But it did mean she must be seen as some kind of prize. So if she put that with what Etienne had said about offering herself as something else, maybe it would work.
But what could she offer herself as? She could sing in tune, but she wasn’t brilliant; the only dance she knew was the polka, and she couldn’t play a musical instrument either. She couldn’t think of anything she could do which would make anyone sit up and take notice.
Mog had said just after Millie was killed that she’d been the favourite of the house, and Belle had always been aware that Mog and Annie had given her more praise, affection and little treats than any of the other girls. She knew now that this meant Millie brought them in more money, but what was the difference in how Millie treated her clients to how the other girls did it? Belle certainly didn’t want to be a whore, but if she had no choice, then she’d rather be a great one that men paid far more for.
How on earth could she find out what made a great one? She had a feeling Etienne would know, but she was far too bashful to ask him such a thing.
Two days before they were due to disembark in New York, Etienne took Belle for an afternoon stroll around the deck. It was cold and windy, but the sun was shining, and it felt good to be out in the fresh air, watching seagulls swoop and swirl around the ship.
‘We’ve got two days in New York before we have to board the ship for New Orleans,’ he said as they leaned on a rail up by the bow, watching the sea curl away as the ship ploughed its way through. ‘I’m going to give you a choice. Either stay locked in the boarding-house room with me. Or, if you promise me you won’t run off, I’ll take you to see the sights.’
Belle had already learned that Etienne was a man of his word, and she liked that he was prepared to take her on trust too.
‘I’ll promise I won’t run off as long as you let me send a letter home to tell them I’m alive,’ she replied.
He turned, leaning his back against the ship’s rail. The wind was ruffling his fair hair and it made him look boyish and totally unthreatening. He stared at her without replying for what seemed an eternity.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ she asked cheekily.
He smiled. ‘I never understood that English phrase. Why would a cat take anyone’s tongue? But I’ve decided I’ll allow you to write a postcard home. All it can say is that you are in New York and in good health. I read it, and post it!’
Belle gave a whoop of delight. It wouldn’t get her rescued, but it would stop Mog and her mother fretting that she was dead. ‘A deal,’ she said. ‘I won’t try to run off.’
It was night as the ship sailed up the East River to dock in New York. It had been announced earlier that they would be disembarking in the morning and instructions about what they could expect when they went through immigration on Ellis Island had been given. Belle had only half listened to the officer, as she knew Etienne would know what to do. But as she was packing away her things into her bag ready for the morning, she did wonder how he intended to deal with any immigration officer who asked them awkward questions, for the captain had announced that there was a medical examination and several kinds of tests to be passed before entry into America.
She was just about to start getting undressed to go to bed, when Etienne came back into the cabin.
‘We’re leaving,’ he said sharply. ‘Put the last of your things in your bag and hurry.’
He had that tense, steely-eyed look again that he’d had when they first met in Brest.
‘How can we leave?’ she asked in puzzlement as he pulled his bag out from beneath his bunk and put the last of his things into it. ‘The ship hasn’t docked.’
‘Someone has come alongside to take us off,’ he said. ‘Now, be quick and don’t argue.’
The ship was lying at anchor, waiting for a tug to take it in at first light. It was very quiet as they left the cabin and made their way up to the lower deck. Belle thought most of the passengers must be packing or getting an early night to be ready for the morning. Holding her arm, Etienne led her to the port side of the deck where she saw Petty Officer Barker was waiting. This man had been very solicitous to Belle when Etienne had been ill. She understood why now, for he was clearly getting paid for helping them to evade the immigration officers.
In great haste, Barker grabbed her and pushed her on to a bosun’s chair, putting their bags in her lap. Etienne jumped on then, standing astride her with his feet wedged beneath her legs and holding on to the rope. Suddenly the chair was pushed out over the side and Barker began to lower it. The seat spun round crazily in the cold wind and Belle had to close her eyes for she was afraid she’d fall out into the water.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ Etienne said in a low voice. ‘You’re quite safe. We’ll be on the other boat in seconds.’
