Chapter 142: A Pimp in All But Name
Anne never eased up for so much as a heartbeat.
She had him by the sleeve and kept right on hauling him through streets still thick with the crossroads business he’d left behind.
They hadn’t gone more than two streets before somebody caught on to where they were headed.
"Oi! Look there! Cap’n’s bein’ marched to his doom by the lady boss!" one of the lads hollered from a doorway, setting off the two loafers beside him. "Fetch a priest! Or a coffin! Buy whichever’s cheaper!"
Anne didn’t bother to stop.
"Keep jawin’, and I’ll fetch the coffin for ye first. Save the rest of us from hearin’ ye."
That earned a bigger laugh than the fellow’s joke had, himself included. He tipped an imaginary hat as they passed, happy enough to lose.
"Mind yerself, Cap’n!" another sailor called farther up the street. "Ye’ve the look of a lamb that’s about to get treated real kind right before somebody cuts its throat!"
"If that’s how it goes," James called back, grinning, "I reckon I’ll die in good spirits."
The road bent inland, just as Whitlock had always insisted it ought to, carrying them away from the racket.
Then James finally asked the question that’d been bothering him ever since the news of the surprise.
"Anne."
"Aye."
"You’re not draggin’ me off to become some sort o’ pimp, are ye?"
Anne laughed.
That was all.
Mary, walking a pace behind, took pity on him.
"Best get used to the title, Captain. Might as well have it stitched onto yer coat."
"That ain’t comfortin’."
"It wasn’t meant to be."
The building came into sight before he could get an answer out of either of them.
Two stories stood over a broad ground floor, every shutter flung wide open. There was life behind every window now, and from them voices drifted into the street while the whole place finally felt like it had been put to its honest use.
Anne shoved the front door open and dragged him inside.
Inside sat a walled garden open to the sky.
Some dozen women, maybe more, were scattered through it with all the lazy comfort of midday heat. Their skirts had ridden well above any pretense of modesty, stockings peeked out here and there, bodices loosened enough to leave generous curves on display, and more than one pair of bare legs had found a sunny patch to stretch across.
There was enough skin showing around the garden to keep the men on the island distracted, and not a single woman looked the least bit bothered by it. The doors leading deeper into the house promised another dozen besides.
Near the entrance sat Meg behind a little writing desk so respectable it looked as though it’d wandered into the wrong building by mistake.
The first woman to spot him straightened from a low bench, dark hair spilling over one shoulder as she gave him an unhurried once-over. Her bodice looked to be fighting a losing battle with an impressive chest, and she seemed perfectly content to let it lose.
"Well now. Look what wandered in."
Her smile widened. "That the captain we’ve been hearin’ about? Come here, love, we’ll thank ye for puttin’ a roof over our heads. First one’s free, seein’ as ye built the place."
The offer spread around the garden as woman after another found her way to make much that very promise, all warm laughter and teasing instead of anything coarse.
Anne stepped neatly between James and the whole swarm of courtesans.
"He’s spoken for, every inch of him. I’ll gut the first one that forgets it."
She flashed them a grin.
"Free service is for whoever else you fancy. Him, you charge five times the price."
The garden burst into laughter. The dark-haired girl laughed hardest of all and raised both hands in surrender.
Meg crossed over before the moment could grow any larger, rubbing a streak of ink from one finger onto her skirt.
James looked at her in surprise.
"I thought ye’d quit this trade for good after the Rat."
"I did."
She folded her arms.
"This isn’t the same thing."
"How’s that?"
"The Rat wore me down more than I ever admitted."
She glanced back toward the women behind her. "Nassau’s got a bad habit of forgettin’ its own women. Stuff ’em wherever rent’s cheapest, pay ’em whatever suits, and hope no drunken fool decides his coins bought the woman along with the room."
Her expression tightened.
"I got tired of watchin’ that pass for ordinary."
"Then you want to do better than them?"
"I’m not back in the trade, if that’s what worries you."
