The Diary of Cozette (6 page)

I find less and less desire to continue my writing. I once did so at Ernest’s request, in hope that he would be able to read of my adventures and be proud of how I stayed strong until he found me. But my hope of his coming for me dwindles with each passing day and instead of writing, I have taken to walking the streets, offering a coin to the women I see huddled in the streets with their children. Some who have no children I refer to Madam Spencer. At least it is better than living on the streets. It is hard not to think of my mother and Everett; likely he is dead now.

One woman I found, clutching a small child to her breast. The lack of movement in her arms caused me to think the worst and I again thought of my mother watching her own children die. The woman climbed over the wooden bridge trellis and teetered on its edge. Her hand grasping hold of the edge was all that kept her from plunging into the dark, icy water below.

“Please don’t.” Fear for the woman and her child’s fate choked out the volume in my voice as I ran toward her. As I drew near, I spotted her raising her face to the sky. She closed her eyes. The last rays of the sunlight of day illuminated her bright auburn hair.

With my next breath, she was gone.

“No!” I cried, rushing to the edge of the bridge. Below I could see the ripples where her body had disappeared. I searched frantically the bank below, hoping to find help. There was a group of men, huddled around a small fire, warming their hands. I waved and shouted. “Over here, there is a woman. She’s jumped off the bridge, please I need your help.”

Perhaps my voice was lost in the distance, or they simply did not care. The ripples in the murky water below soon dissipated and I knew the woman was gone, both she and her child. I lay my head down in my arms and cried. I do not know how long I stayed there, staring blindly at the water. Moreover, there passed through my mind the fleeting thought to follow her. Instead, I found my way back to my room and pulled my journal from beneath the mattress where I keep it hidden. I will not let her life go unnoticed, if only in its last moments. I will write what I’ve seen and how I am surviving in a world predisposed to the whims of men, and where seemingly women are regarded as an expendable quantity.

Regardless of what it may take, I vow never to allow my lot in life to prompt me to give in to despair. Life is far too precious. My mother set me on that journey and so too did Ernest, who once said to me,
“With enough determination and hard work, you can become anything you wish to become.”
To that I will add, that I will do whatever I must as a woman to survive, if nothing more than to live to tell others my tales of survival.

~A.C.B.

I awoke to the sound of weeping in the next room and feared a client had brought harm to one of Madam Spencer’s ladies.

I peeked through a crack in my door to find the poor young thing quite alone, seated at the edge of the bed. She clutched a flimsy sheer gown to her frail body. I could see the sharp angle of her shoulder blades stretched across her pale skin.

Her head popped up and her gaze jerked to mine with a horrified expression. Pitiful is too kind to describe what I saw and my heart immediately rushed to compassion.

In my haste, I bypassed that I wore a collarless man’s shirt as my nightdress, and though much thinner, I still possessed the curve of my hips. I realized too late that I had already removed the cloth that bound my breasts in order to appear as if I was a young boy.

She sniffed once or twice, her dark eyes appearing sunken in their sockets as her gaze held mine.

“Are you a crow for Madam?”

My furrowed brow gave away that I had no knowledge of the term, but I was certain that sweeping and pitching garbage had little to do with being a crow. My puzzled look tipped her to my ignorance.

“A spy, are you a spy for Madam to be sure I give the client what he’s paid for?”

I shook my head.

“New tail, then?”

That,
I understood. I sensed her competitive spirit despite the fact there seemed to be no client in the room. “No mum, at least for the time being. I live here, in the next room. And now, tell me, what is your story?” I wondered if her client had left her, in which case, her worries had only just begun. I have heard the whippings Madam Spencer administers to those who betray her generosity.

“Please don’t tell her, you must promise me.”

Her pale blue eyes were rimmed with dark circles against her fair skin. They pleaded with me most desperately.

“I promise, but tell me, what has happened? I heard your weeping and I came to see if your trick had hurt you.”

She shook her head, administering the silky movement of her blond curls over her shoulders, skinny and frail as they were. Still I was stuck with a measure of envy that she still possessed her curls.

“It is my first time,” she whispered, her eyes glued to the partially open door. “He has gone down the hall to the water closet and will be back soon.”

She wiped her cheeks free from her tears as I eased down to sit beside her on the bed. “Do you have nowhere else you might go?”

Again, she shook her head and a sweet scent wafted near my nose, reminding me of the rose arbor at the orphanage. She was clearly frightened. I placed my hand on her knee, keenly aware that I’d had no physical contact with another human being since Ernest. The sensation after months sent a shiver up my arm and I pulled away quickly. “Perhaps if you picture a pleasant thought it will help?”

She glanced at my posture, my arms hugging myself as though afraid to get too close. Her gaze lifted to mine.

“Do you think it would help?”

I could not say with absolute certainty, but I knew she had no place else to go. This is our common ground. “We do what we must to survive.”

