The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series) (7 page)

The deep, stern voice caught Suzette off guard, and her eyes met a tall, beautiful woman dressed in a dark blue brocade gown standing in the kitchen entranceway. Her brown upswept hair, flawless features, and dark eyes exuded power.

“Can’t you tell she’s new? Don’t make her feel like a fool.”

“Fine! You deal with her then,” she said, spinning around and heading out the doorway.

The mistress’s face turned dark as she watched her employee leave the kitchen. When they were alone, she returned her attention to Suzette, who stood motionless as she eyed her from top to bottom.

“I’m Madame Laurent, the owner of this brothel.” She paused for a moment and raised her brow. “And you might be?”

Suzette, struck by the velvet coolness in the tone of her voice, nervously blurted out her name as she curtsied. “Suzette, Madame. My name is Suzette Rousseau.”

“Good Lord, girl. There’s no need to curtsy to me.” Astonished by her visitor’s formalities, Madame Laurent looked more closely, studying the young girl’s regal face. “You appear much too pretty to be working in a sweatshop.” Scrutinizing her once again, she finally gave her instructions regarding the laundry. “Follow me, and I’ll show you where we keep our linens.”

Suzette picked up the basket and followed the Madame. She watched her saunter down a long, carpeted hallway, while her hips swayed back and forth moving her bustle. Her deep blue satin gown trailed behind, and Suzette sighed with longing at the elegant dress. The woman’s movements were poised and graceful.

While she was gawking at her clothes, it dawned on her that she was inside a brothel. Her poor, dear father would be horrified over her whereabouts, and a blush burst up her neck as she wondered what went on behind closed doors.

They arrived in front of a long line of closets built into the hallway wall and stopped. Madame Laurent opened one door and showed Suzette the interior.

“We keep our linens here. You can place what you have in the basket on the shelves. I expect the sheets to be arranged in a neat and orderly fashion.” The mistress noticed Suzette’s flushed face, and a hint of amusement sparkled in her dark eyes.

“I’m afraid there’s a basket waiting for you to carry back too. You are to leave the basket you empty each day, then pick up the basket filled with dirty laundry for return to the washhouse.” In a low, sultry voice she added, “Our customers come every night, so every day we have sheets to wash.”

Suzette glanced away.

Madame Laurent sensed her teasing had gone far enough and decided to end the conversation abruptly. “I’ll leave you to your duties. You may let yourself out the way you entered.”

“Thank you, Madame,” she answered in a low voice.

Suzette watched the woman depart and went about her job. Neatly, she lined up the pristine white linens, left the empty basket, and picked up the one filled with dirty sheets. With a sigh of relief, she retreated to the back door. Her feet stepped over the drunk on the stoop and quickly left the alley carrying another load on her sore hip.

The trek back to the washhouse was excruciating. She still wore the same floppy shoes stuffed with paper in the toes and her feet hurt. The physical activity caused sweat to bead on her brow as she struggled with the load. She realized how weak and out of shape her body had truly been, after boasting she could handle the weight. It would have to change soon, or there would be no surviving her new job if Brouchard found out.

When she returned, Flora said little, except to give her instructions on what to do with the sheets she had hauled from the Chabanais. The routine had begun, and Suzette tried hard to accept her new station in life. It wouldn’t be easy.

Chapter Six

  The weeks passed, and Suzette’s depression deepened as she toiled in the heat and stench, learning the life of a laundress. Daily her boring schedule repeated itself, starting with tiring trips back and forth to the Chabanais. She hauled the laundry in all sorts of weather conditions. It made no difference to Monsieur Brouchard whether it was sunshine or rain; the items had to be delivered. If it rained, it was her responsibility to make sure the load did not get wet during the two-mile trek. She usually arrived looking like a drowned rat, but faithfully covered and shielded her basket, so that it would arrive dry.

Every morning, Suzette woke from a restless sleep on a lumpy mattress. Flora seemed to have an internal clock after years of toiling and would wake Suzette at four-thirty. With only a half hour to freshen for the day and barely time to take a bath, Suzette was required to be dressed and at her work station by five “
come hell or high water
,” as Brouchard so aptly put it.

