Page 11 of The Shadow of Breninsol
“Didn’t realise you had such an imagination, Eleanor!” Cookie said with a mildly amused look on his face, making his eyes crinkle.
She gave a lazy shrug and helped herself to the dry bread and questionable cheese, hoping it’d be better than the plaster in her bowl.
“Good. You’re all here,” Madam Grace said. All the chattering ceased as the madam stalked into the kitchen.
Eleanor reminded herself that it was her own fault for being in this situation. That thought still didn’t stop her from cursing the night she’d met Madam Grace. That night Eleanor had been drinking and gambling more so than usual, and she hadn’t noticed the stakes steadily rising. Until the escalating stakes left her drowning in a sea of debt, with no hope of repaying her opponents. The only conceivable choice was to fight her way out of the tavern, a strategy that, given her level of intoxication, was unlikely to end well, to put it mildly. As she sat contemplating her fate in the rundown tavern, the air thick with the smell of spilled beer and desperation, an older-looking woman with painted red lips that matched her dress and cloak, quietly joined the game. She offered Eleanor another option: pay off her debt to the woman by working for her.
Eleanor’s slither of self-preservation prevailed that night, and she'd agreed, but the woman's smile had felt wrong, like a snake’s charming hiss before it strikes. That same predatory, red-painted smile on Madam Grace’s face confirmed to Eleanor that she, and the others, had been manipulated by Madam Grace.
“You did well last night, ladies. Those who weren’t selected take note of those who were and use them as your example foryour improvement. Next Season, I expect to be the first and only pleasure house to say all my ladies have been courtesans.” The madam narrowed her eyes, scrutinising those who hadn’t been chosen.
After the woman satisfied herself with the few awkward shifts under her piercing glare, she continued her ominous speech. “Courtesans, you won’t be needed tonight. You’ll be required everyothernight at the palace, unless told otherwise. As you’ll be representing this house, I’ve ordered dresses for you.” This brought a flurry of cheered squeaks and eager chattering, with some asking for a particular colour or style, presumably to attract a particular courtier they’d been working on, in a hopeful effort to be chosen as Favoured.
Madam Grace held up her hand for silence. “The new dresses are for the courtesansonly,” she stated, her voice sharp enough to silence the room before she continued. “I’ll be inspecting each of you before you leave for the night. We wouldn’t want His Highness to think we’ve become sloppy in our appearance by being selected, would we? If anything, I expect a higher standard, ladies. Courtesans, that doesn’t mean you can be idle. I expect you to help the other ladies with their clients, setting up rooms or whatever’s needed in the meantime. You know my rule; you’re on the floor, you’re working.”
Madam Grace hesitated, and Eleanor was certain that if the woman could bore holes through each of them, she would have done it with that look alone. “Remember, I have your debts until you pay them in full or become a Favour. I have friends in the city guard and the magistrate is a close acquaintance of mine. Remember that and remember it well,” she finished her twisted inspirational speech in a cold and severe manner.
That warning was the only thing keeping Eleanor from fleeing The Ladies Grace, so she paid close attention to it. The madam would report any of them to the King’s Justice, whowould swiftly put a wolf’s head on them, making them targets for any rogue and all bounty hunters. The substantial reward money, along with the allure of fame for capturing the outlaw, proved too tempting for many. The constant anxiety, fear, and uncertainty of living as a fugitive was not an experience she wished to repeat; the gnawing hunger and sleepless nights were etched into her memory. And in truth, a heavy blanket of fatigue weighed on her, making her profoundly weary of it all.
“Good. Afternoon shift starts soon and Lauressa, tits up, you’re first today,” Madam Grace said, giving her parting order before she prowled from the room, leaving them all sitting in silence remembering their places in this world, and forgetting all about their cold porridge, which by now resembled something that was used as a building material rather than an edible meal.
A shrill whistle made them all jump and wince at the high-pitched sound that broke the silence that’d descended on the kitchen. Julia, rushing in from the larder, silenced the screaming kettle before anyone could react.
“What was that all about?” Lucy whispered loudly so they could hear the question that they were all thinking. Madam Grace never normally came into the kitchen. In a series of locked, private rooms, Julia served the madam, a space off-limits to everyone else. She never deigned to come into the communal areas that the ladies shared.
“Sorry,” Julia mumbled as she placed the large, cracked teapot in front of Cookie. He carefully poured a cup for himself and Milk and passed the teapot to Mirabella for each of them to take turns.
“Madam Joanna has herself a runaway,” Milk muttered as Madam Grace’s door slammed shut.
“Not surprising how those girls are treated,” Iris said.
A nodded assent travelled along the table.
They had kept a keen eye on the competition, the Moonlight House, and Eleanor was certain those at the Moonlight House returned the sentiment. According to the rumour mill in the house, the rivalry had stemmed from Madam Grace and Joanna’s joint history from their cutthroat prostitution days, which had grown in rising ambition ever since.
Their own success depended on being the most desirable pleasure house in the city. It meant that they would have the higher calibre clients, who they could charge higher rates to. That’s not to say the higher paying the client, the easier they were. In fact, it was the opposite. Many clients were demanding, expecting the best service, and some were prone to anger when they didn’t receive what they felt they were owed.
Eleanor had to be glad for something, at least. If things had gone differently, she could have ended up in the poorer brothels situated further into the Barrow, the city’s most impoverished area. The women were forced to share a room and beds, which led to the inevitable spread of lice and infection. It was common knowledge that the prostitutes of those brothels had their young lives cut short by either diseases or “accidents,” another word for violent clients.
That was something Madam Grace didn’t allow in this particular establishment of hers. She hired men to protect not only the house but those inside. The ladies thought the guards were there for their own protection, but she saw it for what it was, protecting Madam Grace’s investments. A woman with a black and blue face wouldn’t attract clients or a profitable pocket.
“The ladies there didn’t think anything of it,” Milk continued, sharing the gossip. “Her favourite client has been making noise at the House, swearing she’s Missing, not run away.”
“She hasn’t been found then. Not even…” Lauressa didn’t need to say the word body. Most turned a blind eye to the truth inthe streets surrounding them: death. The city wasn’t safe. A lone woman at night was easy prey, especially a prostitute.
Milk shook his head. “Nothing. That’s why word is she’s run away.”
“But she could beMissing?” whispered Calla.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Calla,” Jasmine chided.
Milk shrugged, not letting the anxious looks on some of the women’s faces stop him from gossiping. “If her fancy man certainly thinks she is, then maybe she is.”
“Women goMissingall the time,” Lucy said, trying to sound indifferent but lowered her voice on the word they all feared.
They all dreaded being one of the Missing in Solas. A woman would be there one day and gone the next. Eleanor’s initial investigation of this phenomenon had found nothing out of the ordinary. The scene was undisturbed; no effects touched, not even a hint of a struggle. The women had simply vanished into thin air, as if someone could do such a thing anymore. Women in the kingdom face a constant, inexplicable burden, randomly affecting them, a fact they bitterly accepted as part of their daily lives. This hard truth had made Eleanor angry, but now guilt tugged at her. She’d ceased her investigation into the Missing since coming to The Ladies Grace and yet, women were still doomed to be the Missing.
“Why would he think she’s not run away?” Veronica coaxed, sensing the unease around the table.
