Over the refreshments table, he learned where to find the six famous vestal virgins. A peephole enabled one secret access, but for a considerable sum, he could himself be involved in the sensual dance. The inference wasn’t lost on him, though he recoiled.
“Come and look, and then you can decide which lady you’d like to…invite for further refreshments.” The woman who spoke to him was, he noticed, one of the few not wearing a veil. She smiled a coy little smile which sat ill with her advancing years. “This is your first time here?”
He inclined his head.
“I hope you will find the entertainment on offer sufficient to entice you to return to my little establishment. Here, there is no discernment between the highest in the land and the humblest among us. All that is required is the facility for pleasure.”
“You are Mrs Plumb?”
“I am indeed. And now if you’d like to follow me, I shall take you to see the vestal virgins.”
Obediently, Hugh followed the stout little woman along a series of dimly-lit corridors. To the right of where they stopped was a red-painted door flanked by two large potted palms.
“Take your place between these and put your eye to the peephole. You will be all but hidden from the public so can enjoy yourself as you see fit.” She smiled knowingly. “For some that is sufficient; however, if you find your desires are only further inflamed, then you may pass a note through the grille stating your pleasure, and the girls themselves will decide whether or not they have a mind to grant it.”
Hugh raised his eyebrows, and Mrs Plumb laughed and tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “This is not a brothel, my good sir, and the women behind these doors make their own decisions as to how far they’re prepared to indulge their appetites. Ariane, for example, likes tall, dark men. I doubt she would take up an offer from you. Helena enjoys a challenge and considers every offer on merit. Minna, now, only ever performs her sensuous dance for peers of the realm who request it. She will consider no offers under five hundred pounds.”
“Good Lord, she must be good!” Hugh couldn’t help remarking, and Mrs Plumb raised one eyebrow. “She’s never been tested. Certainly, not in my establishment, but there is one who has offered that amount and who will take his pleasure tomorrow, so unless you choose to raise the amount, I suggest you confine your interest to one of the others.”
Mrs Plumb left him shaking his head, though not for long, for once his eye was at the peephole, he was entirely transfixed. Of course, spying was not a pastime for gentlemen, and Hugh did indeed feel keenly the irony. He was not a man who paid for transient pleasures. Taking Phoebe as his mistress was the first time he’d exchanged money for the keeping of a woman.
Fear for what tomorrow would bring threatened to overwhelm him; there was no pleasure in the erotic sight before him.
The women, all of similar height, one with golden tresses, another dark as a raven’s wing, one red-haired, and one with brown tresses past her waist, were swaying in time to a rhythmic chant. A strange mist swirled through the gloom, sending an unidentified, invisible perfume curling under the door.
It was not hard to identify Ariane with her golden tresses and her striking confidence. No doubt the most dangerous in view of what had happened to Phoebe. Her knowing look as she glanced in his direction suggested she was very well aware that she was under observation, and that she enjoyed playing to her audience. Had she betrayed Phoebe? Certainly, if she were Wentworth’s wife and yet happily consorted with her husband in these premises on occasion, the inference was that she was not the cowering abused wife Phoebe had no doubt believed she was going to meet.
The women clasped each other around the waist, their eyes vacant as their lips found each other’s briefly. Breaking into pairs, they delicately contoured faces, traced lips with long fingers, and gently nuzzled throats and breasts. There was something otherworldly about the scene. Hugh felt as if he’d stepped into a world where sin was not a crime. These women looked so serene, and he longed for the gentle touch of a woman. Not of these women, but of his Phoebe.
Phoebe, who came here only a few days ago, and whose liberty ended here. He had to discover a means to discredit Wentworth or Phoebe would die.
Hastily he scribbled a note on the paper provided and slid it through the grille. Ariane was too dangerous, he’d decided. Too knowing and too calculating to confront directly. The young woman with the light brown hair and the innocent face may be less guarded. She consorted with Ariane on a regular basis. It might just be that she’d know something, anything, that would be a start.
The young woman of his choice met him in an antechamber. He’d taken a seat on the comfortable red velvet upholstered banquette with its turned arms that faced a small dais, where presumably Minna would do her little dance for the pleasure of her clients.
To his surprise, she slipped through the door and gracefully crossed the room to stand in front of him, her expression expectant.
“What news?” she asked, her voice breathless. “Where should I go? Is it tonight? Oh please say you’ll get me out of here tonight, for I fear if he should come early, then what could I do? I’d rather die.”
Hugh, who’d risen to his feet, was unsure how to respond to this little speech. The young woman, unaware of his confusion, began to pace. “I never thought I’d win such a reprieve. Oh, dear Lord, I shan’t waste it. Shall we go now?” She turned suddenly, and Hugh had to admit at this point that he was really terribly sorry, but he had no idea what she was talking about.
She stared at him a moment, her face a mask of devastation. Then she gave a little gasp. “You are not Sir Gawain?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never heard the name.”
“Oh, a made-up one, I’m sure.” Her mouth trembled, and she stared at him. “So you really came to watch me dance?” she asked miserably. “Not to save me from my dreadful fate that will take place tomorrow when I am to be bought like a —” She couldn’t go on, bowing her head as her delicate frame was wracked by silent sobs.
Hugh was afraid to reach out to touch her, even in sympathy but then she raised her head and said in a rush, “So, you didn’t come to save me. All I can hope is that a stranger who will identify himself as Sir Gawain will make himself known and rescue me before I am forced to commit a sin that will guarantee my place in Hell, though to be sure it’s probably already waiting for me.” She sniffed, and her sweet rosebud lips trembled. “I had just held out the tiniest little bit of hope that…you…might be my last chance.” Collecting herself, she added on another faint sob, “But if you’re not Sir Gawain, you can’t help me.” Her shoulders slumped. Then she seemed to snap into a different state, more with the present and businesslike. “I daresay you came here to watch me dance, then.”
Hugh hesitated. “Actually, I came for information…which I’m quite willing to pay for,” he added quickly, indicating the seat beside him.
“Information?” She looked frightened as she sent a look at the door then back to his face. “No sir, I won’t betray any of the girls. And if you are planning to lock up all of us who operate out of here, then perhaps I’ll just scream now.”
Hugh rose and gripped her arm, immediately dropping his hands when he saw her tense. “I’m sorry, but let me assure you there’s no need to get so agitated. I have no intention of doing any harm. I merely hope to gain some information that might save the life of a dear friend of mine who was apprehended in this house last week by a certain Mr Wentworth, before being placed in custody and who is now awaiting His Majesty’s Pleasure. I’m hoping to find information that might save her from the hangman’s noose.”
“Ariane’s husband?” Minna put her hand to her mouth. “You didn’t hear it from me,” she said quickly as she turned away, clearly conflicted.
“No, I didn’t. He’s well known to me, and not at all in a way that casts honor on him, for all that he’s your friend’s husband.”