It was fortunate indeed that Lord Kendall passed a great deal of time at the little house on Brook Street, because when he was elsewhere, Felicia found her thoughts turning far too frequently to topics of an unpleasant nature.
Of course, she knew the earl was an important man; in addition to the responsibility of his estates and tenants, he took his seat in Parliament very seriously, and, by virtue of his years of diplomatic service, he was a valued advisor at Whitehall as well. There were times when she didn't see him for as much as a week or two because he was required to attend dinners, meetings, and even balls that lasted until the small hours of the night, and on those occasions he spent the night at the family residence in Mayfair. But those times were rare and, for the most part, he resided at the house on Brook Street with her.
When he was absent , she missed the comfortable cozes at the breakfast table, the peaceful walks in the garden, the good-natured banter over games of chess or piquet, the quiet evenings in the drawing room where anyone observing would take them for a typical married couple, engrossed in their particular occupations—typically reading for him and needlework for her—interspersed with laughter and light conversation.
Not that Felicia ever aspired to be his wife. With her background, she was unsuited to be anyone's wife, let alone a countess. She rarely wasted any time distressing herself over the past misfortunes that had led her to become a kept woman. The past was what it was. Nothing could take her back to being to the innocent young girl who had been such easy prey for the depraved miscreants who had forced her into the life of a demimondaine.
However, when Lord Kendall was away for days on end, Felicia found her thoughts turning to the daughter she knew existed somewhere in the world. She was three already, a toddler, walking around on unsteady legs and calling some other woman "Mama." Felicia felt a sharp pain in the vicinity of her heart at the thought of someone else raising the daughter she had carried and loved those many months. Of course, she did hope her child had been taken in by a loving family and was growing up happy and well cared for, and if that were the case, Felicia was determined to be happy for her and remain forever in the shadows.
Nonetheless, Felicia's own experience as an illegitimate child taken in by indifferent parents caused her great anxiety when she brooded about her child's circumstances. Was she being properly loved and cared for? Or was she taunted with the circumstances of her birth and told that she'd been abandoned? What would become of her if her parents died or became indigent? These thoughts tormented Felicia when she was left alone too often, and it was all in vain since she was powerless to do anything about it.
Her introspection came to a sudden halt as Maris rushed into the room breathing hard, still attired the dreary brown cape that was the sole outer garment in her wardrobe.
"Miss Felicia!" she managed to get out. "There's news!"
"Goodness, Maris," said her mistress. "Do sit down and catch your breath. Where have you been this afternoon? Mrs. Grey needed some assistance with the mending. I informed her that you were out on some errands for me, but I don't think she was at all deceived."
The maid fell into the nearest chair, which creaked slightly as it absorbed her weight.
"Thank ya, miss. I shoulda asked leave first, I know, but I saw as how ya were so cast down with the master away, and I had a notion ter go back ter Mrs. Beazley's place ter see if I could ferret out somethin'."
Felicia's face turned white. "Oh Maris, I told you the last time you must not go back there. It's far too dangerous! Why if Mrs. Beazley should see you... or even one of the girls or the footmen..." She fell back in her chair in distress.
"Never mind, miss. I went round the back and hid in the bushes until Dottie came out ter dump the kitchen scraps. No one else saw me and Dot won't say nuthin'." Slightly calmer, Maris sat up straight in the chair and faced her mistress.
"Miss Felicia, the whole house is in bedlam 'cuz old Beazley is set ter croak any day now, the wasting disease, they say." She stood up and took Felicia's arm. "Come, miss. Ya must fly over there right now and talk t'er. Once she's dead and buried, ya'll never find out who took yer little girl."
Felicia sat like a stone. She had vowed to never set foot in that cathouse ever again. The very thought of putting herself in that oppressive place once more after everything she had endured there made her shiver uncontrollably.
"Oh Maris," she choked out, "I can't do it. I can't go back there. She'll take me again and oblige me to..." She sobbed.
Maris put her arm around her mistress and drew her up to her feet.
"Did ya hear me, Miss Felicia? Ya must go there now, afore she dies, or ya'll never know where the little girl is ter be found." She pulled Felicia to the door by the arm and called for her mistress's pelisse and reticule to be brought.
After a brief hesitation, Felicia dried her tears and allowed herself to be propelled to the door. Maris was right. If there was any chance at all that she could learn what had become of her child, she had to take it. She could not allow the truth to die with the old madam and the secret to remain forever in her cold grave.
"We'll take a hackney," she decided. "And some money," she added, in case it was necessary to bribe someone. She knew well how things worked in a brothel, where unscrupulous persons would betray their own mothers for a coin or two. The nest egg she had managed to save thus far was not sufficient to bribe the avaricious madam, who, she knew well, bitterly resented her for fleeing the whorehouse and thus reducing her profits. Nonetheless, if it should be true that she was on her way to facing her Maker, there was every chance that she would be of a mind to clear her conscience.
