Song of the Spirits (46 page)

“There are a few hotels on the quay, but they’re expensive. Only the rich folks who make their money with the mines stay there.” It was clear that he did not think Elaine fell into this category. “As for the Lucky Horse, well, I wouldn’t especially recommend that one, though they’d probably welcome you with open arms if you don’t care what kind of work you do.” He grinned significantly. “But the widow Miller and the barber’s wife rent rooms. You could ask there; both of them are good women. If you don’t have money though…”

Elaine took the hint. The man didn’t know of any positions for single, respectable women. But that did not mean anything. Elaine set out bravely up the street through the center of town. She would find something.

The town did not look very promising, however. And Elaine’s determination to ask for work in every single store fell apart as soon as she reached the Chinese laundry. The billowing steam robbed her of even more of her breath, and then the proprietor hardly seemed to understand her request. Instead, he tried to buy Callie from her—even
though he did not have any sheep. Elaine remembered the rumor that the Chinese ate dogs, and she turned on her heels immediately.

The barber’s wife had a vacant room, but no work. Elaine had been nursing hopes that she might. After all, she was thoroughly familiar with the sort of work done in a hotel. But Mrs. Tanner kept the three rooms she rented clean herself, and she didn’t need help cooking those extra three diners.

“Come back when you’ve found something,” she told Elaine, who took the hint: until she found a source of income, there would be no bed and nothing to eat.

The next business was a coffin maker, which Elaine ruled out with a guilty conscience. But what was she supposed to do there? Although the general store gave her a spark of hope, it was run by a family with five bright kids. There were enough helping hands. A tailor worked next door, and Elaine desperately wished she could sew. But she had always hated handwork, and Fleurette had not forced it upon her. She had learned a little sewing from her grandmother Helen, but her skills hardly went beyond sewing buttons. Nevertheless, Elaine stepped into the store and asked about work. The tailor was kind but only shook his head.

“There aren’t many people here who can afford a tailored suit. The mine owners, sure, but they like to shop in the bigger towns. They only come to me for alterations, and I manage those on my own.”

That was in essence what she heard from all the other honorable tradespeople of Greymouth. All that were left were the grand hotels, where Elaine could apply as a chambermaid. But that was unlikely to work out, given how tattered she looked at the moment. Maybe she should try her luck in a pub. As a waitress or a cook? Her cooking skills were rudimentary, to be sure, but she could certainly try. She had passed by an inn and considered going back to ask. But the entrance had looked so ugly and sleazy. As Elaine argued with herself, she found herself once more in front of the Lucky Horse Inn.

Elaine was very much reminded of Daphne’s establishment. The entrance was colorfully painted and looked almost inviting—at least to men, for the offer was directed at them. For girls, however, it
seemed to offer the only opportunity to make money—if not in an honorable way.

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.”