Allured

CHAPTER 1

 APPARITION

Dense fog hung over the rippled waters of the eastern Atlantic Ocean, covering nearly every inch of the top layers of the darkened sea. If not for the masts of the many ships docked in

Port Townsmont harbor Jacquelyn Cassiel would not have known where the vast ocean and the docks met.  But on this cool, unusual night Jacquelyn could feel something dark, as if an evil presence lurked in the shadows…

When an eerie feeling scattered through her bones, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to bristle, Jacquelyn feared for her life. She felt something watching her, a spirit she could not see, touch, or feel, she only sensed an evil presence.  Bumps began to form up and down both arms, and not from the wind that blew past.

 She was returning from a walk down to the pier during her dinner break, something Jacquelyn found to be relaxing. She often strolled to the docks at the end of the week, after the merchant sailors unloaded cargo on the docks. Aside from the ruckus from drunken sailors and sometimes-unruly ship captains, Jacquelyn found the shore peaceful. Like many people in Port Townsmont, she rarely traveled far from town. She often wondered what life would be like if she lived somewhere else and would travel to new cities. Jacquelyn sighed and turned back to town.

When she was about two blocks from the tavern, an image swooped down in front of her, hovering two feet in front of her, causing her to tremble. She felt the same evil presence that hid from her among the shadows as she walked from the pier. Fright flowed over every inch of her slender frame as she became transfixed on the image. The apparition leaned in towards her. The face of the creature was distorted, unrecognizable.  A colorful glow outlined around its outer body. Jacquelyn felt the coldness of its breath, putting chills across her arms. And when a crimson glow flashed from the ghostly eyes, she let out a squeak. Then, like a flash of lightning, the apparition was gone. Jacquelyn hurried on, trying to cast from her mind what she had seen.

When she reached the graveyard, the smell of death filled the air. She knew her suspicions were correct. Something evil had taken place. Fresh decaying flesh, as if bodies were piled on burning embers and smoldering made Jacquelyn nauseated, and she almost vomited.  As she drew closer, she saw three men standing by an open grave.  Jacquelyn stooped down by the black wrought iron gate to listen.

“I wonder who he is,” she heard the gravedigger ask the man standing across from him, wearing dark clothing, scratching his reddish beard. Jacquelyn was unable to identify the man holding the lantern.  Panic could be seen in the man’s eyes when the man with the reddish beard held up the lantern towards his face.

 The gravedigger stopped digging immediately when he glanced down, and saw the young boy’s exposed neck. The body was uncovered, sprawled onto a white sheet. The gravedigger turned towards the man with wearing a stylish hat, and saw panic across his face. He reached for the lantern the man with the reddish beard held towards his face, adjusted the flame brighter to get a better look at the boys neck. The gravedigger gasped.

They looked at each other without a word, but Jacquelyn could see the panic in their eyes.  As the other two men laid the boy in the grave, the gravedigger stepped back, pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the dirt from his brow.

“By the way he’s dressed, he’s a merchant from one of the ships docked in the harbor,” the man wearing dark clothes said. He reached for the shovel the gravedigger placed in the mound of dirt, and started filling in the grave. “I've never seen him before tonight, until his body washed up on shore,” he said, coughing a few times when dirt flew up from the shovel and into his face. “Dr. Morehead, any idea what he could’ve died from?” the gravedigger asked, breathing heavy. Before he could shovel more dirt into the grave, Dr. Morehead took off his hat, scratched his beard and kneeled onto the ground.

He examined the boy’s neckline carefully and decided it might be best to keep silent. He knew from the perplexed look on the gravedigger’s face, that he wondered the same thing. What could have caused the jagged rip in the boy’s throat.

Scratching his brownish beard, he said, “I'm not quite sure,” and Dr. Morehead took off his perfectly round glasses, reached for his handkerchief from his lapel and wiped the dirt from his face. “There’s no sign of a struggle,” he muttered softly. “Just unusual markings around his neck. Jagged, perhaps from a knife.”

 Jacquelyn continued to keep still, praying for safety, afraid the apparition would show itself again. When a cool breeze blew across her bare shoulders, Jacquelyn wrapped the black shawl tightly around her back.

“Probably drunk and fell overboard. The smell of whiskey is on his breath,” the man in dark clothing said.

“That's possible,” Dr. Morehead said, and stopped. He did not want to alarm the others, but he recognized the markings from ten years ago when he traveled with a colleague to Egypt. The jagged tears were identical to the body he saw while in Egypt that was found near the Nile.

 “He's young, and it’s a real shame too,” the gravedigger said and shoveled more dirt into the grave. He gave the man in dark clothes a puzzled stare. “He must have gotten himself into a squabble, and was tossed overboard by the ship's crew.”

