Page 6 of Mrs. Victoria Buys A Brothel

C hapter 6

The deed

The following morning, Consuelo walked her to the bank. People still watched from their porches and windows, but Victoria felt stronger now that she had bathed and changed into clean garments. She had managed to cover the bruise with face paint, and arranged her hair into a decent updo. Even in second-hand clothes, she felt more like herself than she did wearing the finest evening dresses.

The bank was situated near the intersection, right next to the sheriff’s office. It was a building made of brick, with a solid metal door and bars at the windows. The interior was even more stark, with a single, heavy desk in the front room. A mousy little man was writing neatly in a ledger.

“Take a seat,” he mumbled, without raising his head. He finished three more lines and finally looked at them. “Oh, Miss Ramirez. You’re a week late on the rent.”

“We can pay you after the next church weekend,” Consuelo gritted her teeth. “But it’s not why we’re here—”

“You told me the same thing last month, and the one before that.”

“And every time, we paid. Can we not talk about this in front of my guest?”

The man seemed to notice Victoria for the first time. “Ah, good morning. Archibald Cooper, of Cooper and sons.”

“Victoria Montgomery. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cooper.”

“So, what can our bank do for you, Mrs.Montgomery? Are you a…” he glanced at Consuelo, “colleague of Miss Ramirez?”

“She’s not,” cut Consuelo. “She’s a guest.”

“Indeed,” said Victoria, playing with the strap of her canvas bag. “These lovely ladies agreed to house me until I get my bearings. It is actually the reason for my visit. I’d like to open an account, please.”

She didn’t miss the quick once-over he gave her. He did not seem impressed. “I’ll see what I can do.” He pulled out a heavy book from a drawer, and opened it to a blank page.

“Victoria Montgomery,” he repeated. “Maiden name?”

“Montgomery is my maiden name.”

He glanced up, even less impressed, and finished writing her name neatly. “Now, what is the amount you wish to deposit to open the account?”

“I hoped you could tell me,” she said, upending the bag on his desk.

The banker did not look surprised at the small pile of jewels. Without missing a beat, he took the nearest earring, grabbed a magnifying glass and pulled the oil lamp closer.

“Sapphires, gold … seems real. Stamped with the jeweller’s initials, good.” He took a bracelet. “Rubies, good quality. Emeralds too. Are they acquired legally?”

“Of course, they’re gifts from my family. This one was from my husband for our wedding,” she said, pushing the biggest necklace his way.

“Diamonds pavé set in white gold,” he muttered, bringing it to the light. After a moment, he scoffed. “Well, this says a lot about your husband. It’s fake.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Glass. It’s very neatly cut, an expert job if I do say so myself, but still glass.” He rubbed it against the metal base of the lamp. “It’s not even zircon or quartz. Just glass.”

Victoria gaped.

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen this,” said the banker, shaking his head. “In fact, it happens way too frequently, in my line of work. If it makes you feel better, the necklace may be worthless, but you have some legitimate pieces in there, even a couple stamped with a manufacturing number, that’s good, we could trace their history and probably find authenticity certificates. It would highly increase their value.”

She shook her head. “There’s no need, I’ll be content with what I have now.” The banker made a small, dismissive sound and went back to counting. She grew annoyed, but the frightening thought of repeating herself, of raising her voice against a stranger, jammed the words in her throat.

In the end, only two other pieces were fakes, both gifts from her husband. Everything she’d inherited from her family was real and worth a reasonable amount.

“I need to double-check to be sure,” said the banker, “but I estimate the total value at five hundred dollars. It could have reached a thousand, maybe a thousand fifty, if those were real diamonds.”

Victoria put on her smile. “It’s fine, it’s all fine, don’t worry about it. Thank you so much for your help.”

Her face cracked the moment they left the bank. “Oh!” she snapped. “I can’t believe…! He told me…! he told everyone he had to sell property to buy it! It was my wedding gift! I can’t believe it! He lied to me from the start, that, that—”

Consuelo grimaced. “I’m so sorry, Vict—”

“…that son of a bitch ,” hissed Victoria. “Thirty years of marriage, of parading me in front of all his acquaintances, of— of— of hitting me whenever he drank too much! And the diamonds aren’t even real ?” She twisted the strap of her bag until her hands hurt.

“Let’s be practical about this,” said Consuelo. “Five hundred may not be a lot for you, but in these parts, it can be plenty. You can get a decent land with enough left to build a farm.”

“A— a farm?” she squeaked. “Consuelo, I am completely useless! I can’t own a farm!”

“I’m sure you’re not completely useless. And if not a farm, maybe a house in town?”

“And then I’ll have nothing left to live on! Oh, I was hoping this would last me enough to learn a trade!”

Consuelo grabbed her by the shoulders. “You still can. You don’t have to get a house right this instant. We’re not kicking you out.”

