by Lark, Sarah
Elaine shook her head energetically. No, anything but that. Not after she had just run away from a nightly hell. On the other hand, it could hardly be worse than her marriage to Thomas. If she stooped that low… Elaine almost had to laugh. She was a murderer. It didn’t get much lower than that.
“Move along or come in. Or do you have something important to do out there in the rain?” The voice came from the pub’s half-open door. Callie must have slipped in. She was being petted by a woman who was looking Elaine over inquisitively. Callie’s gaze, however, was begging, or rather, calculating, as the odor of something frying drifted out of the pub. Whatever it was made Elaine’s mouth water as well. Moreover, it was warm and dry inside.
Elaine suppressed her qualms. The blonde, light-skinned woman in heavy makeup did not look dangerous. On the contrary, her large breasts, full hips, and wide, good-natured face gave her a rather maternal look. A very different sort than Daphne.
“So, out with it! Why are you looking at my door like a mouse at the trap?” the woman asked. “Never seen a nice, well-kept whorehouse before?”
Elaine smiled. Daphne would never have called her establishment a “whorehouse.”
“Sure,” she said. “But I’ve never been inside.” She did not want to reveal what she knew about Daphne’s “hotel.”
The woman smiled. “In a whorehouse or in a trap? To be honest, you look like you just fled from one.”
Elaine turned pale. Was it that easy to tell that she was running from something? And if this woman could see it, what would the respectable matrons whisper about her?
“I’m… looking for work. But not… like that. I could clean perhaps, or… help in the kitchen. I’m used to that. I mean… uh… my aunt ran a hotel.” At the last moment, it occurred to Elaine that it was probably best not to mention her grandmother. The more of her previous life that remained hidden, the better.
“Child, you’re too cute to clean! The boys wouldn’t keep themselves clean long, if you see what I mean. Besides, I have a room free. And my girls earn good money; you can ask. Everyone’s satisfied here. My name is Clarissette Baton, by the way. Pronounced the French way, if you please. Just call me Madame Clarisse.” Madame Clarisse took a familiar tone with the girl.
Elaine reddened.
“I can’t. Such work… I can’t. I don’t like men!” This burst out of her like a cry and made Madame Clarisse erupt in booming laughter.
“Well, well, dearie, don’t tell me you were thrown out of your fine home because you like girls! I don’t believe it. Although there are ways to make money there too. An old friend of mine had two girls dance, twins. They did crazy things, but nothin’ dirty. The boys ate it up, even though they weren’t allowed to touch. But you look too respectable to me for something like that.”
Elaine blushed even more. “How did you know I came from a fine home?”
Madame Clarisse rolled her eyes. “Sweetheart, anyone could see that you’ve been sleeping in your clothes for weeks, and unless he couldn’t see the nose in front of his face, they’d see they were expensive too. Besides, this little dog here is no street dog. It comes from a sheep farm. I hope you didn’t steal it. Sometimes those fellows come after their mutts faster than their women.”
Elaine saw her hopes fading. She seemed to be an open book to this woman. And others would draw the same conclusions about her that Madame Clarisse had. If she took a room at Mrs. Tanner’s, the whole town would be talking about her in no time. On the other hand, there was Madame Clarisse’s offer… No one whispered about Daphne’s whores. Respectable women did not seem to care where they’d come from, nor where they went when they left.
Madame Clarisse smiled at Elaine, but a probing gaze lay behind it. She could tell that the girl was seriously considering her offer. Would she do as a barmaid? No doubt she’d had bad experiences with men, but she would hardly be an exception in that regard. And yet… there was something in this girl’s eyes that went beyond “not liking.” Clarisse recognized the fear and the hatred, to be sure. And that murderous glow in Elaine’s eyes that drew some men like moths to a flame, but which, in the end, only ever led to complications.
Elaine let her gaze drift across the barroom. Her first impression from outside was confirmed. Everything was clean and orderly. There were the usual tables and wooden chairs and a few dartboards on the wall. People evidently liked to play and gamble here, too, as she saw a board posted with information on the outcomes of the horse races in Dunedin.
