Читать книгу Scandal - Molly Ann Wishlade - Страница 9

Chapter One

“I tell ya, Ellen, I’m just not having it!”

Ellen stared into the hard, dark eyes of Al Swearengen. Her heart thundered and she trembled from head to toe. The familiar aroma of stale sweat and whisky that permeated the bar of the Gem suddenly made her feel queasy.

“It ain’t your choice to make, Al!” she snapped.

She would not give in to him on this. She had every right now to follow her own heart. Her life would finally be her own.

“But…what’ll I do without you?” Al wheedled. He held out his hands and tilted his head. “I need you here, Ellen. You’ve been with me since the outset. Besides…” He gestured around the saloon. “The girls need ya. How’ll they manage? Most of ’em will end up pregnant after a flop or two then try to get rid of it themselves and wind up dyin’ of a fever.”

Ellen ground her teeth together and pressed her fists into her thighs. She tried not to look around at the faces of the whores but the urge was overwhelming. They gazed at her from all corners of the Gem, their painted faces haggard and drawn, their eyes sad and pleading.

What Al said was true. They did need her.

Her resolve started to drift away like gun smoke on the breeze.

“Don’t you let him change yer mind!” Kacey appeared at her side. “You’re doin’ the right thing, honey! It’s time for you to get outta this hell hole!”

“If you’re gonna listen to that dried-up old dove then you’re a bigger fool than I had ya pegged for!” Al shrugged then moved behind the bar and poured himself a slug of whisky.

Ellen turned to Kacey. “I know that it’s time for me to go.” She straightened her corset and repositioned her breasts. “It’s just…I feel so responsible for all of you.”

“I know, Ellen. You’ve been like a mother hen to us but you’ve a right to try out a different kinda life. Hell, we all envy ya! But not many whores have the determination to save a dime, let alone enough to set off into the world.”

“The world?” Ellen grinned.

“Well…Custer City at least,” Kacey shrugged.

“Hell, it’s gotta be better than this place.” Ellen slapped her thigh. “An’ if it ain’t then I’ll just keep on goin’.” She hoped that she sounded more confident than she felt.

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ll help ya pack.” Kacey strolled through the bar then up the three-tiered wooden staircase.

Ellen followed, casting an apologetic glance at the girls as she passed them. Surely the time had come for her to cut the apron strings? It wasn’t easy for any of them. She knew that. She’d been where they were now. These poor daughters of Deadwood had little to make their lives bearable but Ellen had done her best for them. She’d protected them from Al’s fiercest rages, rescued them from violent customers and helped them to get rid of the babies they could never manage to care for. She had tried to ease the tragedy that surrounded them daily in the only way she could – by being there for them.

But now it was her time. Time to leave and live a little while she still had the chance.

She just wished that it wasn’t so difficult leaving them all behind.

She’d been with Al since 1877, just after he’d opened the Gem. Thirteen years of her life dedicated to whoring then caring for the other girls. With her help, he’d rebuilt it following fire and flood. He was an old goat and could be hellish mean to the girls when his black moods took him. But he was all she’d ever known. Ellen had been just sixteen when he’d taken her in and she’d been swayed by his charm for, what, all of five minutes. Then she’d become a victim of his harsh treatment and bullying.

And she had been so young and vulnerable then. Her mama had died of the smallpox and her stepfather had immediately taken up with another woman. An actress no less. He spent his days drinking and gambling away what money her mama had saved and Ellen was left with nothing. As a young woman, her choices were limited. She had gone to the handsome young Al Swearengen and naively asked him for employment, hoping that he would offer her a job cleaning the rooms or helping with the cooking. But he had coerced her into another role altogether. One flop led to another and before she knew it, she’d been whoring for a year with no prospect of escape.

The years had passed and she had sunk into a kind of acceptance of her role. She was a whore. That was how it was. Whisky helped to numb the distaste and occasionally opium offered a complete numbness that helped her to drift away from her life altogether. But when one of the girls had overdosed on the drug, Ellen had weaned herself off it and sworn never to succumb to its deadly embrace again. It just wasn’t for her.

Until finally, just after her twenty-seventh birthday, she’d found the bravery to stand up to Al and the lifestyle she loathed. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that changed in her, but something snapped. Perhaps it was losing that last little baby…She shook the image of the perfectly-formed little corpse from her mind. It could well have been that.