"How is it that there was no hint until now that she was afflicted with consumption, Maris?" she asked as the hackney coach carried them toward Gracechurch Street. Electricity rushed though her body, providing her the mental sharpness she needed to accomplish her objective.
"Don't know, miss. All Dot said was she started keepin' ter the back room more and that girl Molly took over most of the hostessin'. I 'spect folks thought she did it to draw more gentlemen, Molly being so much prettier and all."
Molly was indeed the most comely of the house, and well she knew it. She was also as ambitious and avaricious as Mrs. Beazley herself, and undoubtedly it would be she who would be taking over the management of Mrs. Beazley's Pleasure House after that lady had breathed her last. Unfortunately, Molly despised Felicia with a passion, and would not only not help her find the information she needed, but would put as many obstacles in her way as possible.
Hopefully, Molly would be out of sight, thought Felicia, gritting her teeth. There were others who would try to thwart them, particularly the two brawny footmen who served as bouncers. They considered free access to the doxies as part of their compensation for protecting them from unruly clients. Unfortunately, Felicia recalled bitterly, there was no provision for any sort of protection from the protectors. She knew they deeply resented her for repulsing their advances, and if she had remained there much longer, they would have found a way to get revenge. At this time of day, though, the two depraved henchmen were often sprawled in their beds, sleeping off the effects of a night of drink and licentious behavior. With any luck, she and Maris would be in and out of the house before they awoke.
"Let us down here," directed Felicia to the driver, as they approached Gracechurch Street. The last thing they wanted was to announce their presence to the house's inhabitants.
From the outside, the Pleasure House appeared as any other house on the block, large, weatherworn, grey stone with a cobblestone drive and well-manicured lawn, surrounded by a massive stone wall that obscured the wanton activities that transpired within.
As Felicia had reason to know, London was teeming with brothels and gaming hells, and although they were strictly illegal, they were allowed to run rampant everywhere, from the slums of St. Giles to the elegant neighborhoods. Society frowned on them, but the gentlemen of all classes flocked to them in droves, and she suspected their ladies pretended not to know.
Mrs. Beazley's establishment catered to the prurient needs of the more wealthy and aristocratic gentlemen, thus making discretion an important consideration. Most of the girls who worked there were from the lower classes, since they were less protected and easier to snatch off the street, but Mrs. Beazley kept her eyes open constantly for runaways from genteel families, like Felicia, who were prodigiously popular among the aristocratic gentlemen because they could speak and behave in a ladylike manner.
Creeping to the back entrance, the two women crouched behind a hedge and decided on a plan of action. The noon sun was already upon them and the brothel's occupants would soon be rising and making their task all the more perilous.
"I will go in alone," Felicia decided, "and go directly to the back rooms. You stay here, and if I do not return or if something goes wrong, you must go back to Brook Street and get some of the footmen to help."
"But Miss Felicia..."
"No, Maris, this is something I must do alone. If we are both captured, they will never allow us to escape."
Maris looked at her with frightened eyes. They both knew the risks involved, and death was probably not the worst of them. Still, if there was a chance the dying madam would talk, they had to take it now before it was too late.
Mrs. Beazley's rooms, consisting of a small sitting room and office in addition to the bedchamber, were in the back of the house, directly behind the elegant parlor where the gentlemen and the "ladies" conversed and flirted prior to pairing off and heading to the upper chambers. The madam had installed a discreet peephole into each door so that she could supervise the interaction without being seen.
Felicia ran to the back of the house and slipped in through the back door. The hall was empty, but she could hear the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen on her right. She crept past the open kitchen doors to the end of the hallway, flattened herself against the wall, and peered around the corner. She saw no one, although she could hear voices floating down the staircase from the upper chambers. Quickly she ran to the door leading to Mrs. Beazley's rooms and peered through the keyhole. Not seeing or hearing anything, she opened the door and entered the sitting room. It was empty, but as she neared the bedchamber, she could hear the sounds of coughing and wheezing, so she knew the madam had not yet succumbed to death.
As she entered the room, Felicia could not help but be aware of the oppressive aura of pain and despair and imminent death that pervaded the room. Struggling to keep her composure, she took deep breaths as she made out the massive canopied bed and the dying woman lying there. The madam was but a shadow of her former self, resembling more a human skeleton than the malevolent old hag who had forced her into prostitution.
When she finally became aware of Felicia's presence, Beazley's eyes widened and took on an evil glow. "So, ya have returned, milady. Yer earl turned ya out on the street, has 'e?"
