by Tony Masero
‘Yes, unfortunate. But here we deal with the dregs and example must be made, it would not do if whores and murderers were seen to be incarcerated in the lap of luxury, now would it?’
‘I suppose not,’ Belle agreed. ‘But some simple facilities would not go amiss. Water for washing for instance and a decent diet. Much unpleasantness and disease would be avoided if that were the case.’
‘I shall take it under advisement,’ he said glibly, with a slight smile that indicated he spoke out of politeness and nothing more.
There was a silent pause then, a long moment where Belle only heard the huffing breath of the dog under the desk.
‘Things could be better,’ Meriwether said suddenly.
‘They could,’ Belle agreed.
‘I meant for you, in a personal manner.’ He had cocked his head to one side as he studied her. It appeared as if he were offering a question. There was something bird-like about his stance, at once curious and yet predatory. It reminded Belle of a vulture examining the remains of a roadside kill.
‘You mean,’ she watched him with careful evaluating eyes. ‘You are prepared to make concessions under certain circumstances?’
‘You are a clever and perceptive woman. I like that.’
‘But you are king here and I merely an imprisoned slave,’ said Belle, appealing to his vanity.
‘True,’ he answered. ‘But I have no interest in conquests of an enforced nature. I much prefer a willing participation.’
Belle with her insightful nature understood the man instinctively. His cruelty and harshness stemmed from a wounded soul. A broken interior that held a strong motivating desire not just for physical contact but also for some touching of hearts. This poor cold creature, despite his stony exterior, had a need to be loved. In Belle he had found something other than an object of desire and she realized that in some way he had set her on a pedestal and she savored the knowledge. It gave her some small element of power.
‘Such things,’ she said. ‘Are earned and not given freely.’
His eyes flashed with a momentary cold light, ‘Is it possible you think to play with me?’
‘How can I?’ she said innocently. ‘I am here without defense; all I am admitting is that any friendship must endeavor to grow from mutual concern. That is all.’
Mollified, he rested back in his seat and pressed his fingers to his lips. ‘I can appreciate that,’ he murmured in approval. ‘To find a modicum of intelligence in one so young. You are indeed a unique case above the normal dross we receive in here.’
‘I’m gratified you see it so,’ she answered evenly.
‘Will you take some wine?’ he asked, suddenly sliding up from his chair. He moved in a reptilian manner, uncoiling his frame in a lithe and predacious way.
‘I fear such strong liquor on my empty stomach would only sicken me,’ she apologized.
He had moved to a cabinet in the corner of the room and stopped in mid-stride. ‘Of course, yes. I understand. No, that would not do,’ he paused, considering for a moment. ‘Perhaps then you will dine with me later?’
Belle inclined her head, ‘That would be most agreeable, sir.’ The thought of a proper meal sending pangs of anticipation through her empty stomach.
‘Good, good,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. He was awkward, standing and twisting his body as he considered the notion. ‘Tonight then. We shall do it tonight.’
There was something immature now about the figure of the cruel man, he was lost and tongue-tied in a world he had no experience of or was comfortable in.
‘I should like to make myself presentable for your company,’ she said.
‘Yes, I shall arrange it. There were some clothes delivered for you, I remember. You shall have them.’
‘Thank you, you are most kind.’
‘Do you think so?’ he breathed. Belle watched as a grotesque transformation took place, from a harsh and callous guardian to gauche teenager looking for praise and approval.
A thought struck her then, a consideration that hinged on the cruelty he dispensed, for she knew that those who gave out pain often have a secret desire to suffer it themselves.
‘Kindness is a gift that should be taught at a mother’s knee,’ she said. ‘Without having it I consider one only deserves punishment.’ Carefully she laid a subtle stress on the final phrase.
He shivered then. A tremble that ran uncontrolled through his thin frame.
‘Punishment? What can you mean?’ he had backed away a step, subconsciously hiding himself in the shadow cast by the lamp’s shade. But Belle saw that the muscles in his jaw trembled.
‘Oh, if I had such a child, a child that was bestial in such a manner. So naughty that he was merciless,’ she said quietly with a touch of menace in her voice. ‘Why, I do believe I should smack his bare bottom for him.’
‘My God!’ she heard him mutter a quick gasp and then he whispered obscurely in an almost inaudible voice, ‘You are very beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, lowering her head in a docile tilt.
Meriwether gathered himself. He swallowed and played with his jacket, fiddling with the buttons and pulling the cloth straight. He wiped at his brow with trembling fingers.
‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘That will be all for now. I shall arrange things as we have discussed. But for now, go back to your room. I shall anticipate our….’ Words failed him here and he fell silent, waving briefly at the door.
Belle closed the office door gently behind her and saw that the dark corridor outside was empty; the guard she came with appeared to have left. She was pleased with herself, she had grasped the commandant’s weakness rightly and she intended to use it to her best ability. She would do anything for a chance of escape from this hellhole, she promised herself. Anything.
‘You wanna see me dance, missy?’
It was the little black child, Sebastian. Where he had come from Belle had not seen, she had thought the grim corridor empty but suddenly the child was there, the monkey on his shoulder watching Belle curiously, baring its teeth and holding its head cocked curiously to one side.