And enough was enough. Al had given her a few days to recover from the miscarriage then told her to get on her back again. She had refused. Sure enough, she’d gotten a black eye and a few cracked ribs in the process as she had continued to refuse, but after that he left her alone and stopped trying to make her whore. She was surprised at his acceptance…amazed if she was honest…but he was a hard man to understand and, in the face of the opportunity to keep her pussy to herself, she didn’t want to question his intentions. So, instead of being ground into the straw-filled burlap ticking of an evening, she stayed on as a kind of nurse to the other girls, helping them with their daily scourging and treating them when they got poorly. It had suited her…for a while…as she continued to save the money she got paid for her new role. It wasn’t much but it was what she intended on using to support herself once she got to Custer City. After that, she’d find work cleaning or perhaps in a shop. She had to believe that there would be a way for her to earn money that didn’t involve opening her legs for a string of randy men.

“Hey, Al,” she called from the bottom step. “I don’t want no trouble atwixt us, ya hear? It’s been a long journey and I just wanna move on now.”

Who was she trying to convince?

He gave her one of his sardonic smiles then raised his shot glass. “I wish ya well, ma dear! I wish ya well.”

****

In the small messy bedroom, Ellen handed Kacey her silver-plated hairbrush.

“Here, I want you to have this.”

She turned and stood before the smudged full-length mirror, gazing at her sorry reflection. She’d changed so much in her time at the Gem. Her long black hair still shone but a few strands had turned white and, though her eyes were still as blue as cornflowers, they were hard and tired. If only she could turn back time to be a sweet and innocent sixteen-year-old once more.

But she was almost twice that. And she doubted that she’d have the energy to go through it all again.

“I can’t take your hairbrush.” Kacey shook her head as she ran her fingers over the bristles. “Wasn’t this from yer…gentleman friend? The special one.”

Ellen moved away from the mirror and perched on the end of the bed. “Mr Hawkins. Bill.” It still hurt to say his name and regret swirled like a grey storm cloud at the edges of her mind.

“That’s the one. Didn’t he ask yer to marry him?”

Ellen’s heart sank. “He did indeed and I was fool enough to refuse him.” She picked at a loose thread on the colourful patchwork coverlet, twirling it between her fingers and trying to push the handsome face from her thoughts.

“He was setting off to…” Kacey frowned. “What was it he wanted to do again?”

Ellen laughed. “To help design a railroad that would cover the whole of America.”

“That’s it!” Kacey jabbed her finger in the air. “Knew it was something real ambitious.”

“And not that far-fetched.”

“No for sure,” Kacey nodded, running the hairbrush through her fine red hair. “I’ll bet he’s living it up now in New York or some place. All fine and dandy in a big fancy house.” She pursed her lips and lifted her right hand to her mouth with the pinkie jutting outwards, holding an imaginary tea cup which she proceeded to drink from.

Ellen laughed. Kacey always knew how to make her smile.

“Probably got himself a sweet little wife who keeps it all in apple-pie order.” Ellen sighed and fell backwards on the bed. Somehow she couldn’t imagine herself as a sweet little wife. She tried to picture herself keeping house but her face just didn’t fit. Wearing a proper dress and a tidy hairstyle would just feel so strange. Yet wasn’t that what she was hoping for…once she quit Deadwood?

Kacey lay down next to her, cradling the brush to her chest. “And why was you it you declined his offer?”

Ellen swallowed the lump in her throat. “I was so young. I was confused. I felt some misguided sense of loyalty to Al for taking me off the streets. And, I guess…I had my head full of romantic nonsense and I thought that I didn’t love Bill.”

“Love!” Kacey snorted. “Love is a dollar bill and two fingers of whisky. What I wouldn’t give for a man who offered me that every night.”

They fell silent as they sank into their own thoughts.

Kacey was right. Ellen had been a fool to refuse a man because of some naïve notion about needing to be in love. After years as a harlot, she doubted that love even really existed, at least not in the form she’d dreamt of as a girl. Men were weak creatures who obeyed their basic urges – the ones that told them to drink liquor and to stick their cocks into anything with a pussy. Even the married ones regularly made their way to the nearest whore house. She bet there wasn’t a decent one out there.

