EXCERPT
:
Richmond,
Virginia, July 2, 1881
Emeline stood very still before the large, gilded mirror,
struck by how closely she resembled the porcelain doll she’d
had as a child. How strange, she hadn’t thought about
that doll in years. Em blinked and still the effect remained.
Sure, her eyes squinted and her arms and legs could move:
sometimes at her bidding, sometimes at his. But, she was a
lifeless, dressed-up doll just the same. That’s what
she’d become.
She had to master her fear and escape, because she was withering
to a soulless nothing inside. Fear of physical reprisal had
held her prisoner as much as her fiancée and his hateful
aunt, and it was wise to have fear. But, it was wise to have
concern for her spirit, too--whatever spirit she had left.
Her eyes flicked down over the new royal blue gown she wore.
The design was straight from Paris; once again proving that
no one in Richmond was better dressed than the property, the
fiancée, of Wilson ‘Sonny’ Peterson. The
gown was form hugging in a princess line style. The bustle
had disappeared and a train had been added. It was unique
and flattering, yet she wished she could rip it off and replace
it with her old clothing--her own clothing. This was his.
She didn’t want the gowns he’d commissioned for
her; the jewels he’d adorned her with; the money he
thought he’d purchased her with. Nothing. One of these
days, she’d leave it all behind and again put on her
plain brown traveling suit. It was early July and as hot as
blazes, which meant she’d be miserable in the worsted
traveling suit, but it was the only thing she had left that
was hers. And, it was important she didn’t take anything
that had come from him. She’d stashed the suit, a train
ticket and money, the same amount she’d had when she’d
been brought to Richmond, in a small trunk in the basement.
The moment she was provided with enough of a distraction,
she would make another attempt at escape.
“Emeline,” a dry female voice said behind her.
Em was startled by the voice, but she tried to conceal that
fact. Some telltale color crept over her features as her golden-brown
eyes connected with those of the older woman, Sonny’s
aunt, who stood behind her near the door.
“Are you ready?” Veronica Peterson asked.
“Yes.”
Veronica’s question hadn’t really been a question
at all, but a command to present herself downstairs. Veronica
Peterson was her jailer when Sonny was occupied elsewhere.
~ * ~
All heads turned as Emeline stepped into the formal parlour.
Then came the chorus of accolades regarding how lovely she
looked. “Darling,” Sonny said, beckoning her to
him. She obeyed, as usual. As if there was some choice.
“You’re a lucky man, Sonny,” someone remarked.
Sonny smiled as he pulled her hand through his arm. “Would
you care for a sherry?” he asked in his most solicitous
tone.
“Please,” she replied sweetly. I hate you, she
thought bitterly. Her full attention had to go to appearing
normal and calm, but she was anything but, and sometimes the
effort made her tremble with suppressed rage.
This pre-dinner conversation was mind-numbingly boring, especially
given that she wasn’t expected to join in, other than
the occasional smile, nod or acquiescing remark. As always,
it was a relief when they were summoned into the private dining
room with its glittering table settings and waiting staff.
It was the next phase of the evening and she was ready to
have it over. Again. Always.
Sonny seemed an innocuous name for a man as rich and powerful
as Wilson Peterson. On paper, he owned The Virginia Palace,
the largest hotel in Richmond, but, in reality, he owned this
city and its officials. Owned them. They lived in his pockets.
The Palace had an elegant restaurant on one end and a separate
saloon with gambling and high-class whores on the other. All
that class and elegance, and yet Sonny, with his charm, easy
smile and his golden key to the city, took cheating or stealing
from him seriously and personally. Those caught at it, men
or women, were escorted from premises and nearly beaten to
death, then driven out into the wilderness and left stranded.
Em had tasted Sonny’s wrath on a few occasions. Once,
because she’d spoken out in disagreement on a position
he’d stated and another time because she’d tried
to leave. She’d learned the hard way to look pleasant
and to be submissive and agreeable, but she’d also learned
to plot and scheme. All of her life, she’d been emotional
and honest, but not any more. During these last months, she’d
learned to subdue and conceal her emotions, to pretend she
was happy when she was miserable. And, to lie.