There was no stage as there was at Daphne’s, and it was less elegantly furnished—perhaps to suit the customers. Coal miners, not gold seekers. Men with their feet on the ground and fewer “stars in their eyes,” as Elaine’s grandfather James would have put it.
And then Elaine saw the piano. A beautiful, apparently brand-new instrument. Elaine bit her lip. Should she ask? But she would never be so lucky.
“What, starin’ at the piano?” Madame Clarisse asked, “Can you play? We just got the thing. The fella who mixed the drinks here used to talk wonders about how well he could play. But we hardly got the hunk of junk before the guy up and disappeared. No idea where, but suddenly he was gone. So now we have a decorative piano. Looks nice, huh?”
A hopeful expression spread across Elaine’s face. “I play a little.”
Without waiting to be asked, she opened the instrument and hit a few keys. It sounded wonderful. The piano was perfectly in tune and not cheap.
Elaine played the first piece that came to mind.
Madame Clarisse let out another booming laugh. “Child, I’m happy you can bang some notes out of that thing. But let’s give it a rest. How about we make a deal? I’ll pay you three dollars a week to play. We open at dusk, close at one. You don’t need to go to bed with any fella if you don’t want, but in exchange, you’ll never play ‘Amazing Grace’ for me again!”
Elaine had to laugh too. She thought of something and tried “The Hills of Connemara.”
Madame Clarisse nodded, satisfied. “Much better. I was just thinking you were Irish, with the red hair and all. Though you don’t talk like it. What’s your name, anyway?”
Elaine thought for the blink of an eye.
“Lainie,” she said. “Lainie Keefer.”
An hour later, Elaine not only had a halfway-decent job, but also a room and, most importantly, a full plate in front of her. Madame Clarisse fed her meat, sweet potatoes, and rice, without asking half as many questions as Elaine had feared she might. She did, however, advise her strongly against asking for a room at Mrs. Tanner’s again.
“That old bag is the town gossip. And more virtuous than Mary herself. When she hears how you make your money, she’ll likely kick you right back out. And if she don’t, she’ll soon have half the West Coast talking about the highborn girl fallen off the straight and narrow. Since that’s what y’are, isn’t it, Lainie? I don’t want to know what you’re runnin’ from, and I don’t think Mrs. Tanner needs to either.”
“But… but if I move in here”—Elaine tried not to talk with her mouth full, but she was too hungry to stop—“then everyone will think…”
Madame Clarisse gave her another piece of meat. “Child, they’ll think it anyway. You can only have one or the other: a job or a reputation. At least for the ladies. The boys are different. They’ll all have a go at trying to make you, but when you turn ’em down, it’ll be fine. And if it isn’t, then they’ll have me to deal with, so don’t you worry. You just can’t count on the understanding of the Mrs. Tanners of the town. It’s simply beyond their comprehension that you could see thirty fellas a night and not go to be with a single one of ’em. They still think I’m a seductress!” Madame Clarisse laughed again. “These honorable women have a funny understanding of virtue. So grow yourself some thick skin. Besides, you’ll like it here better than with the old dragon. I’m a better cook, guaranteed, and the food’s free. And we have a bathhouse too. So, what do you say?”
Elaine felt as if she would
not have passed on the bathhouse that day for anything on earth. She had hardly finished her dinner before she was lying in a tub of steaming hot water—and getting to know one of the girls who worked for Madame Clarisse.
A buxom and black-haired nineteen-year-old helped Elaine wash her hair. Her name was Charlene, and she talked freely, telling her story.
“I moved to Wellington with my family, but I was still a baby and can’t remember much of it. All I recall is that we lived in the most appalling shacks and that my daddy beat us every night after he’d done his level best to load my mum up with the next baby. By the time I was fourteen, I’d had enough and eloped with the first boy who came along. A true Prince Charming, I thought at the time. He wanted to go looking for gold to make us rich. After scraping together every last bit of money for the crossing, he headed to the North Island, since things had taken off there with the gold find. But he had no talent for the work, or luck either. He only had me, and he made good use of me too. He rented me out to the boys in the gold-miner camps, which, God knows, was no fun. They’d share the ticket as often as not, and then I’d have two or three of them on me at once. I never saw any of the money myself. It all went to whiskey, though of course he told me he was spending everything on equipment to develop his claim. I was eighteen when I finally realized I was the claim. I took off one night, and here I am.”
