Page 12 of Mrs. Victoria Buys A Brothel

C hapter 12

The manor

Victoria barely slept. When the morning came, she was twitchy and nervous, too nauseous to eat breakfast. Natane packed a snack, filled the canteen with fresh coffee, and led her to the stables. They left the cart there and rode to the shores of the Great Salt Lake.

They sat on the rocks, their shoulders brushing.

“I know there’s a lot of water in the world, but seeing it in person is something else,” said Natane with awe.

Someday, I will show you the sea , thought Victoria.

Natane squeezed her hand. “Alright, there?”

“No.”

“Do you still want to go?”

“Yes.”

A moment. Victoria eyed the rifle strapped to Natane’s back. “If Earl finds us…”

“I’ll deal with him.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Victoria…”

“I won’t let them take you away,” she snapped. “If anything happens, if there is the slightest doubt cast upon you, they will not hesitate to imprison you and I would never see you again.” She squeezed back. “I won’t let him steal this from me, too.”

The evening came too soon. They rode back to the city, headed uptown, towards the ominous shape of the Temple. They tied the horses in an alleyway, a couple of streets from the manor.

“Wouldn’t it be best to leave them closer? In case we need to escape?” asked Natane.

“No. They would take one look at you and that rifle and alert the authorities. Here, wrap it,” she handed back the poncho. “And pull your hair up.” Natane would not pass for an Englishwoman if anyone glanced at her twice, so Victoria prayed no one would.

She shouldered an empty canvas bag. “Let’s go.”

They walked up street, trying not to catch anyone’s attention. There were only a few carts and a handful of posh people milling around. Victoria lowered the Stetson and kept her eyes down.

They stopped in front of the tall iron gates of the manor. There was no buggy parked inside and no light at the windows. Victoria unlocked the gates and stepped in before fear got the best of her.

The main doors opened on an empty hallway. They stood on the doorstep, holding their breath, listening for any noise. There was nothing. She closed the door behind them.

“Where do we go, first?” whispered Natane as she unwrapped her rifle.

“The study.”

She led them upstairs, wincing at the wood creaking under their weight. She paused at the landing and waited. There was only silence.

The door to the study was unlocked. She thanked the heavens for this small luck, for Earl guarded his documents religiously. Natane waited at the door while she descended on the desk.

The thing took half the space, a pretentious whim that had cost a fortune and twice that to bring it upstairs. It was covered in a mess of papers and leather ledgers. She searched frantically through it all, opened anything that resembled a letter. There was nothing on the shelves, on the mantel, or hidden between the book pages. The drawers were locked and no amount of pulling made them budge.

“Victoria, we need to move,” warned Natane from the door.

“I need to open this,” she said, bordering on tears.

Natane bit her lip. “Alright. We could break the lock; we just need something heavy. Or I could shoot it.”

This pulled Victoria from her panic spiral and made her realize how risky the situation was. “No,” she breathed. “I’m not endangering you more than this. Not on a mere chance.”

Heartbroken, she left the study and led them to the master bedroom.

She froze when she saw the bed. It looked innocent, in the evening light. As if nothing had ever happened there. As if she had not spent countless sleepless nights, shaking in fear, lying next to a monster.

Natane’s hand on her arm brought her back to reality.

She found the remains of her father’s bible in the bedside table, half the pages ripped off and left at the bottom of the drawer. She threw everything in the canvas bag and kept looking. To confirm her fears, both the dresser and the vanity had been emptied. There was nothing left in the room that had belonged to her.

Furious, she led them back downstairs and marched to the drawing room. Thankfully, Henry’s portrait was still hung over the mantle. She grabbed it, trying not to look at her son’s face, else she would burst into tears at the worst moment. It was too big for the bag. She tucked it under her arm and went to the china cabinet.

Her mother’s porcelain tea set was also missing. Looking around, she found a shard of her teapot behind a couch.

She took a deep breath. She could not afford to break down.

“I think there’s something under there,” whispered Natane from the door. Victoria lifted the ottoman and there it was. A tiny cup of white porcelain, painted with daisies. Intact.

She carefully added it to the bag.

“Are we done?” asked Natane.

Victoria knew she should say yes. She had her father’s bible, her mother’s teacup, her son’s portrait. And yet, there was a fury growing inside of her. She had wanted to bring back ribbons for Lisette, a coral hairbrush for Consuelo. Something pretty for Siobhan, who would never wear it, but still, it would be hers.

“I’m going downstairs,” she said, walking past Natane.

“What’s left?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

She lit a lamp and marched to the cellar. Natane left the door ajar and planted herself at the top of the stairs, rifle at the ready.

It was awkward, going downstairs holding both a lamp and a framed portrait. She placed both on top of a chest of drawers and made her way through piles of possessions. There, at the very back, was the rack holding her old dresses. Untouched.

Victoria had spent a lot of time thinking about this, so she knew what to grab. There was no time to fold them, she simply threw everything in the bag without a care for wrinkles.

She made her way back to the foot of the stairs and grabbed the portrait. She was about to take the lamp when Natane made a frantic gesture.

“Turn it off!” she mouthed.

