With One Look (6 page)

"Ah well, my good men are doing their best—" "How many?"

"Well, I have eight men at my disposal—"

"That's not enough," the Reverend Mother interrupted. "Sister Catherine, leave at once to alert Governor Claighborne to the situation and request his services in securing more men for the search. We need at least fifty. We need a headquarters to coordinate the effort. His office will do nicely."

Within minutes she had directed everyone to tasks: arranging for posters of Jade Terese to be hung about the city, sending someone upriver to hasten Father Nolte's return and so on. "Now"—she turned her attention back to Constable Girod—"from you, sir, I want to know in frank terms exactly what you believe has befallen the young lady."

"I cannot say," he said, spreading his arms and shrugging. "In truth, it could be anything.

She could be anywhere! She might have been taken into slavery, perhaps a ... a house in the swamp."

This, the Reverend Mother knew, referred to an area of town aptly named "the swamp." It was a hellish place made up of bawdy houses, taverns and gaming halls, a place frequented only by criminals, lowlifes, riverboat men and the saddest of the fallen women.

"I'm sad to say," Girod added, "the young lady could be halfway downriver as we speak!" This brought a stifled wail from Sister Benedict.

Mother Francesca's face reddened beneath her habit. She would not let this happen; if she had a breath left in her body, she would find Jade Terese. So help her God....

They called Mercedes's room the sunshine corner. Customers were often surprised, at least those who noticed, for the room looked like any proper young lady's room. It was similar to their wives' or daughters' bedchambers, perhaps a bit more femininely ornate and kept as clean as a treasured crystal glass. At a glance, one would never think it belonged to a young lady who made her way in a brothel.

Mercedes took pains to keep it that way. Madame Charmane never voiced objections and allowed for Mercedes's peculiarities, for the girl was her most popular and, therefore, her most expensive. Everything in the room was a shade of sunshine: not pale but bright lemon yellows. The room had hardwood floors and white wicker furnishings, though the dressing and sitting tables, and the bedclothes, were covered in ruffled layers of pretty yellow cloth. Even the mosquito net and the

damask curtains matched the curious color scheme. The room faced the east too, though it was a rare morning that Mercedes rose early enough to see her small haven flood with sunshine. Sunshine that brought a momentary illusion of light to this house; sunshine that, like books, reached through the burgeoning obsession of her thoughts and allowed her to escape, however briefly.

Mercedes sat in a wicker chair near the bedside, trying to read. Reading was not normally an effort. Books allowed her temporary relief from the oppression of the house, a dark and heavy thing that always threatened to crash down upon her, worse lately as her thoughts kept returning insistently to an idea of murder. Reading, she suspected, had kept her sanity.

The young woman's growing book collection started with Monsieur Matthew Duim, one of her favorite customers. He was only a shopkeeper, but once every month he managed to find money to afford Madame's outrageous prices. Monsieur Duim had taken a fancy to Mercedes, and despite his large family and poor means, he always tried to leave a gratuity. She finally gathered enough courage to stop such thoughtfulness, confiding secretly that Madame Charmane collected all gratuities. While she preferred that he keep the coins for his family, the kind man insisted he bring her something to show his affection. Books were the only thing she wanted and might be permitted to keep. It worked so well with Matthew, she had asked the same favor from her other regular customers. The last book, the one she presently tried to read, was the first volume of a fascinating history of a man named Tom Jones. Unfortunately, the engaging story was written in English, and reading English was difficult for her.

Mercedes's beauty found its way into the hearts of many regular customers. Strawberry blonde curls, thick and rebellious, cascaded around her shoulders, framing a lovely pixie face. A rosy pink complexion spoke of glowing health and vitality, despite her confinement indoors. She wasn't large, and while slender, her figure leaned toward the voluptuous. Few men managed to resist the promise in her soft, hazel eyes.

Presently, Mercedes's face was troubled, and every few moments she interrupted her reading to study the young lady behind the mosquito net. Jade Terese reminded her of Sleeping Beauty. Mercedes wished for a magic wand to banish such beauty, to replace it with a plain face and a figure to be ignored.

