Belle Page 16

  ‘Was there any sign of Belle being kept there? Dirty dishes, things out of place, unmade beds?’ Annie asked.

  Noah shook his head. ‘Nothing. Not a dirty cup and saucer or a rug that had been rucked up. Beds all neat with quilts just so. He must have a housekeeper. No man would keep it like that. But it didn’t feel damp or cold, like no one had been there for ages. So maybe someone goes in and lights a fire now and then for him?’

  ‘Did you ask around in the village about that?’

  ‘We didn’t dare. It was such a small place we were afraid we’d look suspicious,’ Jimmy said.

  ‘Strange that a man could live in a perfect house and earn his living from a place like the Core,’ Mog said thoughtfully. ‘If they didn’t keep Belle there, then maybe they stayed at the other man’s home. Braithwaite, was that his name?’

  Garth suddenly looked animated. ‘I’ve just remembered that I know of a man called Braithwaite,’ he said. ‘I don’t know him personally, just stories about him. He’s a gambler. Goes by the name of Sly!’

  ‘You’ve seen him?’ Noah asked.

  ‘Nah.’ Garth shook his head. ‘Just heard men in here mention him. But I can ask around about him.’

  ‘It might not be the same Braithwaite,’ Mog said.

  ‘It’s not that common a name,’ Annie pointed out. ‘What’s the chances of there being another around here?’

  ‘But Kent might not know this man from here,’ Mog argued.

  Annie pursed her lips. ‘Well, I can’t see him recruiting help for a kidnap down in a little village. Can you?’

  Mog ignored Annie’s sarcasm. ‘What now?’ she asked. ‘I mean, if Belle’s in France we’ll never find her.’

  ‘I’ve got a few ways of getting Kent and Braithwaite to talk,’ Garth said darkly. ‘Kent won’t stay away from here for long while he’s got rents from the Core to bank. I’ll get word when he reappears, don’t worry about that.’

  ‘What if he gets someone to start a fire here?’ Jimmy said in a small, frightened voice. ‘He’s not going to give in easily, is he? After all, he’ll hang for killing Millie.’

  ‘The one thing a bully is scared of is a bigger bully,’ Garth said with a tight little smile. ‘Trust me, I’ll make that bastard squeal when I get hold of him.’

  ‘But how long have we got to wait?’ Mog said, wringing her hands. ‘Every day Belle is gone she’s in more danger. I can’t bear the thought of what might be happening to her.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Jimmy said in a small, tense voice. ‘Come what may, I’m going to find her and bring her home.’

  All the adults turned to look at him and saw determination written across his freckly face. Garth opened his mouth to scoff, but saw steel in the lad’s eyes and only nodded approval.

  ‘Good for you!’ Noah exclaimed. ‘If I had acted on what was in my heart about Millie, maybe she would be alive now.’

  ‘Bless you,’ Mog said softly. ‘You, Jimmy, and Noah and Garth have redeemed my faith in men.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Tell me where I am, Lisette, and what’s going to happen to me,’ Belle begged. ‘I know you are a kind woman, so please tell me the truth.’

  On the face of it there seemed little to be worried about. Her room was bright and comfortable, a fire was lit each morning, Lisette brought her food and drink three times a day, there was even fruit in a bowl to eat, and she’d been given some English books to read and new clothes. But outside the window, farmland in its drab winter colours of grey, brown and black stretched into the far distance without a house in sight, and the door of her room was always kept locked.

  ‘I feel for you, ma chérie,’ the Frenchwoman replied, her pretty face full of sincerity. ‘But I am just a maid, and I was told to tell you nothing. I can tell you that you are in a village near Paris, but that’s all.’

  ‘Paris!’ Belle exclaimed.

  Lisette nodded.

  ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble,’ Belle said. ‘But surely you can tell me if men are going to come here and rape me again?’

  ‘No, no, not that, not here.’ Lisette looked horrified at the suggestion. ‘Thees house is like hospital, for sick women.’

  ‘But I am not sick now. What do they intend to do with me?’