She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Sonny bought
her act hook, line and sinker. She’d been far too emotional
and outspoken at first, but she’d performed beautifully
these last weeks. It was nearly killing her to act in love
with Sonny Peterson, but she did it, swearing to herself the
whole time she’d never be in this position again. Once
she got away from him, she would never be with another man.
She loathed the thought of any man touching or controlling
her again.
The thought of breaking free of him, of this place, kept her
going. It would happen because it had to. She couldn’t
exist like this much longer. It didn’t matter that she
had human hawks circling and watching her all the time. It
didn’t matter that there were bars on her bedroom windows
and that her door locked from the outside. There would be
a moment, one moment, when an opportunity would present itself
and her guards would be distracted and she would act. This
time she wouldn’t break free and run like a mindless
idiot, like she had before. She’d be calm and silent
as the dead. She’d already taken important steps, including
acquiring an open-ended ticket to Roanoke months ago.
It had been a risk she’d barely gotten away with. She’d
been out shopping with Veronica, waiting and watching for
the older woman to get distracted. They were more than an
hour into the excursion when Veronica finally became involved
in conversation with an acquaintance. Em didn’t hesitate.
She ducked out of sight and dashed to the railway station
first to purchase a ticket. And, then to the bookseller’s
shop.
It hadn’t taken long until Veronica had converged upon
her, red-faced with fury. It was, after all, Veronica’s
responsibility to keep track of Emeline. In the carriage,
Veronica slapped her face and demanded an explanation, but
Em had feigned hurt feelings and refused to answer. With the
railway ticket tucked inside her corset, what she really felt
was a surge of both hope and defiance.
Later that afternoon, Em had given in and explained she was
trying to purchase a gift for Sonny. Together, they agreed
not to mention the lapse in communication. Veronica didn’t
want Sonny to know she’d failed to keep watch and Emeline
didn’t want Sonny to know anything.
~ * ~
“You were magnificent tonight,” Sonny drawled
in her ear. They were both naked, but Em was the sole focus
in the large mirror. Like a doll, she thought. She was pressed
back against him as he fondled her breasts. She attempted
a serene looking smile even though her skin crawled and her
stomach clenched at his touch. He bent his head and nuzzled
her neck. It started gentle but always got rough. Sonny liked
it rough. His fingers, too, were already growing more aggressive
on her breasts.
The knock at the door jarred them both and Em thought she’d
never heard a sweeter sound. Sonny, on the other hand, was
instantly irritated. He yanked on his dressing robe and strode
to the door. Em felt almost giddy with relief at the reprieve.
That’s stupid, she tried to caution herself. He’ll
be right back. God almighty, but she hated the man! She crossed
her arms in front of herself and watched as Sonny jerked open
the door and glared at whomever had interrupted them.
“Sorry, sir,” the male voice said. “But
I thought you’d want to know.” She recognized
the voice as that of Charles’, one of Sonny’s
men. “The President was shot.”
“What?”
“Shot,” Charles repeated. “Today. In Washington.
Mr. Phillips just received the telegram.”
“Is he dead?”
“No, sir. He was taken back to the White House.”
There was a moment of stunned silence and then Em moved. She
picked up her robe and slipped it on.
“Who did it?” Sonny asked.
“Some lawyer. Funny last name. Mr. Phillips’s
got the telegram downstairs. Several people are here, so--”
“I’ll be right down,” Sonny replied and
then shut the door. He turned and looked at Emeline. “The
President’s been shot,” he repeated needlessly.
Em shook her head slowly but said nothing. President Garfield
had only been in office about six months, the same amount
of time she’d been Sonny’s prisoner. The news
was terrible and yet she felt a strange expectant thrill.
Sonny was a creature of habit and routine, and now that routine
was being interrupted. He was dressing hurriedly and Em watched,
dispassionately observing his distraction. Was this the opportunity
she’d been waiting for?
Sonny pulled on his jacket but left his shirt collar open.
He walked to the door. “I’ll be back,” he
said, then left without even a backwards glance at her.
