The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series)

by Vicki Hopkins

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Madame Laurent remained silent.

  “You are forcing me to make a decision I do not want!”

  “I do it for your own good,” she coldly replied. She lifted her dark, brown eyes and peered at Suzette in disgust. “Your foolishness astounds me, frankly.”

  Suzette sat shivering like a timid mouse in front of a cat. It was time to play her last card on the table to seal her fate.

  “If you do not accept my offer, you can be assured I will make certain no one hires you in this city. I have connections in all the low-lying businesses who hire girls like you, and I will forewarn every sweathouse, restaurant, or store that you are useless. I will blacklist you, Suzette. You’ll starve in an alley like the rest of the beggars who walk the streets of Paris.”

  Madame Laurent’s anger pushed her to a new level. As she looked one last time at Suzette waiting for her to make a decision, she knew if the girl had half a backbone, perhaps she would have been less heartless.

  Suzette looked into her eyes and believed every word spoken. Her shoulders drooped in defeat, and she raised her hands wiping tears from her face. It appeared fate had made the choice, and her life would be damned for the sake of survival. She was too weak to fight the inevitable and too afraid to protest her treatment. In a barely audible voice, she conceded.

  “All right, then.”

  “All right, what, Suzette?”

  She looked at Madame Laurent, who she now despised, and agreed to her proposal.

  “I will become one of your prostitutes.”

  Suzette’s surrender brought immense satisfaction to a woman who always got what she wanted. Her attitude quickly changed, and she responded with delight.

  “Good! A wise choice.” Her voice carried the victory of closing another business deal, and she proceeded with the details of the arrangement.

  “You will need to comply with the law, of course, before you can enter the Chabanais. As soon as you are able, report to the Bureau des Mouers and register as a prostitute. I know it might be embarrassing, but my brothel is followed closely and licensed by the authorities. Unless I comply, they will shut me down in a heartbeat. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Madame,” Suzette responded, unsure of what she was talking about.

  “After your registration is complete, there is a one other requirement. You will be examined by a physician. Once he confirms that you are disease-free—which I assume you are, if you are a virgin like you say—they will release you to report back to me.”

  “I will do as you say, Madame.”

  “Good. Here is my card, which you’ll need to present at the Bureau.” After Suzette had taken it from her hand, she called out. “Annette, you can come in.”

  The door flung open, and the young redhead entered, waiting for instructions. As a co-conspirator, she had been patiently standing in the hallway anticipating new orders.

  “Please, take Suzette upstairs. Give the girl a bath, wash her hair, and find suitable clothing. Then take her this afternoon to the Bureau des Mouers to register. You can hire a carriage.” She opened up her drawer, drew out a few francs, and handed them to Annette. “Use this for your fare.”

  Annette took the money from Madame Laurent’s hand and flashed a broad smile to her mistress over her conquest. She turned toward Suzette and offered a hand. “Come along, sweetie. It’s time to take a bath and wash that nasty scum off your body.”

  Madame Laurent looked at Suzette, assured that she procured a valuable addition to her establishment. The poor girl fell into her trap—50 francs to a greedy manager, a late night dismissal arranged at the right moment, and a frightened rabbit coming to the only person who had befriended her pitiful life. The fly had flown into the web, and now she belonged to the spider.

  There was one more piece of business left to attend to. She picked up her quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and began to write a note. A sly smile curled her red lips, as she thought fondly of the addressee.

  Chapter Eight

  After receiving her instructions, Annette grabbed Suzette’s hand once again and led her out the door. Suzette pulled hard to release her grip. It was obvious the new hire was a tad bit irritable.

  “I can follow you without being dragged,” she huffed. Angry over Annette’s physical treatment, Suzette wasn’t about to let anyone else tell her what she should or should not do, especially after the blackmail session that had occurred a few minutes earlier.

  Annette raised a brow in return. “Fine with me.” She walked through the foyer and invited Suzette to follow her up the grand staircase. “Come this way, and I’ll show you what’s up here.”

