The Brothel

[Ambrosia_64]

Madame Marie was no one to go messing with, many had learned. Her bordello's clientele included many a prestigious, powerful judge, nobles, men flush with cash from the Americas-she had cemented her place in London's elite however scandalously, and she was determined to stay there.

At twenty two, the slender Italian beauty had a outrageously successful business, her diverse group of girls entertaining with extreme taste and sophistication, offering many a man an ear and some company before pulling him into their individual bedrooms to ply their greatest trade. The brothel was a haven of sorts for the whores who, otherwise-would be on the street in the dangerous world of men, whoring for any with a few coins to his name.

But as working girls under Madame Marie-they had a home, a warm bed, a choice of whom to sleep with and who to simply entertain and turn away. They were in no danger of being strangled one lonely night, no danger of dying alone and cold from some terrible disease. For whores, they lived very, very well.

And currently a man was practically on the door step of her large, "respectable" bordello, shouting about the decadent sins that took place within.

Watching from a window above, already up and dressed for a long night of accounting while her girls began the festivities below, Marie rolled her eyes at the declarations the man made, turning to stride out of her office/bedroom.

The double doors opened on the second floor mezzanine, a grand staircase lined with red velvet leading down into the grand entertaining lobby. Velvet cushions and chairs around low, small tables, a high class bar, a stage for her girls to dance and sing upon. In the late hours of the night, it made for a lively gentleman's club.

She moved through the lobby and into a small reception area, the desk empty (the girl was asleep, they were all asleep during the day), the front door securely locked and guarded by the lone daytime guard Antony. With a tilt of her head the brute followed her out the grand entrance, down the stone steps, and onto the street where Marie beelined for the noisy man outside.

Her ankle boots clicked against the stone as she walked, the petite madame looking nothing like a whore-for she was no longer a whore, but a business owner-in her dark purple, respectable high collared dress trimmed in black lace, her dark hair pinned into a bun behind her head. She was young and she was attractive, a petite beauty with olive skin and almond shaped, dark brown eyes fringed in black lashes. Her full lips and slender waist were dreamed about by many-but Marie did not take clients, and so she was a highly sought after prize.

"Pardon me -sir-, but don't you have something better to do than accost my place of business?" She demanded, her hands on her hips. Antony glowered from over her shoulder, a respectful distance behind.

 

[deevo]

London was no place for Robert Bailey - this he knew all too well. He'd have much preferred to be in the warmth of his family estate near Ayr, far from the smoke and dirt of this decrepit British city. Many a man would tell you London was the greatest city in the world. Lord Robert Bailey was not one of those men.

But what could he do? He had business in London, exporting whiskey and importing wine for his peers. It struck him as a great irony that he would keep his estate strong through the sale of foul alcohol. He himself was a Presbyterian - a Scottish Presbyterian - and while heathens and Papists and Anglicans might drown themselves in the foul milk of the damned, Bailey never allowed a drop to pass his lips.

He was a tall man, broad shouldered, marked with a nose that had been broken more than once on the rugby field. Though he had just passed forty years of age, he remained firm in body and mind - this was, he was certain, thanks in great part to his temperance and regular physical exercise. He dressed for the season, for there was a chill wind running through the streets of London this dark Autumn evening. His long woolen coat and top hat added to his height, making him seem like a long, spindly figure with his arms outstretched. He was at the height of his speech now, yelling to the passing crowds, his hands stretching up to the Heavens.

"This den of sin!" he declared, pointing at the grand building behind him. "This house of vice and lust, dressed up to look respectable! Well, I tell you, it is no more respectable than the rooms of tuppenny hoors on the dockside!" Red faced gentlemen braved Robert's glare as they covered their faces and skipped off into the night.

"Look at them go!" he shouted. "Having indulged in their putrid lust for flesh, they wander off into the streets! Oh, they call this city London? I say it is the bastard child of Sodom and Gomorrah!"

He was in a frenzy now. For some years he had tried to convince others in the House to eliminate these wretched bordellos once and for all, putting the whores who plied their trade to more respectable work. But his fellow lords had been slow to join his crusade. Robert knew many of them paid for the pleasure of young women just like the ones peering down at him through the windows. It had been one of his warehouse managers, a highly successful man, who had tipped Bailey off about this place.

Or rather, that man's weakness for women. Robert had let him go, of course. How could he place his business int he hands of a man who spent his Friday nights whoring - a married man at that? It would not do. Why more couples couldn't be more like him and Caroline? Ah, Caroline - a proper, devout, honorable woman. They had shared their marital bed only on occasions to produce the children and, now that that was done, Caroline had devoted more time to her public work and Robert engaged in more strenuous physical activities as well as his own moral crusade.