Her heart began hammering. She jerked her head to his dressing
table and saw the little silver key he always wore on a chain
underneath his shirt. The key to her room. He’d left
without it. This was it, the moment she’d been praying
for. She felt a bit unsteady from the blood rushing to her
head. Have to stay calm, she cautioned herself. She walked
to the dresser and stared down at the items on it. Sonny had
not reloaded his pockets. His money, the key and his pocketknife
were all still lying there. She picked up the knife with trembling
hands. This was it. She had to make this distraction her opportunity.
Because each of her senses were on high alert, she clearly
heard the doorknob twisting. She whirled around, slipping
the knife in her robe pocket, and the door opened. Veronica
poked her head in. She was dressed in a nightdress and robe
and, by the look of her sleep-creased face, she’d been
rudely awoken. Em saw the key gripped in Veronica’s
hand and she felt dread flood her system. The lock on her
door was full proof once in place. Her only hope now was to
place some kind of a block in the crack of the door once it
was closed. The blade of the knife. Without a word, Veronica
started to shut the door.
“Did you hear?” Em asked, starting forward.
The door stopped. There was a hesitation and Em used it to
withdraw the knife and spring the blade.
“What?” Veronica rasped, opening the door back
up.
Em kept moving closer. She kept the knife to her side, out
of Veronica’s line of sight. “The President was
shot!”
Veronica blinked and drew her robe tighter around her. “All
he said was to lock the door,” she croaked. She was
obviously dazed from being awoken so abruptly.
“Well, goodnight,” Em said.
Veronica made a kind of grunting sound then withdrew and shut
the door.
Em squatted and positioned the blade in the crack of the door
to prevent the bar from catching. It was a good thing Veronica
was dull witted, because it gave Em the precious seconds she
needed. Em let out the breath she’d been holding and
waited several seconds before she slowly pulled the door back
toward her, releasing the metal tongue. Her mind was racing
and her heart pounding as she peeked out into the empty hallway.
The plan was to make it to the side door then creep down and
around to the basement, but as she took a single step from
the room, the floor creaked beneath her and she stopped. Her
heart was slamming against her chest and her breath felt non-existent,
but she forced herself to start again. Once she was in motion,
she kept moving, keeping her eyes trained only on her destination.
Muffled voices and laughter emanated from the rooms she passed.
She knew that anyone could emerge at any time, just as she
knew that anyone who spotted her would alert Sonny.
She slipped out the side door and pressed herself against
the wall, gulping breaths to help quell her dizziness. If
she fainted now, all would be lost. Her knees felt desperately
weak as she crept down the steep steps. This was a rickety,
little used exit, but she still kept a sharp eye out. Anyone
who spotted her would ruin her chance for escape. She had
to be silent and invisible and she had to keep moving or she’d
die here. Maybe tonight.
~ * ~
Normally, the whores were housed on the north wing of the
hotel, but Sonny had recently acquired a few more, which was
why some were in the south wing; and, why Katie-Louise was
traversing by Em’s room a few minutes after eleven.
They called Emeline ‘the princess’ because of
her looks, of course, and because of the way she was treated,
as if she had to be watched all the time, like she might break
or something.
The princess was amazingly pretty. She was slender with perfect
posture and perfect features. She had lustrous, slightly curly
brown hair and wide, golden-brown eyes that were more almond-shaped
than round. Katie-Louise had round, blue eyes. In fact, everything
about her was rather round. Luckily, she had yellow hair,
which men seemed to like, a pretty face and the right openings
between her legs, which allowed her to make a living. She’d
be all right for a few years and, during that time, she’d
find herself a decent husband. That was her plan.
“How come you never take your shirt off?” Ned
complained behind her. “You never show me your tits.”
“I’ll do that next time,” Katie-Louise replied
agreeably. “For a dollar extra.”
“Aw, Katie-Louise, that ain’t fair. It ought be
part of the package.”
It was odd. The door to the princess’s room was standing
wide open. She was usually kept locked tight-–a princess
in her tower. Course, she also got silk dresses made for her
and she got waited on hand and foot. She got to have dinner
every night in the fancy, private dining room and she got
Sonny Peterson. Not a bad life, in Katie-Louise’s opinion.
