tension caused confusion, for Jade assumed the mistress would extend assistance.
Madame Charmane hardly listened to Jade's hasty and excited explanation, concluding with, "I know it is all very hard to believe. I, myself—she pointed for emphasis— "Have difficulty believing it! But we must hurry to alert the authorities!"
The woman stared at the lovely green pools, mirrors with no reflection. "I see Mercedes hasn't had a chance to explain your situation," she said, casting an irritated glance at Mercedes. "We have no reason to call the authorities—"
"You have already done so! Are they on their way?"
"No authorities have been called or will be called," she stated flatly. "Let me explain. You now belong to me. I am your mistress."
"You... you what?" Jade questioned, confused. The very choice of words made no sense.
She was not a person of color, nor was she a servant. "There is a mistake here. You see, last night I was at the opera, and true, I was seated in the second tier but because of my blindness and my association with the convent, you see, no one comments—"
An amused smile lifted the Madame's face. "I assure you, I don't care a whit about your circumstances. You are in the finest brothel in New Orleans. The whole of your life will now be dedicated to pleasing my customers."
Relaxed and at ease, the woman assumed the other wicker chair. Mercedes's obvious concern annoyed her but she always tried to forgive Mercedes everything: the ludicrous sunshine room and the money lost on books; her raw, reddened hands. She would do the same for this one, for "Mary" had just as promising a future.
Unfortunately, enlightenment, or rather reality, eluded Jade, for the word brothel was not one she often encountered. Of course, she knew what it meant, but it made no sense when applied to her. "A brothel?" Jade first repeated stupidly. It occurred to her just what had happened. The man had brought her to a madhouse, one of the insane asylums where they kept people who lost their wits. Yet wouldn't she have heard if there was such a place in New Orleans? She hadn't known of any, but perhaps she had been carried to another town? Where? Where was she?
The delusions of the insane often took on bizarre, perverted natures, she knew. She must not panic; these people could be violent. "Is there someone in charge, a surgeon or a housekeeper, or someone I might speak to?"
"Whatever for?"
Jade bit her lip with vexation, wishing she could see these people. It was all so confusing. "I cannot see," she thought to explain. "I'm very confused and I need to speak to someone, someone who can explain what has happened to ... to me."
"I am explaining to you." The Madame's voice lifted angrily. "You are in a brothel, a bordello, a whorehouse— does any of that sound familiar?"
"No." Jade shook her head, becoming more confused, frightened. "This cannot be....
Please," Jade insisted. "I should like to see someone in charge."
Mercedes's heart broke as she witnessed Jade's inability to accept the situation. Before the Madame lost all patience, she tried to intervene. "Mary—"
"Mary? My name is Jade Terese—"
"Not anymore," Madame Charmane interrupted. "From now on you are Mary. I like it much better. And...." She came off the chair and leaned over the girl. Her hand reached up to the jade cross hanging from Jade's neck. A hard yank and the chain broke with the young lady's gasp. "I can't have you reminding my customers of their religious obligations, can I?"
Jade Terese looked confused as she reached a hand to her bare neck. She didn't believe this.
How could it be true? A brothel? This woman bought her from those men and thought she would work in a brothel, bedding men!
"No!" She shook her head, looking suddenly fierce. "No, never! I would die.... I would die!
What makes you think you can do this to me? I am not alone in the world. The Reverend—" She stopped, her panic rising. "I have to get out of this place."
Someone, one of
Madame Charmane hardly listened to Jade's hasty and excited explanation, concluding with, "I know it is all very hard to believe. I, myself—she pointed for emphasis— "Have difficulty believing it! But we must hurry to alert the authorities!"
The woman stared at the lovely green pools, mirrors with no reflection. "I see Mercedes hasn't had a chance to explain your situation," she said, casting an irritated glance at Mercedes. "We have no reason to call the authorities—"
"You have already done so! Are they on their way?"
"No authorities have been called or will be called," she stated flatly. "Let me explain. You now belong to me. I am your mistress."
"You... you what?" Jade questioned, confused. The very choice of words made no sense.
She was not a person of color, nor was she a servant. "There is a mistake here. You see, last night I was at the opera, and true, I was seated in the second tier but because of my blindness and my association with the convent, you see, no one comments—"
An amused smile lifted the Madame's face. "I assure you, I don't care a whit about your circumstances. You are in the finest brothel in New Orleans. The whole of your life will now be dedicated to pleasing my customers."
Relaxed and at ease, the woman assumed the other wicker chair. Mercedes's obvious concern annoyed her but she always tried to forgive Mercedes everything: the ludicrous sunshine room and the money lost on books; her raw, reddened hands. She would do the same for this one, for "Mary" had just as promising a future.
Unfortunately, enlightenment, or rather reality, eluded Jade, for the word brothel was not one she often encountered. Of course, she knew what it meant, but it made no sense when applied to her. "A brothel?" Jade first repeated stupidly. It occurred to her just what had happened. The man had brought her to a madhouse, one of the insane asylums where they kept people who lost their wits. Yet wouldn't she have heard if there was such a place in New Orleans? She hadn't known of any, but perhaps she had been carried to another town? Where? Where was she?
The delusions of the insane often took on bizarre, perverted natures, she knew. She must not panic; these people could be violent. "Is there someone in charge, a surgeon or a housekeeper, or someone I might speak to?"
"Whatever for?"
Jade bit her lip with vexation, wishing she could see these people. It was all so confusing. "I cannot see," she thought to explain. "I'm very confused and I need to speak to someone, someone who can explain what has happened to ... to me."
"I am explaining to you." The Madame's voice lifted angrily. "You are in a brothel, a bordello, a whorehouse— does any of that sound familiar?"
"No." Jade shook her head, becoming more confused, frightened. "This cannot be....
Please," Jade insisted. "I should like to see someone in charge."
Mercedes's heart broke as she witnessed Jade's inability to accept the situation. Before the Madame lost all patience, she tried to intervene. "Mary—"
"Mary? My name is Jade Terese—"
"Not anymore," Madame Charmane interrupted. "From now on you are Mary. I like it much better. And...." She came off the chair and leaned over the girl. Her hand reached up to the jade cross hanging from Jade's neck. A hard yank and the chain broke with the young lady's gasp. "I can't have you reminding my customers of their religious obligations, can I?"
Jade Terese looked confused as she reached a hand to her bare neck. She didn't believe this.
How could it be true? A brothel? This woman bought her from those men and thought she would work in a brothel, bedding men!
"No!" She shook her head, looking suddenly fierce. "No, never! I would die.... I would die!
What makes you think you can do this to me? I am not alone in the world. The Reverend—" She stopped, her panic rising. "I have to get out of this place."
Someone, one of
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