“It's too late to pinpoint now, the lad is dead. Hurry and cover the grave, Fred, the stench is beginning to nauseate me,” said the man wearing dark clothes, speaking in a raspy voice. The gravedigger handed him the shovel, indicating it was his turn. With a thrust of his large body, the man in dark clothes grabbed the shovel and tossed dirt into the grave.

“Agreed, it’s too late to distinguish now. My stomach is starting to turn,” said Dr. Morehead, with his voice crackling. 

Jacquelyn tried to stand but her knee buckled, tossing her to the side of the gate, and she let out a yelp. The gravedigger held the lantern up to his face and looked out across the graveyard. The man wearing dark clothing walked briskly towards the entrance, kicking dirt from the enormous boots he was wearing.  Jacquelyn became nervous the closer he got to her, thinking she would be in trouble for being far from the tavern at such a late hour.

 The tall man wearing dark clothing called out in a gruff voice, “Who’s there?” Jacquelyn heard the hoarseness in his tone and kept silent. Hearing no response, he started walking faster with Dr. Morehead and the gravedigger trailing behind.

He stopped and hinged his hand on the gate, catching his breath as he waited. Jacquelyn limped a few feet and as she reached the entrance, he stopped her dead in her tracks. When her eyes focused, she looked up at the large, beefy man. Constable Montgomery, was tall with a large brown beard that hung bellow his chin. So much hair hid his slim lips; Jacquelyn could hardly tell he had a mouth at all.

“Good evening, sir,” Jacquelyn quickly greeted. Constable Montgomery when he leaned down towards her face. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, and his blue beady eyes crossed together.

“What’s the meaning of you roaming the streets at this hour of night?” he asked, still breathing heavy. Anger rose around his puffy face that was as bright as his orange hair.

Afraid to answer, Jacquelyn took a step backwards from his intimidating glare and said, “I took a stroll down to the pier.”

“Hmmm,” he said, straightening up and scratching his beard. “See anyone prowling ’bout?”

Pressing her lips tightly together into a tight ball, she thought about the apparition she had seen and decided to keep silent, knowing Constable Montgomery would think she had gone mad.

“No, I haven’t seen anyone,” said Jacquelyn softly, smiling crookedly. “Just a cat digging in the garbage barrels.”

Constable Montgomery did not know what to say to her and turned toward Dr. Morehead and the gravedigger as they approached the entrance. With dirt splatter on their clothing, they quickly brushed off the dirt splatters on their clothing, to look more suitable. Dr. Morehead had a disappointed look on his face, as if to wonder why Jacquelyn was walking around at night.

 With a harsh stare, he met her guilty gaze and said “Jacquelyn, you shouldn't be out walking the streets alone at this hour.” He pushed his round spectacles back on his face, after they slid down his nose. “Especially down at the pier.”

 Allan Morehead was the only doctor within five miles of town, and he made it a point to be fatherly towards everyone. Never married, he was quite handsome for a man in his fifties, and young women swarmed around him like a beehive. He had thick brown hair, bushy eyebrows; and his round spectacles made him look studious. His practice came before his personal life. Dr. Morehead preferred his work over being married, although Jacquelyn knew he was quite smitten over Madam Clarrie Aimée, who occasionally would meet him after the tavern closed. Rumor had it they would have sexual interludes, which often would carry over a long weekend.

“I enjoy walking in the moonlight, it’s when I feel at peace,” explained Jacquelyn, but the three of them stared, and caused her to feel uncomfortable.

“Dr. Morehead is right. You have no business walking the streets tramping about,” said Constable Montgomery. Jacquelyn did not like that he added his opinion, and she did not like being spoken to like a child. She gave him an ugly ogle, and without argument she headed back into town.

As she walked briskly towards the tavern, she heard a familiar and cheerful voice call out. Stanley O’Brien stood next to his food cart, handing two young boys a hot bag of chestnuts. The aroma from the chestnuts passed under her nose, and unable to resist, she walked towards the direction of the cart.

“Jacquelyn, always a pleasure, my dear,” he said with a warm smile. “C’mon over and talk a while.”

“Good evening, Stanley,” she said, smiling, and gazing at the mound of nuts that had light steam floating from the top of each burlap sack. At Christmastime chestnuts were her favorites reminding her of when she was a little girl. Every Saturday evening, Jacquelyn’s parents would come into town and shop for gifts and supplies. Her mother would skate around the ice pond in town, and a vendor would sell warm chestnuts near the entrance.