Pah! What would she want with love or marriage?

All she wanted now was her independence and a hearth to call her own as she saw in her old age. No more dragging drunks off girls half their age in the hours before dawn and running to fetch the doctor as yet another whore complained of a burning where the sun didn’t shine.

All she wanted now was some peace and quiet.

****

“Ellen! Wake up!”

She lifted her head from the saloon table and absently wiped cigar ash from her cheek.

“Ellen, there’s a man here to see ya.” Joanna, one of the Gem’s new girls pointed towards the front of the saloon.

Ellen blinked, trying to clear away the whisky haze. Once she’d packed her meagre belongings and seen to the whores one last time, she’d joined Kacey and Al for a farewell drink. But one drink had turned into five or more and now her head ached and her tongue was thick and furry.

Yuck…

“Who is it, Joanna?” Ellen frowned.

“No idea,” the girl shrugged, “but he sure is handsome.” She grinned, revealing a set of teeth that would make an old man blush.

“Okay, sweeting,” Ellen nodded. “Go tell him to come on through.”

Ellen shifted in her seat as a tall figure dressed head to toe in black followed Joanna. He stopped just in front of her and removed his dripping Stetson. She looked up from his muddy boots to his raised collar then into the darkest eyes she had ever seen. A shiver ran down her spine like a lazy finger.

“Excuse me, Miss Finch,” the man fingered the brim of his hat. “I’m mighty sorry to disturb you at this time but…ah…um…my name is Clayton Kile, ma’am. And I uh…”

Ellen watched him. His face was covered with a few days’ stubble. His dark hair flopped over his forehead and it was long enough to hang over his collar at the sides. He had a generous mouth and a strong, square jaw. Joanna was right. He was handsome…if a little unkempt. But there was nothing unusual about that in a mining town. And he was young. Clearly younger than her by at least five years.

In fact, he seemed familiar. As if she’d passed him in the street a few times…or even served him a drink or two. But wouldn’t she remember a man as easy on the eye as he was? She shrugged. Maybe…maybe not. Men were men. She didn’t take that much notice of them. Not even the handsome ones.

“Yeah, what is it?” She leant back in her chair and watched his expression change.

He stared at her like he’d never seen a half-naked woman before. Ellen wore the typical chemise, corset and bloomers of a Gem saloon whore. Even though she didn’t lie with the customers any more, she still accompanied them for drinks and shows, so it made sense to dress to maintain their interest. Like most of the girls, her clothes were shabby and worn but she’d be darned if she was going to waste her hard-earned money on new under garments to make Al Swearengen more money. Hell no! She was saving every dime towards her new life. And she wouldn’t be needing fancy undergarments just for herself to look at.

Besides, she was never short of admirers. With her generous curves she was well sought after and the state of her garments didn’t deter the men who clambered to buy her drinks in the hope that she’d weaken and choose to offer them a flop.

Take Samuel Foxdale, for instance. That man knew she’d been off the menu for two years, yet he persisted in trying to get her to surrender. He kept on and on about the last time she’d let him fuck her as if they’d been proper sweethearts and him her intended. As if! Surely two years was time enough to get over it?

Damn fool. They were all damn fools these men.

But now…the young man who’d appeared in the dead of night, in the middle of a storm, was gazing at her like she had a pot of gold tucked into the top of her corset rather than two large creamy bosoms. Men looked at her all the time. She was used to it. But this one…his interest was arousing her curiosity and it uncurled from deep inside her like a lazy cat and began to stalk around her edges.

“What’s the matter?” She scowled at him. Best to seem cold and hard. No point encouraging the young fool. “Ain’t ya ever seen a whore before?”

She swept her long black hair over her one shoulder and combed her fingers idly through it. He followed the movement of her hands, his eyes hungry.

“No I…I mean yes I…but not like…” His face filled with colour as he stammered. Ellen’s defences relaxed. He seemed harmless enough. Sweet enough.

“It’s okay, sugar,” she soothed, adopting the seductive tone that she’d honed over the years. She grinned inwardly as his eyes darkened in response. She bet his cock was hardening right now and pressing against his rain dampened pants. She pouted slightly, just to complete the effect. She couldn’t help herself. There was just something about him that made her feel playful. More kitten than cat. “Now why in the hell are ya here at this time of the night? Surely you should be home in bed with a pretty young wife?” At the thought of him snuggling into someone, Ellen felt a surge of something unsettling. It finished in a hot, sharp pain that pierced her core and took her breath away.

