A Love Most Dangerous (35 page)

After a few minutes we reached a large building with
three storeys. It looked like an inn and lights blazed from every window. I was
lowered to the ground and prodded, not towards the main door, but up a narrow
alley-way to one side. One of the men opened a door and I was pushed inside.

Sitting at a small desk was an old man with the gentle
face of a kindly priest. He frowned when he saw me. Thank goodness, I thought.
He would order these men to let me go, it was all some dreadful mistake.

The man placed his quill carefully on the desk and
stared at me.

'Is this it?' he asked.

'Yes Mr Crane,' Thorne said.

The old man stood up and came towards me. He was
small, barely up to my chin. He looked me up and down and then seized hold of
one of my breasts and squeezed it.

'Very nice,' he murmured, then reached up and forced
my mouth open. He examined my teeth as though I were a horse and then put his
nose close to my mouth and sniffed.

'Fresh breath,' he said, 'like new baked bread.'

Then his hand went round and felt my bottom.

'She's a fighter,' Thorne said. 'Kicked me in the
shins and tried to bite Ned's hand.'

The little old man rubbed his hands together with
pleasure.

'Excellent,' he said. 'Many gentlemen like the whores
to put up a bit of resistance. As long as I provide them with the means to
subdue them, of course. It wouldn't do to go home to their wives with cuts and
bite-marks.'

He gave me the most pleasant of smiles which almost
made me wet myself in terror.

'Take her up to the back room on the third floor,' he
said. 'It's nice and quiet there so if the clients need to get rough no one
will hear. I'll be up presently.'

The men dragged me up some stairs and to the end of a
long corridor.

The room was small and dark and contained only a
double bed and a little cupboard.

'Welcome to your new home,' said Thorne. His pale eyes
got even colder. 'I hope you'll be very happy here.'

At that moment the door opened and the old man walked
in. He was carrying a glass of wine.

'Strip her,' he said. 'Let's see if the money Art
Scrump demanded was worth paying.'

I turned towards him in shock.

Art had sold me? Art, my lover, had sold me to these
monsters? I shook my head in disbelief and as I did so the men began to rip off
my clothes. I was stark naked in moments. I tried to hide my private parts from
their eyes but one of the men grabbed my hands and held them above my head.

'Very pleasant,' said the old man. 'And Art says she
can make conversation as well as rut like a sow in heat.' He gave me that same
kindly smile.

'You and your boys can break her in,' he continued.
'As part payment for bringing her here.'

No sooner had he said it than the man who held my
hands dragged me to the bed and threw me down upon it. He unbuttoned his hose
and clambered onto me. I slapped him round the head with one hand and scratched
his cheek so deep it drew blood and he cried aloud.

'She is a fighter,' the old man said. 'Get off her.'

The man grumbled but climbed off of me. I shrank back
towards the wall and the old man stepped towards me. He held two objects; one a
long, thin cane, the other a paddle like milk-maids use for shaping butter. He
placed the paddle on the bed, held the cane up and whipped it in the air.

'Just so you learn,' he said. 'On her back so she can
see,' he ordered.

The men grabbed my arms and legs and stretched me out.
The old man placed the cane upon my lower belly, just above my private parts.
Then he lifted his arm and whipped down with the cane. The  pain was like
nothing I had ever felt before. It took my breath away and immediately a white
line appeared where the cane had bit. He whipped me once more and were it not
for the gag I would have screamed the whole building down.

'That's enough,' he said, handing the cane to one of
the men. 'Don't want to mark her too much.' Then he picked up the paddle and
held it in front of my eyes. 'This gives a different type of hurt,' he said.
'And the beauty of it is that it doesn't mark.'

He gestured to Thorne who turned me over on my belly.
Then I felt a weight smash onto my bottom and almost fainted at the blow. Again
and again the old man beat me, so that I thought my flesh would be pulverised.
I could no longer see anything for the tears in my eyes and then I was turned
on my back and the first of the kidnappers raped me followed by the other two.

'Make the slightest sound,' said the old man leaning
close into my face, 'and I will forget my worries about marking you. I'll get
these strong lads here to flog you until the flesh hangs off in tatters.'

The men chuckled to themselves, left the room and
locked the door.

I bowed my head and sobbed. My tears fell unabated. I
felt like a piece of dirt.

The next morning, as a church nearby was tolling
eleven o' clock the door opened and Crane and Thorne entered the room. Thorne
had brought with him the heavy paddle and a nasty leer. He ordered me to strip
and then bent me over the bed. Crane sat on the bed and pulled my head up so
that he could look into my face. Then he nodded and I felt the terrible crash
of the paddle beat upon my bottom.

'You didn't beg,' he said with a smile.

They left the room and I pulled my knees up onto the
bed and wept. I did not think to put my shift back on for hours.

As the church tolled six that night the two men
returned. They repeated the process of this morning but this time I begged them
fervently not to beat me.

It worked. Crane squeezed me on the chin like an old
uncle might and they left.

The next morning they returned at ten and ordered me
to strip. Again I bent over the bed and again Crane lifted my head so he could
gaze at my face.

I begged once again and he smiled indulgently. But
then the paddle crashed down so hard that I was buffeted into Crane's stomach.

'But I begged,' I protested.

'I know,' Crane said. 'Life can be so uncertain.'

He looked up at his accomplice. 'Take her, Mr Thorne,'
he said. 'But I don't want to risk her getting with child. Take her from
behind, in the other place.'

Thorne grunted with pleasure and I felt his rough
hands pull the cheeks of my bottom apart and then a searing pain as he entered
me.

'Get used to this, my dear,' Crane said. 'It's just
another trick to add to your repertoire.'