“Here, I know how much you like chestnuts,” said Stanley, handing her a chubby bag. Jacquelyn did not look surprised. Stanley was a generous man. She smelled the top of the burlap bag before feasting on a handful.

Stanley helped a few more patrons while Jacquelyn warmed her chilled hands over the open flames of the fire burning in a nearby barrel and watched children slide their thin bodies across the ice on a nearby street. Jacquelyn loved the month of December, especially when the town was decorated so lavishly. In the center of town, a large Christmas tree was always ornamented, the black street lamps each tied with large red ribbons and the people in town were normally merrier than any other time. She enjoyed looking into the shop windows, gazing at the pretty dresses, muffs, toys for the children and trinkets. Miss. Mable’s clothing store had a Santa who sat in the window and greeted the patrons as they passed, and children lined up to tell Saint Nick their wishes.

 When she heard muffled talking, Jacquelyn glanced across the street and saw Dr. Morehead, Constable Montgomery, and the gravedigger enter the tavern.

Jacquelyn stuffed the burlap sack tightly in the side pocket of her cloak and said, “I best return to work, it's getting late. Thank you for the chestnuts, Stanley.”

Giving him a warm smile, she started to walk away. But when he cleared his throat, Jacquelyn hesitated before stepping into the street. At first she thought he was warning her that a stagecoach was going by, but when his bushy brows pushed together, she knew differently.

           Jacquelyn swirled, flinging her black cloak around herself. Chestnuts flying from the sack hit a tall gentleman standing by Stanley’s cart, square in the face and knocked his top hat off.

 Jacquelyn took a step backward in surprise seeing the frown on his face.  

“I noticed lanterns burning in the graveyard tonight.” Stanley leaned in towards Jacquelyn's ear so the groups of citizens walking past couldn’t hear. “Did you hear anything? I watched you walk up from that direction.”

Jacquelyn was not sure if she wanted to tell Stanley anything she heard, especially with him having a flare for gossip.

 “Well,” she whispered into his left ear, fearing somebody might overhear what she said, “Someone died. A young boy from a merchant ship.” Jacquelyn looked around continuously as people from town walked past.

“Oh my, that's too bad,” he said smacking his lips together. “Did you hear what caused his death?”

Before she said any more, Jacquelyn made Stanley swear he would not breathe a word to anyone. He agreed, nodding his head up and down, and then she continued. “I heard Constable Montgomery and the gravedigger say they think there was a squabble among the shipmates, and they killed the young boy and tossed him overboard.”

Stanley hung on every word Jacquelyn spoke and wanted to know more details. But, Port Townsmont being a small town, word got around. She knew Stanley loved to gossip even more than the quilt circle of women who gathered weekly in the church hall, so she decided to keep the details brief.

“Fog’s rolling in. Going to be thick tonight,” Stanley said in disappointed response. He turned away towards his cart and closed up the sides.

Jacquelyn realized it was nearly time for the tavern to close and she feared Mr. Struthers would be cantankerous at her late return, so she hurried inside hanging her cloak on the brass hook behind the backdoor. Jacquelyn could hear that Mr. Struthers, the taverns proprietor, was drunk, by the slurred words he bellowed out to a patron. Struthers made a loud coughing noise, causing Jacquelyn to look in his direction. He glared at her and raised his hand, snapping his fingers. He knew Jacquelyn would cringe like a frightened animal.

“There's a table in the center of the room waiting to be served,” he yelled, adding a few obscenities in with a screeching tone. Jumping, Jacquelyn rushed right over to the table.  While attending to the customers, Jacquelyn turned around when she heard Madam Aimée snarl at Mr. Struthers. Jacquelyn giggled silently, like a child, as Madam and Struthers glowered at each other.  

In the brief silence, Jacquelyn heard low voices from men at the next table and bent her ear to listen as she wiped spilled beer and ale from the nearby tables.

 “Tomorrow we should go to the pier and see if we can find the ship the boy is from. It's only fair to notify the ship’s captain,” she heard Dr. Morehead say.

“It might be difficult to find exactly what ship the lad’s from. Crew come and go. It’s cargo and slaves they keep an accurate count of,” said the gravedigger grumpily.

“Fred is probably right, Allan. Remember he worked on a ship several years ago, before he wound up here. But, being you're hell bent, then I'll go with you,” and she detected hesitation from Constable Montgomery's voice.

Jacquelyn continued to wipe down the tables and gather the steins as she watched Madam Clarrie Aimée make her way around the tavern.

 “Good evening Madam Aimée,” said Constable Montgomery as she came up to their table. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

“Gentlemen, what drags all of you together on a chilly night?” Clarrie responded, sounding suspicious. “All of you should be home where it is warm- all except for Henry who should be out walking the streets.”