A faint smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "I run the house and keep the girls safe, the books honest, and make certain no man inside these walls mistakes payment for ownership."
Anne slipped her arm through James’s. "I told her about the place back in Nassau. She took hold of the idea quicker than I figured she would."
"Aye."
James nodded.
"Looks like she did."
He looked around the garden again. "Well, ye’ve my blessin’, for all it’s worth. If this place ever needs buildin’, fixin’, defendin’, or arguin’ over, come find me."
"I plan to."
Mary stepped up beside them, arms folded across her chest.
"And if trouble comes callin’, ye’ll find me nearby too, Meg. I’ll keep watch over the place myself."
Meg stared at Mary’s eyes a heartbeat longer than simple politeness called for.
Then she smiled.
A small, private sort of smile.
"I’d appreciate that, Mark."
James tucked that away in the back of his mind. It looked enough like the beginning of some friendship that made him curious, but not curious enough to stick his nose into it.
The moment didn’t last.
The street outside had finally figured out what those open shutters had been advertising.
"CHRIST ALMIGHTY, TELL ME I’M STILL DRUNK!"
Doyle shouted from outside, his voice carrying clean through the wall. "I AIN’T HAD A DROP SINCE LAST NIGHT, SO THIS OUGHT NOT BE POSSIBLE!"
Greasy Pete bellowed, already running if the pounding boots were any measure. "EVERY BLOODY BASTARD ON THIS ISLAND, GET OVER HERE BEFORE THE TIDE TURNS!"
Then more voices rose over both of them.
"OUT O’ THE WAY, YE ROTTEN SHARK BAIT!"
"I’LL KICK THE LOT O’ YE DOWN THE STREET!"
"WHOEVER TRIPS ME’S A DEAD MAN!"
"STOP SHOVIN’, YE PISS-SOAKED BASTARDS!"
"THERE AIN’T ENOUGH WOMEN IN THERE FOR ALL O’ YE!"
"THEN I’LL TAKE TWO!"
"I’M PRETTY ENOUGH FOR THREE!"
"LAST ONE THROUGH THE DOOR’S PAYIN’ FOR THE DRINKS!"
"I’VE GOT SILVER! MOVE YER ARSES!"
"IF ANY O’ YE STEP ON ME TOES I’LL BITE ’EM OFF!"
"FUCK OFF! I WAS RUNNIN’ FIRST!"
"IF YE TEAR MY SHIRT I’M BILLIN’ YE!"
"YE CAN’T BUY LOVE, BUT YE CAN DAMN WELL RENT IT!"
"I AIN’T WAITIN’ IN NO BLEEDIN’ QUEUE!"
"MAKE WAY! I’VE BEEN LONELY SINCE TUESDAY!"
"I’LL FIGHT YE FOR FIRST PICK!"
"YE COULDN’T AFFORD FIRST PICK!"
"JUST KEEP RUNNIN’, YE USELESS CUNTS!"
"I SMELL PERFUME! HURRY, YE DOGS!"
Meg sighed.
"Well. That’ll be my days now."
She looked back at him.
"Thank you, James. Truly."
"Off with ye. That house won’t run itself."
She immediately moved over. Mary fell in beside her to help keep things orderly before the tide of customers reached the front door, leaving James alone with Anne.
Anne leaned against him without a word. Her shoulder found his side, and she snuggled her head there the way a cat inches close once it’s decided you’re worth trusting.
James laughed, feeling sillier than he’d realized. He slipped an arm around her, his fingers wandering through her hair in gentle caress and pats.
She squinted up at him, thoroughly pleased with herself, and said nothing.
A brothel run proper was bound to put a little more wind in everybody’s sails, James reckoned, standing there while the noise outside climbed toward cheerful bedlam.
And if Concordia had managed this much while he’d been looking somewhere else, there was no telling what else had taken root.
More planning could wait.
He meant to spend the rest of the day walking the town himself and watching how far the place had come without him noticing.