How My Perfect Life Was Inverted

Chapter Nineteen: Jack's Stolen Book

"That's not very polite!" Pearl protested when I'd finally pulled the cover away from her tired little body. She yawned, rubbing her eye sleepily, and looked questioningly up at me. "What do you want?" she whined.

"What do you mean, Jack didn't know I was on this ship?" I railed.

She shook her head. "I don't know; I'm only eight…"

"Don't try that excuse with me, young lady!" I tugged on her white sleeve, forcing her to glare up at me in a this-is-highly-unjustified-and-cruel way. "You told me that Jack was okay with my caring for you!"

"And he is," she affirmed. "Now give me blanket." I dangled the material high out of her reach, watching her half-sleepily attempting to snatch it from my taunting grasp. "You're being mean, Sierra!"

"Explain," I commanded, stretching my arm up further.

"I can explain in the morning," she tried, attempting to climb on me the better to steal back her coverlet. "Sierra, please," she tried, pouting ever so adorably.

I shook my head. "Not gonna work on me this time, Pearl."

She widened her eyes, pouting all the more. "Please? I'll be very very good, and I won't set anything on fire…"

Instinctively, my hand began to lower, before one of the little voices in my head reminded me that there were greater things in the world than the happiness of a little girl. "Nope," I replied, now kneeling on the mattress. "And don't try to manipulate me again, alright? It won't work—I'm not your mother."

The pout immediately vanished to be replaced by a childish scowl, and she sat back, arms crossed over her chest as she glared up at me. "Fine," she gritted, "I'll tell you what happened:

"Papa pulled me out of the bed, as you may or may not be aware of, and took me up into his cabin, set me down on a chair, and glared down at me, very angry and threateningly. I said, no, I sighed: "Papa, what did you do now?" because he was covered in blood, and he isn't usually, and he said something about making sure that the man that had hurt me would never be able to do it again, but wouldn't go into detail, even though I asked him to—"

"He knew who did… that to you?" I asked, completely caught unaware.

"Well, of course he did; Papa is too lazy to go around attacking innocent people; anyway—"

"But—But—But—But how did he know?"

She gave me a disbelieving glance. "I told him, obviously."

"…You did?" I asked, hurt that she hadn't confided in me as well.

As though sensing my thoughts, she snuggled up to me, resting her tired head in my lap and yawning. "It… It was the people at the brothel—There was a woman, they called her Mrs Spencer, and…" Here Pearl paused, inhaling deeply.

My mind was working frantically. Spencer; Spencer, Spencer, Spencer… Where had I heard that name before…?

Suddenly, everything clicked together. "Mrs Spencer?" I asked wildly. "The—The brothel keeper?"

I felt Pearl nodding against me.

"And—the man… he worked there, didn't he? At the Garter…"

"Yes," she whispered.

"But—But why would she… It was all her, wasn't it? She arranged it to happen…" I felt her nodding her head in affirmation, her shoulders shuddering ever so slightly. "But why…?"

Pearl abruptly pulled away from me, rubbing her eyes fiercely, and looked up at me. "Sierra, am I pretty?" she asked suddenly.

I looked down at her silken black hair framing her long-lashed blue eyes and creamy skin and doll-like features. "Yes," I answered honestly.

She swallowed in response. "Mrs… Mrs Spencer… She's well-known for having… everything in her brothel…" At my confused look, Pearl reluctantly elaborated. "She has women, obviously, of all ages and colour… And, and then there's the men… And there's the—the…"

"The children," I realised. At her barely-perceptible nod, I felt the bile once again rising in my throat.

"You don't ever see them, because they're all locked up in the attic, and no one ever goes up there… But I—But I knew the building, I always wondered around it in the day, so I was able to—I could get back…"

"And they hurt you," I filled in, feeling a numbing horror gripping my organs. "They hurt you because you fought back, didn't they?"

"They wouldn't have been so violent if I'd stayed still, but I didn't know what was happening… And then when I did know, I just—I struggled more, and that just—it—it made it worse…"

She squeezed her eyelids shut, and was very still, breathing slowly through her nose. When she'd open them again, her eyes were filled with tears, although she bravely held them back.

"After that, I didn't—I couldn't be alone, not there, and I—I couldn't tell Mama, because—because—" She breathed in slowly, her young face a very mask of pain. "I heard them talking," she murmured. "The man—he was called Davidson, Jacob Davidson—he was asking Spencer where I came from, and she said that I was the daughter of—her exact words were, "That five-year-old blonde angel that I bought from the streetwalker some odd twenty years ago, do you remember? One of the first children I'd ever procured?" And he said that—he said that he did…" And suddenly, Pearl burst into tears, leaning into me. My arms automatically wrapped around her shoulders, cradling her trembling body tenderly, whilst my mind remained blank with shock.