From the moment she and Ned hit the top of the staircase and
saw a lot of people standing around, she knew something was
going on. Everyone had an odd look about them and the talk
seemed kind of hushed. It wasn’t the normal clientele
either. It was the city’s big wigs, so to speak, and
they’d all converged in the less than twenty minutes
she’d been upstairs with Ned.
Ned was wondering what was going on, too, but Katie-Louise
ignored him and made her way over to her friends Nancy and
Golden who were leaning against the back wall taking it all
in. There seemed to be no business going on at all. She reached
them and looked from one to the other. “What’s
happening?”
“President Garfield was shot in Washington,” Golden
said. “He’s probably going to die.”
“Shot!” Katie-Louise turned and looked around
at the people again. That did explain the hushed talk and
the somber looks. She accidentally linked eyes with old battle-ax
Peterson who had just appeared. The woman gave Katie-Louise
the creeps. She gave all the girls the creeps. She had this
hard, sadistic look about her; the kind of look men had when
they wanted to cause pain rather than to receive pleasure.
Or maybe to cause pain was their pleasure, although that made
no sense to her.
Sonny was glorious, as usual, even though he wasn’t
as formal looking as he usually was. He stood in the center
of a circle like he was holding court-–like he was the
governor or something. She pictured herself with him, standing
slightly behind him, dressed in a shiny, silver silk gown.
He’d say something and then turn around and give her
that half smile of his, as if they were sharing a joke. It
was a beautiful fantasy.“Where’s the princess?”
Katie-Louise asked without taking her eyes off Sonny.
“Locked away, as usual,” Nancy replied. “You
know, I kinda’ feel sorry for her.”
“Sorry!” Golden burst. “The princess?”
“The door to her room was wide open,” Katie-Louise
interrupted.
“Open?” Golden repeated.
Nancy looked over the room carefully. “You sure?”
“Course, I’m sure,” Katie-Louise replied.
“I just passed it, didn’t I? It was standing wide
open. Should we tell?”
“You better,” Golden spoke up. “If she’s
gone missing again, there’s going to be hell to pay
and you better make sure you ain’t the one paying. You
saw her door open, you better go tell.”
Katie-Louise swallowed. Golden had a point. “Sonny?”
she asked, hopefully.
Nancy shook her head. “VP. Here, I’ll wave her
over.” She stared until she caught the older woman’s
eye, then waved her over. She received a narrowing of the
eyes and a hard look for her trouble before Veronica Peterson
put her bulky body in motion and began making her way toward
them. “I hate that old witch,” Nancy hissed.
“So do I,” the others agreed.
~ * ~
Em stood at the basement door, trembling pathetically. She
had to go because Sonny would make sure every square inch
of the hotel was searched. In fact, he’d make sure all
of Richmond was searched. But this is where her planning ended.
She couldn’t catch a train; there were none that late.
Her legs felt impossibly stiff as they started in motion.
Move and don’t look back. It’s not hard, she told
herself. She just had to become invisible, stay out of sight
and keep moving.
~ * ~
“Open?” Veronica spat.
Katie-Louise nodded in earnest.
“Impossible,” Veronica objected.
“It was,” Katie-Louise repeated. “I mean,
it is.”
Veronica looked at her nephew and the small crowd gathered
around him. There was no Emeline. The only explanation of
the door being open was that Sonny had come back for her--but
then, where was she? “Have you seen her?” she
demanded of the whores.
“No, ma’am,” they all said, shaking their
heads.
Veronica turned on her boot heel and headed upstairs via a
back staircase. Prostitutes were notorious idiots; she’d
make sure of the facts herself.
~ * ~
Em didn’t stop to catch her breath until she made it
into a dark alley, several blocks away from the Palace. She’d
made it that far, which was good, but she didn’t know
where she was going. It was time to think. By morning, everyone
in Richmond would know she was a fugitive. She had to be far
away by then.
Her eye fell on the undertaker’s wagon. She needed a
wagon-–no, a horse. She had to steal a horse, a good
horse, but not from the livery. They’d be watched too
carefully. Judge Randle sprang to mind. He was a close associate
of Sonny’s who didn’t live too far away. He was
wealthy, but notoriously miserly. He had a large stable and
a small staff.
