“But if you had a baby with you, dear Miss de Jong, how could you work in this establishment?” He gestured to the expanse of his elegant office. Leaning closer, he chuckled. “It wouldn’t do.”
“Of course not.” My shoulders shrank inward. His eyes perused my form from shoes to head.
“I’m not as clean as I might be.” My face grew hot. “I have nowhere to live.”
He relaxed his posture in the chair, raised a hand to his chin, and smoothed his lips with his pointer finger. “Well, why not. I may as well offer you another sort of work.”
In my chest I felt hope unfurling—the hope that some single act would lift me.
“I’ve been thinking this awhile, Miss de Jong.” He brought his hands together in his lap; the gold of his wedding ring glinted in the aura of the standing lamp beside him. “The best a woman in your circumstances can hope for”—he cleared his throat and continued—“is to be kept by a good man. Don’t you think so?”
Taken aback, I answered, “I pray that isn’t so.”
“Oh it is, believe me.” He patted his thighs. “And I could be that man.”
I noted how Johan’s behavior had cleared the way for another man to consider me an instrument of pleasure.
Then he told me the terms. Ten dollars now and twenty every month, and I’d live in his small apartment by the Delaware. “It’s a busy neighborhood,” he allowed. “A short walk from here, but less—fussy. All sorts of people.”
“And what would be my duties?” I asked, hungry for that ten dollars.
“You’d entertain me when I come by.” He grinned and waved a hand sideways. “Particularly in the summer, when Clementina stays in Germantown.” His manner enlivened as the idea grew. “And why not at the middle of the day, and some evenings the rest of the year, when my wife has plans? I’d give you a small allowance, too, so you could prepare my meals occasionally. Miss de Jong—Lilli, if I may. Your companionship”—and here he lowered his tone—“your close companionship would suit me.”
I said nothing, but in my face he seemed to read my dismay. He stood and smoothed his cream-colored jacket. “A mere charitable gift would do you no lasting good. A lack of money is not what makes a pauper, but a lack of employment.”
Apparently he was ignorant of those whose employment pays too little to end their poverty. And his notion of good employment was preposterously self-serving in this case. But I couldn’t dwell on that. “I could keep my baby at this apartment,” I said, confirming.
“If you must. Would that enable you to accept?”
“Perhaps. I need to think.” How else could I get money for Blockley and find out if Charlotte lives? I rose from my chair, feeling I had too little air to call upon. My bosoms ached, for I hadn’t released any milk since before dawn, and my hands sought to adjust the corset beneath my bodice. Albert’s eyes followed my efforts.
“Overfilled?”
I nodded, embarrassed. “Is there a private room I might use before getting on my way?”
Rapidly he covered the several steps between us. “I’d like to help you myself.” He lowered his head to stare at my chest and brought his hands to the buttons of my bodice.
I grabbed his wrists and pulled them back. Evil spoke from within me when I asked, “How much will thee pay?”
“Two dollars, on the spot.”
That would give me ten dollars, and my remaining change would pay for the streetcar.
Without waiting for my answer, he kneeled on the thick Oriental carpet, inclined his head toward my bosom, and gazed upward in a pitifully desirous way.
Of course I needed to accept. But I was also moved by the lean of his handsome face toward me, his straight-cut hair slanting across his brow, his lips already loose and his tongue showing between them; I was half-enchanted by the complex fragrances the room exuded and the scent rising from his body. All this made me want to touch his head, to feel his warm mouth upon me. I unbuttoned my bodice, unclasped the busk of my corset, and pulled at the bow of my chemise to loosen its neck.
“All right, but thee must tell no one,” I said. My voice felt thick in my throat.
“Who would I tell?” His hands pushed mine aside to move the chemise below one swollen breast.
His big head near my bosom shocked me; I thought of Johan, the only man who’d ever been so close. Something palpable was breaking, as if a stick was snapping in me, or a pact was being torn to pieces and thrown away. Tears sprang to my eyes as I worked to take a breath.
Then Albert nudged my breast into his mouth. Milk rushed through the ducts and buzzed at my nipples, and both sides began to release their liquid. His lips covered my nipple and the smooth circle around it; his mouth pulled my delicate flesh; the tight muscles all through my body grew easier as he sucked. The milk on the side he wasn’t sucking was wetting my chemise, so I looked about for something to catch it. He didn’t notice, so rapt was he, when I plucked the handkerchief from his vest pocket. The white cloth read ASB in a neatly embroidered script. Clementina had certainly not embroidered those letters; even so, as I used the white muslin to catch my milk, the sound of her angry voice came to mind—“Albert!”
And there her husband crouched, gulping away at my breast. Though I like nothing about his wife, revulsion swept through me. I pushed his head off, which hurt as his teeth withdrew. He leaned back, licking white from his lips. His eyes stayed closed, his lips half smiling. With clumsy fingers I tied my chemise, fastened my corset, and buttoned my bodice. I ran toward the office door, then remembered my valise.
As I stepped back to the chairs and reached for it, Albert intercepted my hand gently with his. I felt the damp pillow of his touch. He tucked a dollar between my fingers.
“For one side,” he said. “Your milk is very fine.” He leaned his head down and forward, aiming to kiss me with his easy lips.
I wanted to kiss him. Yes, I wanted to abandon my body to his, to feel his fine clothes against me, the press of his suspenders on my ribs, the linen of his suit, the rising of his snake-like part, his capable arms pulling me in and down. I wanted to cleave my mouth to his and dive into those sensations, the very ones that had made me adore Johan. I wanted to let go of my terror over Charlotte, to drink forgetfulness from the river Lethe. As an option for a ruined life, I told myself, being this man’s kept woman would be far from the worst.
Yet Charlotte was trapped at Blockley, most likely on the brink of death or dead! And I couldn’t accept that consenting to whoredom was the only way to reach her.
I moved my head to evade his lips. I shoved the dollar into the purse at my neck, grabbed my valise, and slid the bolt open on his office door.
He didn’t call after me as I tried my best not to run down the stairs. Traveling the high-ceilinged foyer, I kept my eyes to my feet. I rushed by the guard and burst onto the scorching sidewalk.