After weeks of toiling back and forth and little interaction with anyone at the brothel, Brouchard suddenly announced that she could make her delivery to the Chabanais an hour later. Suzette did not question the change, but wondered if Madame Laurent had somehow found pity on her poor soul and requested a later time. Suzette was thankful nonetheless.

When seven o’clock arrived, she would throw her basket of laundry on her hardened hip and make the walk to the Chabanais. As she had done countless times before, she entered through the back door, proceeded to the linen cabinet, and neatly restocked the sheets. Because her visits were early in the morning, she rarely encountered any prostitutes, except Nadine who was the rude woman she met the first day. Madame Laurent rarely said a word when their paths crossed, except to glide her eyes up and down her petite frame. It made Suzette feel uncomfortable.

On her return from the Chabanais, she hauled the dirty linens back to the washhouse. Her hips had become use to carrying the weight, and her arms grew stronger each day from hauling the baskets. It was easy, now, for her to pick up the heavy linens with little effort on her part.

As spring gave way to summer, conditions worsened in the washhouse. Between the hot air outside and the sweltering steam inside, there were days Suzette felt dizzy from the heat. She continued to push herself in fear of finding displeasure in Brouchard’s eyes.

Flora was instructed to teach Suzette washing of the linens, so her duties expanded beyond folding and delivery. It was just more work to accomplish in the same amount of time, and Suzette could barely keep up with the demands.

The Chabanais and her other clients kept her workdays busy. When she sorted the laundry from the Chabanais, taunting thoughts plagued her mind about what transpired behind closed doors. Suzette knew little of the intimate ways of men and women. Her father never spoke of such matters, and her mother passed away too early to teach her anything about sex.

During her days of hard labor, Suzette learned that workers who ironed clothes possessed the better paying jobs. Experienced laundresses worked on high-end clothing such as shirts, pants, bonnets, and dresses. In addition, the washhouse employed a variety of seamstresses and lace makers, who repaired clothing.

Brouchard swore to her face he would never trust her with such delicacies and seemed content watching her hike back and forth each day hauling loads of sheets. His ill-gotten pleasure irritated Suzette. She decided long ago that if her life were relegated to a washhouse forever, she would work her way up to a higher paying position—
come
hell or high water
.

Suzette’s hands dried and cracked from the lye poured into the steaming water to whiten sheets. She often felt dirty, tired, and ugly. Her hips carried a continuous bruise from hauling the heavy baskets. To lessen the pain, Suzette learned to alternate hips each week to give the other time to heal. The routine of her employment turned into an endless, degrading cycle.

Her pittance of three francs per day barely purchased enough food to eat. She lost weight from her already petite frame, due to the strenuous physical demands and smaller portions of nourishment. Thirty centimes would buy a piece of bread, but if she wished for a piece of meat, it would cost two francs more at the café. Her daily diet consisted of soup and bread, but when she could afford to do so, she would splurge on cuts of beef or mutton.

Workers were allowed short breaks for lunch and dinner. Not everyone lived at the washhouse. The majority, who were married or made more money, lived in residences elsewhere. Only the lower-end employees, such as herself and Flora, kept residence in the small room, which began to feel more like a prison house than a comfortable place to live. The Daughters of Charity, as sparse as the dormitory had been, provided far more comfort.

Unable to save enough for clothing or shoes, she continued to wear the same worn-out cotton day dress and oversized shoes until they were on the verge of falling apart. She learned to stuff strips of old rags into the toes to make up for the excess size, after the paper she had used earlier fell apart.

Over the weeks, Suzette found the women of the washhouse crude in many ways but not necessarily mean. Most had worked there for years, obviously accepting their lot in life and conditions of poverty better than what the streets offered. As she feared, the reputation of laundresses lay low in the minds of men, especially during hot, sweltering days when the doors and windows were flung wide open. The women stripped and worked thinly clad to escape the scorching heat and avoid dehydration, which could lead to fainting.