It would also be satisfying to use one of Sonny’s friends
to aid in her escape. If she could get away with it--
~ * ~
Veronica stared at the open door with its sprung lock. Cold
fear began seeping through her system at the thought of telling
Sonny. She heard laughter in the hall and turned. One of the
whores, Betty or Betsy, something like that, was coming toward
her, followed by a short, fat man. He was readjusting his
trousers as he walked, low class scum that he was. She cleared
her throat. “Betty--”
“It’s Bitsy. As in Itsy Bitsy,” the young
woman said without slowing her pace.
“Itsy Bitsy,” the fat man laughed behind her.
“Go tell Mr. Peterson I need to see him,” Veronica
snapped.
Now Bitsy halted in her tracks. “Sonny?”
“Yes, Sonny! Now, hurry up.”
The young woman blinked.
“Go!” Veronica barked.
“All right, all right,” Bitsy replied, waving
the fat man on. “I’m going.”
~ * ~
Em pressed a hand to the stitch in her side and stared at
five horses tied to the hitch in front of Boxley’s Bordello.
This was a better and quicker solution than making it all
the way to the judge’s house. She crept forward, eyeing
one of the horses in particular. It was smaller than the rest,
a mare, but she looked healthy and strong.
Em looked around to make sure no one saw her and then untied
the horse with badly shaking hands. A piano was being played,
or rather banged, inside, and there was a lot of drunken laughter.
“I need you,” she whispered to the horse. “You
would not believe how much I need you.”
The horse lifted its head and then backed out obediently and
Em mounted and rode out, half expecting a hue and cry to go
up behind her.
~ * ~
Sonny’s look was hard as he stepped in the room and
looked around.
“I locked the door,” Veronica stated. Her hands
were clutched tightly together in front of her and she looked
unsteady on her feet.
“Did you check it?” he asked in an ice-cold voice.
“How many times have I told you to lock and then check
it?”
Veronica shook her head. She looked as though she wanted to
say something but couldn’t quite form the words.
“Damn you,” Sonny exploded. “Get Morgan,
get Hayworth, get everyone!”
Veronica jumped and then slinked from the room.
“We’d better find her,” Sonny warned.
~ * ~
Sonny was growing more and more bewildered as he looked through
her wardrobes. Nothing was missing. He’d told his men
that she couldn’t have gone far, but now he was wondering
if she could have gone anywhere at all. She’d been wearing
a dressing gown and she’d never go out in public like
that. He’d purchased each dress, each pair of shoes,
each undergarment she possessed, and nothing seemed to be
missing. So where was she? Where the hell was she, and what
had she been thinking? She knew he’d have to punish
her now, harder than before. She knew that. He’d used
his bare hands, a razor strop, even a cane, and none of it
had apparently worked. He’d even threatened her with
the branding iron last time. Now, he’d have to use it.
What choice had she left him? Leaving the wardrobe doors standing
wide open, he stormed from the room.
At the end of the hall, he found a cluster of whores awaiting
his instructions. “Search every room,” he ordered.
“Search the attic, the basement, stable, carriage house,
all of it.”
The women nodded but they waited until he’d walked on
before they moved, spoke or even breathed. Sonny Peterson
was filled with so much anger and passion, he electrified
his surroundings. The princess was really in for it tonight.
~ * ~
Em needed to go due west, but she had only a vague notion
about how to achieve that. She waited for a break in the clouds
and then spotted the North Star. She directed the mare left,
or what felt like left of it, hoping her instincts would guide
her back home.
Home, Rockbridge County-–the place she’d wanted
so desperately to escape. Of course, that was before she understood
what the word escape truly meant.
~ * ~
“We’ll start again at first light,” Sonny
ordered, dismissing everyone for the night. It was nearly
two a.m., and there had been no sign or sighting of Emeline.
Obviously, she’d dug herself some little hole and was
waiting for the light of day before moving on. Foolish. Surely,
she knew he’d find her. She had to know. No one ever
slipped through his fingers for long. She knew that.
He went back to his room and downed three shots of bourbon
before peeling off his clothes. She’d embarrassed him
and for that she would pay dearly. “Damn you, Em,”
he seethed. “Damn you!”
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