Was she jealous? Of what? The idea of lovers holding one another close? Or was it the idea that this particular young man was already taken?

“I was wondering,” he sniffed as a raindrop plopped off the end of his nose, “I was hoping, Miss Finch, ma’am, that you’d come with me. I’ve heard that you’re as good a midwife as any round here and I’m in desperate need of your help.”

Ellen chewed at a jagged fingernail.

So that was it. His wife was in labour and she needed help. Was it the thought of a long night ahead that made Ellen feel so disheartened or that not only was this handsome stranger married but he also had a babe on the way?

She shrugged. Well, that was the way of the world. Men and women got wed then had, or tried to have, children. Sometimes it worked out and sometimes it didn’t. For whores like Ellen, most of their good years were spent trying their best to avoid getting with child. She felt the familiar tug at her heart. Even after all these years, she couldn’t shake off the warmth that the thought of being a mother could bring. Foolish for a woman in her position and at twenty-nine she should know better.

“I…I’m leaving in the morning.” Ellen got to her feet then lifted her right leg to adjust her stocking. As she rested her foot on the chair beside her, she heard the young man’s sharp inhalation of breath. She looked down and realised why. He could see right up the leg of her bloomers to the ebony curls at her groin. She smiled. It was kind of nice to have such an effect on this man. The fun she could have with this one.

Most of the regulars at the Gem weren’t much to look at and they didn’t smell too good neither. There was something different about this interloper. Her body sensed it. Her heart knew it. He had her feeling tense and alert. Unless it was the whisky still running through her veins, of course.

Ellen’s inner muscles twitched and her clit tingled. Sensations she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It must be her excitement at the thought of her future freedom. Surely. But she suspected that being close to such a handsome young man had something to do with it. A whole lot more to with it.

“You’re leaving, Miss Finch?”

She looked at him and compassion washed over her at his crestfallen expression. It was as if he’d been given a brand new house then told he had to share it with his hogs.

“Yeah, I’m quitting Deadwood for good.”

“Oh…I see…” He curled the edge of his hat between his fingers.

Ellen’s heart leapt as she looked at his strong, masculine hands. Hands that would be able to cradle even her ample bosoms. Her nipples tightened.

“But I’ll come with ya tonight and see if I can help.”

What are you doing? Fool! Weakened by a good-looking face and a woeful tale.

“Oh thank you so much, Miss Finch!” he exclaimed, his expression lightening. “I’m mighty grateful.”

He was even better looking when he smiled and the cloak of solemnity fell from his features.

Ellen scowled at her own weakness and at the pleasure that his obvious relief brought her. She was being weak. Too soft. As always. “Let me just throw on some clothes…”

“Clothes?” He frowned and she had an urge to reach out and smooth his brow, to lay his head in her lap and shower his face with kisses.

What was in that whisky?

“Yeah.” She gestured at herself, trying to ignore the unfamiliar heat flooding her cheeks. “I can’t really come like this.”

As she walked towards the staircase, she heard him mutter, “You wouldn’t catch me complaining.”

So he was just like all the others. Her foolish heart sank.

No loyalty. No self-control. Just a walking talking horny guy who couldn’t keep his eyes off a whore even when his own dear wife was in the throes of childbirth.

Men were all the same and she had no right reacting to this one in the way she had. No man was going to ruin her plans for the freedom that she’d fought long and hard to earn.

No man!

****

Clayton stood in the bar of the Gem.

Waiting.

He gripped his hat with one hand and drummed the fingers of the other one against his tense thigh. He was vulnerable, exposed, out of his depth.

Up close, Ellen Finch was even more beautiful than he’d imagined. He had first seen her the day he’d arrived in Deadwood, six months past. He had been gathering supplies from the variety of merchant tents in the Main Street when she’d strolled past. His mouth had fallen open and he’d almost dropped his purchases into the mud. A local tradesman had seen his reaction and told him Ellen’s name then made Clayton cringe as he sniggered when he added her occupation.

