Winds of the Storm (4 page)

“All right, ladies, grab an edge and pull.”

Once the tarps came free, the women stood, stunned. The apple red coach, with its gold fleurs-de-lis and elaborately decorated lacquered frame, shone like a polished jewel in the Louisiana sun.

Lovey gushed from behind her hands, “Now that is a coach for whores.”

Everyone laughed. They then took a slow turn around the wondrous exterior. This was Zahra's first real look at it as well. When Alfred had driven it to the Charleston boardinghouse where Araminta had arranged for him and Zahra to
initially meet, the wraps had already been secured. At the time, he'd only been able to give her a peek at the color, but now, seeing it in all its glory, she could only wonder who the craftsman might have been. Araminta claimed to have borrowed it from an acquaintance, but she'd refused to reveal a name. The still marveling Zahra decided it didn't matter. All garishness aside, the workmanship was outstanding. The red lacquer body was smooth and unblemished as glass. The gold paint bordering the doors and fleurs-de-lis looked rich enough to be real. She had no idea what it would take to keep the painted surfaces clean, but she decided she'd let Alfred worry about that.

When Alfred returned, he was dressed in the well-fitting livery of a footman. Zahra was relieved to see that he hadn't been outfitted in red to match the coach. The black uniform with its brass buttons and crisp matching hat made him look stately but no less menacing, which suited her just fine.

Once the women were done admiring the coach, Zahra sent them into the trees as well. They needed to change out of their traveling clothing and put on their gowns. When they returned she was pleased that none of them looked tawdry or cheap. The low-cut décolletage of their dresses and the paint on their faces plainly declared their profession, but the ladies had a sophisticated air about them; an air she'd been counting on when she'd hired them. Zahra's operation had to be top drawer in order for it to
be successful, and she needed girls who exuded that same tone.

Alfred called out. “Horses coming.”

Zahra hastened into the coach to tie on her domino. The beautiful black satin half mask with its side ribbons covered the upper portion of her face. Making free use of the money in the trunk Araminta had given her, Zahra had had masks fashioned to match each of her new gowns, and this one complemented the black satin gown and cape she was wearing. She would don the domino whenever she appeared in public so as to safeguard her true identity from anyone she'd preyed upon as the Black Butterfly.

The horses appearing over the rise were ridden by Union soldiers. Behind them were more uniformed men driving wagons flanked by walking comrades. As the column neared the red coach and the women, it slowed.

The lead soldier, an older man with a thin frame and muttonchop sideburns, studied the women from atop his saddle for a moment, then spat a wad of tobacco in their direction. “New Orleans doesn't need more strumpets!”

The feisty Lovey gave him a tight little smile, then announced for all the men to hear, “We're not going to New Orleans. We're heading to
your
house!”

He visibly stiffened, and his whiskered face turned whore red. Glaring down at the smiling Lovey, he crisply motioned his men forward and the slow march resumed. The women laughed,
and Zahra saw soldiers drop their heads to hide their smiles.

Her blue eyes glittering with annoyance, Chloe Lee said, “Old hypocrite. He'll probably be our first customer.”

Alfred took a low-slung basket from the space beneath his driver's seat; while they all looked on, he withdrew yet another surprise. Alfred fit the horses with new red-and-gold harnesses that were studded with rhinestones, then he placed matching red-and-gold headpieces, complete with plumes, on their heads. The women looked on with grins. The horses were as finely outfitted as ones in a traveling circus. Zahra thought they'd look smart pulling the red coach into town and hoped they would cause the stir she was after.

Once the horses were ready to go, Alfred politely assisted the silk-gowned women back into the carriage, then took the reins and headed for New Orleans.

It was afternoon when they entered the city, and the busy streets were clogged with dust, coaches, wagons, pushcarts, and people of all races. Zahra saw well-dressed citizenry and other folks wearing little more than rags. Vendors seemed stationed on each corner, hawking everything from flowers, to braised meats, to newspapers. In the air were the smells of the Mississippi, burning charcoal, and the fetid pungency of a city filled with thousands of people.