“Well, if you want to know, a few of your women would warm me up...” Jacquelyn heard the gravedigger say in a rough scratchy tone. Madam Aimée ignored his remark and turned instead to Dr. Morehead as he began a harsh coughing spell. When he could catch his breath the doctor muttered.  

“Frank, I believe we stayed in the cold air too long,” responded Dr. Morehead as he continued coughing.

“Charlie,” Jacquelyn heard Madam Aimée yell. “Bring over four whiskeys. That’ll clear your cough right up, Allan,” Clarrie said.

“Just when I was going to order a round myself,” said Constable Montgomery.  By the expression on his face, Clarrie knew very well he was lying. 

“Well, you know, instead of rubbing elbows with these two, don't you think it would be more useful if you were patrolling outside where you're needed?” Jacquelyn could hear the sternness in Madam Aimée's voice.

“Clarrie, don't be giving Henry a hard time. We’ve been out in the graveyard for...” With a wave of her hand, she cut off Dr. Morehead's words when Charlie brought the whiskey to the table.

“Thank you, dear,” she said to Charlie, handing him a penny.

Just then, Alfred Struthers strolled over to the table where Madam Aimée was standing, still keeping an eye on Jacquelyn and the men who gathered around the crescent shaped bar. Madam Aimée turned sharply around when he approached. Alfred was a short, beefy man with his neck buried in his shirt. His gray thin hair, swept to one side, made his dark beady eyes look cold as stone. Struthers liked to believe he was a ladies’ man, often strutting like a tomcat. One of his habits, aside from his ill manners and foul language, was smoking Cuban cigars. He puffed on them like a chimney each night towards evening, while drinking his whiskey.  Most people in town remembered when Alfred when he was young and attractive. But, the liquor, smoking, and hard living turned him into a crotchety old man who had no respect for anyone. Years ago, when Alfred was married to Angela Bolton Struthers the niece of Julian Carver, he thought the world was his until a dreadful spring afternoon. Angela had been in labor for almost twenty hours. When the baby was born breech, there was no saving her. She had lost much blood and was too weak. The umbilical cord had wrapped around the little girl's neck, strangling the infant as she was being born. Soon afterward, Alfred started to show up at the tavern on a regular basis. When  he sat at the same table in the center of the room every night  so he could watch what went on in the large mirror that hung across the back wall where Charlie worked by the wooden ale casks.

“What's going on here?”said Alfred, his voice sounded grouchy. “Shouldn’t you be out patrolling the streets, Henry?” Madam Aimée coughed while waving the smoke from her face and muttering profanity under her breath.

“Could’ve used your help two hours ago, big boy,” murmured Constable Montgomery.

“You're not exactly small around the waist yourself,” barked Alfred. “And what brings you in here tonight, Allan. Another interlude with Clarrie?” he said, making a rude insinuation. Allan did not say a word. In fact, all three of the men continued to sip their whiskey, as if Struthers had not spoken. Dr. Morehead coughed a few more times before Clarrie interrupted the dead silence.

“You were saying, Allan, about the three of you being in the graveyard...”

 Allan looked up at her, forgetting she had inquired to why all three of them were in the graveyard so late. He would like to forget the incident ever happened, but he knew Clarrie. He did not care for her persistence, but, her beauty and charm captivated him.

“Why were you in the graveyard?” asked Alfred. “All of you are liable to catch your death,” he snickered. “No skin off my nose, mind you.”

Dr. Morehead sighed heavily and said, “We buried a young boy tonight.” Clarrie looked surprised. “He’s from one of the merchant ships. He drowned!”

Dr. Morehead drank the rest of his whiskey down and reached over to Constable Montgomery’s glass, drinking his down as well. Madam Aimée's eyes got as big as stones. She had never seen Allan drink the way Alfred did.

 “I'll have three more whiskeys.  Drinks all around,” he stammered, looking towards Alfred. “Put it on my tab, big boy,” he said, his words slurred.

“Over my dead body. You’ll do nothing of the sort,” snorted Clarrie, motioning Constable Montgomery to stand up. “Henry, you and Frank take Allan home. I'll look in on him after the tavern closes.”

As the gravedigger and Constable Montgomery helped Dr. Morehead to his feet and out of the tavern, Alfred and Clarrie looked at each other, perplexed that a boy had drowned but they did not concern themselves with that issue now. There were two hours left before the tavern closed and there was still much to do. Alfred still had his ledgers to finish and Madam Aimée needed to check on her women to ensure no mischief was taking place.