"Your beauty is a curse, Jade Terese," Mercedes whispered into the quiet room. "Only magic or a miracle will save you. Oh, if only I were a sorceress able to wave that wand! I'd not

hesitate to transform you from the fairy-tale princess into an ugly and scarred woman, a gross object of

pity. I'm so afraid for you, Jade Terese. It is too late for me, but you have yet to see the beginning.

Mercedes closed her eyes, released her emotions in a sad sigh. Madame had said the young lady's name would be changed from the lovely Jade Terese to just plain Mary. Madame changed almost everyone's name, as if changing a name had the awesome power to alter an identity, as if she could erase memories and histories with this small stroke of her will. It was amazingly successful. She herself had been one of the few to escape such name banishment. Mercedes was a very common French name and, she supposed, she had needed no encouragement to forget her past....

Mercedes moved to the dressing water, where she scrubbed her hands, dried them and carefully folded the yellow towel she had used before sitting down with a jar of rose oil to soften them. Madame said Jade Terese had been brought here as a gift from a friend, that previously she had been associated with the convent. "Mon Dieu! Not a holy Sister?" she had asked, horrified by the idea.

"I saved her from that now, didn't I?" Madame had laughed, adding the shocking piece: "She is said to be blind, I don't imagine the sport will be hindered by that pitiful fact. She's too beautiful now, but later I'll use her for those customers who might benefit from her sightlessness."

Mercedes did not want to think of those customers who might benefit from a woman's sightlessness. Seven months ago Angel had been found hanging in her room after Madame had forced her to be with one of those hideous creatures. Angel, like her name, so sweet and gentle and

—

She banished the memory. She could not fathom the evil seed that grew and thrived in Madame's heart. Greed motivated Madame, but to what end? She had no love, no one to share her riches with, and as far as Mercedes could tell, she had no wants. So why make others suffer so?

To feed the evil thirst that consumed her....

The Madame's sadism demanded the suffering of others, and while the women of the house were usually spared the worst abuse—trips to the cellar—the poor servants were not. Burn and whip scars marked all of them, even the youngest.

A throng of menaces wove clouds about Mercedes's thoughts. She needed a pistol. If only she could get hold of one! The very night of Angel's suicide she had asked one of her men—Frank

Callahan, an American—to secure a pistol for her. Pistols were strictly forbidden upstairs and she could think of no other means of obtaining one.

She had thought to end the suffering, the torment and the misery of all who lived here. But Frank had thought mistakenly she wanted the pistol to kill herself and he'd warned Madame, generously leaving a small fortune in Madame's hands to help start his favorite girl on a new life. The Madame had been so amused. Mercifully, the Madame too, had assumed she had wanted the pistol for suicide. "I'll be more than happy to do you the favor when your terms are up, Mercedes. You won't have to ask twice," she'd cackled.

The noon bell rang. Mercedes carefully returned the oil to its place on her dresser and moved to the bed. Madame promised to be up at the noon sounding. She pulled away the netting. Lifting a stray lock from the sleeping face, she wondered what color Jade's eyes were, wondered, too, if they showed her blindness. Surely, there must be a flaw to such beauty.

"Wake up," she called softly, gently shaking the bare shoulders. "Wake up."

The voice beckoned from the depth of her sleep. Jade turned into the pillow, trying to ignore it. Mercedes shook her more firmly. "Please, wake up."

Jade stirred, opened her eyes, but remained still as she took stock of her circumstances. She was in an overstuffed bed, covered with layers of quilts, and she was completely naked. A pleasant fragrance gathered in the air. Heaven? Did God take her to heaven?

"Green eyes!" Mercedes declared with delight. "You have beautiful green eyes!"

Jade reached a timid hand to the face, touching something too real to be an angel. Her wits returned all at once, and though still dazed from a long induced sleep, she became immediately aware of many things. She needed water, had to relieve herself, and she needed to know where she was, who sat with her and what happened to poor Monsieur Deubler!

Jade sat up, careful to bring the covers up with her. "I'm Mercedes," the voice said.

Jade imagined the voice smiled at her.

'This is Madame Charmane's house. How do you feel?"

It sounded all very well with Jade. "I feel thirsty and I must relieve myself."