Because of the pressing traffic, the coach's
progress was slow at best, but the snail's pace worked to Zahra's advantage, for it gave the citizens an opportunity to take a good long look at the scarlet coach and its four plumed horses. From the shocked faces following in their wake Zahra was certain the city had never seen anything quite like this. Her painted girls, waving wildly from the windows and tossing sweets and candies to the young men running beside the coach, only added to the spectacle. On the walks, fashionably dressed Creole women watched, rooted to the spot, their mouths open. Men grinned broadly. People pointed excitedly, and mothers hastily covered the eyes of their children. One soldier was so entranced that he walked right into an old woman's vegetable cart, toppling her wares into the street. Other coaches maneuvered close to get a better view, and when the girls leaned out of the windows to wave, the smiling male occupants fervently responded with calls for the girls' names.

Chloe pulled herself back inside and said to Zahra excitedly, “We have a train of people following us!”

Zahra looked out of her window. Sure enough, it looked as if half the city was streaming behind the horses. She could see adolescents running happily beside the coach, and she heard Alfred barking at people to keep clear of the wheels. Zahra felt like a marshal leading a parade. The only thing missing was a band. She smiled beneath the domino, pleased with the knowledge that even in jaded and sometimes decadent New
Orleans, their entrance would keep tongues wagging for weeks to come.

By the time Alfred halted the coach in front of the fancy house the ladies were to occupy, the crowd behind them had grown larger. Men vocally competed with each other to gain the attention of the girls while stray dogs ran around barking happily at all the commotion. Peddlers were there, as were men on horseback and men driving wagons. She saw soldiers in the midst, and uniformed city policemen too, but she wasn't certain if they were there to keep the peace or if they just wanted a look like everyone else.

Men would relate later that the girls descending gracefully from the coach were as colorful as songbirds. The crowd roared appreciatively as gowns of canary and cardinal were joined by emerald, lapis, and dove gray. The women were tall, short, and in between. Five of them. All sporting earbobs, face paint, and rhinestone-accented pumps that matched their gowns. A dark one with the bearing of a queen stood next to a woman so fair her race was uncertain. There was a redhead, a blonde, and a brunette. The gowns were cut teasingly low, showing off wares that could be fully unveiled for the right price.

Zahra was pleased by all the attention. She was counting on word of mouth to start the ball rolling, and this would send it well on its way. She wanted every man of importance to patronize the soon-to-be-opened establishment,
because the more the men drank, gambled, and patronized the girls, the more the men would talk. Three more girls would be arriving by train later in the week, but for now, Zahra planned to bait her hook with the five lures that she had.

“You getting out?” Matilda asked, sticking her red head into the coach through the open door.

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, come on,” she cried excitedly. “We want to see the inside of the house.”

Zahra made sure her domino was secured, then smiled at the nineteen-year-old Matilda's youthful enthusiasm. Satisfied that her features were safe, the woman once known as the Black Butterfly stepped out of the coach.

Her appearance drew applause and whistles. She inclined her head to acknowledge the approval, and the crowd responded with more raucous hoots and hollers. A grinning Zahra turned and took her first close look at the big white house. It was a typical New Orleans design, more Spanish than French, with intricate ironwork on the front gate, the second-floor verandahs, and the two large side porches positioned on opposing ends of the place. Zahra herded her women onto the porch, which was framed by two tall white columns. Out of her handbag she took the door key that Alfred had given her, then she let them in.