“But…! Consuelo, I can’t abuse your generosity.”

“You can help pay the rent,” she shrugged.

Victoria breathed in and nodded. “Help with the rent. Yes, I can do this.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, I think so. Thank you, my dear.”

“And if you need us to kill your husband, just say the word.”

Despite herself, Victoria chuckled. “I don’t believe this will be necessary, at the moment. Come, didn’t you say you had to visit the blacksmith?”

Consuelo led her to the smithy across the street. It was a building made of stone with a wide entrance and a yard full of agricultural machines.

“Fair warning, he’s a bit weird,” whispered Consuelo before going in.

The air inside was scorching. The blacksmith was busy at the back, near the forge. Victoria could not have named half of the objects lining up the shelves and hanging on the walls. She recognized household items, like lamps and pots, and some farm equipment. She had no idea what the other things could be.

The blacksmith finished what he was hammering, took the time to cool it in a bucket of water and place it on a workbench, and only then walked up to them.

He was very tall with square shoulders; most of his face was hidden behind messy hair and a messier beard. He removed his heavy leather gloves and dropped them on the front table.

“Is our kettle ready?” asked Consuelo.

“Yeah,” he grunted, before leaving for the back of his shop.

Victoria elbowed Consuelo. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“…You want me to introduce you to the blacksmith?” she whispered back.

“To our neighbour . I don’t wish to be rude.”

“…Alright?”

He came back and placed a metallic kettle on the table. “Five cents,” he grumbled.

“Yes. Hum. Paul, is it?”

“Yeah.”

“Paul. I wanted you to meet our guest, Mrs.Victoria. Hum… She’s from Salt Lake City. Victoria, this is the town’s blacksmith, Paul, huh…”

“Mason.”

“Paul Mason. He’s from…” She blinked. “I have no idea where you’re from,” she told him bluntly.

“Maine.”

“Ah.”

The awkwardness was crushing. Victoria could not stand it.

“Maine!” she exclaimed with delight. “How lovely! I have always dreamed of seeing the ocean. Did you live on the coast?”

Paul looked at her, befuddled. After a moment, he pointed to one of his ears. “In this one.”

“Oh, my apologies,” said Victoria, stepping towards his good side. “How is this?” At his nod, she tried again. “I was asking about Maine, I heard it was beautiful. Did you live near the sea?”

“No.” Then, at Victoria’s surprise, he went on. “But I’ve seen it. A couple of times.”

“How was it?”

“Big. Very big.” He seemed to realize both women were waiting for more, and he grimaced, looking for his words. “There’s a lot of wind. And it smells like fish.”

Consuelo snorted. “So you exchanged it for a very big desert, with a lot of wind, that smells like horse shit.”

To their surprise, he chuckled. “Yeah, that.” He turned to Victoria. “Good to meet you. I do repairs. Metal, wood, leather, anything.”

“You’re so talented!” she gushed, with honest admiration. She looked at the shelves behind him, “Did you make all this?”

“No. I repaired them. But I made this.”

He grabbed an entire saddle from the floor and dropped it on the table. Victoria’s experience with saddles was a lifetime away, but she could recognize excellent work. What set it apart were the engravings all along the edge, a pattern of intertwined leaves with incredible detail.

“This is exquisite,” breathed Victoria.

“Very nice,” added Consuelo. “Look, Victoria, there’s a tiny horse over here! This is amazing.”

Paul seemed a bit awkward, faced with their praises. “Thanks.”

“Do you make custom orders?” asked Consuelo, all business again. “I need a saddle. Nothing pretty like this, just a regular one would do, but… smaller?”

“Smaller?”

“Something that would fit a man. The one I have is too heavy and too bulky, and the straps are about to give. It was already old when I got it.” At Victoria’s curious expression, she went on. “Some men want to be treated like cattle, others like horses.”

Victoria hesitated. “And what about the ones that want to be treated like men?”

“Those don’t come to see me,” she chuckled. She turned to Paul, suddenly uncertain. “Hum, sorry if that was too much.”

“I can do it,” he said, lost in thought. “I’ve got some supple leather, it’s lighter. Do you want a bridle, too?”

“That would be great!”

He grabbed a horse bridle and pointed at specific parts. “Like this, but thinner straps. Not the nose band, but we keep the cheek piece. Big metal buckle here.”

“Right on the cheek, that’s perfect. Do you think we can keep the throat band?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I can add belt holes here and here. You want the bit in metal?”

“Can it be wood instead?”

“Sure. If they chew through it, I’ll just replace it.”

“Oh, not enough of them have teeth, but thanks.” She turned to Victoria, who was watching them with bemusement. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” she quickly waved off. “I was simply admiring your creativity! This sounds like a very original project!”

“It is, isn’t it?” she smiled at Paul. “I can’t wait to see it. How much do you think it’ll come to?”