 Clarrie had strict rules all her girls needed to follow while in public and when entertaining men. She would not tolerate inappropriate behavior, especially while in the public eye. Her girls were of a higher standard, respectable at all times, while entertaining businessman from afar, or politicians who traveled from the District of Columbia on their way to New York. Most of the out of town men patrons who ventured into the Black Rose Tavern were of high standing. Clarrie made sure her courtesans where educated the best she knew how. She had a personal library filled with books on philosophy, geography, language books of French, Spanish, Italian, and other languages. There were dictionaries of all sorts, and literature from Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, as well as history from Egypt, Greece, Rome and several others.

The last hours seemed to have escaped Jacquelyn, stripping all energy she had. When she glanced into the large oak mirror, she noticed her eyes looked a little peaked, and she hoped she was not catching a cold. She was tired, and looked forward to going up stairs to soak her throbbing feet. Just when Jacquelyn turned around, she bumped into Gabriella. She did not realize anyone was behind her.

“Sorry, I didn't know you were there,” said Jacquelyn, smiling. “I seem to be bumping into everyone tonight.”

“That's quite all right, darlin’. Excuse me, I have a pail to rinse out.” Gabriella squeezed past her in the small opening between a shelf and the bar. Jacquelyn moved about at a snail's pace and she kept looking down towards the floor.

“What's the matter, darlin’, ya feeling all right?” said Gabriella in her rich Irish accent.

“Yes,” said Jacquelyn, nearly losing her balance. Gabriella quickly dropped the bucket and reached for Jacquelyn’s arm before she stumbled over. Feeling a little embarrassed, Jacquelyn’s face turned red. She dabbed a damp cloth to her sweaty forehead. She could not believe the sweat that suddenly formed…

 When she looked up, Jacquelyn caught a glimpse of an attractive man sitting in the corner near a window, by the large oak door, and was instantly beguiled.

He had a long face, dark wavy hair, and grayish eyes. His black overcoat was neatly draped over the chair, and gray gloves were folded crisscross on top of each other. He was sharply dressed with a white long-sleeved button-up collared shirt and charcoal gray vest. He sat reading the newspaper as if he was a usual part of the scene: relaxed and comfortable, paying no mind to the squabbling nonsense from the next table. 

When he placed the newspaper down and took a sip from a china teacup, he spotted Jacquelyn looking in his direction and gave a friendly smile.

“He's distinguished, all right, and very courteous,” said Gabriella, smiling widely. Gabriella fancied older men, as did Jacquelyn, but she was more interested in the wilder men, rather than the reserved type that Jacquelyn was attracted to. “I served him coffee and brandy earlier when you stepped out. He’s interesting to talk to, and quite the world traveler.”

Jacquelyn turned towards the mirror and stared endlessly until Gabriella cleared her throat, tapping her on the shoulder. “Um, the tavern’s going to close in a few minutes.”  Gabriella sounded annoyed and glanced up at the large clock above the bar. “I’d like to get out of here as soon as possible. Thirty minutes to go!”

“How long has he been here?” said Jacquelyn, her hazel eyes lured to the mirror. “This is the first time I noticed him” She stepped to one side so Gabriella could squeeze by her again.

“You mean the man you've been gaping at, darlin’? He has been sitting there for nearly two hours now. Quite a catch, I might add. And Jacquelyn dear, if you don't get a move on Mr. Struthers is liable to cause you some trouble.” Her teeth clattered in annoyance and she walked around Jacquelyn, keeping an eye on a table of drunks. “Gawk on your own time.”

Jacquelyn took one last look into the mirror. Knowing she had sweeping to do and tables to clean, she still found it difficult to pull her eyes away from his. The longer she gazed, the more she knew she wanted to meet him. But she did not want to appear forward. She already had a reputation in town as a courtesan from her time in service with Madam Clarrie Aimée, and she despised any gossip spread about her.

“Why don't you walk over there?” Charlie asked, and nudged her, his hands soapy from washing glasses and steins. “Go on, Jacquelyn, you won’t hurt anything. Charlie smiled, knowing how much Jacquelyn yearned for happiness.

After wringing out a towel, Jacquelyn walked from behind the bar when she caught a whiff of smoke from Mr. Stretcher’s cigar. He intentionally blew smoke in her face. Jacquelyn coughed hard and turned her back.

“Be ‘bout your job,” Struthers snapped bitterly. “I don't pay you to gape at patrons all night when there's work to be done.” Jacquelyn felt her face crinkle like an accordion.

Without looking at him, she slid past his beefy round body, fixing her eyes instead on a table that was in shambles. Tall steins were lying on their sides, and ale dripped off the table. As she approached the mess, she heard Madam Aimée's deep voice.