Felicia approached the bed, her chin high. "Not at all. His lordship and I are quite happily settled, as it happens." She tilted her head to the side. "But you knew that, did you not? Unless—" she waved her hand at the night table crowded with medicine jars—"your infirmity has rendered you impotent."
The madam struggled unsuccessfully to raise her head from the pillow, her eyes flinty and her teeth bared.
"So long as I breathe, I still rule this 'ouse, my fine lady. Or 'ave ya forgotten my faithful footmen? Unless ya brought an army wi' ya, yer the one at risk, comin' 'ere all highfalutin' and snooty. Jones! Higgins!"
Felicia's bravado disappeared as her head whirled around in expectation of the two burly henchmen's intervention. When they did not—the ailing madam's voice had lost its former intensity—she took a deep breath.
"Suffering the effects of an excess of the Blue Ruin again, no doubt. Some things never change." She smirked and moved closer to the bed, looming over the wasted body.
Mrs. Beazley, seemingly not intimidated, shook her head. "Ya 'ave pluck, I'll give ya that. Not the half-growed chick with a belly ripe for poppin' that I brought ta my nest those years ago." Her eyebrows furrowed and released. "So tell me, milady, wot brings ya back ta my henhouse, if yer so right n' tight wi' 'is lordship."
Felicia swallowed. She knew the woman before her to be the epitome of evil, who took pleasure in the misery of others and held onto grudges as long as she drew breath. The only hope Felicia could muster was the undeniable fact that the madam was soon to meet her Maker, and perhaps that might work in Felicia's favor.
"I am here to beg you to disclose the truth of what happened to my child."
"Ya thought I would be willing to break me word to those excellent parents." Mrs. Beazley coughed loudly into a grimy handkerchief. "The chit is much better off with them, even though they are somewhat old to be parents, than with 'er whore of a mother, 'n well ya know it."
Felicia stood up and faced her enemy head-on. "You are the one who made me a whore, madam. She is my child and you had no right to take her from me and sell her for profit. If you think the Heavenly Father is unaware of these transgressions, you are deceiving yourself. Confess all to me now and perhaps you will find mercy in the hereafter."
The old woman struggled to sit up. "Blame me, if ya will, but ya had nowhere else to go. If not for me, ya and yer brat would have died in the streets. It was me kept ya both alive until ya delivered. The brat went to a good home and at least ya weren't liftin' your skirts out in the streets for pence and beggin' for other folks' garbage."
The dying woman fell back into her pillows and began to cough loudly, blood pouring from her mouth and nose. Felicia heard footsteps approaching and dropped to her knees.
"Please, Mrs. Beazley, there isn't much time. Please tell me the name of the couple who took her. I must know that she is well provided for. That's all I want to do, is see that she is well and happy."
The old hag was slipping away quickly. She moved her lips and nothing came out. "Cits," she said. "Safe." More blood erupted and her breathing ceased.
Felicia was frozen in disbelief. "It's not enough!" she cried. "I need the name. Give me the name, I must have the name!"
A voice came from the doorway. "She will not be giving it to you now, that's for certain."
A dark-haired, sultry beauty wearing a skimpy lace gown that bared her deep cleavage and voluptuous figure contemplated the young woman kneeling at the bed.
"Molly," Felicia breathed.
"Felicia," responded the proud prostitute. "How condescending of you to grace us with your presence once again. You left in such a hurry that we had no time to say good-bye."
Felicia got to her feet. "I couldn't stay here. Lord Kendall offered me a way out, and I took it. I-I-I left suddenly because I thought someone might have prevented me from leaving."
Molly glided over to her confidently. "But you returned," she said, "and you had to know you would be welcomed back. With open arms, of course. I know that Jones and Higgins will gladly provide you with a, shall we say, very memorable reception?"
Felicia shuddered inwardly at the thought of the two nefarious footmen.
"Molly, I came back only to discover the whereabouts of my daughter. Mrs. Beazley's death has made that impossible, so I will be taking my leave of you now."
"Not so fast," replied Molly. "I believe she was trying to tell you that the information can be found in the safe. And," she concluded as she drew an object from her bosom, "I believe this is the key to the safe."
"Molly, please..." begged Felicia, her eyes glued to the key dangling from Molly's fingers.
Drawing her hand back, Molly continued, "But then I wonder what I could ask for in exchange," she continued. "How much blunt would it be worth to you? A thousand pounds?"
Felicia flushed with fury. "You know I could never raise that amount. Why even suggest it?"
Molly regarded the key and then Felicia, and replied coolly, "You could work it off in a couple of years, perhaps even as little as one, if you charmed the right gentlemen."
"I'll not work here again," Felicia vowed. "If you give me the information, I can get you as much as a hundred pounds, but I only have fifteen with me. I can bring the rest later."
