2. Winter
Jenny's arm ached as she vigorously polished the mahogany sideboard in the dining room. After breakfast, Cook had given her an old rag and a large tub of beeswax, and instructed her to dust and polish all of the downstairs furniture. Jenny hadn't realised just how many tables and chairs and sideboards there were until now. It was tiring work, although perhaps not as bad as jobs like hauling in coal from the bunker outside or clearing out ash from the house's many fireplaces.
After a month of living here, she'd quickly fallen into a routine, cooking and cleaning and sewing in the mornings, and going out for long hopeful walks in the afternoon, somehow hoping to bump into her aunt and uncle. She still kept looking for her relatives, exploring public houses further and further from Argyll Street, but as the days had turned into weeks, and the weeks had quickly coalesced into one month, and then two, her enthusiasm had waned a little, and she'd found herself being increasingly distracted by the London's many attractions: the coffee shops and theatres, the parks and markets.
She stood back and examined the table in the thin light filtering through the lace curtains. Madam had been clear about the depth of shine she expected to see, and Jenny sighed, her biceps burning as she decided that it needed a little extra polish to meet Madam's high standards.
She still wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do next. She'd written a letter to Harold explaining her difficulties but being deliberately vague about where she was staying. He'd replied, suggesting she return to York, but somehow she couldn't picture herself returning to her hometown where, no doubt, he'd already lined up a number of potential suitors. She still often felt the elastic pull of her hometown, but it now seemed so provincial and dull compared to London, with its bustling streets full of people from all backgrounds and cultures.
The truth was that she was enjoying her liberty and seeing this different side to life, the hustle and bustle of living in the very centre of the empire. Still, her conscience kept nagging at her; although she was making herself useful, she knew that the other girls were the ones bringing in the money, and she couldn't help feeling guilty, a parasite living off their hard work.
It wasn't that the girls were mean to her, in fact they'd all been most welcoming. Except for Beth, who either made snide comments or ignored her entirely. She did wonder about Beth, Angel and Cath. Instead of going upstairs with customers, those three went downstairs to what she assumed was a cellar, but whenever she asked what they did, Rose or Daisy would only say that they entertained men with 'very particular needs'.
The more they evaded her questions, the more curious she became, and she often found herself drifting down the short corridor that lead to the cellar, although she had no reason to be there. There wasn't really any furniture down there that needed polishing, for example, but that hadn't stopped her earlier. She'd loitered outside the door, pretending to sweep the floor, then looking around cautiously before trying the handle and finding it was locked. Kneeling down she found the keyhole was blocked, presumably with the key so instead she pressed her ear against the rough wooden door.
After a few seconds of silence, she heard the low rumble of a man's voice, pleading and urgent. It was followed by the throaty chuckle of a woman who sounded like Cath, then a few languid unhurried words over the sound of boots echoing on a hardwood floor. Then the distinctive sound of leather slapping hard against bare skin, followed quickly by a sharp male gasp and more pleading, although she couldn't make out the words. Then Cath's voice again, detached and amused, perhaps contemptuous. A picture formed in her mind, of the man, naked and erect, perhaps suspended from the ceiling, as Cath ran a riding crop up and down his bare skin, teasing him, mocking him as he begged for mercy, begged for release.
She lingered there, until she slipped a little, her shoulder bumping against the door. When she heard footsteps approaching the door, she quickly scurried away, back to the safety of upstairs.
She'd paused for a while, hiding inside the doorway, holding her breath as she listened for the sound of Cath's boots before getting back to her work.
"There," she muttered to herself, running a hand through her dark chocolate curls, brushing them away from her damp forehead. Now she was able to see the pale, ghostly reflection of her face in the glossy, dark polish of its surface.
It was the last piece of furniture in the dining room, so she made her way down the corridor and tapped on Madam's office door.
"Yes?" came the voice from within.
Opening the door, she saw that there was a tall man, perhaps in his late fifties, sitting across from Madam. He had a lean, hawkish face with deep-set, slate grey eyes, his thinning hair swept back from his lined forehead. He was dressed in a smart, black suit, and was hunched forward, resting his hands on a silver-tipped walking cane.
"Begging your pardon, I didn't realise you had company, Madam," Jenny said.
"Well, well, where have you been hiding this pretty young thing, hmm?" the man said, stroking his chin as he twisted in his chair. His voice was unhurried and as thick as molasses; the voice of someone who was wealthy and enjoyed the power that it gave him.
"Perhaps I should come back later," Jenny continued.
"What's the hurry, hmm? Come here, girl," he said, rather sternly.
Jenny hovered in the doorway, unsure of what to do. She glanced over at Madam.
"This is Samuel Clerk, an old friend of mine," Madam said, giving her the briefest of nods.
"That's it, come closer, so I can get a good look at you," Samuel insisted, leaning towards her and extending a hand. "Oh yes, you're very pretty, aren't you, very sweet and innocent-looking."
"This is Jenny, she's not one of our regular girls, she's just staying with us for a little while," Madam explained as she watched Jenny reluctantly step closer.
"So you're just a guest here, young Jenny?" he asked, looking up at her.
"That's right, Sir," Jenny replied, as he gently tugged at her hand till she was standing right in front of him. She felt her cheeks flush under the intensity of his gaze, those cool grey eyes coolly appraising her, cutting straight through the dark house dress she wore for cleaning.
"Well, well, that is a shame," he said, squeezing her hand tightly, his eyes glittering darkly as he took in her slender frame, taking in the waspishness of her waist, the youthful swell of her bosom. "Let's have a proper look at you, eh?"
Jenny shuddered as she felt his hands sliding over her back, then over her the flare of her hips.
"Oh yes, she's perfect for what I have in mind," he purred, his hands briefly squeezing her buttocks as they slid over the curve of Jenny's pert derriere.
"I'm sorry, Samuel, as I say, she's not..."
"Yes, yes, she's not for sale, so you said," he snapped, as he pulled her closer once more. "A great shame. I had a fancy for someone new, and young Jenny here is certainly very comely."
"Well, as I say Samuel, we have plenty of other girls that can entertain you."
"If you say so, Madam."
"That will be all Jenny," Madam said.
"Thank-you Madam, a pleasure to met you Sir," Jenny said politely, performing a brief curtsy before turning to leave, but finding Samuel still clasping her hand.
"The pleasure was all mine, my dear," he said, winking at her before finally releasing her hand.
---
Madam ran a hand over her dark, neat hair as she considered his proposition. Samuel's offer was very generous, and she knew that sooner or later the girl would have to earn her keep. On the other hand, although she looked the part, Jenny probably wasn't the kind of subservient, meek girl that would suit him. She knew that with her education and good manners Jenny would make an excellent courtesan or mistress, or perhaps a companion for an older gentleman. The girl simply wasn't the type who would be suited to make a living like Rose or Daisy, not in the long run.
"Well, it's a reasonable offer, I suppose," she said.
"Come now Chloe, it's more than reasonable!" Samuel insisted, leaning forward and tapping his cane against the floorboards impatiently.