The interior was done up in ivory and gold. Zahra and her companions took a studied look around, and what they saw widened their
eyes. Amidst the gold and ivory upholstered chairs, settees and sofas, sculpted nudes were everywhere: atop pedestals, posing in the windows, doubling as table legs, framing mirrors over mantels. The renderings were exquisite in both form and detail. A life-sized statue stood by the winding staircase that led to the upper floors. The nude woman stood facing the parlor. An equally nude man stood flush behind her. His hand was on her breast, and her head was thrown back in the throes of passion. The piece looked so realistic that Zahra felt heat rise in her blood. Hoping to find something a bit less stimulating on which to settle her attention, she turned to view the waist-high, white-and-gold bar that dominated one corner. Behind the bar was a large, gold-framed mirror and shelves to hold the various liquors. Along the front were intricate friezes of nude men and women entwined in all manner of erotic couplings. It was a decadent, voyeuristic feast that made Zahra look away to continue her visual assessment. Above their heads hung a fancy, two-tier, cut-glass chandelier. Painted on the golden plaster around it were elaborate frescoes of nubile, nude women, their eyes sly, their smiles beckoning. Everything in the room radiated a sensuality that seemed to permeate the air. Zahra felt herself affected by the riveting décor and wondered how much time it might take before she became immune to the decidedly seductive surroundings.

Everyone's attention was then caught by a woman slowly descending the grand staircase.
She was shrouded in a brown hooded cape.

Zahra asked, “Who are you?”

The woman lowered the hood to reveal a beautiful golden face and honey gold hair. “I'm Sophie Reynolds.”

Zahra walked around her companions to move closer. “May I ask what you're doing here and how you got inside?”

“I bring greetings from Minta.”

Code words.
“I hear she's doing well,” Zahra replied.

“I hear she had lilacs at her wedding.”

Lilac.
“Indeed, she did.”

Zahra saw the woman known as Lilac smile in response to the correctly phrased reply. Zahra also noted that the gesture seemed to bring even more light to her face, a face a bit older than Zahra had originally surmised.

The girls were eyeing the exchange curiously and looked to Zahra for explanation. “Sophie and I share a mutual friend,” she said simply.

Sophie inclined her head like a queen. “Welcome to Louisiana, ladies.”

The women all responded with, “Thank you.”

Sophie gestured grandly at the expansive gold and white parlor they were standing in. “I took the liberty of furnishing the place. I hope it's suitable.”

Stella, who was as struck by the place as the rest of her companions, whispered with awe. “Oh, yes.”

“I agree,” Lovey echoed.

Chloe said, “It's like being in a palace.”

The smiling Sophie asked, “Would you care to see the rest of the house?”

Zahra nodded.

The tour revealed bedrooms for the girls, servants quarters and the outdoor kitchen attached to the house by a breezeway. The colonel's old study had been turned into a room for the gamblers, complete with dark wood furniture and a billiard table against one wall. One the third floor was a lovely bedroom suite that would be Zahra's, but a large room on the second floor drew the most attention.

A narrow hallway ran between the outer wall and inner wall. Although the interior was unlit they could not help noticing the glass that made up the inner room's walls. Confused as to what the room might be, Zahra turned to look at Sophie, who replied, “This is for your voyeurs. Out here will be the chairs, and in there,” she explained, gesturing towards the room with its red-and-black velvet walls and matching bedding, “is where your girl and her gentleman will be.”

Only Zahra's training kept her eyes from going wide as saucers.

The girls were studying the room with wise smiles and a few giggles. Sophie said with amusement, “I'm always surprised by how much men will pay just to watch.”

A decidedly shocked Zahra shook herself and followed Sophie down the hall.
What have I gotten myself into?
All in all, Zahra thought the house
would be perfect for what she'd come to New Orleans to do, but she was going to have to get accustomed to the place's decidedly sensual atmosphere.

“Will you be needing servants?” Sophie asked her as they made their way back down to the big white and gold parlor. The other women had peeled off to take longer looks at the rooms and the décor, leaving Zahra to talk to the mysterious Sophie Reynolds alone.

They were now outside and walking along the path that wound through the overgrown gardens in the back of the house. Zahra finally responded, “Araminta said people are being sent.”

“Well, if you need more I have a few names I can pass along.”

“What is your role in this?” Zahra asked.

“Just to get you settled. Answer any questions you may have. I'm really your competitor. Did Minta tell you?”

“Yes, she did. How long have you known her.”

“Since right before the war. I ran a house in Maryland that was a stop on the Underground Railroad in addition to being a brothel, and I handled some of her freight.”