Oh and it was a crusade! Like the knights of old, Bailey strode forward to stop the horrid sins of the heathens from infecting his people. And--

"Pardon me -sir-, but don't you have something better to do than accost my place of business?"

He'd suddenly lost his train of thought. Robert spun around, one finger pointed to the sky as if to say his words came directly from the Lord - and stopped.

She looked up at him through long lashes, her hair perfectly coiffed, her full lips parted just slightly to reveal ivory white teeth. She was dark-skinned and radiated a confidence that left him momentarily breathless.

But he took a step back and a deep breath. Remember Robert, he thought to himself, the worst sins come in the most attractive forms. It was only then he noticed the large man standing near the doorway, who could no doubt be at his lady's side in the blink of an eye. But Robert had no desire to harm the girl. By God, he barely wanted to be near her!

"Your place of business!?" he cried, incredulous. "Am I to assume, miss, that you are responsible for this den of inequity?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"Yes, business. We supply a commodity in demand." Marie said with impatient annoyance, drawing herself up to her full height as he spoke down to her, hands leaving her hips to straighten her skirts in offense.

"You can assume whatever you like-" She said heatedly, chin lifted slightly in defiance. "But -yes-, that is my "den of sin" you are shouting at. I am Madame Marie." She took a step forward to fill the one he'd taken back, her skirts swaying slightly, black, laced ankle boots sounding against the stones as she gestured to him.

"Who, if you'll excuse a sinner's asking, are you?"

She looked as if she intended to cause him trouble, and people were looking as they passed-though Marie was no scantily dressed hooker, she was a recognizable figure rarely seen outside her place of business.

 

[deevo]

Robert was taken somewhat aback. She was a small creature, that was true, but remarkably fierce. The accent told him she wasn't British - certainly not Scottish. Not French; he'd heard them spouting their rotten language often enough. Italian, then? She had that Mediterranean look about her.

This just made Robert angrier. Not only was this den of sin situated in an otherwise pleasant part of the decrepit city, but it was apparently overseen by an Italian! They were the worst - Papists, every one of them, but filled with fiery passion and lust that brought otherwise good men to their knees. He hardened his face as he hardened his resolve, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down his nose at her.

"Madame Marie, is it?" he scoffed. "I doubt you any real madame, Madame. But I most certainly am Lord Robert Bailey, Scotland's very own. And your commodity, Madam, is naught but sin and damnation! That's something this city has quite enough of already!"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Marie's eyes narrowed a fraction as he spoke down to her, about to interrupt-when instead a glitter of triumph flickered through her dark eyes as he gave his name.

"A ha!" She gestured at him with her slender index finger, her hands lacking any sort of ring or adornment. "So Lord Bailey, peddler of spirits, would stand out here and bemoan the entertainment industry-while he himself hawks bottled sin?" She announced aloud just as he had been previously preaching, looking around at the passerby with a dazzling smile before turning her frustration back upon him, lowering her voice to an acceptable octave, leveled with reason.

"I and my girls are making a living supplying a demand, just as YOU make yours with similar "sin and damnation." At least what my girls peddle does not send men into rages or fits of depression, dear sir Bailey-so unless you would enjoy a chorus of whores dancing outside your offices, I suggest you take your damnation elsewhere."

She crossed her own arms and lifted her chin again with a huff, her threat standing.

 

[deevo]

The little minx had spirit, that much was true - a shame she devoted it to such terrible work. Bailey stood tall as she wagged a finger at him, her voice clear and loud as she decried Robert's sins.

So-called sins! He leaned towards her, hands on hips, and declared, "'Tis true, I trade wines that some gentlemen sip upon. I do not, for my body is a temple that will not be sullied. But did not the Lord Jesus Christ use wine to represent his blood? And if you do not believe a beautiful woman cannot send men into bouts of anger and sorrow, then you, Madame, are quite mistaken!"

"You might damn some men by helping them break God's great commandments," muttered Bailey, straightening the hat on top of his head. "But I am not such a man, Madame Marie, and I will see that this high-price whore house is just the first of such establishments to be closed once and for all!" He spun on his heels, a fist in the air.

"For my heart is pure and my cause righteous!" he cried, marching away.

He noticed that his heart was beating very quickly. Must be the excitement of this opening salvo, he thought to himself. Yes, that's what it was.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"Why Lord Bailey!" Marie interrupted him as he spoke his "I do not" line, false wide eyed shock. "Surely you do not think -I- or -my girls- indulge in hookers?!" He didn't sample his wares, and well-neither did she or her girls, by that logic.

Perhaps he thought sex was an equal trade between a man and a woman-but in Marie's world, it very much was not.

He made his threat and whirled away, high and mighty and irritatingly holier than thou. Marie rolled her eyes, turning around to return to her brothel, fuming. The -nerve-. Every noble was the same-born silver spoon in mouth, they sought to judge everyone and condemn those who had not been so fortunate.