  Suzette placed her hand upon the curved cherry-wood banister and stepped on the pathway, whose center was covered with plush red carpet. Artwork of nude women lined the walls, strategically placed as a tantalizing foretaste of what lay ahead. Suzette cringed over the provocative scenes.

  Once on the second floor, Annette stopped. “Nadine is supposed to give you the grand tour when you get back from the Bureau, so just follow me down the hallway to your quarters.”

  Suzette stood in the middle of a long hallway that stretched to the right and left of the staircase. As they began to walk, they passed multiple closed doors. Suzette only speculated briefly about what lay behind them.

  It seemed as if everyone in the brothel was assured Suzette would succumb to Madame Laurent’s invitation to join the staff. Annette led her to a bath chamber, where she had instructed their housekeeper to fill the tub with warm water. It sat ready and waiting for her to climb inside.

  “Strip and get in, sweetie.”

  Suzette protested. “What, in front of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t see the purpose,” Suzette argued. “I can very well bathe myself.”

  “Can you? You can’t reach your back. You stink like hell, and your hair looks like a rat’s nest. Someone needs to scrub that scalp of yours.” She reached for Suzette’s head and began picking apart the matted strands. “There better not be any lice in there!”

  “I don’t have lice,” she said, slapping away her hand.

  The fiery redhead stepped back and put her hands on her hips, giving Suzette a dare-or-die glare. She could see the woman meant business, so she gave into her request and began unbuttoning her dress. It was filthy, and she did stink. There was no doubt about it. The steam rising from the warm tub looked inviting, but stripping in front of another person mortified Suzette.

  After the last button, she let the dress fall around her feet and kicked it toward the wall. She took off her dirty chemise and bloomers, and then tossed them on top of the dress. A blush rushed up her neck, as she stood fully naked in front of Annette. With one leg, she quickly stepped into the tub, brought the other around, and settled down into the warm water. Just as she relaxed, a bar of soap hit the surface, and bathwater splashed in her face.

  “You’ll like the soap. It’s scented. Madame Laurent buys the best of toiletries for us.”

  Suzette’s hand reached toward the bottom of the tub and grabbed the silky bar beneath the water. She brought it to her face. The fragrance greeted her nostrils, and she couldn’t help but sniff it repeatedly.

  “It’s nice,” she admitted. “It smells like lavender.”

  Annette pulled up a chair alongside the claw-footed tub and sat next to Suzette. “Yes, it is lavender. We have all sorts of fragrant soaps, bath oils—anything a woman could want!”

  Suzette took the bar and began to form suds in her hand to wash her body. When she finished, Annette dumped a bucket of fresh water on her head and added special herbs, fragrance, and soap shavings to lather through her auburn tresses that were tangled and frayed.

  “My God,” Suzette screamed in protest as the water hit her head and flowed into her eyes and mouth. “You could have warned me.”

  Suzette began to wonder if she would ever meet another woman with manners. Everyone was o
ut to hurt her, from the roommates at the Daughters of Charity to the brothel. They were all biting flies she wanted to swat.

  “I cannot understand what is with some of you women,” she protested as Annette’s fingers scrubbed her head harder than she wished.

  “What are you complaining about?” she asked, scrubbing harder over her protests. “You need to toughen up or you won’t make it in the world alone. Believe me, I know.”

  Suzette closed her eyes to the sting of soap and stopped struggling with the inevitable. The woman was not going to leave her alone until she finished clawing the daylights out of her. The fragrant scent of lavender brought some comfort, which made her feel pretty after months of smelling awful and looking ugly.

  “There. That should do it. Close your eyes.”

  Annette poured another bucket of water over Suzette’s head, slower this time, rubbing the soap residue from her hair until it squeaked between her fingers. Suzette kept her eyes and mouth closed until the ordeal ended.

  When she finished, Annette rose, grabbed a large, fluffy white towel, and handed it to Suzette.

  “Probably looks familiar, huh? From the washhouse.”

