A Cauldron of Secrets (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 2)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  The news that Ben and Chloris had been close was a surprise, but maybe it shouldn't have been. Ben had a lot of secrets, many he wouldn't share, even with Djata, who'd been his assistant.

  "I do greatly appreciate your concern, but I need to talk to Chloris. She might be the only person that can help me right now," I said. "When shall I repay your favor?"

  Djata drummed his fingers on his legs. "If you're still alive after tonight, I'll send a note when I need you. But when I send it, I'll need you right away."

  "I can't promise that," I said. "Things are rather hectic."

  He held his hand out, palm up. "Then return the cane."

  I held onto it possessively. "It will do," I said after a moment of reflection.

  "Good," he said. "Then fare thee well, Miss Dashkova. I do hope to see you again. Alive, of course."

  Chapter Nine

  The Magdelen House, also called the House of Dolls, existed in the Southwerk on Ram Cat Alley. It was a big building with a brick front and had begun its existence in Philadelphia as a barn for building airships. When those businesses moved across the Delaware to Camden, the building had been repurposed to a gas lamp factory. As the city grew and the revolution happened, industry moved north to Germantown and the building became a theatre for a brief time, before finally settling on its current incarnation as a house of disorderly women.

  I leaned on my cane at the head of the alley, catching my breath after the hike and watching an airship lift into the sky like a fat bumblebee after gorging on phosphorus pollen. Night maneuvers by the military were frequent these days, or maybe I was just noticing them more.

  A group of sailors fresh from the docks stumbled into the alley behind me. They smelled of bad breath and unwashed bodies.

  "Ho, Adventuress, come drink with us. You can have a seat on my mast while we play the devil's game for a shot at your cherry!" one called, eliciting laughter from his mates.

  When I turned, they recoiled in a second round of laughter, and one of his friends slammed him on the shoulder. "I think that cherry's been dried and pickled for a couple of decades."

  They crowded around, tugging and pawing at my dress, their hot breath making my noise crinkle. I held onto my cane and spoke quietly.

  "Take your hands off," I said.

  "We have coin, madam," said one of the sailors. "And you're on the Southwerk, why else are you here, if not for a bit of sport?"

  Without answering, I gave the cane a dozen turns. "Then who wants a kiss?"

  The sailor who'd first spoken first leered into view, puckering his lips over his dirty brown teeth. I jammed the brass button on the end of the cane into his crotch.

  He screamed and fell to the ground, holding himself, the smell of burning wool fresh in the air. The rest of the sailors fell back and helped their fellow up, before continuing their stumble down the alley with frequent glances behind them.

  "I think I rather like this cane," I muttered to myself, knowing I'd probably change my mind once Djata called in his favor.

  The sailors, to my relief, went into one of the seedier whorehouses, while I went further up the alley to the Magdelen House. A gray and white steam carriage bearing a symbol indicating it was owned by the Bank of North America pulled up as I approached, and a gentleman in a dark cape, top hat, and high black cravat hurried inside with his head down, releasing a burst of laughter from the opened door. The red door swung closed, muting the party.

  Solid iron tie-downs still festooned the street outside, sunk into the cobblestones. Once they'd held the airships before they ascended into the sky. Stepping over one, I made the red door and went through.

  The high-pitched laughter and smoky air made me squint. I looked around the tables at the pairs of men and women having a raucous time. Nearby, a woman in a white satin dress and an ermine boa leaned across the table as her customer, a man in a dark tailcoat, explained the trials of his day in the Senate.

  Though I'd been in parlors of ill-reputation in France, this was the first time I'd ever been in a bawdy house in the States. It had the feel of an expensive rug thrown over a dirt floor. I was looking around for the Madam when an audible click and a firm tug at the bottom of my riding coat brought me around.

  The bawdy girl standing at my side was considerably shorter than me. She wore a corset and gown. Hair shiny black hair and fierce blue eyes made me want to take a step back.

