The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series) (8 page)

Madame Laurent smiled at her reaction and motioned her to a red velvet settee. She sat down and patted the seat next to her.

“Come sit with me, Suzette. Rest a moment and take a look around.”

Suzette walked over to Madame Laurent and slowly lowered herself onto the soft, cushioned seat. She hadn’t felt such comfort since her father’s passing, and the touch of softness to her tired body brought tears to her eyes.

Madame Laurent said nothing. She gave Suzette time to absorb her surroundings, while she studied her more closely. Suzette’s complexion, albeit dirty, was flawless. Her auburn hair displayed a slight natural curl even though it was piled high on top of her head in messy tousles. Her body was far too thin, but she was certain that was only from too much hard work and poor nutrition.

It was easy to imagine Suzette with makeup to accentuate her features and fine lotions to smooth her rough skin. With a few dabs of enticing perfume to replace her obvious body odor, the young lady would be quite the attraction in her establishment. She needed a girl for the Louis XV Chambre to serve her aristocrats and rich businessmen. Suzette would fill the part perfectly—after a little makeover and training, of course. Her beautiful features and regal look would bring a high price.

Madame Laurent reached over and tenderly picked up Suzette’s hand and held it in her own. She turned it back and forth examining the poor condition of her skin.

“My word, child, don’t you have any cream for your delicate hands?”

Embarrassed, Suzette wanted to pull her hand away, but feared to spurn her touch. “I’m sorry, Madame, but I barely make enough for a good meal. Cream, I’m afraid, is a luxury I cannot afford.”

“How did you come to choose the life of a laundress, Suzette? You seem intelligent and well bred,” she inquired, after releasing her hand.

Suzette’s wounded heart, still tender with grief, skipped a beat. For months, she had consciously chosen not to think of her father’s death. In reality, there was no time to grieve either. The washhouse consumed her life, and each night she was too tired to think of anything except sleep.

“My father passed away four months ago.” She paused for a moment letting out a sigh and then continued. “I didn’t know, but he was deeply in debt. His estate was sold to pay the creditors.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Am I to assume that you have no other family or friends to care for you?”

“No, Madame, I do not. I stayed with the Daughters of Charity for a while until they helped me find the position at the washhouse.”

Suzette felt increasingly uncomfortable with time slipping by and begged to leave. “I need to be going. Brouchard will wonder why I am late returning.” Suzette couldn’t stand the thought of him reprimanding her upon a late return.

“Not yet, Suzette,” she sternly replied. Madame Laurent looked into Suzette’s eyes, and her serious gaze kept Suzette motionless in her seat. “I have a proposition for you, my dear.”

Suzette swallowed a lump in her throat. “A proposition?” she repeated, wondering what she could possibly mean.

“I need a girl for my Louis XV Chambre.” She softened her tone and conveyed her pride in her establishment. “This is no ordinary brothel, Suzette. I only cater to one type of clientele—the rich. The men who frequent my doors are royalty. We have Dukes, Marquises, Comtes, and Vicomtes, who visit my girls.”

A prideful twinkle radiated from the Madame’s eyes over her successful business.

“If you come to work for me, I can offer you a life of luxury. You’ll be well fed, clothed, and housed in quarters that are a thousand times better than the filth you live in now. Instead of working eighteen hours a day, you’ll only work four hours each night. You will be given one day off every week to do as you please.”

Madame Laurent paused, giving Suzette a moment to consider everything she offered. It was obvious by the wide-eyed look on the young girl’s face that she was in shock.

“I take good care of my employees, Suzette. I pay fifteen francs per night. With that type of income, you can buy as many new dresses as you please and all the hand cream you’ll ever need.” Madame Laurent’s eyes travelled over the worn-out cotton fabric dress. “You are a beautiful young girl, and I hate to see you wither away in the filth of a washhouse.”

She waved her arm pointing out the room gilded in gold, with hanging electric lights, potted palm plants, red velvet settees, and mirrors on the walls. “Would you join me here as one of my girls, Suzette?”

After Madame Laurent made her offer, Suzette sat motionless, barely able to breathe at the thought of what she asked.