Paul shrugged with one massive shoulder. “Same as everyone else? A dollar for the saddle, twenty-five cents for the bridle.”

Consuelo frowned. “Are you sure? This is a custom order.”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun. A change from horseshoes. Do you need horseshoes?”

“You know what? Maybe. How could we—”

Victoria raised a hand to stop her there. “How about we discuss it tomorrow, over tea? Paul, we would love to have you over.”

“For tea?” he blinked.

“Or coffee, if that is your preference. Tomorrow evening, at seven?”

“Okay.”

“I’m so glad! See you then, Paul. Come, Consuelo.”

She went back to the street and sighed in relief at the fresh wind. After a moment, Consuelo came jogging after her. “What was that for?”

Victoria huffed. “This discussion was becoming very… let’s say, specific. A young, unmarried lady, speaking of such things with a gentleman! With the door wide open, when anyone could walk by!”

“Victoria. I’m a whore.”

“Is that young man one of your clients?”

“No?”

“Then you need a chaperone. We wouldn’t want your reputation to suffer.”

Consuelo muttered back “reputation?” so Victoria backtracked, her anxiety returning when she realized she was growing too comfortable. “Oh, I apologize if I overstepped. I know rules are a bit more flexible here, please disregard everything I said.”

Consuelo looked at the repaired kettle with a tiny frown. “No one has ever treated me like this,” she mumbled.

Victoria wanted to hide in her room. “I’m so sorry, my dear, I won’t…”

“Like I’m a lady,” she finished. “As if there was any honour left to my name.” She smiled; a bit shy.

Victoria took a moment to realize there would be no retribution for her audacity. Maybe she was allowed to be a bit too much. There, in the middle of the town, the simple realization that this girl would not hit her felt like holy salvation.

Victoria, biting back her tears, took Consuelo’s hand and placed it in the crook of her arm. “Consuelo, I have only known you for a couple of days, and yet, I know you have more honour than all the upper crust of Salt Lake City.”

She looked bashful. “Alright, you can chaperone me a bit.”

Victoria squeezed her hand, pleased. “I’m sorry for inviting him without asking, though.”

“Don’t be, God knows worse people have crossed the door. Anyway, you can invite whoever you want, it’s your home, too.”

“Hm,” said Victoria. There was something to think about, there.

They walked down the street, arm in arm.

*

There was an idea gnawing at the edges of Victoria’s mind. She toyed with it the entire night, and well into the next day. The evening approached with a strange febrility from Consuelo and Lisette.

“It’s just the blacksmith,” repeated Siobhan. “Are we really taking out the good tablecloths?”

“We never have guests!” simpered Lisette, setting the table. “Victoria, you need to tell me which comes first, the fork or the spoon?”

Victoria showed her the proper placement. The cutlery and plates were all mismatched, but everything was spotless. Lisette looked at it all, squinting. “It’s missing something. Flowers?”

“No time for that, it’s 6:45,” said Siobhan from her seat, a pocket watch in hand. “Consuelo!” she yelled at the kitchen. “Fifteen minutes!”

There was the clanging of metal pots and a loud series of Spanish swears. Consuelo walked out of the kitchen, threw her apron at Victoria and stomped to her room. “You got me into this, you deal with the food!”

Paul arrived at seven on the dot, wearing his Sunday best, hair tied back, beard neatly trimmed, holding a long and thin wrapped package and a bouquet of wildflowers.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he said, a bit overwhelmed, giving Victoria the bouquet.

“They’re beautiful, thank you very much, dear Paul. Please, do come in.”

Once his huge frame was not blocking the doorway, Victoria noticed both Mrs.Jackson and Mrs.Zhao on their porch, staring. A quick glance confirmed that most people in the surrounding houses were also looking their way. She did not appreciate all their eyes on her, but she figured Paul’s reputation was more at risk, in a brothel. She left the front doors wide open.

Inside, Paul was asking Lisette to repeat her greeting, pointing at his good ear. Lisette, the perfect host, took it into account and switched her precious seating arrangement to put him at the end of the table, where he could hear them all. When Consuelo made for her usual chair, Lisette marched her subtly, but firmly, into the one next to Paul.

“Hi,” said Consuelo.

“Hi,” said Paul.

“Oh my God,” said Siobhan. “Do I have to be here?”

Victoria patted her hand while smiling at Paul. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Sure.”

Tea time was awkward. Victoria was a seasoned veteran of uncomfortable dinners, but even her best conversation starters fell flat, Paul giving only one-word answers.

This was made worse when Siobhan simply blurted, “What’s up with your ear, then? Is it from birth or did something happen to you?”

“Siobhan!” gaped Victoria before she could stop herself. “That is rude.”

To her surprise, the girl did not become angry. “What, I’m just asking. Sorry, I guess.”