“But… but it’s the same thing all over again,” Elaine objected. “Only now you do it for Madame Clarisse.”
“Sweetheart, I would’ve liked to marry the Prince of Wales, believe me. But I don’t know how to do anything else. And I’ve never had it as good as I do here. I’ve even got my own room! When I’m done with the boys, I change the sheets, spray a little rose oil, and then it’s nice and comfortable. Then there’s the bathhouse, always plenty of water to wash up, enough to eat… Nah, I’m not too bent on finding someone to marry. Wouldn’t be hard, though, there’re hardly any single women here, and the miners aren’t picky. Last year, they married three girls away from Madame Clarisse. Now they can’t get enough of the respectable life, even though they live in disgusting shacks without a toilet, and one of them already has her second brat hanging off of her. No, I like this better. If I ever get married, he’d better really be a prince.”
Charlene brushed Elaine’s freshly washed hair. She did not seem to think it strange that the newcomer had not brought any baggage with her. Madame Clarisse’s hotel was a sort of depot for lost girls.
“You still need a dress. But mine are too big for you. Wait here, I’ll ask Annie.”
Charlene disappeared briefly and returned with a low-cut sky-blue dress decorated with lace and a thousand flounces.
“Here. Annie doesn’t have anything at the moment, so it’ll have to do for today. You can wear something underneath if the cleavage is too indecent for you. But I’m sure we can find a shawl for you. The fellows aren’t supposed to be ogling you, after all.”
Elaine looked the dress over. It was so much flashier than anything she had ever worn before that it almost scared her. When she looked at herself nervously in the mirror, however, she was pleased. The azure-blue material went with her eyes. The black lace at the neckline emphasized her pale coloring, and her glowing-red hair highlighted it. The matrons of Queenstown might find her outfit outrageous—and she dared not think what Thomas would have said about it—but Elaine thought she looked beautiful.
Madame Clarisse whistled when she saw the girl. “Sweetheart, if I offered you double, wouldn’t you do two or three a night? The boys would lick their chops for you.”
Elaine looked worried, but Madame Clarisse’s tone was jocular. She even lent Elaine a black shawl.
“Tomorrow we’ll have a dress made for you. The tailor’ll sure be delighted. But it’s not free, sweetheart. I’m taking it out of your pay.”
Madame Clarisse asked for rent for the little room too, but Elaine thought that only fair. At first, she had been worried she would have to live in a room on the first floor, where the men “visited” the women. However, Madame Clarisse showed her to a tiny servant’s room near the stables. A stableboy was meant to live there, but Clarisse had no need for anyone like that. Her customers left their horses there only for a few hours and cleaned up after themselves. Still, the stables were very roomy, and there was a run in the back courtyard. Elaine asked timidly if she could house Banshee there.
“So we have a horse too,” Madame Clarisse said, frowning. “Dearie, dearie, if you didn’t have such a respectable face… You promise me you didn’t steal the nag?”
Elaine nodded. “Banshee was a gift.”
Madame Clarisse raised her eyebrows. “For an engagement or wedding? I’m not judging, sweetheart, but I’d like some warning if next thing I know a husband is going to show up on my doorstep in a rage.”
“Definitely not,” declared Elaine. “Not a chance.”
Madame Clarisse noted the girl’s strange undertone, somewhere between guilt and satisfaction, but she could not pinpoint it. Regardless, the girl did not appear to be lying.
“Well, all right. Then bring your horse over here. Otherwise, the stables’ll take half your pay. But you have to feed and clean up after it yourself.”
Elaine decided to wait until the following morning to retrieve Banshee. She could afford one night in the stables. In the meantime, she washed her clothes and hung them up to dry in her tiny room. Outside it was still raining, and the air was cool and uncomfortable. Elaine still did not like the town—there was no comparison with Queenstown, which was so often sunny and where rainstorms rarely lasted long. Though the winters were appreciably colder there than on the West Coast, they were clear and snowy rather than gray and damp.