So that was it. That was Beth's secret, then; she'd been abused as a child, and she'd never learnt to take care of herself since. I supposed all the signs were all there: how earnestly, almost madly, she'd kept Pearl locked up in her room; how she'd begged for me not to reveal her daughter's presence to anyone else in the establishment; even the rash engagement to Mr Wright…

I kissed her head gently, rubbing her back in a comforting manner, and closed my eyes. I'd never felt more revolted in my life. My skin crawled at the mere memory of having stepped foot inside that building, much less work there for several weeks…

Eventually, Pearl pulled away, wiping her face with her sleeve and looking up at me, as though awaiting my verdict. I placed my palm on her cheek. "I promise you I won't ever leave you alone again," I swore to her. "To be that vulnerable…" I shook my head.

I felt Pearl's smile against my palm. "Come now, Sierra," she said with a forced playfulness, "that's not true; what about you and Papa? You'll like to be alone then, wouldn't you?"

Pearl was the only eight-year-old I'd ever encountered who knew all the motions and roles of adult relationships inside and out. The fact that she applied such innuendos to her father would forever disturb me.

"Which reminds me!" she spoke suddenly, clapping her hands together. I took it that meant, 'Let us never discuss this conversation again'…

"Now that we've established that I was in his cabin and the reason's he's covered in blood is because he's murdered at least three people…" She paused, clearing her throat. I stared at her, utterly flabbergasted. I knew that this cheerful façade was all just an act now, considering the previous topic of discussion, but it just seemed all so… natural…

"And then he said, "Pearl, there's a whore installed in your bedroom," and I looked up to him and said, "Papa, don't preach," and blinked a few times, like this." And she widened her eyes in a kittenish manner and fluttered her lashes very innocently. It would've worked on me well enough…

"And then his eyes narrowed and he started pouting—"

"Your father pouts?" I asked, surprised at this new information.

"Well actually, he was frowning, but it looked like he was pouting, it's his lips, you know, they naturally look all pouty—"

"Stop changing the subject."

"Alright—then he asked me what I was doing and why did I bring you on this ship and I said I was looking out for myself because I knew that he wouldn't want to look after me all the time, and he said that wasn't true, so I went like this," and she raised a dark eyebrow in a questioning, disbelieving manner, "and he said that he was a very busy man and that it wasn't his fault, and I said, "Exactly, which is why I brought Sierra with me, and she's very nice, and I'm sure you'll like her a lot when you get to know her better," and then he—" And here she stopped, hesitating.

"And what did your father do?" I gently prodded, lowering my aching arm and kissing her cheek affectionately.

"He… he laughed a little bit and said that you were a whore, what more did he need to know?" she whispered very quietly. I felt an arctic chill settle around me for a second time that night as her words sunk in.

"Sierra, are you alright?"

I shook my head, smiling down at her. "And then what happened?" I asked Pearl lightly, trying to keep my voice cheerful rather than hurt. After all, I wasn't the one that was raped before my eighth birthday…

"He said that he'll see what you're like and decide for himself whether you'll be a good—a good—" and she lowered her eyes and murmured something that I couldn't hear.

"A good what, honey?" I asked, bending my head down with my ear towards her and ignoring the sudden lurch of the ship; surely there wasn't anything left in my digestive system to orally dispose of, was there?

"A good mother," she whispered shyly, determinedly avoiding my gaze.

My mouth, quite understandably, dropped open. "A—A—A good… what? A—a mother?"

"But of course, you don't have to," she added hurriedly. "Papa's always going back to Tortuga, he can take you there and you can wait for your An—for that thing that proposed to you."

I let a small chuckle escape from me. "Aw, you're so cute," I murmured, wrapping my arms around her. "You can have your blanket back now; I'm done with my interrogation."

"Oh, thank God for that," she uttered in prayer, snatching the cover away and flinging it upon herself. Her head suddenly popped out, and she offered a corner to me, which I accepted. I then simply laid there, my mind replaying everything that she'd just said. (It was, most selfishly, I think, everything Jack was saying about me.)

Pearl, you've installed a whore in your bedroom. I could hear Jack's voice as clearly as though he were speaking directly to me; the anger, the frustration, the disbelief, and maybe the faintest undertone of a threat. A whore. Was that all he saw me as? I mean, I knew he was never going to see me as a lover or a most trusted confidante of any kind, but—but surely he must have thought I was a half-decent human being as well as a wanton trollop, to have entrusted his daughter's well-being into my hands?

She's a whore; what more do I need to know? Was that all I was now? Was that all a man would see when he looked at me? Just a whore? It wasn't as if I'd chosen this particular garden path; I'd just been handed it, without any choice in the matter. Did I know I was going to a brothel when Madam Cleave offered me a helping hand? No, I did not.

"Sierra?" Pearl's small little voice whispered cautiously as my eyes began to slip closed.

"Hmm?" I indicated my attention.

"If it makes it any better, Papa said something about you being very pretty."

My eyes slipped open a fraction, intrigued by this news. "Did he?"

"Yes, he said he'd never seen a prettier thing drooling all over her pillow than you."