He was right – almost as he spoke she felt a bump as the seat reached the other boat. Etienne jumped off and helped her out too. They were on what looked and smelled like a fishing boat. The bosun’s chair was hauled back up, and before Belle had time to adjust to the rocking motion of the little boat, it began to chug away from the big ship.
A small, stocky man in waterproofs came over to them. ‘Into the wheelhouse with you,’ he said curtly. ‘Sit down on the floor out of sight.’
Belle might not have felt seasick during the storm on the big ship, but she felt very queasy once she was squashed up in a corner of the wheelhouse. It wasn’t just the smell of fish, or the rocking motion of the small boat, but fear, for she had no idea what was in store for her. The man at the helm didn’t speak to them, or even turn to look at them as they scuttled into the wheelhouse. It was as if he thought that by not acknowledging their presence, he could pretend he didn’t know they were aboard.
Belle was scared. If she was entering the country illegally, what would happen to her if she tried to leave it? She felt angry with herself that she hadn’t run away from Etienne instead of going along with his escape plan. How could she have been stupid enough to believe he was going to show her the sights of New York or send a postcard home? Wasn’t it far more likely that he was going to take her to some terrible place, even worse than the brothel in Paris? Why on earth had she started to trust him?
Etienne didn’t speak to her at all as they sat hunched up on the floor, and as Belle felt she might endanger herself even more by saying anything, she stayed quiet too. They had been on the boat for about twenty-five minutes when suddenly there was bright light coming in through the wheelhouse windows, and Belle could hear men shouting to one another.
‘We’re approaching the docks. They’ll be mooring any minute,’ Etienne whispered. ‘We stay here until they tell us it’s safe to go.’
‘Where do we go?’ she whispered back fearfully.
‘To a hotel, just like I told you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tell you this was how we were going into New York, just in case you panicked.’
‘What if we get caught?’ she whispered. ‘Won’t they shove us in prison?’
He took her two hands in his and lifted her fingers to gently kiss the tips of them. His eyes were full of mischief. ‘I don’t ever get caught. Back in France they call me L’Ombre, which means the shadow.’
‘You make a very good guide,’ Belle said as they came down the gangplank of the little boat which had taken them out to see the Statue of Liberty. ‘Maybe you should take that up instead of working for bad men.’
It was dusk now, and growing very cold, but the last two days had been bright and sunny and they’d walked miles and seen so much: the Flat Iron Building, the first of New York’s skyscrapers, the Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park … they’d travelled on the ‘E’, a train which ran high over houses and offices. Belle had eaten her first hot dog and marvelled at the grand shops on Fifth Avenue, but also seen enough grim, overcrowded tenements to realize there were even more desperately poor people in America than there were back home.
Etienne had been as good as his word, getting her safely from the fishing boat to a guest house on the Lower West Side. Although the neighbourhood looked every bit as squalid as Seven Dials, and certainly didn’t live up to the way people back in England imagined Americans lived, the guest house was comfortable and warm, with steam heat, hot baths and indoor lavatories.
‘It’s been good to show you round,’ Etienne said. ‘I just wish we had a couple more days for there’s a great deal more I’d like to show you. When I get back to France I shall have to continue in the same line of work, for I have no choice, but when we get to New Orleans I will try to influence your new mistress into taking very good care of you.’
Belle was holding his arm and she squeezed it, knowing he really did feel badly about his part in her capture. She also knew why he had to go through with it, because he’d finally told her his story.
He was born and grew up in Marseille, but his mother died when he was six, and his father turned to drink. Etienne stole first out of necessity. His father spent every penny he made on drink, and someone had to put food on the table, clothes on their backs and pay the rent on their two rooms.
But by the time he was fourteen he had become a skilful burglar, and targeted the grand hotels all along the Riviera where the very wealthy stayed. He went after jewellery which he then fenced for a fraction of its real value in one of the many little jewellers in the narrow street down by the harbour.