Victoria did so. They found themselves in the dark, a single ray of pale light coming from the door. Then, she heard it.

Footsteps.

She bit back a terrified whimper. These were Earl’s steps, heavy and menacing. They were coming closer.

Natane slowly raised her rifle.

Victoria wanted to scream. A detonation would alert the neighbours. It did not matter if Earl was killed or not, they would never let a trespassing Indian woman leave the city alive.

She shook her head frantically, trying to stop Natane, watching, powerless, her friend shoulder the rifle and take aim. “Please, no,” she breathed.

The steps stopped.

Victoria could do nothing but stare at the silhouette of her friend, committing her to memory, knowing that a single shot would be the end for her. Frantically, she searched for an escape, forming a thousand plans in her mind, all doomed from the start. All ending in Natane’s death.

She could not let it happen. She would kill before letting anyone take Natane from her.

She would—

The steps walked away, slowly. They reached the central stairs, and went up.

After a moment, Natane lowered the rifle. “He’s in the bedroom,” she whispered.

“We need to leave, now.” Victoria grabbed her skirt and made her way up.

There was no one in the hallway. They walked to the front doors as fast as they could without making any sound, and found them locked. Victoria realized with horror that they had not locked behind them.

“Fuck,” she muttered, and dug in her pocket for the keys. Natane aimed the rifle at the second floor. Victoria panicked and grabbed the keys too quickly, the jingling loud in the silent house.

“Thomas?” came the call from upstairs.

She unlocked the door, the noise resonating through the manor. She pulled Natane outside and closed behind them. “Put that gun down,” she whispered.

They passed the iron gates and did not take the time to lock them. Inside, they could hear Earl call for the butler again.

Natane pulled her by the arm, walking as fast as they could and turning on the first avenue.

No one came after them.

They reached the alleyway where they had left the horses. Natane let herself fall against the wall.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Victoria realized she was just standing there. She could not move; she could not answer. Slowly, Natane walked up to her, grabbed the bag and the portrait and left them against the wall with her rifle. With great care, she pulled Victoria against her and hugged.

“You were so brave,” she whispered in Victoria’s hair.

Victoria did not feel brave. She felt scared.

“We can’t linger. Come on.” Natane pulled away, the hug way too short. “Let’s go back to the inn.”

Victoria did not remember much of the way home. It was awkward, riding and holding a portrait at the same time, but she could not part with it.

At the inn, Natane sat her on the bed and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. “I need to tend to the horses. I’ll be back soon.”

Victoria did not hear her leaving.

She eventually curled up on her side and cradled the portrait. The corners of the frame dug into her skin. It was painful. It was all she was left with.

*

They left for Swainsburg the next morning. David made the trip back with them, side by side, his schooner full with merchandise he would deliver to the towns on the way. Their own wagon was heavy with the agricultural contraption they were bringing back to Natane’s tribe.

Victoria was still shaken and Natane was silent by nature, so David filled the silence with nervous chatter. He warmed up to Natane, forced by boredom to make small talk.

“So, what have you got, in there?” he asked, pointing to the back with his chin. “What’s that thing?”

“A plow,” said Natane.

“For real? It looks scary. It has teeth. Wasn’t a regular plow good enough? We have tons of them in Swainsburg. Was it necessary to come all the way here? What kind of ground are you planning to cultivate with that? Rocks?”

Natane sighed in exasperation. Victoria knew it was directed at the elders of her tribe, but David seemed to take it personally. “Sorry, not my place to judge. But what else you got there? Are those books?”

Victoria rummaged behind her and picked the first one from the pile. Shakespeare.

“You were right about Swainsburg,” she smiled, “it’s very boring.”

“Didn’t I tell you? I so told you.” He glanced at the book. “What’s this one about, then? You read it all?”

“I would not have the patience. But I’ve seen a couple of plays.”

“Can you read one?” he asked. “Please?”

She shuffled through the pages, trying to remember which ones she had seen performed. Natane glanced over her shoulder, curious.

“That says Sebastian, right there,” she noted.

“Hm, I don’t know that one. Twelfth Night. Let’s see what it’s about.”

She started reading. Slowly, the fear left her. She felt she could breathe again.

“This is crazy,” said David after a while. “Wait. Let me see if I got it right. The guy is in love with this fancy lady, so he hired a guy, who’s actually a girl dressed as a guy, to seduce the fancy lady. The girl dressed as a guy falls in love with the first guy. And now the fancy lady falls in love with who she thinks is a guy, but is actually a girl?”

“Wasn’t there also a twin brother?” asked Natane with a small frown. “This is complicated.”

“It’s probably better with more actors,” laughed Victoria. “Hush, both of you. Lady Olivia was declaring her love. Where was I… Ah. Cesario, by the roses of the spring, by maidhood, honour, truth and every thing, I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.”

David sighed happily. “This is so pretty. I know it’s supposed to be funny, since she’s declaring her love to the guy who’s actually a girl, but this Shakespeare man had a way with words. You think I could borrow it? Just to learn some lines?”

“Sure,” muttered Victoria, lost in thought. It was supposed to be funny. But for the life of her, she could not find humour in the situation.

Next to her, Natane was silent.