“Do you mean you want me to be a prostitute?” The look in the Madame’s eyes told her that was exactly what she inferred. Suzette jumped to her feet in horror.

“No! No, I could never do such a thing. I am a good girl!” With a quick bow of her head, she begged Madame Laurent’s pardon. An overwhelming urge to flee the brothel washed over her. “Please excuse me, Madame, but I must return to my work.”

Suzette sprung to her feet, leaving Madame Laurent on the settee. She retrieved her basket by the parlor entrance, flung it upon her hip, and swiftly headed for the exit. Just as she grabbed the doorknob and was about to turn it, she felt the tight grip of Madame Laurent’s hand upon her upper arm.

“Think about it, Suzette. Do you really wish to live a life of poverty, hunger, and filth? For a small price, you can swallow your pride and live like a queen. The choice is yours.”

Suzette wrestled her arm away from her grip, then flung the door open and ran down the alley. Madame Laurent watched her hasty departure and smiled, calmly assured this would not be the last of their discussions.

While making her way back to the washhouse, Suzette pondered Madame Laurent’s brazen offer. Her confused mind screamed “no.” But, her aching, exhausted, hungry body begged her to say “yes.” The price was too great to pay, and she swore she would rather die in a back alley than sell her body to live in luxury. Her father would never forgive her for stooping to such a deplorable life, nor would she forgive herself.

Out of breath from her hurried return, she slowly made her way back into the washhouse. Fearful that Brouchard would scold her for the time she missed, she successfully dodged his keen eyes. Suzette reached her station, poured out her laundry basket from the Chabanais, and began sorting. She wanted to forget what transpired between herself and Madame Laurent, but touching the brothel linens made it impossible.

Angry and tired, she said nothing to Flora, who stood by curiously watching the odd behavior of her coworker. Suzette, grim and frustrated, flung the sheets from pile to pile. Each bend of her red and cracked fingers caused pain.

As she struggled to work, visions of the opulent perfumed brothel teased her resolve. Madame Laurent’s invitation to live like a queen replayed in her mind.
It would be so nice to feel like a queen
, she thought, but the price was far too costly.

Chapter Seven

  As the weeks passed, Suzette felt like millstone hung around her neck, which she bore as a necklace of shame. Eighteen hours of work, sorting linens, washing, folding, and walking back and forth to the Chabanais became the entirety of her boring and meaningless existence. Each night, she returned exhausted to her cot for five hours of sleep in a room filled with drunken, snoring women who grated on her nerves.

In contrast, the opulence of the brothel would greet her with open arms. The scent of perfume filled her nostrils, alluring her from the stench of the washhouse. Suzette arrived at the shameful realization that she looked forward to her morning visits in a house of ill repute, if for nothing more than to breathe fresh air and enjoy a luxurious atmosphere where everything appeared soft and clean.

Her visits were often short and without conversation. As the weeks dragged on, she met more of Madame Laurent’s employees. They rarely spoke to her. More often, they eyed her arrival through the back door and commenced whispering amongst themselves. Nadine always seemed to be the center of attention, giggling at her whenever she passed by.

At first, Madame Laurent stood silently observing Suzette as she carried out her duties. Eventually, she would bring up the subject once again, asking Suzette to join the ranks of her staff and become one of her girls.

“My offer is still open, Suzette, should you wish to take it. Leave the squalor and come live like a queen.”

Madame Laurent entice Suzette’s weakening resolve with offers of a comfortable bed, a belly full of food, new clothes, lavish creams, and perfumed hair. Suzette would shake her head and give the same timid response.

“No thank you, Madame.”

After time, the cat-and-mouse game, as they often do, began to wear upon Madame Laurent’s patience. Unable to convince an eighteen-year-old beauty to join her staff was merely a minor setback, which she would soon remedy by other means. It would not be long, and Suzette would be one of her new beauties of pleasure. When Madame Laurent wanted her way, she was sure to get it.

* * *

Monsieur Brouchard counted the 50 francs at least a dozen times. The bills were crisp, and he brought them to his nostrils and inhaled the alluring scent of money. The amount was more than what he made in three months.

