The rain did nothing to cheer the girls mood as she made her way through the crowds of people on their way to Sunday Mass.
Not Lucy. She had an appointment that would make the angels blush. She squared her shoulders, lifting her skirt, as she took a wide step, attempting to avoid one of the many puddles amid the crumbling cobblestones. She ignored the disapproving gaze from an elderly gentleman and his wife on their way to the Cathedral. Having the audacity to raise an eyebrow at the man, who was taking his time in glaring at her shapely ankle and a bit of the leg above it.
His silver-haired bride "tsk!"d as she dragged her husband away, and Lucy made no attempt to hide the smirk that formed in response. She was in no mood for hypocrisy, and her current situation had made her bolder.
Her Mother was ill, and the singing at the neighborhood pub wasn't nearly enough to cover the expenses for the medication required. And with her Mother not working, she was in danger of losing the cottage she'd been paying by month for all of Lucy's life. She'd taken in sewing and washing, after Lucy's Father had left, and Lucy sang and danced, and helped with the mending, where she could, but for the life of her, she couldn't make her stitches small and neat. Her skills were on the stage, and with inspiring the boys of her little town to fight for her attentions. She was a pretty girl, and she knew it.
Her looks, and lack of more useful skills beyond singing and smiling had brought her to the big city. London. It wasn't the city she had imagined in her youth. When her Mother had described visiting it, she had imagined sparkling buildings, richly dressed royalty and strangers smiling with welcome. That was not the London she had found, much to her displeasure.
She had travelled by carriage through the night, and had rented a little room several blocks from her destination, and due to the early evening appointment, she was grateful to have time for a nap. She'd slept little though, hungry fleas left by the previous occupant dining on her. She had woke, and been surprised to find several red bites down her legs and arms, tiny, but they itched, and burned to beat the devil. She did her best to ignore them, washing herself with the pitcher of water and bowl that stood on the small dresser that comprised the only furniture in the humble room, beyond that of the bed, and a chair that sat unevenly in the corner.
She'd dressed, having brought her very best dress for the audition, or the interview as it had been called by the man who had set it up for her, one of the pianists who had left the little pub she'd been singing at for a job at a dancing hall in the city, and he'd owed her a favor, and after this interview, they would be even. He made it clear her success lied squarely on her shoulders. The name of the place gave her pause though, The Red Rat. When she'd read the name, it had sent a cold shudder down her spine. It seemed fitting, though, that her nicest dancing dress happened to be burgundy in hue, and displayed her God-given gifts to devastating effect. It required less fabric that way, and her Mother had made it for her. No one would ever confuse Lucy for a lady of good breeding in the dress, but often they would stop and stare.
She didn't have a mirror, so she did her best to apply her makeup in the smudged glass of the window. It wasn't easy, but she succeeded in rouging her cheeks her lips, and darkening her lashes. The deep blue of her eyes was set off by the cosmetics, her creamy complexion and the dark natural curl to her hair. She let it hang down, as she pinned a black fashionable hat to her head, grabbing the threadbare cloak her Mother had insisted she take. It was a strange pairing, the beautiful dress, covered by something that left her current circumstances so obvious, but she secured it, grateful for the love behind the sentiment. After all, they couldn't afford to have more then one person sick in the home. Their hopes were pinned on this meeting, and it was with surprise that her thoughts had been so distracted, that she realized she had walked past the address she'd been given. She took a moment to study the possible place of her new employment, and every instinct inside told her to run.
The Red Rat, even at this time of night, boasted the kind of patrons that would have been sent immediately away from the bar, to go home, and sleep off their drunkenness. There was no one to prevent the over indulgence at the Red Rat, in fact, indulgences of every kind were encouraged, and as she made her way into the macabrely decorated, and gilded Business. The smell of liquor, and smoke assaulted her senses as she made her way through the door, attempting to avoid the drinks, but finding herself pawed at like a common whore along the way. She did her best to discourage the groping, and kept close to the walls, as she made her way deeper into the labyrinth that was The Red Rat.
She started as cold hands encircled around her shoulders from behind, a gasp escaping her lips as she struggled to attempt to free herself from her unknown assailant. The hands tightened, and a laugh with a touch of a wheeze. A cough, with a liquid sounding gargle followed the unsettling laugh. After a beat he murmured.
"Lucy Harris? Come. Your interview will be completed in your new room."
She blinked, relaxing a little, a laugh escaping her lips. "You frightened me. My apologies. Are you the proprietor of this establishment.?"
He guided her toward the winding staircase that led upstairs, to where the girls that were employed at The Red Rat slept, and performed the majority of their required duties.
"I am The Spider. Climb the stairs. " Giving her a little shove to the stairs, and she blinked, beginning to climb up the stairway. Pausing, her brow furrowing as she turned to peer down at him from where he stood below her.
"Don't you want to hear me sing?"
His laughter darkened, the glitter in his dark eyes caught her off guard, and she found her own drawn back to the door and the way out. She was in London. Surely there were places where she wouldn't feel so on edge, like she was just a step away from real danger. His words brought her attention back to him.
"No worries, girl. " His hands moved to encircle her hips, gripping them with his stained hands, the sharp jagged edges of his nails clawing through the sumptuous fabric of her dress. "I'll make you sing."
Her flight instinct kicked in, and she tried to get past him on the stairway, and his hand caught her wrist with an unyielding grip, his strength surprising for the lankiness of his body. His rancid breath whispered against her ear.
"I wouldn't do that, Lucy. I've all ready sent the payment for your Mother's cottage for the month, and I was planning to send her your pay for the month up front after you passed my little test. Martha Harris is her name, isn't it? That's where I sent the payment. You wouldn't make me regret my generosity?"
He raised a brow, in mock suffering that his good deed would come to naught. She weighed her options, her eyes on her wrist, and his vice like grip upon it. She wondered absently if it would bruise.
"Our mutual friend Charlie told me you were a spirited girl. " He continued. "You've got a good voice, and you're even more fun to look at then to listen too. He assured me you wouldn't be shy. He seemed to think you'd become quite the attraction. "
Her cheeks burned. She wasn't chaste, but she wasn't used to strangers being aware of that fact. Noting wretchedly that after tonight, if she made this choice everyone would be aware, they would walk in that door, and know what she was. Her thoughts moved unbidden to her Mother's empty bed, and the section of the cemetery that was set aside for the paupers, those who couldn't afford to pay for a coffin, much less a marker. The thought made her shudder, and she gave him a little nod, and managing with a voice that sounded thicker then her own, strange to hear ear.
"Thank you for your generosity. I look forward to earning the compliments you shower upon me." Her words sounded hollow, and she let him guide her the rest of the way up the stairs. He paused in the landing, to whisper against her ear.
"That's better. I don't like it when my pussycats bite. And don't you worry, Luce. "
He easily used the nickname that only Charlie the Pianist had used for her before that. She flinched as he continued, grinding himself against her from behind.
"I make sure all of my girls earn their keep."
He dragged her down the length of the hallway, opening the last door on the right, and mocking her as he gestured for her to enter first, in a gentlemanly bow. She swallowed hard and stepped through the doorway. The room was similar in size to the one she'd rented for the night.
He closed the door after following her into the room. Clicking it locked, and gazing at her, before murmuring. "Remove your clothing. I want to watch you dance."
The color drained from her face and with shaking hands she unclipped her Mother's cloak, and moved to fold it neatly, setting it on the small trunk at the end of the bed. Returning her attention to him, and beginning a slow sumptuous dance as she struggled with the buttons of her gown, and with avoiding her reflection in the mirror that hung beside the barred window.