When I'm with You (25 page)

* * * * *

Three hours later, she realized the folly of her thoughts. Although no one was quite as blunt as Sophie Balboa, there was not one tavern willing to hire her. She hadn't realized just how small Kingston could be, until the last barkeep finally said, “Listen, girl, everyone remember you and ain't no one going to take you on. You might want to think about goin' over to Madame Zeta's.” Then, as her cheeks burned with humiliation, he let out a bark of laughter. “I let you stay, iffen you open your legs for me. I don' care if you poison.”

Poison.

Everyone saw her as poison.

She wanted to vomit. She couldn't even muster up the indignation to tell him to go to hell. All she could do was square her shoulders and whirl about to stalk out of the tavern. Thankfully, she kept her composure until she was far away from the bastard and the crowds of people on the walkways. It wasn't easy, but she managed.

Now, she stared out at the colorful array of flags flying high upon ships' masts, snapping in the wind. So many ships from so many different places. At that moment, she wished she had enough money left over to sail somewhere else. But the trip from Bermuda had taken a healthy bite of her savings. She'd have to watch what remained, had to make it last as long as possible. She had no other source of income.

On its own, her gaze wandered toward the bright coral building on the far side of the harbor—almost directly across the cove from Balboa's.

Madame Zeta's.

All she was suited for, as far as everyone was concerned.

She swallowed hard.

It was the one place she hadn't gone yet. If Madame turned her away, she'd have no other choice but to resort to her old ways. Of course, if Madame
didn't
turn her away, she'd still be resorting to those ways, only she'd have a lovely room and nice clothing to wear, and enough to eat.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she'd foolishly given her last bit of bread to a stray dog, leaving her with empty pockets as well as an empty belly. No, it wasn't foolish. Kindness, whether appreciated or not, was never foolish. It was unfortunate so many people didn't feel the same way.

She stared at the garish coral building a little longer. On the second floor, a black wrought-iron railing ringed the balcony, and she could make out several of Madame Zeta's ladies sitting, taking in the cool breeze blowing off the water. Could she really see herself among them? And what would happen when Rafe arrived? How on earth would she ever be able to face him again? How could she look him in the eye and admit that she'd fallen once more? There would be no redemption, no second chances.

No future with Rafe.

“I can't,” she whispered, tearing her eyes from the cluster of chattering women. She wasn't that far away from them, but she could only hear their voices, not what they were actually saying. The gossip hadn't lied. They were all lovely, dressed in shimmering silk gowns that were far better than any Katie had stuffed in her valise.

She turned back to the sea. It seemed as if it were only yesterday that she had helped Vanessa out of the water and away from the fat man chasing after her. Everything had worked out so well for Vanessa, and Katie couldn't help but feel that pang of envy again. Perhaps she wanted too much, although it seemed to her she didn't ask for much at all. Was it so much to want a decent meal and a comfortable place to rest her head?

It was the longest walk of her life, and her feet didn't want to obey as she forced each step. As she drew nearer to the coral building, she was almost certain she could hear a door slamming on whatever possible future she'd have with Rafe.

Chapter Twenty

As the sun sank into the sea, Katie stepped out onto the balcony and breathed deep. It'd been a hot day, and although the shifting winds suggested a storm headed their way, they were cool and refreshing.

“Miss Katie, could you help me with my hair?”

She turned to peer at Bettina over one shoulder. Bettina Dumaire was the newest addition to Madame Zeta's “family”, as she liked to call them, and was still on the shy side. Katie smiled, trying to make the girl feel more comfortable. “Of course.”

She followed Bettina from her own room, which was the smallest of the bedchambers on the third floor, and down to the second floor where Bettina's chambers were. The girl sat on the edge of her narrow bed, perfectly still, as Katie ran the comb through the snarled dark curls. Bettina's hair was thick and unruly, made even worse by the moisture in the air.

Bettina shifted, and Katie tried to swallow her annoyance as the comb subsequently tangled in her hair.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Katie. My neck is sore. I did not sleep so well today.”

“It's all right, Bettina. Have you a ribbon to hold it back?”

“Over there.” Bettina pointed to the small table beside her bed. It was draped in a fall of scarlet-red silk that matched the draperies, bed canopy and coverlet. The same color scheme ran riot through the entire house. Madame Zeta had a particular fondness for the bold shade, explaining that it “reeked of sensuality” and therefore made the men who paid calls spend more than they might at any of the other brothels on the island. She prided herself in being skilled at separating men from their money, and on being gifted at selecting the ladies she hired. It was a small house, with only eight ladies working. Katie didn't know how much the color scheme came into play, but they did a brisk business, and it hadn't taken her long to acclimate herself to the sounds and activity that came with living in such a house.

This was a far cry from the life she'd led when she'd used one of the small rooms above Balboa's Tavern. This house was well-appointed and luxurious, where Madame offered gentlemen the finest of cigars, food and liquor, as well as an extremely varied list of pleasures for their randier appetites. When Madame had explained this list to Katie, her cheeks must have glowed a red even darker than the silk, flocked scarlet wallpaper. She was no innocent, but no man had ever asked for some of the things Madame offered. And for that Katie was infinitely grateful.

