Belle - Lesley Pearse [129]
But what made Belle feel most upset was that she’d been stupid enough to think she could have everything her way, because Faldo loved her. That was perhaps an unreasonable expectation; after all, she didn’t love him and had only turned to him in desperation. But it still hurt to think that all he wanted was a pretty girl always available for sex and somewhere to stay whenever he was in New Orleans.
He was smart too. By letting her put things on an account that made him appear very generous, but the truth was that he didn’t want to give her cash to buy food and household items because he thought she might run off with it.
She had just over a hundred dollars in savings. While that seemed a lot, she had no idea if it would even get her to New York, let alone back to England.
Belle cried for so long she didn’t notice it was growing dark outside. She had to pull herself together to put on her chemise, close the shutters and light the gas. She could smell food cooking close by, but it was very much quieter out on the street than it had been back in the District. Even if she didn’t like anything else about this gloomy little house, that was one good point.
‘You were far too hasty,’ she said aloud as she went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘You should’ve got to know him better, or checked out other men before deciding on him. But you’ve done it now, there’s no way back, so you’ve got to make the best of it.’
Within days of leaving Martha’s, Belle discovered that boredom and loneliness were her biggest enemies. She dealt with the first by cleaning, cooking, walking, reading and sewing, but she couldn’t find anything to stop the loneliness.
Almost daily she wished she were back with the other girls in Martha’s kitchen over long, leisurely breakfasts, sitting around in their nightdresses with tangled hair, everyone talking at once about the night before and shrieking with laughter as one of them described a particularly odd experience. Then there were those lazy afternoons wandering the French Quarter or lying around in the back yard chatting and sipping cold drinks. She’d even give anything to hear the front-door bell tinkling, although that meant a gentleman was coming in and suddenly they all had to turn on seductive smiles and brace themselves for what was to come.
Back in the District it was almost impossible to walk down a street without someone stopping her for a chat. Street musicians always homed in on girls, often playing a tune especially for them – she couldn’t count the times she had stopped to listen and laughed as they flirted with her. She could buy an ice cream or a slice of water melon from a stall and the stallholder would tell her a bit of gossip. The shopkeepers were all friendly and greeted her with smiles; there was no uppityness – they didn’t consider themselves superior. All over the District there was a sense of everyone being in it together, very much like it had been back in Seven Dials.
But so far not one person in this street had spoken to her, or even smiled. She doubted this was because they knew she was a kept woman – she didn’t see anyone talking to anyone else. She could only suppose this was how it was in ‘respectable’ areas. People kept to themselves for fear of something. Whether that was fear of involvement, or just common snobbishness, she didn’t know. But whatever the reason, she didn’t like it.
Sometimes she felt so alone that she cried herself to sleep. The silence pressed in on her and made her feel threatened. There had been a couple of thunderstorms at night too, such heavy rain that it drummed on the tin roof, and such loud thunderclaps that she shook with fear. She got into the habit of going out for long walks, each time going further and further to delay going home, and making herself really tired so she could sleep when she got back.
Faldo came once a week, but it was always on different days. At first