  When she extended her hand, I had to steel myself from reacting. Brass fingers moved with syncopated hesitations as they curled towards me.

  "Your arm is quite remarkable," I said, taking her mechanical hand and giving it a firm pump.

  The fingers were warm, which was surprising until I realized the whole arm was made of glass and tubes of hot oil ran through it. I detected no scent from it, which meant the design was perfectly sealed.

  "How do you do?" she asked, tongue teasing her teeth. Her voice was girlish and sweet.

  "Are you the Madam of the house?" I asked.

  Our hands were still gripped, though we had stopped miming the ritual of greeting. The woman had a warm presence and a sweet perfume that ran a tingle down my spine.

  "They call me Brassy," she said, glancing askew, a shy smile on her lips. "Do you want to come up to my room?"

  She tugged on my arm, drawing me closer. Her face was right beneath my chin, the soft curls of her dark hair uncoiling onto her pale neck.

  I cupped my hand beneath her chin, feeling the softness of her flesh. "I need the Madam of the house, if you please."

  Brassy stood on her tippy-toes, gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek, right at the corner of my mouth, and hurried away towards a curtained door, giving a little ballet step as she went.

  The woman who returned ducked through the doorway, sweeping the curtains away in a powerful stroke. As she marched up to me, I felt my feet take a tiny step back. She had silvery grey hair, pulled up into a bun, and wore a crimson gown of a modesty that seemed uncharacteristic in the brothel.

  "Welcome to the Magdelen House. I am Madam Maria," she said, looking down at me with cagey interest. "What services may we provide for you?"

  "I wish to spend some time with Chloris," I said.

  By the character of her face and the clientele of her house, I knew this woman was a professional. That I caught the barest narrowing of the eyes at my request gave me pause. Here was a woman who'd probably heard the most debauched requests, things I would not dare to imagine, yet she visibly reacted.

  "I am your humble servant, of course"—she paused, searching for the words—"and we've had women clientele before, but never to see Miss Chloris." The skin around her eyes bunched up. "You do know of what you request?"

  "Of course," I said, wondering if I was out of my depth.

  She had a hawkish face and I felt like a mouse in her gaze.

  "This isn't some sort of revenge, is it?" she asked. "If this is about your husband, the men that visit her do so with the full knowledge of what they ask."

  "My husband died forty years ago," I said. "I am here for myself alone."

  She blinked. "Very well. Usually these visits are planned, so I'll send someone up to ask if she's willing to take a new customer."

  Madam Maria snapped her fingers and a young boy came running in. She whispered in his ear and the boy sprinted up the stairs, taking two and three at a time before disappearing down a hallway.

  "That's my son," she said, as if I'd some improprietous thoughts.

  While we waited, I watched the patrons of her establishment, specifically the Senator I'd seen before. He and his companion dined on exotic foods like caviar and coconut shells, served on fine porcelain plates with gilt-edging. A champagne bottle adorned the table. The Senator was telling his woman of the evening a story, and she laughed at all the right parts, touching him on the arm and leaning forward to expose her bosom. I imagined that beneath the table she ran the arches of her feet against his calves. I was so busy watching how completely she was seducing the
Senator that I didn't hear the Madam's son return.

  "She's ready for you now," said Madam Maria. "But before we go, I must check you for weapons. I take good care of my girls, especially Chloris."

  Madam Maria gave me a firm patting above the waist and then motioned for me to lift my dress. I pulled the bunched fabric above my knees, but that didn't stop the Madam from sending her cold hands up my thighs to ensure I had no pistols hidden.

  Afterwards, I paid the Madam for an hour, with money I'd borrowed from Djata. The hike up the stairs tired me and I used the cane, along with the rail. By the time we reached the room at the back of the house, I was out of breath.

  The boy ushered me into a dark cavernous space with a large pool, staying right outside in the carpeted hallway. The pool was at least five meters long and three meters wide. Faint light reflected from the water, though I saw no source. I couldn't even guess as to the depth. The door clicked behind me while I stepped forward, feeling at once that I'd been here before.