Mercedes smiled as she held out a long orange silk robe, but remembering that Jade could not see, she placed it around Jade's shoulders and helped her from the bed to the chamber pot. She guided her back to a wicker chair, poured a tall glass of water and pressed it into her hand.

As soon as Jade drained the contents of the glass, the sleepy fog lifted and her thoughts traveled with abrupt panic. Color drained from her face as she remembered Monsieur Deubler's alarm, his caution as he went ahead to make sure the house was safe. Then Ham, poor Ham, and the brief fight, and the cloth coming over her mouth! Then... then nothing. She must have passed out. A man brought her to this house. "Monsieur Deubler?" she asked excitedly. "Did he bring him here, too?"

"I don't know about that—"

"We must alert the authorities!" Jade interrupted hastily, imagining Monsieur Deubler and perhaps even Maydrian lying unconscious in her house. "Something horrible has happened! A man abducted me! Kidnapped me! Oh, goodness, we must send for help!"

Mercedes did not know what to say, but when Jade rose to her feet and demanded her clothes, she knew something must be said. It would be worse than she had imagined, and God knew she did not want to be the one to tell her.

"Please, calm yourself," Mercedes begged, gently sitting her back in the chair. "You will fall faint getting so excited after sleeping so long."

"Oh, but you don't understand! I realize my circumstances must seem odd to you but my servant—"

She stopped at the sound of the door opening. It seemed three people entered and approached the sitting table.

Madame Charmane first greeted Mercedes, and then introduced herself to Jade as the mistress of the house. Two

huge Negro men accompanied the tall, angular woman. Short blond hair curled about her face, and the idea that she was attractive, even beautiful, always surprised Mercedes, as if her deeds would at any minute appear in heavy lines etched deeply into her pale complexion. Her manner and dress were elegant too, and tastefully so. Nothing indicated the beast that lurked beneath her skin.

Seeing only darkness, Jade remained ignorant of the calculated appraisal there or the blank, emotionless faces of the two Negro men, beaten into unnatural subservience. But oddly, she felt Mercedes's apprehension. Mercedes stood alongside the bed, squeezing Jade's hand in hers in a silent warning. Mercedes's tension caused confusion, for Jade assumed the mistress would extend assistance.

Madame Charmane hardly listened to Jade's hasty and excited explanation, concluding with, "I know it is all very hard to believe. I, myself—she pointed for emphasis— "Have difficulty believing it! But we must hurry to alert the authorities!"

The woman stared at the lovely green pools, mirrors with no reflection. "I see Mercedes hasn't had a chance to explain your situation," she said, casting an irritated glance at Mercedes. "We have no reason to call the authorities—"

"You have already done so! Are they on their way?"

"No authorities have been called or will be called," she stated flatly. "Let me explain. You now belong to me. I am your mistress."

"You... you what?" Jade questioned, confused. The very choice of words made no sense.

She was not a person of color, nor was she a servant. "There is a mistake here. You see, last night I was at the opera, and true, I was seated in the second tier but because of my blindness and my association with the convent, you see, no one comments—"

An amused smile lifted the Madame's face. "I assure you, I don't care a whit about your circumstances. You are in the finest brothel in New Orleans. The whole of your life will now be dedicated to pleasing my customers."

Relaxed and at ease, the woman assumed the other wicker chair. Mercedes's obvious concern annoyed her but she always tried to forgive Mercedes everything: the ludicrous sunshine room and the money lost on books; her raw, reddened hands. She would do the same for this one, for "Mary" had just as promising a future.

Unfortunately, enlightenment, or rather reality, eluded Jade, for the word brothel was not one she often encountered. Of course, she knew what it meant, but it made no sense when applied to her. "A brothel?" Jade first repeated stupidly. It occurred to her just what had happened. The man had brought her to a madhouse, one of the insane asylums where they kept people who lost their wits. Yet wouldn't she have heard if there was such a place in New Orleans? She hadn't known of any, but perhaps she had been carried to another town? Where? Where was she?

The delusions of the insane often took on bizarre, perverted natures, she knew. She must not panic; these people could be violent. "Is there someone in charge, a surgeon or a housekeeper, or someone I might speak to?"