The Pride of the King

by Amanda Hughes

  As the weeks wore on Lauren became gaunt and frail. It was barely noticeable that a baby grew inside her, and most days she forgot that the child even existed. She had developed a nagging cough, which robbed her of precious sleep. Not much more than a specter herself, she whispered to Grandpa Ephraim one night that she was afraid she would be unable to rise from her bed in the morning to search for food. All night long the rain soaked her blanket, and he stayed by her side leaning on his cane keeping silent vigil.

  When the morning sun rose, Lauren's faithful friend had vanished, and she sat up slowly rubbing her eyes. It was late in the day, and the sun was already high in the sky as a strange droning sound met her ears. Bewildered and groggy, Lauren shook her head to clear the cobwebs. At last she recognized the sound. It was singing, and it was coming from the road. She got up on her knees, and hiding behind Abigail's headstone, she spied a funeral procession headed her way.

  Like a wild animal, she grabbed her quilt and dashed into the woods to watch from a safe distance as the group walked up and gathered by an open hole near her sleeping spot. After lowering the coffin, the dominie read from the Bible as the mourners dabbed their eyes and threw flowers onto the coffin. One by one last respects were paid, and the group turned back to town leaving only the gravedigger to finish.

  Lauren watched from the woods. The man had a broad back, and the weathered face of someone used to a lifetime of work in the elements. Leaning against a tree, he lit his pipe and watched the procession disappear down the road. When the group rounded the bend, he tapped the ashes out of his pipe and walked back to the open grave. Assuming he would fill the hole in, Lauren was surprised when the man jumped down into the open grave then scrambled out again holding a cord. One end of the rope he left in the hole, the other end of he dropped onto the ground near his feet. Next he picked up his spade and began to fill in the hole. When he was finished, he drove an iron rod into the ground which was about two feet high, attached a bell to it and fastened the cord to the bell. Wiping his hands on his breeches, he sighed and stretched. The job was complete and it was time for payment. After disappearing into the parsonage for a moment, he trudged down the road and out of sight.

  Hunger pains forced Lauren to move out of the woods. After hanging her quilt up to dry in the trees, she dragged herself into town. Today she was lucky, the cook at the Hogshead Tavern had burned a turkey, and Lauren was the first to discover its charred remains tossed carelessly into the alley. She picked it up tearing at the burned meat savagely, feeling it's nourishment in her belly.

  That night in the graveyard, she was asleep the minute she dropped onto her quilt, but before long a bell ringing awakened her. She bolted upright as it echoed in her ears. Rubbing her eyes, she stood up quickly letting the quilt drop to the ground. The parsonage was dark. Everyone appeared to be asleep. Suddenly, the bell rang again, and Lauren dropped down into a terrified crouch. Her heart pounded furiously as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Where was the bell? Was this a nightmare? Suddenly Lauren realized the din was not coming from the church but from the small bell perched above the freshly dug grave.

  Panting, she stumbled toward the mound where the smell of fresh earth filled her nostrils. The bell continued ringing frantically. Suddenly, Lauren realized that someone was under the earth, buried alive, pulling desperately at the cord. Confusion turned to horror as Lauren began to claw at the earth, trying to free the prisoner below. Dirt flew in every direction, but the effort was fruitless. As abruptly as it began, the bell stopped. Lauren froze. Had the person suffocated? Had they fallen into a swoon?

  She stood up and looked at the parsonage. The ringing began again. Mustering all her strength, Lauren bounded toward the front door and hammered on it with her fists.

  "Answer! Please answer!" she screamed in French. No one stirred as she slammed on the door again. "Someone please! Come quickly! Someone has been buried alive!"

  There was still no response. She dashed down the steps out to a shed in search of a shovel. In spite of the clear night, Lauren was not familiar with the parsonage, and she tripped over an uneven paving stone sending her into a sprawl. A man in a nightshirt jerked her to her feet.

  "What is the meaning of this!" he barked in Dutch.

  "Please Monsieur!" Lauren implored, "I was asleep in the churchyard and there was a bell--".

  "What do you want!" he exclaimed again in Dutch, grabbing her arm.

