Belle - Lesley Pearse [43]
The men exchanged glances.
‘Am I to be a servant?’ She directed her question at Kent, and when neither of them answered she asked, ‘Or is it something far worse than that?’
She waited for some response, but there was none. Sly was living up to his name and looking everywhere but at her.
‘Do you think because you’re leaving me here in a strange country I won’t be able to find my way back to England and go to the police and tell them you killed Millie?’ she said to Kent, trying to sound braver than she felt. ‘I bet I could even work out where your house was, those clapboard houses are unusual. People in Seven Dials will break their normal code of silence for my mother, you know. They’ll soon talk about who this man the Falcon is and his stooge called Sly. They won’t like it that you snatched me off the street.’
Kent reacted then, reaching out and slapping her hard around the face. ‘Shut your mouth,’ he hissed. ‘Where you’re going you’ll do exactly as they tell you or you won’t live to be disobedient a second time. As for getting back to England, you won’t ever get the chance.’
Belle’s face stung, it felt as if it was swelling up, and she wanted to cry, but she was determined not to give him that satisfaction.
‘Don’t be so sure,’ she said.
He moved to hit her again, but Sly leapt forward and stopped him. ‘Don’t damage the merchandise,’ he said.
That word ‘merchandise’ told Belle everything. She was just a commodity to these men, like a bale of cloth, a crate of whisky or a joint of meat, to be sold on to someone else. What’s more, she could guess who they would be selling her to. She might have only recently worked out what brothels were really about, but she knew with utter certainty she was going to one. She wanted to believe that she would just be a maid to the girls, as Mog was, but no one would smuggle someone on a ship and drive them so far just for that. So the reality was that she was being sold to be a whore!
She wanted to scream out her terror and to lash out at the two men, but she knew that would only antagonize Kent further and he might even throttle her if he was mad enough.
Mog had always claimed she had more tricks up her sleeve than a magician, so she took a deep breath to calm herself. She wasn’t going to be killed, and she didn’t think anyone would beat her, not if they wanted her to look good. All she had to do was use her wits to find a way to escape. Not protesting or making a fuss would be a start – maybe then they’d give up watching her constantly.
Only a few minutes later the carriage stopped. Kent got out first and reached up to lift Belle down, holding her arm very tightly so she couldn’t run off. Sly followed immediately. They were in a gloomy, gaslit terrace of tall houses, but around fifty yards away down the street light spilled out on to the cobbled street from the windows of a bar. The place was almost pulsating with music, dancing feet and laughter.
‘No one sleeps here, it seems,’ Sly said, and he sounded relieved.
Kent said something to the driver. Belle presumed he was speaking French because she didn’t understand a word. Then, with Kent still holding her right arm and Sly her left, they led her down a narrow alley and into a small square. Belle looked questioningly at Sly, but he turned his face away.
Another small bar in the square was still open, golden light spilling out from the small windows, but all the other shops were closed and there was no one around except a couple of men staggering drunkenly across the square. Simultaneously both men tightened their grip on Belle’s arms and Kent slapped his other hand over her mouth.
The house the men led her to was in the corner of the square and set back from its neighbours. The square was dimly lit by just a couple of gaslights but even so Belle could see the house well enough to feel chilled. It was larger than most of its neighbours, with four floors and pointed, gothic-looking eaves. The windows were long and narrow and most of them appeared to be shuttered. Sitting on the two posts which flanked