Paul took a sip of tea. Their biggest mug was dwarfed by his hands. “Powder keg exploded. I was right next to it.”

“Whoa,” whispered Siobhan, impressed.

“That eye is also almost blind,” he added, pointing.

“You said you were from Maine,” said Consuelo, tentatively. “Were you in the war?”

Paul nodded. “The first year. Then I got discharged. Nasty business, war. Not something you want to talk over tea, not to ladies.”

“Alright.”

They quickly changed the subject. Siobhan stayed far from the delicate topics, but she still asked many direct questions. This was easier for Paul than Victoria and Lisette’s conversations. Through his very short answers, they eventually learned a bit more about him. He told them about his father being from Québec, and Lisette jumped at the chance to speak French. To her disappointment, Paul only knew a handful of religious swear words, which, in turn, delighted Siobhan.

At one point, Victoria caught Consuelo’s eye, and raised her eyebrows as a question. Consuelo shrugged.

The end of the evening came, and Paul thanked them again. Then, he paused in front of Consuelo. “Huh, I brought you something. Left it there.” He grabbed the package from a chair nearby.

Consuelo undid the wrapping and stared. It was a riding crop.

“Oh,” she said.

“G’night, Miss Consuelo.”

He nodded at the others, and left. The moment he disappeared from the entrance, they huddled around Consuelo, who was still holding the riding crop.

The wooden handle had been carved with roses.

*

It took hours to get Consuelo out of her room, and it was only when Lisette promised she would stop planning the wedding. She joined them at the bar, chin high, daring them to ask anything.

Siobhan raised both hands in self-defence. “Don’t look at me, I’m not the one counting your babies before they hatch.”

“Can we focus?” said Victoria. “I wished to speak with you three.”

They exchanged glances. “Is this a tea conversation or a whisky conversation?” asked Siobhan.

“To be honest, I do not know. It is a serious offer, though, so we may need to keep our heads clear.”

“Whisky it is,” said Consuelo, grabbing the nearest bottle, while Lisette handed out the glasses.

“So?” pressed Siobhan.

“I don’t know how to phrase this…,” said Victoria.

“Just spit it out, woman.”

Victoria sighed, and took a sip. It burned horribly. “I want to buy the house,” she said.

“This house?” asked Consuelo, pointing around.

“Yes, the brothel. I should have enough to buy the property back from the bank.”

“Why would you do that, though?”

“Yeah,” added Siobhan, “it’s not like we’re a good investment, we barely manage to pay the rent.”

“I do not want to invest in you,” said Victoria, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I want to help you.”

“Are you going to lower the rent?” asked Lisette, hopeful.

“I’m not going to demand rent at all.”

“Nothing?” asked Siobhan, immediately suspicious. “Why? How? … Why?”

“To let you save enough money to buy the brothel back, of course.”

They exchanged glances.

“But why,” repeated Consuelo. “Why would you do that for us? Don’t you want to start your own life, somewhere else? Find something better than a tiny room in a whorehouse?’”

“That tiny room is sufficient to my needs,” she said, primly. “I would not mind keeping it longer, if you would allow it.”

Siobhan seemed unsatisfied. “Allow? Wouldn’t it be your building, though?”

“I will only do this with your accord. This is your home and your livelihood. Of course I want your consent before buying it from under your noses.”

“And you’re not going to kick us out?”

She looked at them, a bit sad. “You’ve been incredibly kind to me when I needed it most. Why won’t you believe I want to show you kindness in return?”

Lisette sighed. “It doesn’t happen often.”

Siobhan was not done. “And you’re going to be what, our madam? You’re going to collect half our wages, but call it something else, so it’s not rent?”

“Of course not! The whole point is to help you, not profit from you.”

“Yeah, I don’t really believe it. You’re going to go completely broke, just for us? No one is that nice.”

“I won’t be penniless. There will be a modest sum left to cover me while I learn a trade.”

Siobhan scoffed. “You had a manor —”

Victoria interrupted her. “This tiny room,” she gestured to the closed door with her glass, “is the only thing I need. I feel safe in there, which is something I can barely remember. Sleeping soundly is a luxury I don’t want to lose.”

The moment stretched. Lisette shrugged. “I think it’s fine. She will probably be nicer than Old Sam.”

Consuelo nodded slowly. “I like the idea of saving money. Own this place? Can you imagine?”

“I want it in writing,” said Siobhan, knocking on the table. “All that you said, no rent, no fees. Official, signatures and everything, keep a copy at the bank. Are you willing to do that?”

“I am.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Yeah, alright.” She raised her glass, followed by the others. “To the new landlady.”

The whisky burned all the way down.

*

It took two hours to sign the paperwork at the bank. Victoria’s safety deposit box was now empty, but for a simple sealed envelope holding the deed and her contract with the girls.

“Come on,” said Consuelo, placing an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll make us dinner.”

They went home.