She quickly passed from door to door, placing her trust in bravado, for she felt keenly that she’d run out of time for stealth. She investigated over a dozen small chambers, finding each one not only empty, but lacking any evidence that two young gentlewomen had been present. That was, unless young misses newly arrived from the country possessed far more lace and silk undergarments than Madelina would have guessed.
Her search returned her to the lower hall with enough mounting frustration that she half hoped to be caught. Not only had she failed to locate the girls, she’d failed to find a room suited to holding them. A fight, at least, would end her tension. She tamped down a wave of recklessness that roiled through her. She’d come to The Black Aspen for a better reason than to pick a fight.
Her gaze went to the far end of the hall and the front of the building. Come evening, bored men would gamble away their time and fortunes, enjoy the dubious attentions of women paid to be biddable, and drink until they likely couldn’t see straight.
Could that lecturing voice be aimed at the young women? Madelina inched nearer the front of the building. She could crack open the door at the end of the hall and take a quick glance. The odds that anyone would notice her were slight.
The woman’s voice stopped. A rustle of movement sounded. The patter of too many pairs of feet to easily count neared the hall in which she stood.
Madelina ducked into the nearest office. She pressed her ear to the door. Footsteps and feminine chatter filled the hall.
“Kitty,” a woman called above the din, voice familiar from moments before. “Come into my office. I require a word.”
Madelina’s heart hit the inside of her chest with a hard thud. She hadn’t elected to hide in Mclintock’s masculine space. Her luck had run out.
She darted across the room, yanked open the adjoining door, and slipped into the bedchamber. Her hand shook as she slid the door closed as quietly as possible. Pulse hammering, she pressed an ear to the cool wood. The office’s outer door opened and closed.
“Yes, Miss White?” a new female voice asked.
“I didn’t say you could sit, Kitty,” the lecturing voice, apparently Miss White, snapped.
“I’m sorry, miss,” Kitty replied with a rustle of fabric.
“A disturbing rumor has reached my ears,” Miss White said.
“A rumor, miss?” Kitty asked, voice small.
“It seems you’re thinking of leaving us.” Miss White’s voice carried a hard edge.
“Yes, miss, to be a seamstress.”
“And you feel that is acceptable? That you can simply quit The Black Aspen?”
“M-mister Mclintock said any of us can leave whenever we like,” Kitty stammered. “He said he’ll pay for us to learn a new skill. I don’t want to do this any longer. Some of the men are…. They’re very unkind. I want to be a seamstress.”
Mister Mclintock had told this girl, Kitty, that she could leave and he would help? Madelina frowned, trying to reconcile that generosity with the villainous image she’d built in her mind. On the other side of the door, silence extended. Madelina realized that she held her breath and let it out in slow increments. Fabric shifted.
“Let me make matters clear for you, Kitty,” Miss White said, voice soft. “You do not work for Mister Mclintock. Mister Mclintock runs a gambling hell. He sells liquor and records wagers. I paid off your debts to your former madam. I brought you here because you’re exactly the sort of fluff those rich fools dream about. You are a whore, Kitty, and you work for me.”
“But Mister Mclintock sai—”
The smack of flesh meeting flesh penetrated the wood of the door. Kitty cried out. Madelina winced on her behalf.
“I don’t care what Mister Mclintock said,” Miss White continued. “I don’t care if Lord Capeter takes a crop to you, or Mister Ranthen pinches you black and blue. You aren’t done working here until I say you are done working here. I will have my investment repaid, with interest.”
“But Mister Mcli—”
“Furthermore,” Miss White continued, “you will say nothing of this conversation to Mister Mclintock.”
“But Miste—”
A second slap rang out.
“Do you enjoy being struck, Kitty?” Miss White murmured in cloying tones. “I have more clients like Capeter and Ranthen who I’d be happy to send your way.”
“N-no, Miss White.”
“No? Then keep this in mind.” Miss White spoke in a slippery, smooth voice. “If you don’t like being struck, you definitely won’t like your fate should you cross me. Do I make myself clear?”