  The water moved as if it were a gentle stream, ripples of light threading through it, bright beads curling into eddies, moving from some unseen force.

  I turned the cane at least twenty times—I lost count as I stared at the movement in the pool.

  "How do you do, Lady Chloris?" I called once I found my voice, looking across the water for a sign of her.

  I moved to the pool's edge. Steps led deeper in. A splash alerted me to her presence to my right, freezing me in my crouch. A naked woman stood in the pool, water sluicing from her slick skin. Drops fell from her hair, straight back like a waterfall.

  "Hello, friend. What's your name?" asked Chloris.

  Her voice had a musical quality and it made me smile to hear it. I knew then I could listen to her talk all day.

  The name that wanted to leap to my lips was Yekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova. That was the name in the royal books in Moscow. Only my desire to stay anonymous kept me from giving it to her.

  "You may call me Kat," I said, though I felt impetuous for doing so.

  "Kat," said Chloris, as if she were tasting my name. "Someone else we both know calls you by that name."

  Gripping the cane tighter, I stood tall. Ben was the only person who called me Kat.

  "Have you spoken to him recently?" I asked.

  Chloris leaned into the water as if she was laying on a cushioned divan and pushed off into the depths, curling beneath the surface until she came up only a few feet from my location. Only her head stuck above the water. She had pleasant features as far as I could tell.

  "Is that why you came? You wanted to learn about Ben?" She paused. "Or don't you remember?" she finished, laughing.

  I felt an overwhelming urge to answer her, but restrained myself. We were performing a dance of some sort, but I didn't know the rules. Better to tread carefully than step off into unknown depths.

  "Do you have knowledge of his whereabouts?" I asked, keeping my voice calm.

  Chloris' eyes narrowed before she pushed off into the center of the pool. "I have knowledge about lots of things. For a price."

  "What is your price?" I asked.

  She stood, the water only reaching her waist, though by a trick of the water, it appeared deeper than that. "That depends on what you want to know."

  The wet tiles were soothing against my bare feet. Why did I take my boots off? I thought that the questions might be easier to answer if I were standing in the pool—just on the first step, of course.

  I stopped myself before my toes touched the water, remembering that I was speaking with Chloris. I heard a slight growl from the center of the pool when I pulled my foot away.

  "What do the men who come to you ask for?" I inquired.

  "Most of them don't speak," she replied.

  I rubbed the rough part of the cane with my thumb. "You provide them other services?"

  "You can say that," she said.

  I sighed. "Do you have answers to all my questions?"

  Chloris pushed through the water towards me with lazy strokes, gliding like a swan. "No one can answer everything. But what you came here to ask, I can answer."

  "How can you know that? Did someone tell you? I'll not stand for charlatan tricks."

  Chloris stopped near the edge of the pool. She hovered in the water, her breasts right beneath the surface. Her ruby red lips surprised me with their vivacious color.

  "You paid for an hour," she said impishly. "You'd better get asking before your time is up."

  I fumbled for the watch in my pocket, trying to keep my gaze on Chloris. Flicking it open while keeping my other hand on the cane revealed that I only had ten minutes left, which didn't seem possible. It felt like I'd barely arrived.

  What did I want to know? Should I ask about Ben? Or the creature that attacked me in my home? I had so many questions. The thief and the cauldron, or Morwen's missing husband. What would help me most at this juncture?

  I marked Ben off my list, because the answer might be of no use to me. If he were in Europe with the Ottomans as Warden Snyder had suggested, knowing so wouldn't help me.

  My two larger problems were financing and that damned duck egg, so I could get Anne Bingham off my back. Yet, as I stood next to the pool, Chloris' hungry eyes watching me, I had a gut feeling that the cauldron and the dead thief might be the most important thing of all.

  "Time's almost up," she said with a toothy grin.

  I settled on my question because it seemed the easiest for Chloris to answer.