He was eighteen when he was caught red-handed one night in the room of a man who had become a millionaire through, it transpired, extortion. He was offered a choice: work for this man, whom Etienne chose to call Jacques because he couldn’t reveal his real name, or be thrown to the police, who would no doubt make sure he got an extremely long prison sentence as he’d been a thorn in their side for years.
Etienne explained to Belle that at the time he thought he was the luckiest man alive to be offered work with Jacques.
‘I could hardly believe it. He sent me to London where I was given English lessons. I stayed in a nice place called Bayswater, and I had further lessons on the habits of the English aristocracy so that I could rob them. But whereas in the past I would be stealing a diamond ring or some emerald ear bobs, left on the dressing-table, now I was to be clearing out a safe containing hundreds of pounds worth of jewels, or conducting a confidence trick on someone which would make them part with thousands of pounds.’
He said that for a few years it was good to have hand-tailored suits and silk shirts and stay in the best hotels, and he was making more money than he’d ever dreamed of. But a scare with the English police had made him go back to Paris to lie low for a while, and during that time he went home to Marseille and met a girl he fell in love with. He wanted to marry her, and he felt it was time to put the money he’d made to good use and start a legitimate business, before his luck ran out.
‘So I told Jacques my plan, and he asked that I give him another two years. When that was up I went back to Marseille and married Elena, and in partnership with her brother who is a chef, we opened a restaurant there. But I was wrong to think I could just say goodbye to Jacques; he didn’t like anyone to escape from his net. Every now and then he would send word that he had a job for me, and I couldn’t refuse him.’
‘Was that jobs like collecting me?’ Belle asked.
‘No, I told you I had never done anything like escorting girls before. It was always strong arm stuff,’ Etienne explained. ‘Mostly I have to threaten someone who isn’t toeing the line, or maybe is standing in Jacques’ way. Often I have to use violence, but you must understand these people were all thugs and gangsters, so it is nothing to me. But I wish now that once I had the restaurant I had refused point blank to do any more work for him.’ He sighed. ‘He wouldn’t have liked it, he would have made things tough for me, but by going along with it I’ve just got in deeper and deeper.’
Belle listened to him attentively and asked if there was any way he could get out of it now.
‘By escorting you here I have put myself in an even worse position,’ Etienne replied glumly. ‘Strong arm stuff between thugs and gangsters is understood and accepted by most people, but now Jacques has involved me in trafficking such a young girl, he has got an even stronger hold over me.’
‘What does your wife think about this?’ she asked.
‘She thinks I am an aide to a businessman with many companies, and although she doesn’t like me to be away from her, she likes the extra money I bring home. If I am truthful, I always enjoyed being the big man who sorted out grievances between criminals. But I don’t feel that way now, not now Jacques has made me do this job. Trafficking young girls is wicked, and I do not wish to have any part in it, nor would I want my wife and children to ever discover that I have done.’
‘We’re kind of in the same position, aren’t we?’ Belle said glumly. ‘I can’t run away from you now because I’d be afraid what would happen to you. And you can’t help me go either because of what might happen to your wife and sons.’
He turned to her and cupped her face between his hands. ‘Belle, I would take that risk if I could be certain you’d be safe, for I could easily tell Jacques the immigration people caught you, and he’d believe that for he’d have no way of checking. But what would become of you? You would either have to find work here, with all the risks that go with being a young girl alone in a dangerous city. Or you’d tell the authorities that you were brought here illegally, and get them to send you back home.’
Belle knew that hope must have registered on her face, for he shook his head.
‘That might seem the perfect solution to you, but this man Kent you tell me about back in England, he will hear from New Orleans what has happened and he’ll have to get to you and kill you to save himself. I know how these men work, as he will be much the same as Jacques.’
‘Is there no other way?’ she asked.
‘You are a remarkable young lady,’ he said sadly. ‘It is this which makes me sure you will conquer New Orleans on your own terms. It is many things, a corrupt, dangerous place, but it also has a soul, and I think on balance you will be safer there and get the opportunity to select your own path in life.’