  Frustrated, Lauren put her finger to her lips, instructing him listen.

  Suddenly, the dominie‘s jaw dropped. He heard the bell. The man turned and bound up the steps of the parsonage shouting to his family. Lauren stood wringing her hands until the dominie and his sons rushed out holding lanterns. After grabbing shovels, they bolted out to the graveyard where they began shoveling furiously. The bell ceased ringing.

  Lauren's heart was pounding as she watched the men. It was a macabre sight seeing the three figures digging frantically in the lamplight. The lanterns cast long shadows across the dominie and his sons, contorting their images grotesquely.

  The heavy smell of earth churned Lauren's stomach as she listened to the spades scoop and toss, scoop and toss. She began to feel weak and dizzy. Steadying herself on an oak, her mind traveled six feet below to the desperate inhabitant of that coffin. Was the poor soul still alive or had they been too late? How could there be enough air in that small space to keep anyone alive? She said a fervent prayer to the Virgin Mary and waited. Suddenly she heard the dull thud of a shovel hitting wood, then shouts from the dominie.

  Lauren dashed to the edge and held a lantern high. Frantically, the young men cleared the coffin as the dominie yanked at the stubborn lid. Suddenly it cracked open and there lying motionless in the box was a young woman, pale and drawn, clothed in a white shroud, covered in perspiration and blood. Her blonde hair was a wet and tangled and her hands were torn and bloodied. Lauren knew she had been clawing at the lid of the casket. All of a sudden, there was a swift intake of air, and she began to cough violently.

  "Praise God! She's still alive!" declared the dominie as he looked gratefully to the heavens. The men quickly lifted the woman up and carried her off to the parsonage, for a second chance at life.

  For a long time Lauren stood and watched the flickering lights inside the house She wondered if the woman was still alive. She shuddered to think what would have happened had she not heard the bell and cursed whoever neglected keeping vigil that night. There would be no sleep for a while. Lauren was far too unnerved. With a sigh, she took her quilt and started down the road to find a new place to sleep, forced to abandon her home once more. She turned back to say farewell to Abigail and Ephraim, but they were nowhere to be found; only their silent headstones remained.

  Chapter 20

  Lauren spent a miserable night lying on her quilt behind a necessary house off Pearl Street. She sat up stiffly the next morning, pushing the matted hair from her face. As much as she needed to rest today, it was essential she move on before someone discovered her. She rolled her filthy quilt into a ball. Once again the quest for food was imperative, but today when she stepped onto the cobblestone street a blinding pain shot through her belly. She doubled over in agony. After several minutes, the torment eased, and she straightened up panting. A few people noticed she was in distress, but they offered no assistance. They wrinkled their noses turning away in disgust from the foul-smelling beggar.

  Catching her breath, she moved down the street toward the market to try to find food. The pain was gone and hunger returned. She watched with longing as a barge moved down the canal, laden with colorful fruits and vegetables for market.

  Suddenly, a well-dressed man, bored with his repast pitched a half-eaten drumstick onto the street. It landed with a thud at Lauren's feet and rolled. Like a bolt of lightning she plunged for the meat but not before a mangy hound snapped it up. With the ferocity of a wild animal, Lauren dove for the dog and grabbed it by the back of its neck tearing the drumstick from
its jaws. The dog lunged at Lauren, baring its teeth, but she kicked it and turned away. Lauren was too absorbed with the drumstick to notice a woman calling to her from a coach.

  "Put that down!" the woman called in Dutch.

  Finishing the meat, Lauren tossed the bone away and wiped her greasy hands on her skirt, oblivious to the woman.

  "Stop now, I must speak with you!" the woman cried in French.

  This time Lauren stopped as if waking from a trance. She realized that someone was calling to her from inside an elegant white coach. Cautiously, Lauren approached the vehicle. The heady scent of gardenias met her nostrils as a woman leaned out the window. There was the rustle of expensive fabric as she held out her gloved hand.

  "Please. Come here. You are such a jewel." Dressed in a light blue palonaise, the woman smiled approvingly. She took Lauren's chin turning her face back and forth. "There is potential here," she mused. "Much potential."