Despite the weather, the pub did good business. The men entered like wet cats out of the rain, and Madame Clarisse hardly knew what to do with all the soaked-through jackets and coats. Elaine thought of Gwyneira’s waxed jacket—the coal miners could have used something functional like that, but it seemed they could not afford it. It was quite a long way from the mines to town. They must have been in great need of a little warmth and entertainment to brave such hardships after their shift.
“You should see how they live out there,” Charlene said when Elaine mentioned it to her. “The mine owners place sheds in the mining compound for them to use, but they’re hardly more than a roof over their heads. They don’t even have proper washrooms, mostly just an iron bucket. And those swine charge them extra for water, so we end up with coal dust on our sheets.”
Most of the customers did, in fact, look badly in need of washing. Their faces were covered in a smeared layer of gray. Since coal dust was greasy, the men could not completely remove it from their faces, no matter how hard they scrubbed.
Elaine felt a bit sorry for them, but to her amazement they seemed happy despite their hard lives. Though the majority of the men came from English and Welsh coal-mining regions, she heard all and sundry dialects. Almost all of them were immigrants—second- and third-generation New Zealanders did not slog it out underground.
The men applauded enthusiastically when Elaine played an old Welsh song that her grandmother Gwyn had taught her. A few of them sang along, while others grabbed girls to dance, and soon the first whiskey was placed on the piano in front of Elaine.
“I don’t drink whiskey,” she objected when Madame Clarisse pointed it out to her and to the man who had bought it for her. A squarish Englishman from outside Liverpool.
“Try it first,” Madame Clarisse said as she winked at her, and when Elaine hesitantly took a gulp, she discovered it was cold tea. “None of the girls here drink, or they’d be too drunk to stand by ten. But you get half of every glass the boys buy you.”
That sounded like a good deal to Elaine. She sipped her “whiskey” and smiled at her benefactor. He came right over to the piano and asked for a rendezvous later. However, he took it calmly when Elaine refused and disappeared with Charlene a short while later.
“Yo
u’re livenin’ the place up,” Madame Clarisse said as she brought Elaine her third drink. “We do good business on Tuesdays. It generally peters out by Thursday and Friday, because the boys are out of money. But Saturday is payday, so things really pick up, and then the mines’re closed on Sunday, so everybody winds up here to drink the world into a better place.”
As the evening wore on, Elaine even began to enjoy herself. She had never had as gracious an audience as these miners, and in truth, no one gave her cause for offense. In fact, they seemed to view her with a measure of respect. The men never called her by her first name like the other girls but always politely said “Miss Keefer” when they asked for a particular song or asked if they could buy her another drink.
She was deeply satisfied when she closed the piano for the night, while Charlene and the others said good-bye to the last men. It was long before closing time, but the first workers went down at four in the morning, and the work underground was not without its dangers. No one wanted to risk a hangover.
“But wait for the weekend. Then the booze flows in streams,” Charlene declared.
The next day, Elaine walked over to retrieve Banshee, and the stable owner complimented her on her piano playing. He had stopped by the pub briefly and listened. He no longer wanted payment.
“No, forget it. But let me have three songs, all right? And you’re not allowed to laugh at me when I begin to howl at ‘Wild Mountain Thyme.’”
The tailor, too, had heard about Elaine’s new job and was delighted to take her measurements for a dress.
“Not too wide a neckline? But that will mean fewer tips, miss. You should know that,” he teased her. “And you have to have a little lace. You don’t want to look like a nun.”
But Elaine would have liked to look like just that when she ran into Mrs. Tanner on Main Street. After looking her over from head to toe, she did not deign to greet Elaine as she passed. Elaine could understand that to some extent. Even she did not feel right in Annie’s clothes. On the street in the bright light of day, the dress looked much more salacious than it had the night before in the pub, where all the girls were similarly attired. Her own clothes were not yet dry, however, and it was raining again. She would eventually need a few new dresses, but she was considerably more optimistic about getting them now. Three dollars a week was not much, but the side money from the “whiskey” would bring in almost twice that.