She appeared to consider my words carefully, slowly nodding in agreement.

“My name is Betsy. Why do you wear your hair so terribly short? It looks much like a man.”

She tipped her head and her curious gaze followed her fingers as she sifted through the short hair above my ear. I closed my eyes at the sheer intimacy of human contact.

“It was a suggestion given to me while I was on the streets, for protection mainly, as I await my Ernest to arrive. I found work here from the pub owner, who thinks I am a young lad.” My gaze snapped to hers. “I pray you will not reveal my secret to him?”

She shook her head. “Not if you keep mine. Our circumstances dire as they are, would require most certainly that we help one another, wouldn’t you agree?”

I nodded, relaxing a bit, as I let my hands ease from my arms. “I am trying to save as much as I can in order to purchase a small flat. Ernest is a poet.” I smiled at the memory of his dark head bowed as he read to me.
Where are you, Ernest? Why have you not come to me as you promised?

“How very brave of you to come to London alone with only the hope that he would join you.”

I glanced up at her sweet, innocent smile. Indeed, it was genuine, yet there was in her gaze a deep unhappiness no innocence could hide.

“I had a true love, once, or thought I did. His name was Frank…my fiancé. However, his gaze wandered and he left me for another woman shortly after we announced our engagement publicly. It wasn’t as though I loved him really, our marriage was arranged, nearly from birth—true aristocratic lineage and all that. My father and his felt it a splendid agreement, in order to keep the business secure between the two families. The problem they didn’t consider was that we did not care for each other.”

She lowered her hands as the memory of her own tragic story caused her voice to trail off.

“What happened?”

“Oh, well, my mother was mortified of course, and Frank’s mother encouraged her strongly that it was I who betrayed Frank, and not the other way around. Frank, of course, being a man, had already established himself and was highly esteemed and quite honorable, so he led many to believe. No proof was required, naturally, and shortly thereafter, my mother’s circle of social connections pressured her to believe that perhaps the rumors were true and that I was not interested in a proper home and family. I begged her to listen, pleaded to let me stay, but she finally turned me out and told me to find my own way, whatever that was.”

“How horrid, surely they know the truth by now?”

She shrugged. “I cannot say. I’ve not been in contact with them for over four months now.”

There was bitterness in her voice, and a depth of sadness laced within her words. “Perhaps you could try now and they would listen to you?” I made the offer, though anticipated her response.

As I expected, she shook her head, her spirit entirely broken. She was a lost soul and even though my heart ached for Ernest to rescue me from this dreadful existence, it was trivial by comparison to Betsy’s sad tale.

She twisted her fingers in her lap and my mind raced with how I might assist her with this wretched dilemma.

At the sound of a loud bang down the hall, our gazes together leapt toward the door. The thudding echo of a person of some girth drew closer with each step.

“That’s him. Quick, you must hide. Go back to your room. He’s had a number of pints tonight. Moreover he is quite large, possessing a fierce temper. Please, we mustn’t tease his anger.”

I stood between the end of the bed and my door, torn by conceding and leaving her to the fate of this beast. I stiffened my spine, summoning as much courage as was in me, and looked at her square in the eye. “I will not leave unless you are certain. I cannot stand by and do nothing to help. If it is your wish, I believe that together, somehow, we can overcome him.”

She laughed openly, looking at me as though I was insane and perhaps I was, if only temporary.

Her gaze lingered a breath more on mine as her brows pinched together, weighing her few options.

“Very well, I have an idea. Play along and perhaps we can convince the oaf that he is about to receive twice the pleasure for the price of one. With any luck the tosspot will pass out from his drunken state.”

For a brief moment, her courage reflected my determi nation. The unsteady footsteps in the hallway drew precariously near. Her theory left much to be desired. Nevertheless, it is all we had.

I nodded. “I will play along then.” My gaze searched the room, landing on a wooden chair in the corner. I pictured how best to whack the man over his head if circumstances came to that.

“Where are you, my lovely girl,” a deep voice bellowed just as the door to the room swung in and slammed against the cracked wall. It sent a chunk of thin plaster flying across the room and I flinched as it whirred past my head.

Standing in the doorway was a man the likes of which I had never before seen. His shoulders were broad, making the opening appear small, and his hands were twice the size of the average man. His thick mass of scraggly, blond hair was cut straight across his nape and stuck out over his thick mutton-chop sideburns, giving him the appearance of a wild beast. However, my attention was drawn to his large face. His cheekbones were hewn into a square jaw and his mouth wide, with thick lips that turned downward in a scowl. And those eyes, eyes as icy blue as a winter morning, turned to me.

I stepped back, holding his gaze. My stomach churned as though I might vomit.

An evil grin curled his impervious lips back over garish yellow teeth. A bit of tobacco residue stuck to his front tooth. I turned my face to gather my courage and prayed we would not have to follow through with our charade.

