Page 3 of The Duke's Pet

A rise of nausea twisted in her guts. The thought of being groped and pawed by Arnold or any man like him was sickening.

And what would my poor parents think. God rest their souls.

“You’ll soon learn the easiest ways to make money.” Emily gestured up the stairs. “And once you’ve done it a few times, it becomes second nature. Come on.”

Each step Jemima climbed released a new spurt of adrenaline into her system. Being cold and hungry was beginning to feel like the better option. She was sure she’d be unable to hide her revulsion with one of the patrons of The Rose and Thorns. Likely they’d complain and she’d lose her job and be sent packing. She should perhaps just leave now, while she still had her dignity, and could step into church without shame.

“Come on,” Emily said. “I have work to do tonight. Collecting you from the high street has used up half of my earning time.”

“I’m sorry, but thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Apology not necessary, I’ve known you since we were wee lasses and a friend in need is a friend indeed and all that.”

Jemima managed a weak smile. She’d managed to catch a lift on a cart carrying hay from the Dales to York. It had been a long bumpy journey but at least the rain had held off. The farmer had been kind, too, and given her an apple. It was all she’d eaten that day.

“This way.” Emily bounded off, holding her skirts up as she went.

They reached the top of the stairs. A long corridor, the walls misshapen as the structure had shifted over time, stretched before them. The paint-chipped doors were all closed and a strange cacophony of groans, cries, and grunts slipped beneath them.

Emily smiled. “It’s a busy night. Madam will be in a good mood.”

As they walked past the first door, Jemima stared at it. Soon she would be in that room, or one like it, with a fat drunk ape yanking at her clothes, drooling on her.

“I can’t do this.” She stopped.

“Sure you can.” Emily turned. “Take no notice of what I said earlier, it’ll be fine. You’ll see.” She jerked her head upward. “And you can’t sleep under the stars, not here in York, you’ll get your throat slit.”

Jemima trembled.

“This is the best place for you now, and you’ve got me to watch out for you. Come on.”

It really did seem her fate had been decided. If she wanted to live—and she really did—Jemima would have to become a scarlet lady, a whore, a woman of the night.

God forgive me.

The door to the end room was ajar. The stench of perfume leaked into the air around it, as did tobacco smoke.

“Try and be positive,” Emily whispered. “Oh, and say you have some different clothes. Something more alluring, more saucy, you know.”

“But I don’t. This is the best I have.” She gestured to the plain blue woolen dress she’d traveled in. There were still stalks of hay sticking to it and a stain sat over the slight rise of her right breast.

Emily frowned. “I’ll lend you a dress, you’re the same size as me... well, you’re a bit thinner... but that will soon change now you’re here and you’ll be having a good meal each day.”

A good meal every day. Jemima could hardly imagine what that would be like. She’d been so hungry for so long.

“Who is there?” a voice called.

“We should go and introduce you,” Emily said.

Jemima summoned her courage. This was it, the point of no return. Once she’d accepted her new role in life, her course would be chosen.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Perhaps it would be hell on Earth.

“Ah, Emily, who do you have here?”

“This is a dear old friend who is wishing to join your esteemed establishment, Madam.”

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