  Lisette glanced round at the door as if half expecting someone to be eavesdropping. ‘You must not tell I told you. But they plan for you to go away to America soon.’

  ‘America!’ Belle exclaimed in disbelief. ‘But why?’

  Lisette shrugged her shoulders. ‘They buy you, Belle, you are, how I say, their property.’

  Belle suddenly felt sick. She knew what ‘their property’ meant.

  ‘What shall I do?’ she asked.

  Lisette didn’t answer immediately but looked down at Belle sitting on the low chair before the fire. ‘I think,’ she said eventually, ‘that it is best for you to be what they want.’

  Belle looked up, her eyes sparking with anger. ‘You mean I have to be a whore?’

  Lisette frowned. ‘There are worse things, ma chérie. To be starving, to ’ave no home. If you fight them they will punish you; one girl brought here had her arm cut off. Now she cannot do any job but let men take her in alleys for a few centimes.’

  Belle’s stomach churned at the graphic picture Lisette had painted for her. ‘They’d do that?’ she asked in a horrified whisper.

  ‘They’d do worse too,’ Lisette replied. ‘My ’eart goes out to you, but listen to what I say. If you go along with what they want, learn to play the game the gentlemen want, they will not watch you so closely.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can tell me to do this,’ Belle cried out.

  ‘It is because I like you, Belle, and must tell you the best way to save yourself. I get taken to ’ouse when I am young just the same as you. I know ’ow bad it is. But in time I don’t mind no more. I make friends, I laugh again.’

  ‘Do you still do it now?’

  Lisette shook her head. ‘No more, I work here, nurse the sick people. I have a little boy of my own.’

  ‘You are married?’

  ‘No. Not married. I tell people my ’usband die.’

  Belle silently digested all this information as Lisette tidied her room. The thought of any man even coming near her, let alone doing that awful thing to her, made her shudder, but common sense told her that most women didn’t fear sex, or loathe it, or there would be no romance or marriage. She didn’t remember any of the girls back at Annie’s Place saying they hated men; some of them even had sweethearts they went to meet on their nights off.

  ‘How can I learn to tolerate it then?’ she asked after a little while.

  Lisette came closer to her and put her hand on her shoulder. ‘You might have a young man you like, then it is very different. Many of the girls will share their tricks to make the men so excited it is all over quickly. But I promise you, it won’t ever hurt the way it did the first few times.’

  Tears came up in Belle’s eyes because she sensed the woman really did care about her. ‘I miss my mother and Mog who used to look after me,’ she blurted out. ‘They must be so worried. Can’t you help me to escape?’

  Lisette looked stricken. ‘I weesh I could be brave enough, but they would hurt my Jean-Pierre. A mother with no ’usband must not take risks,’ she said. ‘But listen to me, Belle, even if you could get out somehow, without money you couldn’t get ’ome. Maybe very bad people get you, worse than here.’

  Belle was far from stupid, and from what she’d already been through she realized that her ‘owners’ would turn very nasty to anyone attempting to set her free. So it was entirely understandable that Lisette should fear for her son’s safety. She knew too that even if she could find her way to the coast, she couldn’t get across the English Channel without money. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, giving Lisette a weak, sad smile. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, and I wouldn’t wish to get you into trouble. But why will they take me to America? That’s
so far!’

  Lisette shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe English girls are special there. But you will be with people who speak your language, that is good.’

  Belle nodded.

  ‘If you keep your ’ead, you act sweet and good, while you watch the people around you. You find their weakness, and you use it,’ Lisette added.

  Belle remembered how Mog claimed Annie discovered people’s weaknesses, then played on them. At the time it hadn’t made much sense to her, but now it was beginning to.

  ‘Is it Madame Sondheim that is sending me to America?’

  ‘Non.’ Lisette shook her finger. ‘She sell you on when you are sick. She made much money already, she have no weesh to keep you in her house.’

  Belle struggled against bursting into tears for it was horrible to think she was being passed around like a side of beef in Smithfield market. ‘Then my new owner could be worse?’ she asked.

