. There was honest concern on his brow.

“One named Gilly; redhaired girl that worked here about six months ago. She left with you lot and never came home.”

“That’s not poss -”

“The other was a year ago. Girl named Saiorse from down on Dorset Street. Both went for the evening with you and never returned home.”

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Should I?”

He frowned, shaking his head. “You must know I would never hurt you, Constance?”

“Rubbish. You’re a highborn Lord -” His eyes went wide, but she continued, startling herself with her impertinence. These words were coming from somewhere deep and the lightheadedness was swiftly returning, coupled by a strange electricity that was beginning to spread down her spine, and into her fingertips. “Women like us are but trinkets to be bought.”

“Do you think that of me?”

“
Should I
?”

The two sat silent a moment, holding each other’s gaze as equals. Finally, Constance spoke and the words were unexpected. “What is the goal of these rites? Summoning this Goddess? What are you hoping to keep from the wrong hands as you say?”

Alisdair swallowed and licked his lips. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m a smart girl.”

“Yes, I’m well aware. I just worry you’re not ready…”

She waited, letting the silence speak for her.

“I’m afraid you won’t like the answer.”

“If I wouldn’t like the answer, why would I want to be part of it?”

He forced a smirk. “For the wages, I’d hope.”

She stared at him. “You don’t know me very well.”

Alisdair closed his eyes a moment. “That is true, sadly.”

They both stood in silence, eyes fixed on one another. Constance did not waver. When Alisdair didn’t speak, she crossed the room, coming to stand just beside the door. She took hold of the doorknob.

“My Lord, either you are mad, or I am.”

He smirked, exhaling through his nose. “Why do you say that?”

“Because though I want to believe it all rubbish, if there is any chance it is not..”

She stopped. She didn’t want to admit what she felt on that altar, the unearthly rattle of it when the rite was done. What if this talk of ancient Gods was true?

“You feel you cannot take part in some dark work?”

“Yes. And I’m mad to put stock in it at all.” Constance opened her bedroom door and stood aside as a gesture for him to take his leave. She kept her eyes from his, afraid he might see how little she truly wanted him to go. “I am grateful and flattered by your compliment, but I fear if I do not know what I am taking part in, that I cannot be your…”

“Conduit.”

“As you say.”

Alisdair took a deep breath. “If I tell you – if I show you – do you promise not to be frightened.”

Constance crossed her arms. “No.”

He chuckled, softly. “Fair enough.” She could feel him staring at her, waiting for her to meet his eyes. Constance steeled herself against what that handsome face did to her, and met his gaze.

“This is why.”

With those words, he lifted but a finger and gestured toward the door. The heavy wooden shape slammed shut of its own accord.

Constance lunged back, her stomach turning as girls in nearby rooms voiced their chagrin at the noise. She slammed her back into the wall, desperate to get away from this feeling, this electric tension in the air, as though waking from a nightmare in a dark room. Alisdair stepped toward her as she stumbled sideways and almost fell.

She screamed. “Don’t come near me!”

“Constance, you needn’t be afraid.”

She scrambled further from him, fighting tears. “This is some work of the Devil! Don’t touch me!”

Alisdair’s expression was pained, but his eyes were growing darker. “Calm yourself. You needn’t be afraid. There is no devil here.”

“What did you do to those girls?”

“Nothing,” he said, his tone growing stern.

“Liar. What fucking witchcraft is this?”

“That’s all it is, Constance. Witchcraft. Please, calm down.”

Constance opened her mouth and screamed for help, and Alisdair was on her, his hand clamped tightly over her mouth. She fought him with everything she had, tearing at his pomade smoothed hair, slapping his face as he pressed her against the wall, his eyes inches from hers. She kicked at his shins, smacking his arms, beating his back as he pressed his body into hers, holding her still.

“Shh, Constance. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

Constance opened her mouth wide and bit his hand. He pulled away, hissing in pain, but before Constance could cry out again, he grabbed her.

“This is you, woman! I can only do this because of you!”

Her eyes went wide and she spit in his face. “Bastard!”

He glared at her, unaffected. “Men like me have attempted this ritual for generations. Some felt its power, others not. I read every letter, every note from Septons before me, none came close to what I have achieved with you.”

“Let me go!”

“You gave me this gift. I want to reward you for it.”

Her voice began to even. If this man meant to harm her, she could do little to stop him. She chose to scathe with words, if not with fists. “Ha! You’re a monster. That is no gift.”

“I am not a monster.”

With that, he released her, and she nearly crumpled to the floor. She straightened herself and went for the door. Yet, just as her hands reached the knob, she heard a tell-tale click from within. She turned the knob. It was locked. Constance banged on the door, twisting the knob in futility, then turned on Alisdair, a growl readied in her throat.

Alisdair stood before her, serene.

“Open the door!”

“Constance, are you alright, love?”

It was Octavia, her timid knock almost inaudible on the other side of the door.

“No! Get Berty!”

Octavia’s footsteps could be heard skittering down the hallway as other girls voices began to chitter, muffled in the distance.

Alisdair took up his hat from the table, dusting off the top as though preparing to leave.

Constance took a shaky breath. “What did you do with the other girls?”

“I sent them home.”

“I know you’re lying!”

“You know nothing, Constance. But you could, if you’d calm the hell down for a bloody instant!”

“Did you hurt them?”

“I did not. They were well attended to.”

Constance gestured to her room, with its satins and lace. “Is that what you call this? Did they get such palatial accommodations?”

”Of course not! I had no reason to attend to their happiness like I do yours. I had no need of their services. They were paid and paid well, that is all!”

“My happiness? What business is that of yours?”

“It is entirely my business.”

“You like happy whores then, do you?”

Alisdair’s voice dropped lower. “Enough.”

He took a step forward, and Constance felt the place between her legs tingle with fear. Yet, as she stood there facing the Lord down, the rest of her body was vibrating with something far stronger, and she was riding its wave, helpless. “Tell me you remember Gilly!”

“I don’t!”

“She never came home.”

“I’ll not defend myself against this bollocks!”

His accent had shifted, and he began to sound more like the dockworkers than his fellow aristocrats.

“Saiorse had a little girl!”

Alisdair turned, taking two steps toward her. “Accuse me then. Say it!”

Constance leaned toward him, narrowing her eyes, and the words came in a hiss. “What of Alice McKenzie, then? They found her just last a fortnight ago.”

“You think me capable of that?”

Constance stalled, and Alisdair moved closer to her.

“I beat a man for causing you the slightest amount of pain – a man born to a noble family far older than mine, and you come at me with these accusations. How dare you?”

“Find some other girl.”

She let these last words slither past her lips, hearing the distant chittering of other girls – their voices carrying now. Damn it, where was Berty?

“Constance, you know I need you.”

She stepped toward the tall man who stood grounded at the center of her room. “Why would I help the Devil?”

“You wouldn’t! That is why I need you!”

She faltered. He saw it and pushed forward, taking a step toward her. “I am not the only man of my kind, and mine is not the only circle. There are men who would summon something far darker than I -”

“And you wouldn’t?”

“Never.”

She sneered at him. “Promises from a man’s lips.”

“It’s true, Constance. This Rite could grant a man great power, endless life – for all we know, its completion could make him a living God.”

“No good man would want such things?”

“Exactly. That is why I am trying to take it from them.”