  She took the towel in her hands and stepped out of the tub. Suzette patted her hair, taking the moisture from her locks, and then turned to dry her body. When she was finished, she quickly wrapped the towel to cover her nakedness.

  “Satisfied?”

  Annette smiled. “Not quite,” she announced smugly, leading her out of the bath chamber and back into her room. When they entered, Suzette saw Nadine propped up in her bed reading a book.

  “Ah, the mouse has bathed I see,” she drawled.

  “Yes, but I’m not done yet,” announced Annette.

  She led Suzette to the vanity where she sat down. Annette picked up a brush to work the tangles from her hair.

  “Ouch!” Suzette screamed, protesting her rough pulling of her wet locks.

  “You know, your hair is quite pretty. I love auburn with a tint of red. We have all kinds here, as you can see. I’m the fiery redhead. Nadine over there is the blond of them all! The darkies from Africa and the Orient, their hair is black as the midnight skies.”

  “How many?”

  “How many what?”

  “How many girls does Madame Laurent have here?”

  “Thirty,” quipped Nadine. “Thirty whores and thirty rooms.” She laughed. “You’re number thirty!”

  Suzette glared back at Nadine’s reflection in the mirror, convinced she would never like her. In fact, she wondered if she would ever like any of them. They were no better than the hardened women of the washhouse. They only dressed better, smelled nicer, and drank more expensive alcohol.

  With the final stroke of the brush, Annette pulled her hair behind her head and fastened it with a ribbon.

  “There,” she said, looking proudly at her creation, “It should be dry by the time we get to the Bureau.”

  “Mind if we borrow some undergarments?” she asked, walking over to a chest of drawers.

  Nadine raised her brow in protest, but relented. “Sure.”

  Annette pulled open her drawer and chose a few items, along with stockings. She then walked to the closet and rummaged through dresses.

  “Here, try this one. Madame Laurent will give you an advance, and you can buy some new clothes. For today, wear this dress.” She laid the undergarments and dress on her bed, and turned to leave the room. “I’ll go get ready and meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

  Suzette looked over at Nadine, who was staring at her wrapped in a towel. She wanted to get dressed in her room, not on the wet floor of the bath chamber.

  “Would you mind not watching me,” Suzette implored.

  “God, you’re pathetic.” She swung her feet around the edge of the bed, stood up, and headed for door. “You better get used to bearing everything.”

  After the door opened and slammed shut, Suzette mumbled, “Good riddance,” and dropped the towel to the floor. She was determined to hold onto her last ounce of dignity as long as possible.

  * * *

  The carriage pulled up to the Bureau des Mouers located near the Prefecture of Police in the Île de la Cité. Suzette stepped out with Annette by her side and looked at the stark stone building looming upward.

  Annette knew exactly where to go and what procedures needed to be followed. It was her responsibility to bring new hires for registration. She looked at Suzette and saw the uneasiness across her face.

  “This is how it is, dearie. You’ll be interviewed first by one of the brothel inspectors. He’ll ask you questions, but I won’t be able to accompany you during that process. It’s no big deal,” she sighed. “The usual stuff—mother, father, where you live, and so on.”

  Suzette nodded and willingly allowed Annette to take her hand as she led her up the steps. “Come on. Let’s get on with it.”

  Once through the double doors, they stood in a foyer, and Annette stopped to give Suzette instructions before approaching the counter.

  “They’ll ask you why you want to be a prostitute, so come up with something good, will you? We don’t want you getting rejected, now do we?”

  Annette watched Suzette’s frightened eyes widen. “After you answer all the questions, he’ll give you a card to read with the restrictions, some of which are totally ludicrous, but we have to promise to be good little girls, or we’ll visit the local jail.”

  Suzette felt like turning around and running out the door. The next bit of news nearly caused her to faint, while Annette, on the other hand, appeared to enjoy giving her the priceless details.