Men, on the other hand, took advantage of the scene and stood in the open doorways watching bare-fleshed women bend over vats. The views, of course, from the front and back would burst a blush on any virgin’s cheeks. Brouchard enjoyed the scene immensely, and he did not attempt to discourage the curious onlookers who came daily for the show of naked flesh.

To Suzette’s surprise, most of the women were alcoholics, drinking low-grade wine during work each day, which was purchased and supplied by the owner. It was considered a benefit of the job, so they took advantage of the free drinks to relieve the stress of everyday life in the washroom.

Suzette shunned the practice, thinking it self-defeating, and refused to partake in the amble spirits of canteens strategically placed throughout the workspace. However, finding even a clean glass of water proved to be a chore, and some days the heat and lack of hydration made her feel sick. She would succumb to a small amount of alcohol to quench her thirst when nothing else was available, but she despised the taste of cheap wine.

Her only comforts were the quiet evenings she found by herself as she lay on her cot. In her distress, she found prayer necessary to seek solace from a higher power. She was still angry with God for taking her father, but she tried to forgive Him, and she prayed for forgiveness and grace for her bad attitude.

The one memory she clung to for as long as faith allowed her happened to be the folded letter that she had kept from her jewelry box. As delicately as she did many nights before, she unfolded the parchment, read the words, and returned it once again to its new hiding place within her purse. Of course, there was nothing of value in her purse any longer except a piece of paper, a rosary missing a few beads, pictures of her parents, and a few francs to show for her hard labor.

Suzette’s reading of the letter gradually lessened as the weeks turned into months. Like dreams fade when one awakes, so did the words on the page. They held no meaning or encouragement, and Suzette finally came to a place where she didn’t wish to feed her fanciful dreams any further. She did not have the strength to destroy the letter, but neither did she desire to read it again. It finally found a resting place of neglect in the bottom of her purse after the third month of her life as a laundress.

Her only reprieve was the Chabanais. The poverty and stench gave way when she entered through the brothel doors. As soon as she stepped inside, she inhaled the scent of perfumed air and held it in her lungs as long as she could retain it in order to replace the putrid smells of the washhouse.

One day as she made her way to the linen closet, Suzette walked past the opulent parlor. Her eyes always glanced inside, but she never stopped. Like a little mouse, she would scurry past the entrance, catching glimpses of red settees, gold-gilded furniture, ornate rugs, mirrors, and palm plants. She refused to linger and stare for fear of getting in trouble.

After returning all of the linens to the cupboard in a neat stack, she picked up the full basket of dirty laundry and flung it on her hip. She quickly sprinted down the hallway, but failed to watch her step. The toe of her foot caught on the edge of an area rug. Suzette stumbled and dropped the basket. She gasped when it landed full-force at the parlor entrance, strewing dirty laundry across the floor. Quickly, she lowered herself to her knees and grabbed the linens stuffing them into the basket. She bit her lower lip, as she glanced at the scene teasing her from the corner of her vision. Curious, she stopped and slowly turned her head to look inside the glorious room. Like a little girl in a candy shop, her eyes grew large in wonder.

“Like what you see?”

The voice of Madame Laurent startled her, and she jumped to her feet.

“Oh, Madame, I’m sorry. I tripped, and everything went flying. I apologize.”

Suzette grabbed the last piece of laundry and shoved it in the basket as quickly as possible. She stood to her feet and hurled the basket upon her hip and darted for the door. Madame Laurent reached out and grabbed her arm, preventing her departure.

“Do you wish a tour?”

She wanted to see, but feared accepting such a daring invitation. Suzette hesitated, then slowly turned and faced Madame Laurent.

“It looks quite beautiful, Madame, but I’m sure Monsieur Brouchard would be quite angry should he find out. I don’t wish to lose my job.”

“To hell with Monsieur Brouchard,” she said, empathically. “Put the basket down and follow me.” The mistress of the house turned around and walked into the parlor, fully expecting her visitor to comply with her wishes.

Suzette dropped the basket at her feet with a
thud
and gave her curiosity free reign. She stepped cautiously through the entranceway. Once inside the forbidden world, Suzette stopped. The beauty of the ornate room took her breath away, and Suzette basked in the enthralling atmosphere of opulence.