‘I dance good for the pretty lady,’ promised Sebastian. ‘I dance you all the way to your room.’
He hopped and skipped a few steps, the monkey stepping and snaking around his shoulders to keep its balance.
‘That’s a fine little creature,’ said Belle. ‘What’s his name?’
‘He be Pedro. That’s a pirate monkey.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Oh, yes, Missy. He be a pirate just like me.’
The boy bounced and skipped along the corridor before her.
‘Would you like to sail a ship and be a corsair captain?’ asked Belle, indulging him.
‘Don’t need. I got a whole parcel of things to do here,’ Sebastian looked at her with a wide grin. ‘All sorts of things.’ He raised his eyebrows and chuckled. ‘I know lots too. I know a secret in this place.’
‘You going to tell me?’
With gymnastic ease, Sebastian cartwheeled feet over hands and the monkey jumped away then back when the boy stood upright again.
‘I don’t know. What you going to give me, if’n I tell you?’
Belle spread her hands, ‘I don’t have anything.’
‘Oh, yes you do,’ the boy insisted. ‘You give me one sweet kiss o’ yoh ruby lips an’ I’ll tell y’all.’
Belle wrinkled her nose, ‘I don’t know if what you have to tell me is worth that much.’
‘I tell you this much, you have a fren’ here.’
‘A friend?’ Belle frowned.
‘Oh, yes’m. You got a fren’ alright.’
‘Who is this friend?’
‘He go by the name of Kirby. You know this man?’
‘Kirby! Are you sure?’
‘He be waiting to see you. He tell me to say that. He be waiting on seeing you.’
‘Kirby’s here!’ Belle gasped.
‘Yes, indeed.’
It was Qualms coming down the steps at the end of the corridor, a lighted lantern in his hand.
‘I just be showing the missy to her room, boss man Qualms,’ Sebastian said innocently.
‘You know you don’t go near the prisoners. Now get along out of here before I whup your black ass.’
‘Yessah, Mister Qualms, I be gone.’
‘And I just seen monkey shit in the quadrangle. I see more and I’ll make you eat that damned critter for your supper, you hear me?’
‘No more, Mister Qualms. No more, I promise. Old Pedro, he can’t help it he just a poor fool like me, is all.’
‘Go on,’ growled Qualms. ‘Get along now.’
The boy scurried off and Belle was left alone to be confronted by the repulsive sergeant. He blocked her path on the stairway and held the lantern high.
‘Been visiting with his lordship then I see,’ he sneered. ‘Got an eye for you ain’t he?’
‘You’d better ask him that,’ Belle replied evenly.
Qualms leaned forward, pushing his face close to hers. ‘I told you before,’ he warned. ‘Don’t get high and mighty with me. I’d just as soon push that pretty face into a different shape if I so mind.’
Belle ignored his offensive presence, ‘I’m ordered back to my room,’ she said.
‘Well get along then,’ he grinned, remaining unmoving on the narrow stairway.
‘Will you let me pass?’
‘Sure, come on through.’ He did not move, merely raised the lantern higher and Belle realized he wanted her to push past him so that he might feel her rubbing against his loathsome body.
There was a clatter of arms along the corridor and a door slamming as a noisy trio of guards came in from their front street duty. Qualms looked along the corridor and frowned, annoyed at the interruption. He brushed past Belle and she took the opportunity to flee up the stairs.
‘You men,’ she heard the sergeant call out. ‘Keep the damned noise down in here when you move off-station, it ain’t a hurdy gurdy joint it’s a military establishment and you treat it as such.’
As Belle pushed her way to her small reserved place amongst the press of other female prisoners in the dirty, stinking room full of unwashed and sickly bodies, some watched her with envy and others with hatred. They guessed the commandant had propositioned her and each of the females capable of such deductions wished they had her looks so that they too might buy some element of freedom and escape the sinkhole they were forced to live in.
But Belle barely noticed their jealousy as she eased through the squash, her thoughts were elsewhere.
Kirby Langstrom was here in Richmond!
Belle’s heart beat fast at the knowledge. There was some hope if her friend was nearby. Ever since their parting at the start of the war she had not seen her fellow Pinkerton agent. There had been no word from him, not that any was possible given her role as Courtney Monette’s wife. So much had happened since their time together in Nebraska where Kirby had always managed to turn up to help her at just the right moment.
And here he was again when she was in dire need. The knowledge brightened Belle’s chances considerably as she settled down amidst the press of other women. She knew he had held her in his affections back then and wondered how he would feel now. It did not matter though, he was here and ready to help, that was all that counted. How he would make his play she had yet to discover but she prayed it would be soon. Very soon.
Chapter Seven
Joe Bowers’s feet hurt.
He had on a pair of boots but they had been fancy patent leather street shoes when he had been imprisoned and not intended for marching on rough roads. The uppers were split and the soles wearing thin and every pebble made its mark on his tender feet.
The column was long and they all trudged along under the careful eye of enlisted soldiers who despised them and would rather be in a regular regiment that watching over this band of killers and renegades.