“Leave her alone, you old fool,” shouted Clarrie looking directly at Alfred Struthers. “You have other matters to attend to. And I suggest you get to them, now!” Alfred grumbled under his breath and went on with his business.

Jacquelyn looked up at the clock and saw there were eighteen minutes left before the tavern closed. When she looked up, the man she felt drawn to fixed his dark, pearly eyes on her. Her stomach rolled like fierce waves crashing against the shore. Jacquelyn felt the pounding of her heart beat faster than ever before, and had to catch her breath. She stopped what she was doing and turned from his intent gaze.

Jacquelyn felt herself drawn towards him, and found herself at his table as if she had been transported, not remembering how she got there. She stood glued in place and when their eyes met, they gazed at each other in what Jacquelyn felt was a trance, a magical power she was unable to control.

“Good evening, my dear, my name is Victor,” he said, straightforward and sure of himself.

“G-G-Good evening,” she stammered, feeling bewitched by his powers. “It’s nice to meet you.”  Jacquelyn was embarrassed at first, and she could feel a burst of heat on her face. She took a step backwards when she caught a snarled glare coming from Mr. Struthers.

Placing the newspaper down on the gray gloves, Victor crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back in the chair.  He kept a steady gaze on Jacquelyn and looked deeply into her eyes as if reading her soul. He reached for her arm, but when she saw his pupils flash a glowing red, she jerked away, remembering the ghostly figure that appeared by the cemetery. The apparition had flashed its eyes crimson.

“I'm sorry miss I didn't mean to startle you,” Victor smiled. Jacquelyn nodded her head even as she watched him gape at her with his eyes, rolling up and down her figure. She felt uncomfortable, remembering the men she had been with during the years she was a courtesan under Madam Aimée.

“If you don’t need anything else, I best be about my duties. The tavern closes in fifteen minutes,” she stammered. She thought for moment and added, “Would you like…,” and stopped herself, knowing it was not polite to be forward to call upon a man. She felt guilty for thinking such a thought, but then she saw a speck of glimmer in his eyes and he started to stand. Jacquelyn gulped hard, getting cold feet.

“Did you have a question, Miss?” he said, reaching for his overcoat that draped neatly over the back of the chair.

“Of course not, forgive me. I must have been in another thought...” She wanted to kick herself for feeling inhibited with so much against her.

“Well then, I have a question for you,” he said softly, as he draped his coat around the broadness of his shoulders. Jacquelyn's heart started to race.

“Join me this evening, after your duties. I'll be waiting in my covered stagecoach outside,” he said and started to walk past her.

 Shocked, Jacquelyn did not know what to say.

“Thank you for your offer, but I couldn't,” she said, frowning. Jacquelyn wanted to go with him but knew people in the tavern would see her leave with a stranger.

“What do you care what the patrons in this establishment think? You’re a grown woman,” Victor said, disgruntled. He looked out through the room and saw Mr. Struthers’ sharp gaze.

“But I do care. I am not well liked in this town. Besides, what would people think if I went off with you?” She whispered so the patrons close by could not hear. “You’re a complete stranger. I've never laid eyes on you until tonight.”

“Not well liked,” said Victor, surprised. “As beautiful as you are what could you have possible done to not be well favored in this ghastly town?” Victor’s brown eyebrows pressed together, wrinkling his forehead so the age of his years were seen.

Jacquelyn hesitated a little before she spoke.

“Years ago, I worked for Madam Aimée,” Jacquelyn said, pointing to Clarrie at a nearby table. Clarrie was collecting payment from well-known businessmen from upstate New York. “I worked as a courtesan,” she said nervously.

Victor looked at her with wanting and said, “I understand completely. You must have had your reasons for that line of work. I don't blame you, nor do I hold ill feelings about your former employment.”

 His voice softened. Victor removed his gaze from Mr. Struthers’ snarled stare and fixed his eyes on Jacquelyn. “The people you speak of are lurking now...” and his grayish eyes widened.

 Sighing regrettably, she said, “For that very reason, I must decline. I'm sorry, sir, perhaps another time.”  Jacquelyn looked away when tears began to fill her eyes.

Victor understood without further explanation and started walking towards the large oak curved door. Before leaving, he turned, glanced around the tavern, and saw the proprietor gloating in his direction. Victor glared back with hatred kindling in his soul like a raging fire. When he felt the beast within him start to transform, he stopped himself and turned sharply away and back towards Jacquelyn, making one last attempt to persuade her to go with him.

 When she looked at his raging eyes, her heart sank deeply, down into the pit of her stomach. She could sense Victor’s hatred was depicted towards Mr. Struthers, but during that very minute, and only that minute, she no longer cared what others might think. Her heart ached with the desire to go with him.

