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She’d assumed Charity would silently do Madame’s bidding and find appropriate clothing, dress her hair, but once the door had closed behind them, Charity leaned against the edge of Faith’s dressing table and just stared, white-faced, at Faith who sat on the bed.

“I don’t know what you can do,” she whispered.

Faith bowed her and stared at her shoes that peeped from beneath the satin folds of her skirts. She felt dirty and shameful in her tawdry gown and wished she could be back in her simple, unadorned polonaise feeling special and full of hope and… almost free.

“I’ll run away!” Faith raised her head and saw her hopelessness reflected in Charity’s eyes. “What else can I do?”

“It’s dark and dangerous out there, Faith.” Charity pressed her lips together. “Where would you find shelter? I don’t know anyone who could help you. Otherwise I’d be there, myself. No, stop!”

For Faith had risen as if about to carry out her determination.

“You don’t know how vulnerable you are, alone on the streets. Someone will get to you and it’ll be a lot worse than…staying here.”

Faith sat down again. She saw the hopeless slump of Charity’s shoulders in the looking glass and asked, “What can I expect?”

Charity was silent a moment, as if preparing her answer. “The gentlemen are all different. Just hope Lord Harkom will be gentle tonight. Knowing that you’re a virgin, that is.”

“So they’re not all the same?”

Charity laughed. “Of course not! Lord, Faith, you really do know nothing! Some come here looking to cure their loneliness. They’re the ones you want.”

“And the others? What’s the worst …so I’m prepared?”

“Those that come looking here looking someone to blame for their disappointments. They want to feel powerful and so they use us. A shadow crossed Charity’s face. “But then there are the surprises.” For a moment she was animated, and a look of such youthful hope crossed her face that Faith forgot her own terrors for a moment as she asked, “What are you saying, Charity?”

“Just that I’ve met a young man and…I’m in love.” Her smile broadened. “We’re in love.”

“Faith! Are you ready?”

The girls jumped at the sound of Madame’s voice from behind the door and leapt to their feet as she thrust herself unceremoniously into the room, furious when she saw that Faith was still in her old dress.

“Lord Harkom has agreed to far more than I’d expected and he’ll not take kindly to being kept waiting!” she snarled, gripping Faith’s shoulder and shaking her. “Get out of this room, Charity, and tend to your customers if you want a roof over your head and food in your belly.”

For that’s what have it boiled down to. Life’s barest necessities in return for the only labour the girls at Madame Chambon’s were trained in.

Lord Harkom was visibly impatient by the time Faith appeared.

Her hopes that he might deal more kindly to her on account of her inexperience were swept away when he began to circle her like a dog, sniffing out his next adventure, the moment she entered the room.

“Madame swears you’re a virgin and I’ll find out soon enough if she’s lying.” He put out one pale-fingered, long thin hand and toyed with the ringlet that lay upon Faith’s shoulder. “Well, that’s real enough,” he commented when Faith gave a soft cry of pain and indignation after he tugged it. “It’ll be interesting to see if all of you is real. Madame knows I’m not one for artifice. It makes me very ill-tempered.”

He had the petulant look of an indulged, overgrown schoolboy. His fair hair flopped over his forehead and he had a habit of tossing back his head as if he were a prime piece of horseflesh showing off his prowess amongst a herd of mares.

Faith could suffer this kind of pawing for only so long and when he cupped her face in his hands as if he might kiss her, she leapt backwards. “What are you doing, my lord?”

“I’ve bought you for the night. I can do whatever I want.” His nostrils flared.

Faith’s back was against the wall while the door was behind Lord Harkom. She was trapped. She shook her head. “No, my lord, you can not! You are rude and full of deceit if you think that!”

She got no further for suddenly his face was thrust towards her, mottled with anger, his hands on her shoulders. Her throat was dry and she suddenly felt entirely unable to move. Would anyone come if she screamed?

Not Madame, that was certain.

“No one speaks to me like that, you little strumpet! No one! Certainly not someone whom I’m paying for a night of pleasure.” He fisted his hand as he insinuated it into her bodice, pummelling the tender flesh of her breasts pushed up above her corset.

Faith winced.

“Do you realise how fortunate you are that I of all people should have the breaking in of you?”


Tags: Beverley Oakley Fair Cyprians of London Historical