Overwhelmed by her clear skin, her flashing sapphire eyes and her waist-length ebony hair, aroused by her feminine curves and her sensual, exotic perfume, he had been hooked. Instantly. And desperate to discover more about her.

But she hadn’t even glanced his way. It was as if he didn’t exist or he was merely ordinary, just like the other men bustling about in the ankle-deep mire that pervaded the street after a heavy rain storm.

It had wounded him. Ridiculous and he knew it. Especially when it was clear that she was a whore. Why on earth would he be attracted to a woman who sold her body to rotten-toothed miners and drunken scoundrels? How many men would have pawed her voluptuous flesh of an evening and emptied their balls into her sweet, warm flesh? He shuddered.

Then there was his past. His responsibilities. His pain. Combine these with his knowledge of her occupation and he knew well enough that he should have left it there. But he had not. He had been drawn to the Gem, eager to seek her out and even pay her for a flop just to get it out of his system. He had been driven mad by the need to see her again, to get her to notice him. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch and he had fought the urge, battled against it with all of his strength until it had all but consumed him. Hard, physical labour as he built his cabin, long evening walks and even the caress of his own, callused hand had brought him no relief from the burning desire to be with this woman.

One evening, just a few weeks ago, he had taken his usual solitary evening stroll through the town and past the Gem, when he had seen Ellen through the window. That had been it. His feet had assumed a life of their own and carried him into the smoky, noisy saloon where he had taken a seat in the corner. Suddenly painfully self-conscious and keen to avoid being noticed, he had tried to blend in, to actually be just like all the other customers.

His day-dreams of marching up to Miss Finch and carrying her upstairs, then taking her roughly – as if to punish her for stealing his sanity and clouding his usually sensible mind – had evaporated as he had observed her. Though men hovered around her like flies, she did not pay any one man attention for too long. She smiled at them, laughed at their jokes and occasionally accepted drinks from them. But that was all. Most of the patrons seemed happy to accept this. It was as if she had an invisible barrier around her that kept them at arm’s length. They could look – and look they did, so much so that it made Clayton’s blood boil – but not touch. And apart from one man, who watched Ellen possessively as if she belonged to him in some way, they seemed content.

It had surprised Clayton. The bar was full of eager whores. Some of them had tried to sit on his knee or take his hand and lead him out back but he shook them off. He had no interest in them. His life, his loss left him no time for the haggard girls with their painted faces and whisky-soaked breath. As a young man, not yet twenty-five, he knew that he should have been interested. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. In his circumstances, it would have been perfectly acceptable to lie with a soiled dove or two.

But he felt nothing but revulsion as they flashed him their breasts or tried to fondle his cock.

Nothing.

Yet Ellen Finch. She stirred him. Why, oh, why he couldn’t explain it. She held herself differently. She laughed differently. She moved differently.

Because she was different. There was a quiet dignity about her that the other girls lacked.

Because she is different.

It had come to him like a crack of thunder. She wasn’t whoring any more. She was a Madame, taking care of the girls and looking out for them. But not taking part in any of the baser activities that occurred in the Gem herself.

The relief that the realisation brought was akin to diving into a mountain spring on an August day. It made his balls tighten and his cock twitch. His heart leap and his stomach flip.

Ellen was no painted cat. Not anymore.

He had scurried off into the night, his excitement warming him like a dozen shots of whisky. But by the time he’d reached his cabin, disappointment had replaced his jubilation.

What was he thinking? What did he really believe he could have with Ellen Finch? She hadn’t even noticed him and…well…he had his own issues to deal with. His own past sitting like a storm cloud above his left shoulder and a future as dun and murky as a muddy pool. He had no right imagining that there could ever be anything between him and the young woman. No right at all.

He had responsibilities. Provisions to find. A proper home to create. Before the baby came.

So when things didn’t run as smoothly as they’d hoped with the labour and he needed to find someone to help, he had been shocked at his own joy when his neighbour had mentioned Ellen’s name.

He had an excuse to call on her. To ask for her assistance. Sure, it wasn’t the best reason to be knocking on her door in the dead of night…but…hell, it was a reason.

And now she had noticed him. He knew she had.

Even if it wasn’t for the reasons he had hoped.

He glanced up as he heard a door slam at the top of the stairs.

There she was. The woman who had mysteriously captured his complicated, irrational and wounded heart.