  ‘Your new owner pay for you to be here. They see you get good food, soft bed and nursed back to health. You are valuable to them, they will not harm you unless you fight them.’

  Belle was too dismayed to ask any further questions. She couldn’t believe that anyone who could buy a sick young girl who had been systematically raped by several men and then plan to ship her to America to be a whore, could have even a shred of decency.

  She hung her head and cried.

  Lisette put her hand on her shoulder. ‘I have taken care of many girls like you in this house, but already I can see you are one of the strong ones. You are beautiful too, and I think a clever girl, so use your head. Talk to the older girls, learn from them, and wait for your chance.’

  She left the room then, swiftly and silently, leaving Belle crying.

  Belle had lost track of exactly how long it was since the day of Millie’s funeral when she was snatched from the street. She remembered that it was 14 January, and she supposed she could ask Lisette for the present date, but she hadn’t done so because knowing exactly how long it had been might make her believe she’d never see her mother or Mog again.

  She missed everything about London so badly her heart ached. There was Mog, the smell of baking in her kitchen, that snug feeling when she tucked her into bed at night with a kiss, the knowledge that she’d always love her. And her mother too, she might not have had Mog’s warmth, but there was that little smile she’d give sometimes when Belle had made her proud. And her pretty, tinkling laugh that Belle knew was a rare sound, yet she got to hear it more than anyone else because her mother found her funny.

  But it wasn’t just the people she missed, it was the cries of the street vendors, the way people spoke, the noise, the crowds, the smells. Paris might well be a fine city, but it wasn’t her city. She wanted to be with Jimmy again in the flower market, or racing down to the Embankment Gardens sliding on the ice. She had felt something special about him that day when he’d held her to comfort her, and she had no doubt he would have become her sweetheart if she hadn’t been snatched away.

  That was almost the worst part of this: they’d taken all those simple things away from her, a sweetheart’s kiss, her daydreams of owning a hat shop, of marriage and children. All rubbed out, never to happen, for there would never be another boy like Jimmy looking at her in that special but innocent way which had told her she was the girl of his dreams.

  As she stood at the window watching snow falling over the fields as the afternoon light faded, she guessed she’d been gone at least a month. Therefore it must be nearly the end of February.

  She suspected it was the snow which was preventing them sending her on to America. She had woken the day after that talk with Lisette to a heavy snowfall, and for three days it had remained below freezing so the snow hadn’t melted. Now that it was snowing again the roads would probably be impassable.

  Maybe she ought to be glad she couldn’t be moved, but she wasn’t. Being locked in this room, however comfortable it was, still felt like a prison cell. She wanted to move on, for there at least was a chance of escape, far better than looking out at frozen fields and wondering what was in store for her.

  The move, when it came, was sudden and frightening. One minute she was sound asleep, the next she was being shaken by a woman she’d never seen before, and ordered to dress. It was pitch dark outside, and the woman kept saying, ‘Vite, vite,’ as she stuffed Belle’s spare clothes and nightdress into a bag.

  For a brief moment Belle thought the speed was required because the woman was rescuing her, but that hope was soon dashed. As the woman was rushing her down the stairs, the housekeeper who sometimes came up to the room with Lisette came into the hall to hand over a basket which appeared to contain provisions for the journey.

  Before leaving the house Belle was given a dark brown fur coat, knitted mittens, and a bonnet which was lined with rabbit fur and came right over her ears. They smelled musty and looked old, but it was so cold she was very glad to have them.

  A man was waiting in the carriage outside, and although he spoke in French to Belle’s companion, and took her hand to help her in, he didn’t say anything to Belle, not even to introduce himself. It was too dark to see him clearly but Belle thought him to be middle-aged as he had a grey beard.

  The couple spoke to each other just occasionally on the very long drive. Belle remained hunched up in the fur coat, a rough blanket over her knees, but she was unable to sleep for the cold.