He folded the bills for the last time and stuffed them into his pants pocket, after standing up from behind his desk. The clock on the wall indicated the end of the shift had arrived. He was about to earn his pay by performing one small task he would immensely enjoy.

The door to his office opened, and he walked out onto the washroom floor and observed the women finishing their work. Each night, he would bellow out at the top of his lungs, “
End of shift!”
and then stand aside and watch the weary ladies go their separate ways.

He meandered over to Suzette stooping over a basin scrubbing sheets, which should have been done hours ago. Both of his hands were shoved into the pockets of his trousers, and one fingered the crisp francs with greed.

“I need a word with you,” he scowled. He purposely contorted his face into an angry scowl.

Suzette stood up straight and wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. She frowned at him in return. “Yes, Monsieur Brouchard?”

“You’re fired. Take what belongings you keep upstairs and leave. Your services here are no longer required.”

Suzette dropped the sheet into the soapy water and wiped her hands on her apron. Dumfounded, she froze. He spat the words in her direction with such force that she could not deny he meant every syllable. His angry expression dared her to question him, but Suzette’s shock would not allow her to remain silent.

“But why? What have I done?” she persisted.

“It doesn’t matter,” he hissed, as he took a step and shoved his face closer into hers. “It’s my prerogative to fire anyone I please, whenever I please. I’m not happy with your work. These sheets should have been hung to dry hours ago.” He shook his finger at her, inhaled a deep breath, and yelled, “Gather your things and leave now!”

Suzette could not believe what she heard. “May I at least spend the night here, Monsieur? Surely you don’t expect me to sleep on the streets.” Her voice shook from the fear. “I will leave in the morning.” She wanted to kneel at his feet and beg for mercy, but before he would even give her the chance to plead any longer, he finished the deed he was paid to do.

“There’ll be no sleeping under my roof once I fire an employee. Get your things and get out.” He swung around and stomped back to his office slamming the door behind him.

Suzette turned to Flora, who was standing nearby. “Flora, he cannot throw me out on the street like this, can he?”

“There’s nothing you can do. You best be going before he calls the police to have you forcibly removed. He’s done it before.”

Not wishing to bring his unbearable anger upon herself, Flora turned away from Suzette and finished her duties for the day. The other women who stood by said nothing. No words of comfort or help met Suzette’s ears—only a cold silence and disregard that shattered her faith in humanity.

The unbearable cruelty caused hot tears to stream down her face as she ran upstairs to her cot and packed her few things into her small, tattered suitcase. She shook in fear as she walked down the wooden staircase, ignored by the women she passed, and exited the door to the street. Gas lamps lit her path, but only a few people and carriages traversed the avenue.

Afraid her life was in danger, she turned right and walked aimlessly down the sidewalk. Tears trickled down her cheeks, blurring her vision. She tried to keep her wits about her, as she wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve to stop the flood.

Her feet carried her in the same direction she walked every day for months—straight toward the Chabanais. Almost blindly, Suzette headed for the only place she knew where others knew of her existence. She thought of the interior warmth and beauty of the brothel and wondered if Madame Laurent would be merciful enough to allow her to spend the night. She would make her way to the shelter tomorrow on the other side of town.

As she arrived at the Chabanais, she stood hesitantly by the corner of the building watching the brothel entrance. She spotted a few well-to-do men in black top hats leaving the establishment in waiting carriages. Fearful to approach until everyone departed, she stood in the shadows for fifteen minutes until everything went quiet.

When Suzette felt it was safe, she scurried down the dark alley until she came to the back entrance. She turned the doorknob, and to her surprise found it unlocked. Desperate, she opened the door and stepped inside hearing voices and activity in the kitchen. When she was spotted in the doorway, it grew silent. Every eye turned in her direction. Madame Laurent saw her shivering body and came to her side.

“Suzette! My God, what are you doing here? You look absolutely frightful!”

Unable to control the floodgate of tears, Suzette stood rigid, sobbing like a child. “They—he—he fired me, Madame. I have nowhere to go, to sleep—nowhere . . .” She couldn’t finish the words.