  Lauren looked at the woman. She wore a thick coating of wax and powder and although there was some wrinkling around her blue eyes, she was a handsome woman. Her blond hair was dressed fashionably under a large plumed hat, and her fitted gown revealed a supple figure.

  "Oh, but you are lovely, child," she cooed. "I can see it, even under all that grime." Turning to the coachman she asked, "What do you think, Nemi?"

  The elderly black slave leaned over and nodded his head.

  Lauren backed away.

  "No, please, I mean no harm," the woman implored.

  Lauren did not trust her and began to retreat down the street. Suddenly the pain in her belly returned, and she doubled over clutching her mid-section and staggering. Her head began to spin, and she crumpled to the ground.

  * * *

  Lauren regained consciousness sometime later. She was resting deep in a feather bed covered with a cream-colored duvet. She heard a fire was snapping and popping nearby, but she was too weak to look around.

  Lauren drifted back into delirium until a voice urged gently, "Here drink this." It was hard to focus, but she could see a pair of dark hands holding a cup of broth for her. She took several sips and slid back down.

  "She will live, Nemi,” said a woman standing not far away. "And she will fetch a good price. It is a shame she’s not a virgin."

  The voices continued on for a few minutes then faded off. Again Lauren drifted off to sleep, but the voices returned once more demanding this time she eat something. When she opened her eyes, she recognized the woman from the coach and her black servant. They left some steaming cabbage soup on the nightstand as Lauren pulled herself up to look around the room. There was only a bed and a nightstand in the room, but everything was tidy and well kept. A tub of water sat in front of the fire with a crock of soft soap, and she remembered the woman had told her to bathe.

  Gingerly, she slipped from the covers and cautiously tried to stand. There was a dull ache between her legs, but she managed to pull herself over to the tub slowly. Lauren let her shift drop to the floor and stepped carefully into the warm water. It had been months since she had run soap over her body, and the sensation was delicious. When she finished scrubbing herself, she slid down into the tub to rinse her hair. After drying herself, she eased a clean shift over her head and slid back into bed where she began to untangle her auburn tresses with a comb they had left. The effort was too much, and she sank back down into the feather bed.

  "Tres bien," murmured a soft voice from the door. Lauren looked up, and there in the candlelight was the Dutch woman again.

  "I know you are French. I heard you cry out when you were delivering your brat. My name is Madame Vanoss," and she swept over to Lauren picking up a handful of her hair. “Magnificent!”

  The smell of gardenias was overpowering, and Lauren turned her head away choking from the heavy scent.

  "I am Dutch, but I speak your language,” the woman said. “I ran an establishment on the outskirts of Paris years ago. You are very lucky to be alive." She raised a handful of Lauren's hair to her cheek and said, "I want you to wear your tresses down when customers come for you. It is very lush and beautiful. You are a jewel, a true flower. Maybe I will even keep you for myself."

  Lauren stared at the woman. She was confused and weary and wanted to be alone. Suddenly, Madame Vanoss bent down and brushed her lips across Lauren’s neck. When she recoiled, the woman simply smiled and swept from the room.

  * * *

  Slowly Lauren gained strength and weight. Madame Vanoss’ slave, Nemi was a kind and diligent nurse insisting that she eat and take his folk medicines regularly. The miscarriage had weakened Lauren severely, but gradually she recovered. She knew the child had died, but she did not allow herself to grieve. There was no room for sorrow, only survival.

  Madame Vanoss did not visit often, but when she did, Lauren refused to look at her and kept conversation at a minimum. She hated the woman with her heady perfume and seductive manner. Lauren understood life in this house and what it meant. Many times, she had watched the strumpets of New Orleans soliciting, and she knew that soon it would be her trade too, but as terrifying as the prospects were, returning to starvation seemed worse.