Great…

I was awoken the next morning by a sudden jolt, accompanied by the sound of a very heavy object slamming into the mattress, a sudden silence, then a faint buzzing, and Pearl's shriek of frustration as she leapt off of the bed in heavy pursuit of the annoying humming sound.

It wasn't the most pleasant alarm clock.

I let out a groan, grabbing a stray pillow and covering my head in response. There was another thwack, followed by a buzzing louder than before. The momentum of the ship caused me to roll from one side of the bed to another, and I felt a wave of revulsion wash over me as the disgusting sensation of rising bile filled my throat. I groaned, a hand at my mouth, and tumbled out of bed yet again in my haste to find the sick bucket. I noticed dimly a small white figure skidding around me as Pearl hurriedly changed her course, realising I was now conscious.

After purging my stomach of any excess victuals it may have secretly harboured from last night's vomiting, I turned to look at the ever energetic Pearl bouncing crazily around the room, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and pushing my hair back from my sweating face.

Thump.

Pearl let out a shriek of fury as the buzzing continued to mock her, chasing after the fly with a large black book I strongly suspected was a Bible. All I could do was stare in astonishment at her relentless pursuit, wondering how long I'd been sleeping.

"Um… Pearl, hon?"

"Just a second," she answered inattentively, her head twisting wildly from one side to another as she tried to relocate the flying pest. Suddenly, she heaved the Bible over her right shoulder, edging stealthily to the left wall, and with a sudden smack that caused my body to involuntarily shudder, swung it with all her strength at the bare wall.

A complete, utter, buzz-less silence fell upon the cabin. However, this only seemed to add to the child's anxiety—the book fell from her hands with an audible thud as she searched wildly for the insect's carcass on the wall. "Have I gone deaf?" she wailed, hands at her ears when she was unable to find the fly. She fell to her knees, scrambling wildly for the tome, and turned it frantically in her hands, letting out an audible sigh of relief.

I think I was beginning to understand why Jack was so frightened of his daughter…

"Pearl," I asked conversationally when my mind was unable to provide me with any comments or witty observations concerning her fly-swatting, "where did you get the Bible from?"

"Well," she began, lowering the volume to rest in her lap, "this morning I woke up, and I heard the fly, so I went up to Papa's cabin and took the heaviest-looking book I could find, which just happened to be—oh, it's not a Bible after all," she noted on checking the spine. "It's called Nodnol ot—wait, sorry, it's upside down." And she twisted the book in her little hands, shaking the dead fly off of the cover impatiently. "The Whoremonger's Guide To London," she read cheerfully aloud.

There was a very awkward pause.

"You've got to be joking."

"No, I'm being utterly serious," Pearl insisted, opening the cover to look curiously at the frontispiece and tilting her head the better to look at an image I was certain was not meant for her eyes. "It looks very graphic—"

"Pearl, give that to me right now."

"It's compiled by a… a Mr Jack Harris of Covent Garden," she read aloud. "Second edition—"

"Close it."

"It's all listed alphabetically, and there's a preface, look—" And she flicked a few pages forward, taking advantage of my seasickness and lack of balance to leap up onto the mattress, poring over the page.

She snorted as I stumbled gracelessly towards her: "'The ensuing sheets are recommended to be applied to virtuous purposes,'" she read aloud, her sarcasm evident in every spoken syllable, "'and that by the most lively'—did you hear that, Sierra? Lively—'representations, they are intended to fail not to recommend virtue and generous principles, and to discourage'—discourage? Somehow I doubt that was Mr Harris's actual intention—'and expose all sorts of vice and corruption of manners'—Sierra!" she protested as I pried the corrupting "discouragement of vice" away from her hand, therefore saving Pearl's impressionable young mind.

"That's highly inappropriate," I justified, although I supposed I should be thankful that it wasn't the Kama Sutra or some other more detailed manual…

"But it's funny," she pouted.

"Nice try," I said with a glance in her pouting direction. "Get dressed; we're going to find some breakfast…"

-x!x-

AN: Well, I hoped this chapter answered a few questions… And there really was a directory called The Whoremonger's Guide To London published in the mid- to late-eighteenth century, if you were wondering where I got that from…

VagrantCandy: I think the only question this chapter actually raised was "Why does Jack have The Whoremonger's Guide to London in his cabin?" At least I didn't intend to raise any more queries this time round…

jennifer123: I'm very hurt and offended that you almost forgot about this story, although it's nice to know that you're still alive…

doctress: Well, it's nice to know that someone new is reading this and has decided it's good enough to be put on their fave stories list; thank you for compliment…

TigerTiger02: Now that I think about it, religiously-fervent Will might be a good idea; I mean, paedophilia is a much more sensitive subject to touch upon, isn't it? Although the bunnies WILL still stay… I totally agree about the whole Drag Queen day; they tend to be underappreciated everywhere excepting Las Vegas… Too Wong Foo, hmm? I have got to see that movie…

Spirit of the Sky: Well, I think Pearl's fly-swatting method should stick more vividly in people's minds, and I somehow doubted Jack would have just let ANYONE onto his ship…