  As it grew light the woman opened up the food basket. She handed Belle a large chunk of bread and a piece of cheese. She said something sharply, and although Belle couldn’t understand her French, she thought it was an order to eat it up as she might not get anything later on.

  There was less snow in this part of France, and it was more hilly than the place they’d come from, but it appeared to be just as sparsely populated, for she only saw the odd cottage here and there. Belle spotted a signpost at a crossroads, and saw the road they were taking led to Brest. She seemed to remember seeing that name on a map of France and she was sure it was up on the left-hand side, by the sea. She supposed they were to go on a ship from there.

  She tried not to panic at the prospect of a long sea journey in mid-winter, and made herself daydream of finding a friendly sailor on the ship who could be persuaded to help her, if not to escape, at least to get a message to her mother and Mog. She accepted another lump of bread and cheese gratefully, smiling at the couple in the hope of winning their trust, but they did not reciprocate.

  The carriage came to a stop in a harbour, and the door was opened by a tall man with cold blue eyes wearing a black greatcoat and a homburg hat. He stared at her for a few moments as if puzzled, then looked at the couple. ‘Je ne savais pas qu’elle était aussi jeune,’ he said.

  Belle didn’t know what he’d said except for the word jeune – Lisette had used it sometimes and she knew it meant ‘young’ – so she surmised that as he looked puzzled he had said he hadn’t expected her to be so young.

  The couple gabbled something back and shrugged their shoulders as if that had nothing to do with them.

  ‘You will come with me to the ship,’ he said to Belle in perfect English with just a slight French accent. He held out his hand to help her down. ‘My name is Etienne Carrera, you will call me Uncle Etienne all the time we are on the ship. I will tell anyone who asks that you are my brother’s daughter, brought up in England, and that I am taking you to my sister because your mother is dead. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Etienne,’ Belle answered cheekily, hoping to disarm him because he looked grim-faced.

  ‘I would say before we take another step,’ he said, catching hold of her wrist in a grip that felt like a vice, his icy blue eyes boring right into her in a chilling manner, ‘that if you make a fuss, try to get anyone to help you escape, or anything else I don’t like, I will kill you.’

  Belle’s blood ran cold, for she sensed he meant it.

  It seemed the steamship was sailing to Cork in Ireland first, to pick up more passenge
rs and to refuel, then on across the Atlantic to New York.

  Etienne led Belle down a companionway on the ship, along a short corridor and then down more stairs to their cabin.

  ‘This is it,’ he said brusquely as he opened the door. Belle stepped into the tiny space, which was less than eighteen inches from the narrow bunk beds to the small porthole. Beneath the porthole was a foldaway washbasin, a narrow shelf and mirror above it. At the end of the bunks were a couple of hooks to hang up clothes and beneath the lower bunk was a cupboard for everything else.

  Belle didn’t mind that it was so small, but she was horrified that she was to share it with Etienne.

  ‘There is no reason to fear me touching you,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘My job is to deliver you without sampling the merchandise. You can have the top bunk and pull the curtain across to give you privacy. I will only come back here to collect you for meals, to take you for some exercise and fresh air, and of course to sleep.’

  He took from his shoulder her bag and his own. He handed Belle’s to her and put his own on the lower bunk. ‘I will leave you to settle in. We sail very soon. I’ll come for you when we are underway.’

  He left the cabin then, locking her in behind him.

  Two days later, as the ship left Cork with a great many more passengers, Belle stood at the porthole watching Ireland’s coastline grow smaller and smaller until she couldn’t see it any more, and the surprising thought occurred to her that she had already travelled much farther than either her mother or Mog had in their lifetime.

  She wasn’t scared as she’d expected to be. She was bored, frustrated by being kept locked in until Etienne came to escort her, and lonely too. But not scared. Etienne was very respectful: if she wanted to use the lavatory he didn’t make her wait till it suited him but came down the corridor with her and waited outside. He would leave the cabin so she could get washed and dressed. He was even solicitous about how she felt, if she’d had enough to eat and drink, and found her a couple of books to read.