Page 31 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“Josephine!” Étienne cautioned.
She ignored him. “Our father, you see, was the Vicomte de Noailles. At least, he was born and raised as the vicomte. Étienne is the only legitimate heir, but we have at least six half-siblings,three of whom live abroad. Papa had so many mistresses around the world, we are forever finding new relations. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, of course. He was not a bad father, really—not as bad as some men. We were always provided for, even if we were just his bastards. But then he suffered that humiliating loss at the Battle of Dettingen and the king was so angry…”
“Yes, Étienne told me. I’m so sorry,” I said. Josephine patted my hand.
“Well, as you would imagine, funds became a little short. Étienne was off in Italy or England at the time—I don’t remember which—so it was just me, Noelle, Anne, and Eve left here in the city. We’d never had much to begin with, but then we had even less. We had but one way to make ends meet—to start selling our company.”
My jaw dropped. She spoke of prostitution openly, without shame or regret. Étienne, however, was less than pleased. His jaw clenched and he strode to look out the window.
“Well, we were doing okay—not great, but okay—and Étienne came home to find his identity seized, his entailment demolished, our father on his deathbed—the shock, you know, the poor thing—and his impoverished half-sisters running a brothel. You can imagine his temper!”
“Enough. She doesn’t need your life story, Josephine,” Étienne growled.
“You mean, you don’t want her to knowyourlife story, eh?” Josephine teased. “He must really fancy you then,chérie.”
He turned from the window to fix her with a glare. “Josephine,”he warned.
She sighed. “Another time, then.Alors,mon frère.Why are you here tonight? It cannot be good.”
“The woman from earlier this month—the new arrival. Is she still here?”
“The blonde one? Brigitte? No, I’m afraid not. She packed up and left in the middle of the night a little over a week ago. No note or anything. Just picked at her dinner—didn’t eat much, the little mouse—went to bed, and thenpoof. Gone the next morning.”
“You didn’t go look for her? What if she’s in trouble?” I asked.
“It is a common thing, Madame. The young girls come here looking for a place to stay. Sometimes they want to work as a light-skirt or a bleeder—we give them a safe place to ply their trade—but many of them find other work. Laundry, sewing, even a few governesses. They come here to find a degree of comfort and security while they get on their feet. But many come and go, just as easily. It is their choice. We do not indenture them here. Brigitte was not the first—nor dare I say the last—to come and go so quickly.”
“What’s a bleeder?” I asked. Josephine turned disbelieving eyes on me. Étienne scoffed.
“You do not know, Madame? But they are all over the city—there are so many now. Perhaps even more than the light-skirts.” She was baffled by my ignorance.
Embarrassment pinked my cheeks. “I’m afraid I don’t get out much in the city.”
Étienne threw the explanation over his shoulder at me as he began pacing. “A bleeder is a common term for a woman who sells her blood. A blood-whore, if you will.” He glared at me in irritation, then turned back to Josephine. “You have no idea where she went? Did she have family? Where did she come from?” Seemingly unable to stand still, he resumed his pacing.
Josephine arched a brow at him. “You know as well as I that the women here are free from the shackles of their past, Étienne. I knew almost nothing of the girl, except that she was anxious to make your acquaintance.”
“She was?” I asked. “Was she particularly interested in him?”
“Of course! All the ladies are, especially the new ones. They hear the stories from the older girls, and all have the same hopes that the dashing vampire emissary will one day come and fall madly in love with his meal,” she chuckled. “The saps. Incurable romantics, the lot of them.”
Étienne crossed his arms and harrumphed.
“Well, whose fault is it that these poor girls have such notions? I try to divest them of their false ideas that you are anything but a tried-and-true rogue, but they don’t listen. Anyway, why are you asking after her? Has something happened?”
While Étienne stewed in frustration and embarrassment, my mind worked.
“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain. May we see her room, please?” I asked.
“Suit yourself. Lucky for you I have not had time to clean it and turn it out properly. We haven’t had need of it yet, but inevitably, some new wretch will show up on our doorstep soon.” Josephine put her sewing down and led us out to the hallway. At the far end was a smaller staircase that wound up to an attic with low ceilings and a small bed. A cacophony of noise erupted below, and Josephine excused herself to go determine the cause, leaving Étienne and I alone.
“Well?” he challenged tersely.
“Well, what?” I started opening drawers in a small bureau to see if Brigitte had left anything behind.
“Aren’t you going to ask me a thousand insulting questions about my family? My past? My failings as a brother and as the heir of an unseated vicomte?” He sounded petulant. I recognized it as the irritation commensurate with a close sibling relationship. It lent him an air of vulnerability and—more than that—humanity.
“No.”