  “After that comes the fun part. You’ll have to go to the Bureau of Sanitaire for an examination by a doctor.” She leaned into Suzette’s ear and whispered. “He has to check your private parts to make sure you don’t have diseases and such.”

  Suzette pulled away from her in horror. “You can’t be serious?”

  “What?” Annette laughed. “Never had a man look at you down there?” she teased, lowering her eyes to her pelvis area. “Every fifteen days, he comes to the brothel to take a peek at you. You best get used to it.” She reached out her hand and playfully tickled her waist.

  Suzette pulled back, appalled. “I can’t do this,” she pleaded, turning away toward the door. “Why doesn’t she just let me work as a housemaid or something?”

  Annette grabbed Suzette’s wrist to prevent her from leaving. “Because, honey, you’re a pretty one, that’s why. She’ll make money off you, and even more opening night, if you get my drift.” Annette winked.

  Suzette didn’t quite understand her meaning at first, but then it became all too clear as they proceeded down the hallway to the counter. Madame Laurent was going to sell her virginity for a high price.

  “She’s here to register,” Annette blurted out at the officer behind the desk. “You know what kind I mean, don’t you sweetheart,” she said, dripping seduction off her lips, leaning her elbows on the counter, and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. The officer lifted his gaze and smiled, recognizing Annette.

  “A new one, eh?” He looked at Suzette, enjoying the vision. “Have a seat then over there.” The officer pointed to a row of chairs alongside the wall. “One of the inspectors will call you in a minute.”

  Annette grabbed Suzette’s arm again and led her over to a chair to sit down. Suzette fidgeted the entire time, while Annette hummed an Irish tune underneath her breath, low and soft. A few minutes later, a man dressed in a blue police uniform walked out and handed a bundle of paperwork to the clerk behind the desk. He picked up a clipboard, turned his head, and glanced over at them.

  “Both of you or just one?”

  “Just her,” Annette quipped, pointing her finger. “I already got my card! She took her card out of her pocketbook and waved it at the inspector like a flag. “See, dearie! Carrying it like a good little girl, I am.”

  He scowled at Annette and growled at Suzette. “Come with me.”
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  Suzette stood up and followed nervously behind him until they came into an office. He closed the door and motioned for her to sit in a chair before his desk. She did, and then looked at the inspector, eyeing his appearance.

  The officer looked bad-tempered and annoyed, as he fiddled with papers. Suzette concluded he was middle-aged due to his graying temples. His potbelly rested on top of his trouser belt, but his uniform was clean and pressed. A mustache decorated his upper lip and curled at the ends, meeting his long burly sideburns. On his lapel he wore a silver badge with large engraved letters, M. Dubois, Brothel Inspector.

  “Just have to ask you the usual questions,” he announced, breaking the silence between them.

  Suzette met his eyes, and she was thankful he had softened his harsh tone. The first question of many spewed out of his mouth, while Suzette’s palms rested upon her bobbing knees.

  “Name?”

  Suzette was momentarily distracted by the office interior and didn’t answer. The inspector bellowed to regain her attention.

  “Name, I said!”

  “Excuse me, Monsieur.” She focused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s Suzette Camille Rousseau.” She tilted her head as she watched the inspector dip his quill into the inkwell and scratch her name across the paper form.

  “Age?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Place of birth?” He paused for a moment and then cursed. “Damn this pen.” Clearly irritated, he tapped the end into the inkwell once again, not raising his head in Suzette’s direction. He cleared his throat, indicating he was waiting once more for her to answer his question.

  “Paris. I was born in Paris,” she blurted.

  “Are you married, widowed, or celibate?”

  “I’m single,” she answered, thinking it an odd sort of question, convinced a married woman would never prostitute her body.

  He lifted his eyes and reiterated, “Are you celibate?”

  “I’m chaste, if that’s what you mean,” she responded tersely.

  “Are your parents living?”

  “They are dead.”

  He blinked, and then raised his head to look at her. “Pardon me, Mademoiselle. I am sorry.” He continued in a business-like tone. “What was your deceased father’s occupation?”