The next morning they visited and again I begged but
to no avail. I was beaten and then taken by Thorne.

That night when they came I had made up my mind. I
refused to beg. Crane looked bewildered for the briefest of moments and then
gestured angrily to Thorne who beat me three times and then buggered me.

But when they had left and as I lay weeping I smiled
in my heart at the way I had spoilt Crane's plan.

They came next morning and gave me half a dozen
strokes. But then six o' clock came in the evening and they paid no visit.

I lay in the bedroom for three more days with only two
visitors each day. One was a kindly old matron who brought me a glass of ale
and a dried up hunk of bread. She washed my wounds and rubbed cooling creams
into them.

'Such a pretty girl,' she said each day. 'I don't know
why you girls get yourself into such trouble.'

I shook my head at her words, not believing that she
could think or say it.

The other visitor was a young girl who came to explain
how the brothel worked and what was expected of me. She was called Amy and
looked to be a few years younger than me.

'Are you a whore?' I asked.

'Mostly a servant,' she said. 'I do the odd bit of
business when my dad threatens me for more money. But I've no wish to be one of
the Winchester Geese full time, thank you. It's too short a life and not a
merry one.'

'What do you mean, Winchester Geese?'

Amy clapped her hands and laughed. 'My, but you are
green. The whores in Southwark are called Winchester Geese on account of the
brothels being on land owned by the Bishop of Winchester. That's how he lives
so well in his fine houses.'

She shook her head and looked almost sad. 'But you
won't stay green for long, Alice, not for long.'

Later that morning, when the elderly matron came with
my food I grabbed hold of her arm and went down on my knees in front of her.

'Please help me,' I begged. 'I have wealthy friends.
They'll pay you if you take word to them. More money than you could dream of.'

'And then what would happen, my dear?' she said with a
smile. 'I'd wake up with my throat cut, floating head down in the river.'

She patted me on the head. 'You just accustom yourself
to your new life,' she said. 'A girl like you should have four or five years
here. And then you'll have learnt enough to make a living on the streets or in
the poorer stews.

She said it as though revealing a glittering future
for me. 'Enjoy your luncheon,' she said. 'But let's have a look at your
backside first.'

On the next day the old matron returned with Thorne
and Crane.

'You're sure she's healed, Mrs Barleyfield?' the old
man asked.

'Well enough,' she answered. 'I know the better sort
of gentleman likes to see a little bit of marking. Seems to give them licence
to lash out themselves.'

'Let's have a look,' the old man said. 'Strip.'

I pulled off my nightgown and the two men scrutinised
me. 'Bend over,' Thorne said.

I obeyed at once, thinking had they brought the
paddle. But no wood was placed upon my bottom. Instead I felt Crane's spindly
little fingers press into me.

'A bit of bruising,' said the old man, 'but as Mrs
Barleyfield said, that's all to the good.'

He pulled down the gown and told me to sit up.

'She can start today,' he said.

'Very good, Mr Crane,' Mrs Barleyfield said. 'I'll
take word.'

'Give her an hour or two to make herself presentable,'
the old man said. 'Bring up a fancy gown.'

Mrs Barleyfield nodded and made for the door.

The old man turned to Thorne. 'Get a message to Sir
Edward Tint,' he said. 'He likes a hell-cat.'

He turned to me with that paternal smile. 'You may
fight all you like, Alice Petherton. I'll earn more the greater the resistance
you put up.'

They locked the door behind them and I walked across
to the window. In the distance I could just make out the sails of the ships on
the river. About three hundred yards I reckoned.

Mrs Barleycorn returned an hour later with a gown and
some make-up. Amy followed with a jug of warm water and a plate of hot food.

'This makes a change for you, miss,' she said as she
handed me the plate.

Mrs Barleyfield gave her a look which made her fall
silent.

I fell upon the food and crammed it into my mouth. Mrs
Barleycorn did not seem in the least bit surprised or shocked, merely laying
out the gown on the bed.

'It doesn't do up properly, dear,' she said. 'Just
pull on these two cords and you can slip out of it straight-away. Mr Crane
designed it himself.' She smiled proudly at the thought.

She shooed Amy out and looked me up and down.

'You're going to get the best of gentlemen,' she said.
'You just bear that in mind. And don't take Mr Crane's words too much to heart.
He wants you to put up a fight but not to the bitter end. You have to give in
and let the gentlemen have their way nice and loving. Makes 'em feel they've
tamed you, you see.'

She hummed to herself and poured the water into a
bowl.

'Oh and one more bit of advice,' she said. 'Use the
chamber pot before each customer. Best to be good and empty all round, if you
take my meaning.'

She collected up the empty plate, left the room and
locked the door.

I stared at the gown. It was pretty enough but made of
poor quality material and rather grubby. Still, it was better than wearing my
nightgown. I slipped this off and washed myself all over. How I longed for the
luxury of King Henry's bath chamber at that moment. I dried myself as best I
could with the rag of towel I had been given and then put on the gown. It was
horrible, ugly and coarsely made of poor linen, but I felt much better for
wearing it.

An hour later there was a knock at the door and Amy
poked her head in. 'Gentleman to see you, Alice,' she said.

She stood aside and allowed a figure to enter the
room. She shut the door behind her.

I looked at the man as he stepped closer. This,
presumably, was Sir Edmund Tint. He was a little man, thankfully, dressed in
the finest of clothes and with a beautifully cut beard. He was in his late
thirties and despite his small stature was developing a paunch. A sword, a
dagger and a large purse hung from a fine leather belt. He gave me a broad
smile and his eyes smouldered with lust.