"I'll take the fifteen now, but you can't have it for anything less than five hundred." Molly's tone was deceptively pleasant.
Felicia gasped. It would take her years to accumulate such a sum, even if she were to sell some of the jewelry Lord Kendall had given her.
"I will consider your offer," she said. "But I do need to be going now, if you will please step aside."
"Oh, you mustn't leave yet," Molly insisted. "Jones and Higgins would never forgive me if I allowed you to leave without giving you a proper send-off."
Felicia shrank back in terror, but Molly seized her arm and pulled her out of the room, calling for the two brawny bouncers to come and greet their guest. Felicia jerked away just as Higgins reached the bottom of the stairs behind her and seized her by the waist, pressing her back tightly against his massive chest.
"What a surprise to see her ladyship back again!" he cackled, one hand sliding upwards to grasp her breast. "I reckon that earl ya ran off with turned out to have a weeny one and ya came back for a taste of a real man's prick." He thrust his genitals firmly against her backside as proof that he was not exaggerating his claim of masculinity.
Felicia struggled to get free, but his arms were like steel. "Take your hands off me!" she screamed. "Lord Kendall will destroy you if you molest me!"
Molly smiled at her distress. "I hardly think so, my dear Felicia. The good earl will never sacrifice his reputation for a mere doxy. And even if he should find you here, he will never want the broken-down whore he finds after the boys are finished with you."
Higgins had lifted her in his arms as Jones lumbered down the stairs, tucking his shirt in his trousers and surveying the scene at the landing with interest.
Passing him on the stairs, Molly ordered him to search Felicia and confiscate the fifteen pounds she had brought with her.
"Bring the blunt to me in my bedchamber and then you boys can sport with her as much as you wish. Not so much that she won't be able to entertain callers this evening, though. There's a spare bed upstairs and she'll settle back into the routine soon enough, especially with... encouragement."
Higgins dropped her to her feet and held on tightly while his cohort groped her body in a lascivious manner until he located the pocket that contained her purse and rushed up the stairs, eager to return for the unexpected entertainment.
Felicia resisted with all her strength when Higgins attempted to pick her up again, and was surprised when she was able to break away easily from his grasp as he dropped to the floor like a stone.
"Come, miss, let's go," she heard Maris say, and turning, she saw Maris with a large cookpot in her hands, and it was not until then that she realized that Maris had smacked him hard in the head with it, and that there was a steady stream of his blood pooling on the floor.
Felicia didn't hesitate. She sprang toward the door and the two women escaped from the brothel, only to be closely pursued by an enraged Jones bearing a hefty club. Just as they passed the house on the corner, an extravagant carriage drawn by four horses plodded through the driveway and stopped suddenly to wait for another vehicle to pass. Hearing the angry cry of their pursuer caught on the other side, the women took the opportunity to veer around the corner into a busy street where they were able to mix with the crowd until they found a hackney to carry them back to Brook Street.
Felicia dropped back into the seat, her hands falling to her sides as she attempted to catch her breath.
"Is—he—dead, do you think?" she managed to get out.
Maris was likewise in a state of shock and could not immediately respond. Then her face drained of all color.
"Oh miss, if he is, am I going to hang?"
Felicia reached over and gave her valiant maid a wholehearted embrace.
"You saved me, Maris. If you had not come at that exact moment, I wouldn't have given a groat for my life. Your brave act rescued me from certain death, and I will never forget it. You can be sure I won't allow anyone to hang you, even if he is dead, and if anyone deserves to be dead, it is he.
"But how did you know to come at that particularly moment?"
Maris's face began to return to its normal color as she regained her composure.
"I waited outside like ya said, miss, but I got worrit when ya were in there so long, and I snuck in ter see as how things were goin'. I was near the kitchen when I heard ya scream and I grabbed the biggest cookpot I could find and knocked 'im in the 'ead with it."
She sighed. "I didn't mean ter kill 'im. I didn't think overmuch, just conked 'im so as 'e'd let go of ya."
Felicia comforted her maid as best she could until the hackney reached Brook Street, whereupon she was sent into the house to find money to pay the fare, and then Felicia repaired to her bedchamber after giving Maris the rest of the afternoon off.
She could not help but feel dismayed by the events of their afternoon adventure. Even assuming that the footman were to survive his injury, at the very least, she had aggravated the offenses held against her by her enemies, and she would never dare to enter that house again.
Which in the normal way of things would be unobjectionable, except that now she would never know the information that was in the old madam's safe, the name of the people who had purchased her daughter.
Suddenly Felicia sat up. She had learned something that day. It didn't seem like much to go on, but the dying madam had revealed to her two things about the couple that she had not known before: they were older, perhaps middle-aged, and they were Cits.