  Gradually, Lauren was able to leave her bed and walk around the house. It was a large two storied gabled structure in an unsavory location near the wharf. Madame Vanoss posed as a milliner, and her small sham of a shop, bulging with ribbons and fabric, boldly faced Broad Street. No one in the community was fooled about her profession. It was common knowledge she ran a house of pleasure. She employed fifteen girls all of whom were thin and drawn with sallow complexions. In spite of their youth, the girls looked depraved and wanton. They awoke late in the day and retired late at night after the last customer was sated. Lauren watched them lounge and drowse throughout the day on divans in the back of the shop smoking pipes filled with a pungent, brown substance nodding and bobbing their heads lazily.

  The girls did not associate with Lauren at all; in fact, they looked upon her as a rival. She did not care to know them either, preferring to stay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She could hear the girls in the halls at night, giggling as they escorted customers to their rooms, and many nights she heard other sounds, sounds which terrified her.

  One evening Madame Vanoss swept into the room looking particularly striking. She was dressed in an azure gown with a white lace stomacher with her heavily powdered hair piled high on top of her head. "You are well now, and you are to have your first customers tonight," she said in French, her accent thick with Dutch. She stroked Lauren's cheek.

  Pulling on her silk gloves, Madame continued, "We are entertaining some of our finest customers this evening and that is why I am having you come out tonight. I have been saving you for our most esteemed guests."

  In an effort to thaw Lauren, Madame Vanoss ran her fingers lightly up and down her arm. "Are you nervous, little one?"

  Lauren said nothing.

  "Of course you are. Don't worry.” She pulled open her drawstring bag and drew out a tin box and pipe. She dropped the articles into Lauren's lap and said, "Here, smoke this. One puff is all you need to feel relaxed. Its quite effective I assure you, and it will make your job ever so--painless."

  Madame Vanoss waited for a reply then shrugged. "I will have Nemi deliver your gown shortly. I want you to look your best. This is an unusual arrangement, a mother and son together, but they are paying dearly for you."

  Lauren continued to stare straight ahead.

  Madame Vanoss started out of the room but before leaving turned and raised one eyebrow, "Look at me!”

  Lauren did not comply.

  The woman snapped, "Look at me!"

  Lauren turned and looked at her. Madame Vanoss' blue eyes were hard and cold. "You will comply with the customers needs and give them the pleasure they seek. If you do not, you will be back on the street by morning. Is that understood?"

  Reluctantly, Lauren nodded. Madame Vanoss had spoken.

  Chapter 21

  The evening progres
sed at an agonizing pace. Mechanically, Lauren dressed in the immodestly cut teal gown that Nemi delivered and let her copper hair fall about her shoulders per Madame's instructions. After finishing her toilette, she sat down rigidly on the bed and waited, struggling with fear but reminding herself that there was a roof over her head and food in her belly. The tin and the pipe remained on the nightstand untouched. Lauren was determined not to use the substance. Joining the other girls in that state of delirium was not an option. She must remain alert.

  Suddenly, there were footsteps in the hall, and Madame Vanoss swung the door open. She swept in all powder and gardenias and announced, "This is my Lauren. Is she not lovely?"

  A stocky older woman stepped into the room with a frown on her face followed by a paunchy effeminate fop sporting a powdered wig and patch.

  "Yes, yes," the older woman said impatiently, pulling off her gloves. "I can see that she is lovely. Now that will be all."

  The woman dismissed Madame Vanoss abruptly. Madame Vanoss did not seem pleased, but when the woman handed her a wad of notes she curtsied deeply and left the room.

  Too terrified to move, Lauren remained motionless reminding herself this would soon be over. Mrs. Neville Bench and her son Cornelius exchanged looks.

  "I understand that you speak no English," the woman said to Lauren in French.

  "I do not," Lauren said refusing to look at either one of them.

  "Why are you here in this house?" Mrs. Bench continued.

  "Because I have no where else to go."

  "Have you done this sort of work before?"

  "Never."

  The young gentleman threw his cloak down on Lauren’s bed. Boots and all he jumped onto the mattress carelessly leaning back onto the headboard with his hands behind his head.

  "Come here," he demanded.

  Cornelius Bench had Lauren turn around as he ran his eyes up and down her figure. She complied stiffly, her copper hair falling over her neck and down her back. "Drop the shoulders of your gown."