  "I want to know where to find Morwen Hightower's missing husband."

  When Chloris' laughter filled the room like breaking glass, I regretted my question.

  "Are you sure that's your question?" asked Chloris, eyes crinkling with laughter.

  I couldn't tell if she was toying with me, trying to get me to change my question, or if I'd asked something truly stupid.

  "That is my question," I said. "What is the price?"

  One corner of Chloris' lip curled in sneering delight. "One strand of your hair."

  The request sent a shiver of revulsion through me. I nearly marched out of the room, but I was desperate.

  "What kind of joke is this?" I asked.

  Chloris tilted her head. "I can hear them coming for you. Time's up. Drop the thread into the pool if you want your answer."

  The price seemed so ludicrously simple, yet, every part of me screamed not to do it.

  With a heavy sigh, I plucked one strand of hair and dropped it into the water. It curled and snaked through the air until it landed on the surface.

  "The man you want to see lives on Second Street, near Market, in the house of dead flowers," she said.

  I nodded as the door opened behind me. "Good evening to you, madam."

  I picked up my boots and joined Maria's son at the door. Before the door closed, Chloris called out, "Beware that which wears armor."

  Outside the room, a heady wave passed through me. I leaned against the door frame to catch myself.

  "Madam, are you alright?" spoke the boy.

  "Fine, fine...I'm fine," I said.

  When I opened my eyes, the boy was staring at the boots in my hand. "Did you go in the water?" he asked, unease rippling his brow.

  "No," I replied.

  "Then why did you take off your boots?" he asked, looking up.

  The answer that suggested itself made me wonder if I'd made a grave mistake in going to see Chloris, though I wouldn't know for sure if it had been a mistake until I went to the house on Second Street.

  Chapter Ten

  The encounter with Chloris left me drained. On the way out of the Magdelen House, I caught my reflection in a mirror of polished steel with a hand carved frame.

  Grey hair had taken over, and that which wasn't yet grey looked ready to turn at any moment. I didn't have to wonder if it had changed during my visit, as when Madam Maria bid me farewell, her wide eyes told me that I'd come down with more grey than I'd gone up with. Somehow, I thought the lack
of powder was only half the reason why it had changed so rapidly.

  My bones felt hollow and I might have made my way home to climb under my comforter, but Second Street was near my home and I wanted to have something accomplished for my troubles.

  Grateful for the cane, I trudged across town, envious of the steam carriages and the gently bred stallions carrying their passengers to other parts of the city. I wondered what Catherine would think of me, a tired old woman stumbling her way through a foreign city. Catherine had never approved of my travels, though she'd begrudgingly signed the papers allowing for it, sometimes giving funds that I might travel in comfort. She jealously wanted me at her side in court, even knowing that the constant political maneuvering and closed-door whispering left me drained, but always let me leave when I asked.

  But Catherine was dead, ten years in the grave. She'd been my sovereign, a woman I would have done anything for, if she'd asked. Now, I was exiled for being her friend, and more.

  I made Second Street well before midnight. Before I knocked on the door, at a house with dead flowers in old planter boxes out front, I remembered Chloris' last words as I left.

  Beware that which wears armor.

  My thoughts ran to the strange creature I'd seen outside Djata's home. The scales on its back were unmistakably armor. Had it been planning to attack me before Djata opened the door? Or maybe its presence portended some other danger.

  Thinking about the creature left me feeling exposed. I checked both ways on the street, finding it empty, before tapping on the door with my cane. Though the hour was late, I'd heard voices inside and the glow of candles warmed the opaque windows.

  A rough-looking man in a tattered, homespun linen coat opened the door. He opened his mouth as if he were expecting someone else, and then seeing me in full, he gave a tiny shake of his head.

  "I haven't seen 'em in a few days," said the man, revealing yellowed teeth. What a stroke of luck that he knew exactly who I was looking for.

  "Where did he go?" I asked, trying to piece together the connections.