Madame tapped on the door, which was half-open, and poked her head into the room. The walls weren't the only things sporting bold colors. Her gown was the same deep sapphire as the waters between Jamaica and Bermuda, and she accented it with luxurious peacock feathers in her bonnet and paler blue-green silk slippers. The blues complemented her flawless dark skin. It was impossible to tell how old Madame was; she might have been anywhere from thirty to one hundred years old, and she would never tell. She was a handsome, ageless woman who loved her chosen life, and everyone loved her. Hers was a warm, open personality, always smiling, and she sang when she was happy. Now, her rich, throaty voice floated throughout the entire house.

“Bettina, you need to come below, love,” Madame purred, gesturing with a bejeweled hand. “I've a gentleman in the Rose Room waiting for you and Amelie, and I've already sent her down. I'd rather not keep him waiting.”

Bettina's dark eyes widened as she looked from Madame to Katie. She visibly swallowed and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, obviously unnerved. “Both of us?”

“Not to worry, Tina. Not to worry.” Madame nodded and glided over to pat Bettina's arm. “You will be fine. He is a repeat caller and very patient with new girls. He will be as gentle as a kitten, and Amelie will be there to guide you as well.”

Katie set the comb down. She felt Bettina's thin shoulders shake and wanted to ease the poor girl's fears. Although she'd never done much that was unorthodox—and there were some things in Madame's repertoire that were downright frightening to Katie—she could understand Bettina's fear of the unknown.

“You've never done this, have you?” Katie asked when Madame took her leave. “You've nothing to fear. I promise.”

“I've been told the first man hurts like the fires of Hell.” Bettina lifted fearful eyes to her. “And it will be worse, since this man is not my husband.”

“It only hurts for a few seconds, and it has nothing to do with being married or not. Close your eyes, take a deep breath and let it out slowly. By the time you've finished, the pain will be but a memory.”

Bettina didn't look at all reassured as she got to her feet and hurried to follow Madame from the room. This left Katie to tidy up the small mess Bettina had made when she dressed. Several gowns had been chosen and discarded, and Katie made quick work of hanging them in their rightful place and smoothing out the wrinkles. She gathered equally wrinkled stockings and balled-up chemises, and threw them in the small basket in the corner. She made the bed, dusted the furniture, gathered up the laundry and moved to the next room.

The ladies did no work in their private rooms. Madame believed a lady needed her own space to which she could retreat, and so most of the business took place on the house's lower floors, where Madame had sectioned off bigger rooms. Those rooms were even more finely appointed, with the finest linens and fresh fruit brought to them. She treated each lady as if she was Madame's daughter, and after eight weeks of working there, Katie almost
felt
like Madame's daughter. She was as much family as Bettina and the others.

It had taken six weeks for Katie to earn back the money she'd spent to travel to Jamaica, and now she'd begun to think that perhaps something had happened to Rafe, or that no one told him where she'd gone, since she hadn't heard from him since the morning he'd left for the Colonies.

But whenever she thought that, the cold, sneering voice inside her chided her that he knew, and had no intention of coming to Jamaica. Ever.

She sighed as she tidied up Chantal's room. Chantal wasn't nearly as neat as Bettina, and Katie almost always came across spoiled food of some sort, some much more unpleasant than others. Chantal was a bit of a hoarder, although Madame made certain they wanted for very little. Like Katie, Chantal knew the hardscrabble life of surviving on Kingston's streets, and old habits most certainly did die hard.

“Katie?” Madame was quite skilled at moving with very little noise, and Katie jumped as the silence shattered. “How are you feeling today?”

“I'm fine, Madame.”

“No sickness?”

Katie shook her head. “A bit this morning, but I felt better after I had that pastry.”

Madame smiled. Her left front tooth was gold. It suited her. “Pastry has a way of doing that, eh? Come, we need to talk. Leave the basket here. Marie is going to be a while.”

Katie set the basket on Marie's bed, her gut churning more than usual as she followed Madame down the corridor to the staircase. She hoped she wasn't about to be let go, although that was unlikely, since everyone in the house liked her. If anyone didn't, they kept it to themselves, which was a nice change after Abigail and her nonsense.

Still, her pulse pounded through her temples as she trailed behind Madame to her office on the first floor. It was the only room in the house without a trace of scarlet anything in it. It was a tranquil sea of shades of blue and green.

“Sit.” Madame gestured to the overstuffed armchair on the far side of a painted
escritoire
and lowered herself into her imposing-looking leather chair.

“Have I done something wrong?”

Madame shook her head, her smile going wider still. “No. I just wanted to be certain you aren't working too hard.”

“I'm fine, Madame. As I said, I feel better now.” Katie didn't jump as something soft rubbed against her ankles. Shadow was as much a fixture around the house as Madame herself, and when the dark gray cat leaped into Katie's lap, she smiled and scratched him between his ears. The cat's purr grew louder, and he settled down into a rumbling ball of fur.