 With tear-filled eyes, she said, “I'll… when…” and her mouth shut, silenced as if someone put a lock on her lips. Victor reached for her arms, trying to encourage her but she could not bring her lips to say the words. When she tried, only a quiver from her bottom lip vibrated a squeak of remorse.

“It will be all right. Perhaps another time,” he said, and he stroked the side of her cheek with the softness of his palm.

Then, purely out of spite, Mr. Struthers stood, and spoke so the whole tavern could hear. “Don't just stand there, move your ass and finish your duties before I deduct your pay. Good help is so hard to find, especially the ones I rescue from Clarrie,” he added as on aside, slurring his words. “Miserable bitch...”

Embarrassed, Jacquelyn looked down towards the ground and started walking away. Victor stopped her, gently holding onto Jacquelyn’s shoulder and said, “I’ll kill him… it will be a slow and painful death...” Jacquelyn had never seen anyone's facial expressions change so rapidly, from compassionate towards her, to raging mad towards someone she despised.

Then to Jacquelyn’s surprise, a flash of the creature like the one outside the graveyard flickered in front of her eyes. Before she could blink again, she saw Victor giving her a puzzled stare.

“Does that proprietor always speak unkindly towards you?” he said.

“Yes, more so when he's been drinking,” she said, and her bottom lip quaked.

Victor narrowed his brows inward, and said, “Drinking is no excuse to behave in such are ill manner,” and he placed both hands on her shoulders. “Come with me, I'll never harm you.”

A nice thought as that was Jacquelyn knew she could not, not now, not ever... and when a single tear dripped from her eyelid she said, “I cannot.”

She could not believe a handsome man, one she just met, was interested in her. Jacquelyn was not afraid to go off with Victor. She feared the cruelty from Alfred Struthers. There were many times she wished she were more like Gabriella. She admired her backbone and her ability to not let what others thought of her trouble her.

Victor backed away and looked blankly. Jacquelyn turned her face outward, an able to face him any longer. With so much pain in her heart, she wanted to run and hide, to cry her eyes out. When she glanced up, he was gone. Regret filled her up like a full glass of water, and she scurried towards the back room and wept.

Hearing footsteps, she felt a handkerchief dangle in front of her cupped hands.

 “Are you all right, darlin’?” asked Gabriella.

“Yes,” she said, and sniffed before blowing her nose a few times. Jacquelyn wiped her eyes, but her painted expression caught Gabriella’s attention.

“No, you're not all right,” said Gabriella. She bent down and placed her hand across Jacquelyn's shoulder. “Don’t let what others say upset you, love. There’re just jealous.” Jacquelyn smiled slightly. Gabriella was always good at making her feel better. “That’s much better, darlin’.” Gabriella smiled back softly.

“I'm sorry.”  Jacquelyn wiped the tears that squeezed through the sides of her eyes. “Thank you for your concern.”

“There's no need for apologies, darlin’. Everyone heard that bastard bellow,” said Gabriella, helping Jacquelyn to her feet. “Would you like Madam to come in here?” Gabriella could see Madam Aimée standing at a nearby table, looking in their direction.

Without any knowledge that Madam stood within earshot, Jacquelyn said, “No! I’d rather this stay between you and me.”

“All right. We have about ten minutes before closing, then.” smiled Gabriella, leaving Jacquelyn to gather herself together. After she walked from the back room, she motioned Clarrie to follow her.

Jacquelyn regained her composure and went to the bar counter, grabbed the broom and quickly swept the floor. She thought about Victor and how he captivated her. Jacquelyn had never believed in love at first sight, but she believed now.

Finally the  work night ended. Jacquelyn, Gabriella and Charlie were tired after working for twelve hours, but this was normal for Thursdays were when the merchant ships would sail into the harbor, unload their cargo, and pick up supplies. Thursday generally set the stage for the upcoming weekend. Most of the men from Port Townsmont strolled in Friday evenings to relax after working in the fields all day. Weekends in the tavern generally were rowdy. Keeping busy made the nights pass quickly.

Jacquelyn, Gabriella and Charlie walked to the door together and grabbed their coats. They heard laughter from the center of the room, where Mr. Struthers was standing by a table.

“I wish all of them would get diphtheria and die,” said Gabriella, slanting her large blue eyes towards them.

Scratching his fiery red hair, Charlie gave Gabriella a surprised look and said, “You shouldn't say things like that. You're going to burn in hell for your obscenity,” Charlie scowled.

“I'll just say a few extra ‘Hail Mary's’ and ‘Our Father’s,’ light a candle for the souls in purgatory, and be done with it,” she said, swirling around to reach for the bras door handle.

