Page 34 of A Treacherous Trade
Though Beatrice was technically my client, I decided I would keep Isabelle’s confidence. In my opinion, what people did on their own time was no concern of their employers’.
“Oi, Viola, why the mask?” Belle asked, peeking over the railing from the floor above. “Katherine thinks you have been disfigured and now none of the places further west will have you.”
“Actually…” I hesitated, the explanation I’d prepared suddenly feeling quite absurd. “My clients are partial to the mask; it helps them be more… revealing.”
“Ah,” Belle answered. “You’rethatkind of whore, then.”
To what kind she referred, I had no idea, but I nodded nonetheless. Apparently, I was that kind of whore.
“Don’t seem the sort,” Izzy piped in from behind me.
“Well, you never know what sort people are until you have them alone and at your mercy in the bedroom.” From where I drew that response, I had no idea.
And for the first time that night, the noises made by the women were those of agreement.
Progress, perhaps?
“Here ye are.” Morag paused at a door to the third floor rather than the fourth, which was where I’d understood Alys’s room to be situated. Or had I been misinformed?
“Butler will show your first appointment in when they arrive,” Belle said brightly, as I passed her to where Morag held the door open for me.
Peeking inside, I noted that the trappings and draperies were not as well appointed as I’d imagined. Indeed, not even as fine as the room in which I’d found Jane off the great room galley.
“Wait.” I whirled around. “This isn’t Alys’s room.”
“We know.”
My head lurched painfully on my neck as Morag shoved me inside with all the strength of our barbaric ancestors and slammed the door.
I immediately whirled and seized the latch, panic ripping through my veins with a dizzying rush. Against the weight of three women—maybe four, if Izzy had betrayed me—it didn’t budge.
Treachery.Nola’s voice rang out in my head.
“Let me out!” I demanded, my Irish accent slipping into my diction as a creature of rage and fear rose within me. “Open this bloody door or I’ll—”
“Listen,” Morag hissed through the keyhole. “Someone like ye canna expect to be one of us if ye’re never in the trenches with us. Ye understand? Ye’ll do this job, and we might talk Indira into forgiving ye for stealing Alys’s place out from under her, ye haughty trollop.”
Indira—had she put them up to this?
Job? No. No. I couldn’t do a job. Not here. Not in this room, where the work wasreal.
“Isabelle?” I appealed to my ally, hating the plaintive desperation in my voice. Hating that they’d revel in it.
“I-I’m sorry, Viola…” Izzy’s voice sounded small on the other side of the door. “Just… just do it this one time. Well and good, all right. And you’ll get out of there, no harm done.”
What sort of man would these professionals foist on someone they didn’t like? Surely this was some trial by fire.
I couldn’t imagine it.
Or perhaps I could, which was when I became truly terrified.
“No. No, you don’t understand!” I banged on the door with the flat of my palm, ready to abandon the pretense altogether. “Please. Get Beatrice! You have to let me out.”
Even through the shrill din of my horrified voice, I noted the soft click of a door on the adjacent wall.
My soul threatened to leave my body at the sound.
I jumped around, one hand pressed over my chest to keep my heart from escaping.