He kicked the door shut with his massive booted foot, his gaze bouncing from me to Betsy as he began to unbutton his shirt. I glanced at Betsy with a look of concern, truly my faith in her scheme dwindled with each turn of a button.

“Now this is a lovely surprise.” He slurred his words. “Two for the price of one?” He paused, his narrow gaze scrutinizing my form. “You are aware of course that I am a man of great importance.”

“Indeed, sir,” Betsy replied, twirling a lock of her golden hair around her finger.

“You
are
a woman, eh?” he growled to me as he shirked off his shirt. He laughed to himself before I could answer, as he slipped off his trousers. “Not that it matters.”

My heart did stop at the sight of him naked. He reminded me of one of the strong men at a carnival. His biceps bulged and both forearms were covered in coarse blond hair. He was tall, in addition to his size, and his legs resembled sturdy, massive posts, with a third such post of great substance dangling between his legs.

“There you go, ladies. It’s not disappointed anyone yet.” He grinned and I swallowed the bile in my throat.

The stench wafting from his body was horrid, worse than the sewage on the streets, if indeed that is possible. Between the beer and the tobacco, he reeked most pitifully.

“How about a little drink before we start?” Betsy batted her eyes in preamble as she popped the cork from a bottle of whiskey placed on the side table. She poured some of the amber liquid in a small glass.

I reached for the bottle after she poured, tipping it back to allow a large swallow to collect in my mouth. My eyes watered as I held it a moment and let it burn down my throat.

“Fine show. I like a woman who likes her drink. My wife doesn’t like to drink,” he mumbled absently. “But I say, the burn is what warms the body, gets the heat going, if you mind my meaning.” He grabbed the glass Betsy held out to him and tossing his head back, downed the amber heat in one quick swallow.

He stood with his face turned to the heavens, mouth wide open in a groan as the whiskey hit its mark.

“Now then, which of you is first, eh?”

He reached out, grabbing Betsy’s arm, and tugged her against his naked body. I had to admit for one who appeared so frail she had a strong constitution. I would have soiled the sot with my stomach contents.

“We have something special for you.”

She gave him a demure smile and slid beneath his arm. With a precautionary glance that reminded me of my promise, she hurried to my side and reached on tiptoe, making a grand display of kissing my cheek. I stiffened beside her, aware of her roving hands capturing my breast in her palm and squeezing it as though she enjoyed it.

“Play along,” she whispered.

My mouth grew dry, my skin clammy and never before had I touched a woman other than my mother, and never in such an intimate way.

I closed my eyes, breathing deep and pressed my lips together, fisting my hands at my sides.

“I like this very much.” He spoke in a predatory growl. “When do I get to join?” He rubbed his hands together and licked his lips as if viewing a forbidden fruit. His great cock was already at half-mast.

“Oh
mon chère
there is more. Do you trust…us?”

I was drawn in as much as the oaf by her performance. She wet her soft, rosebud mouth and offered him a flirtatious smile, purposely letting her robe drop off her shoulder. Her skills were quite impressive for one professing virgin status.

The man’s bushy brow rose in interest as he studied me with icy contemplation.

“And you, do you know this technique as well?” he growled, obviously wary that he was going to get what he’d paid for.

Not quite as quick with the game as my partner, I blurted out the first words that came to my head. “Indeed, she’s taught me everything…most impeccably.”

He grunted a response and thankfully seemed at ease with my answer.

“She did, well then, let’s see what you claim is worth the price I’m paying today. My body, my dear ladies, is yours to enjoy.” He stumbled to the bed, one knee poised on its edge as he hesitated.

“On the bed, then?”

Betsy nodded and we stared together as the giant of a man lumbered onto the mattress, caving in the center with his girth. He flopped to his back and lay sprawled and glassy-eyed staring at the ceiling. It was my fervent hope that at last, he’d been overcome in his inebriated state. However, his eyes popped open and his scalding blue gaze darted to mine. I took a step back, my legs bumping against the chair.

His erection pointed straight toward the ceiling and I could not keep my eyes from his enormous size. I thought it a ludicrous story that I would need to consider carefully before telling Ernest one day.

Betsy squeezed my arm and moved to retrieve the whiskey from the table. She lifted it to her pink lips and I watched her take a long swallow. Tears stung the corner of my eyes remembering the scalding burn as she withdrew the bottle in a fit of coughing. She held it out to me and I declined her silent invitation. One swig from that bottle was enough to dim my senses, and I would need all of them intact, if Betsy’s plan did not work.

My gaze was drawn to the man as he watched Betsy remove her robe. He tried to sit up, but thought better of his balance and collapsed on the bed. As if partaking in a craft in her parlor, she went about tearing her thin robe into long strips, putting three of them together to make a sturdy length of binding. She jerked them between her hands to test their strength and offered me a smile as she approached the bed.