How he had looked with relief at the hangman’s noose on the empty execution stand as he left the military prison. It had been a close call alright. Condemned to death for his part in the Nebraska gold skimming scheme he had only been reprieved at the last minute. The Union government needed troops and under contract to serve he had been released into the infantry.
They were to be a pioneer corps sent to certain death, he knew that. He along with the other lowlifes that had sworn allegiance just to escape their prison cells. And what a crew they were, longhaired and bearded with second hand shabby uniforms that still bore the blood marks of their wounded or dead earlier owners. They shuffled more than marched, reluctant to face the battle ahead but thankful they had this day of liberty at least.
They were lice ridden and rank, but Joe was so used to it now that he barely noticed. There was none of the lavender water he had preferred in an earlier life to quench the stink of body odor that rose from his own sweating body.
Joe had thinned down a lot since his time in Variable Breaks where his plumper self had run a saloon in competition with Belle Slaughter. Much of his fat had gone but he still managed a mean look in his eye and when he thought of her it was with bitterness and the regret that he had not managed to see her planted in the ground. Her and that interfering bastard friend of hers, Kirby Langstrom.
‘Step out!’ the burly guard ordered, prodding Joe in the arm with the butt of his rifle. ‘Move it up.’
‘Ease off,’ growled Joe.
‘Shut your face, convict,’ snapped the soldier. ‘I’d just as soon put one in your wretched hide as it is.’
‘Don’t bother, I guess the Johnny Reb’s will oblige you soon enough.’
Those around Joe broke into coarse laughter in agreement at the sentiment.
‘Quiet!’ snarled the guard.
They marched on, a long seemingly endless line of blue that stretched away into the distance. Somewhere in the front at the head of the regiment a band played, a stirring march that somehow seemed at odds with the disconsolate men that blundered resentfully along beside Joe. Unarmed as yet they were making for the coastal depot at Alexandria from where they were to be shipped by sea to the front.
The Army of the Potomac, under the guidance of Major General George McClellan was on its way to make a water-born attack on the heart of the Confederacy with plans to overrun the capital at Richmond. Over a hundred and twenty thousand men were gathering to take ship at the port. Batteries of artillery, wagons and horses in their thousands waited to sail to Fort Monroe on the Richmond peninsular.
It was a gigantic gathering of the military and Joe and his company of reprieved convicts were one small part attached to this immense movement of men and equipment.
The sea was alive with vessels when they finally arrived footsore and tired at the port. There was to be no rest though and Joe and his crew were soon set to work loading the ships with the tons of equipment needed to support the army.
Rope net derricks swung their loads above the heads of the milling workers on the quayside and everywhere were troops. Joe seethed as he watched them lounging in crowds, smoking their pipes and chatting as he heaved and struggled with the heavy work. His resentment had grown over the past year and far extended beyond a hatred of the two Pinkerton agents. He felt no empathy with the Northern cause having suffered too much already at the hands of the Union prison guards.
His hope was to escape and make his way across to the Confederate lines and to that end he sought to gain as much information as he could with which to buy his way over. So his time was not wasted at the port where he memorized corps badges and the stocks of gunpowder he loaded alongside the forty-four artillery batteries and their attendant units. Once into the Confederacy he planned to make his way west, out into the vast stateless tracks of the Territory’s where he was not known and there were opportunities to be had away from the war.
Finally they were
allowed rest and in the darkness of the fisherman’s drying shed were they billeted, Joe bided his time. In the confusion of battle, he hoped, that was where he stood his best chance of fleeing this tiresome imprisonment. It was a plan and Joe thrived on schemes. It was the thing that gave him hope and kept him going.
He would survive, that was his ambition and hopefully one day he would be free enough to pay back Belle Slaughter and her rat companion in full measure.
Chapter Eight
Meriwether had made some small attempt at making a show of it.
His chilly and uninviting office had been transformed. From somewhere he had managed to acquire a tarnished silver candelabra bracket and it sat on a folding table with four lighted candles. The table had been covered with a not altogether clean cloth and it sported a show of mess room tableware and a couple of miss-matched wine glasses.
Belle had been allowed some of her promised clothes, and she wore a wide-bottomed dress in crinoline, patterned with tiny rosebuds and a tight, wide-sleeved jacket that had been designed by the famous Parisian designer M. Worth and set off the lush curves of her body as if it had been made for her personally. It was a reminder of happier times when Belle had been free to import such expensive wonders and she relished the feel of the rich material about her.
Meriwether sat behind the table, smoking a thin black cheroot as she was brought before him. He waved the guard away and sat back, sighing in appraisal at sight of her.
‘Pray,’ he said, puffing smoke casually. ‘Turn about.’
Obediently, she turned on the spot. Belle had been allowed water to wash in and had managed to tie up her hair in some semblance of its earlier glory.
‘My, my,’ muttered Meriwether in approval.
‘You like my appearance?’ Belle asked coquettishly.
‘Indeed I do, will you be seated?’
Belle decided to set the tone right away and she waited expectantly. ‘It is usual for a gentleman to present the chair for a lady.’
Meriwether gripped his cheroot tightly between his teeth in imitation of a smile and got to his feet, holding the chair back for her.