“Let's leave quickly before the beast walks over here. Besides, I have someone waiting for me down by the pier,” said Gabriella, cheerful and loud. She unclipped her blond hair that she kept rolled up into a tight bun, and allowed her hair to cascade down on to her shoulders. The slight wave of her hair reminded Jacquelyn of the ocean.

 Jacquelyn placed her hand on Gabriella’s shoulder, smiled and said, “Thank you for being my friend. You’re always too kind.” Gabriella took Jacquelyn's hand, gave it a pat, and smiled back.

“See both of you tomorrow,” said Gabriella as she scampered out the door. Charlie smiled and motioned Jacquelyn to walk in front of him, but Jacquelyn turned when she heard Madam Aimée call for her.

Madam Aimée sat waiting patiently for Jacquelyn at the bar. She tapped her nails on top of the counter, glaring towards Mr. Struthers. Madam Aimée was a hefty woman, with a swelling breast like overflowing cream puffs that appeared to pop out from her corset, but her modest clothing gave her a slender appearance. She kept her wavy black hair clipped back on each side of her head with beautiful barrettes that matched each outfit she wore. Her free-flowing curls brushed softly on her bare shoulders. Always dressed to the hilt, Clarrie let her modest and understated jewelry highlight her garments.

 “Yes, Madam,” said Jacquelyn. She glanced at her own reflection, in the mirror behind the counter and noticed her puffy hazel eyes.

 “Gabriella snuck a word in my ear,” Clarrie said nervously, bending her eyes narrowly towards Alfred. Jacquelyn stared from the mirror and gasped. “Now dear, don't be cross with her, Gabrielle is a good friend, and she cares deeply for you. Now then,” Madam Aimée continued as she took Jacquelyn's cold hand into hers and rubbed it softly, “Think about returning and living back at the house. I just might have a room available soon.”

Dismayed, Jacquelyn pulled her hand away and said, “I don't think I…”

“Of course not, dear,” Madam Aimée said quickly on seeing her tears. “It would be understood that you would be just a boarder and not a courtesan. These last few months I’ve seen you decline.” Clarrie reached for her chin, and cupped her face gently. “You seem so sad I am worried about you.”

A trickle stream flowed down Jacquelyn's pale cheek. “It's… just… that,” and her voice cracked with every word.

“I know dear, I know…”

 Jacquelyn wiped her tears, wondering how Madam Aimée could know what she felt in her heart. She wanted to go off with Victor and knew as tried to rationalize the idea how crazy it was. But decided she no longer cared what people thought. An attractive man walked into the Black Rose Tavern and was interested in her, without knowing her twisted past, and she allowed him to slip between her fingers.

“I'll give it some thought,” she promised, and blew her nose with the handkerchief Madam Aimée pulled from her corset.

“Now then, I need to go check on Dr. Morehead. He was feeling a bit under the weather.” She gave Jacquelyn a hug. “Think about what I said, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Jacquelyn forcing, a smile.

Just when Jacquelyn had her hand on the door handle, she tightened up and froze in place when she heard Struthers’ sharp tone screech. The foul odor from cigars and the smell of whiskey on his breath caused her to gag, and she stepped back against the corner of the door.

“What's your hurry, love? Why not stay and join me for a nightcap in my chamber?” said Alfred Struthers briefly, breathing heavily in her face.

Jacquelyn turned away, not making eye contact with his sudden flirtatious attitude, and said bravely, “No! The very sight of you repulses me.”

Mr. Struthers frowned and said, “You know you want me. Why resist my charm?” He stroked the side of her cheek with the tip of his finger, making his way down her neckline. He gazed at her plump breasts that pushed up from the corset she wore, drooling with lust. Jacquelyn wanted to scream, but no one was left to help her, let alone care, so she slowly scooted along the wall and opened the door.

“C’mon, my pet, I'll satisfy you like no other...” Struthers said as he slammed the door shut before Jacquelyn could get out. He touched the top of her breasts, sliding his hand down and cupping a breast in his hand. She gripped his hand and jerked it away, but he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her tightly towards him.

“Get away from me. Y-y-ya drunken bastard!” Jacquelyn stammered

Alfred stepped back and snarled. “You're nothing more than a lousy whore. Off with you now, before I lose my temper and fire the likes of you,” he grumbled.

Before he tried anything else, Jacquelyn squeezed past Alfred and out the door. She was out of breath and broke out into a cold sweat. Jacquelyn felt her stomach twist in knots like a fierce tornado. At first light, she would go speak to Madam Aimée about living in her home again, even if it meant sharing a bedroom. Anything was better than tolerating the abuse from Alfred Struthers.