“I know we've time, but I wanted to make perfectly clear, you are both welcome to stay as long as you need to. A child will serve only to make this house happier.”

That took a big weight off Katie's shoulders. She'd realized she was pregnant shortly after Madame had taken her in. Although Madame knew who Katie was and remembered her as the street urchin she'd been, she hadn't hesitated to offer Katie work as a maid, which was also a relief to Katie. She preferred being in service to servicing anyone, no matter that Madame Zeta's was a high-class establishment.

She was certain no one else had noticed, although she had seen the telltale bump several days earlier. The child caused some very uncomfortable, mixed feelings for Katie. She feared supporting herself and a child—although Madame had just taken some of that weight from her shoulders—and she feared what would happen once the child was old enough to realize where he or she lived. A bastard child living in a whorehouse. That was no sort of life. She'd taken a huge step backward.

Besides, it made her miss Rafe even more. Although common sense told her he wasn't coming, her optimism remained bright enough—or foolish enough—for her to think that something must have delayed him, that he would one day come for her. And when he did, she would be beyond happy to introduce him to his son or daughter.

She realized Madame was waiting for her to speak. “I thank you, of course. You've been more than generous and kind to me already.”

Madame shook her head. “There is enough meanness in the world. I see nothing to be gained by adding to it.” Her smile faded a little. “I would still expect you to work, however.”

“Of course.” Katie nodded, entwining her fingers in her lap. “I wouldn't expect to not work, Madame.”

The door opened and a red-haired woman appeared in the doorway. “Madame? Captains Smith and McGuire have arrived.”

“Thank you, Celeste. Take them to the Green and Gold Rooms respectively. Have they made a special request?”

Celeste shook her head. “They've not.”

“Good.” Madame's smile reappeared. “Orchid and Edwina would be perfect.” She rose from the
escritoire
and gestured for Katie to follow. “And while they are entertaining, Katie, please go air out Orchid's room. I think Shadow got himself locked in there sometime yesterday. There's a bit of a stink in there now.”

“Yes, Madame.” They parted ways at the door, with Madame and Celeste heading to the parlor where Madame received her guests, as she liked to call them, while Katie took the back staircase to the third floor, where Orchid's and Edwina's chambers were.

Orchid's room held more than a bit of stink—it reeked. Katie threw open the doors to the terrace to let in the sea breeze and hurried to gather what clothing she could find. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning sliced through the iron-gray sky.

As she made her way toward the laundry, she passed behind the rooms Madame reserved for entertaining. Various noises, moans and cries, drifted out. Some were airy, like mist on the ocean's surface, but some made Katie wince. She knew Madame would never force one of her ladies into a position where they might get hurt, but some of the ladies themselves didn't mind the occasional slap to their bare bottom.

She'd grown accustomed to them, but those noises still made her uncomfortable, made her think of Rafe and that last night she'd spent tangled in his arms and in his sheets. She ached for him. Without thinking, she slid her hand over the small bump of her lower belly. A child. Rafe's child. His son or daughter.

She missed him. Each night, she sat on the wide sill of the window in her chambers, staring out over the glittering water, and hoped that the next day she'd look out and see the
Eastwind
in the harbor. Or that she would receive a letter from him. Something—
anything
—to let her know her hopes weren't in vain. But as the time passed and she neither heard from nor saw him, her hopes were melting into despair. This was what her life was going to be—raising her child in a brothel. True, her child would know nothing but love from his odd family, but his father would never know he even existed. That filled Katie with the dullest of aches.

And she'd gotten a nasty surprise the other night.

She'd gone below to take some laundry to one of the girls and had passed by Ines's work room. The door had been ajar, wide enough for anyone passing by to peek in. Without thinking, Katie had peered through the crack and received an unexpected shock. Balboa had sat in a leather chair, with Ines astride him. It had left a bad taste in her mouth, and she'd ducked back before he could see her. He'd bowed to his wife about not letting Katie stay at his tavern, and yet there he was, finding his pleasure with one of Madame's ladies. She wondered if Sophie knew. She wondered how often Balboa visited Madame Zeta's. Just as quickly, she decided she didn't want to know.

She was never so grateful to
not
be one of Madame Zeta's girls.

* * * * *

Rafe grimaced as rainwater dripped from his hair into his eyes. His sleeve was too sopping wet to absorb any more. They couldn't have chosen a worse night to attempt to come into port, and he'd almost sunk his damn ship trying to navigate in such terrible weather. Sheer stubbornness and the overwhelming need to find Katie were the only reasons why he hadn't.

He yanked open the door to Balboa's, wincing at the merry tinkle of a bell, and was surprised at how clean the tavern was now. It was a far cry from the smoky hole in the wall it'd been the night he'd met Katie there. No darts or raucous crowds to be found anywhere. Katie wouldn't emerge from the shadows to grab his arm and ask him for help.