He laughed. ‘Take the gown, my dear.’ ‘No, I won’t!’
‘If you refuse,’ he said, his voice as unruffled as always, ‘you will go before a roomful of men quite naked. It is your decision.’
He calmly laid the gown on the bed, turned on his heel., and strode to the cabin door. ‘You have fifteen minutes, Juliana, no more.’
She had no choice, none at all. She didn’t disbelieve his threat. As she struggled to cover herself as best she could with the bright red dress, the memories of that night some five days before again filtered through her mind. Vague images, but they bothered her. She sawv herself, as if through a haze, lying on her back, feeling strange sensations, feeling as though she were floating above her body, a body quite separate from her. Until he’d touched her breast – then she’d become herself again. She shook her head. It had made no sense. None at all. She raised her chin and waited for Jameson Wilkes to return for her.
She would best him. Oh, yes, she would.
5
The Crooked House on Sutter Street stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, and was, Saint knew, for all its rumored satanic rites and sexual perversions-, nothing more than a whorehouse. A fancy whorehouse with only rich private members.
Members, he thought, shaking his head. That was almost funny.
He thought of Juliana DuPres and what she must be feeling. Terror, no doubt. He wondered if she’d changed much from that pert little straggly girl he’d known five years ago. So bright, she’d been, as bright as her flame-colored hair. He remembered her waiting for him several times outside the Seamen’s Hospital on Front Street. If her damned father had known, he would have had a fit, of course, but somehow he’d never learned of those surreptitious visits. No matter how depressed Saint had been, the sight of her had always made him smile.
Saint came out of the shadows at the sound of an owl. Hoot, he realized, was in place, as were, Saint hoped, the other dozen Sydney Ducks. A villainous lot, the bunch of then-15 but he’d take them over the bastards inside the Crooked House any day.
Saint felt a gentle tugging on his arm. ‘Doc, they’ve already auctioned off three Chink gals. Wilkes ain’t to be seen, of course. It’s Danvers who’s doing the dealing.’
Saint adjusted his full beard and his black wig. Because of his height, he could, by standing on a crate, see through a side window. He nodded to Limpin’Willie, eased up onto the crate, which wobbled a bit under his weight, and peered again into the room.
There were at least twenty men, all of them masked, seated in chairs facing a small stage. He’d heard about the anonymity, the major rule, and thus the black masks. It prevented blackmail and a certain amount of embarrassment, he supposed. The curtains behind the stage were black velvet, as were the draperies in the room itself. He felt his blood boil when another quite young Chinese girl was forced out from behind the curtain, her long silken black hair covering her small breasts. He heard muted conversation, heard that sharpvoiced bastard Danvers calling out bids. How many more poor unfortunate girls before Jules? he wondered, concerned that the crate would break beneath him.
Juliana was wrapped in a thick cloak, her hands tied behind her, a gag in her mouth.
Jameson Wilkes was seated beside her, his face utterly emotionless. She’d seen around the curtain briefly, seen the masked men seated in the darkened room.
It was some sort of club, she thought, with men here for the express purpose of buying women. But she wouldn’t give up. Wilkes had to take off this gag sometime; then she would scream. I’ll fight, I’ll yell and …
Wilkes removed her gag suddenly. ‘Drink this now, Juliana.’
She stared at the glass of wine for a long moment. ‘Why?’
‘It will make everything … easier for you.’ ‘You had me drink wine before.’
‘Yes, and you will again, now.’
She looked wildly about her. Two of Jameson Wilkes’s men stood behind her. ‘No,’ she said, thrusting up her chin.