It grated on her nerves, his threat of shutting her down ringing in her ears-less because of any worry and more because it angered her he would dare to utter such a thing.

She stormed up the stairs and back to her office door-several half dressed, sleepy escorts leaning out of doorways curiously. "Did he finally go?" A trussed, pink lipped blonde Amelia inquired sweetly, earning a chorus of giggles from the others, ages ranging from nineteen to thirty four.

"He stormed off declaring how pure he was, yes." Marie looked to each of them, thinking. "Let's make a banner, ladies." She said with sudden, wicked delight-and when the brothel opened it's door that night, nine o clock on the dot-a new banner was hung outside with the colorful, blaring message: "The Gentlemans Club-now condemned by Lord Bailey."

As if such a thing were evidence just how much -fun- the place was. It made him the butt of many a joke, certainly, in the days to come.

 

[deevo]

Robert had almost stopped and said something else to her last comment, but maintained his control. Bad enough that she run this bordello in the centre of the city, but to make mention of laying with other women? Even if she didn't do it - and Robert wasn't entirely certain that the harlot told the truth - to even mention such things was bad enough. He was glad to see the last of her and quickly hurried back to the warmth of his town house.

He found he couldn't sleep, still rankled by thoughts of the little hussy. He took a seat in the study and read from the Good Book, but it could not shake the anger he'd felt when the woman had marched up towards him, proud as you like.

He finally removed his waistcoat and lay on the floor. A little strenuous exercise would calm his frayed nerves. Even though he was no longer a young man, he was not yet old and could easily perform a hundred push-ups if challenged to do so.

But tonight he stopped at 39. He was tired, but the energy could not be sweated out. He had a maid bring him some warm milk and retired to bed. In the morning, he would see what could be done about Madame Marie and her house of harlots.

It was only after a day or two, still fruitlessly trying to gain support for his bill in the House, that he noticed a few peers consistently chuckling as he went by while others would watch him and speak, frankly amused. Robert was far from amused and pulled Edward Hunt aside one afternoon.

"What's going on around here?" he said accusingly. Robert did not like Edward Hunt. Hunt was a young man who found it better to spend his estate's earnings on lavish parties than investing wisely. But if anyone knew the reason for merriment, it would be Edward. The young man, however, seemed surprised.

"You mean you don't know?" he asked. Robert shook his head. Edward grinned and said, "Word is you had a bit of a midnight walk a few days back and had a run-in with a certain... lady of the night?"

"I visited a whorehouse a few nights ago,: said Robert, quickly adding, "to express my disgust at their actions!"

"Yes, well, they've clearly decided that there's no such thing as bad publicity," said Edward with a giggle.

Bailey was not prepared to go back there and have to contend with that... woman again, so he had a servant walk past the building and bring back a report.

"It's an outrage!" Robert yelled when he heard what the servant had seen. "A banner!? So they take pride in their sins, do they? Well, we'll see about that..."

Robert was going to return to the den of vice the very next night, when he knew the rats would all be gathering to indulge in their perversions. But he wouldn't go alone! Oh no, he had a connection through his wife to a group of God-fearing London women who, like him, decried these wicked establishments. He sent a message to the group leaders and arranged a meeting right outside the brothel. He knew he could rely on the women to come armed with banners of their own and God's fine word.

He'd show Madame Marie just who she was dealing with!

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The night's entertainment was as grand as ever-Lily, Rachel and Mary were to sing as a trio, grand costumes and pretty voices to entertain their guests-while other women in pretty, proper dresses and hats spoke and drank with the men who had arrived early, performing expertly at small talk and flirtatious glances.

But fewer men than usual were in attendance, and past ten-no one at all entered, and the music came to a standstill now that the lobby was empty, the handful of men already snapped up to bedrooms for a night's romp.

Worriedly whispering in a cluster, the girl's only now heard what sounded like distant chanting-and rushing to the windows they all looked out-and saw the spectacle before them. A girl rushed upstairs to wake the young Madame-and before long, the entire house was in a panic.

Not for long however...

An hour into their vigil the brothel's doors opened, young ladies filing out mutely to gather in the oil street lamp's light, silently staring at the gathered women with worried, even hurt expressions. There were fifteen in all, the youngest and most innocent looking of the brothel's women-young enough to easily be the church ladies daughters, dressed in the chaste clothing of Victorian England.

And then, behind her girls-the young Madame herself exited the brothel in a dark red dress trimmed in black lace, those laced up ankle boots, her dark hair tumbled all about her shoulders (she had hurried to change out of her night gown for this display and had no time for it) and a demure expression on her face. She ignored Robert completely-he was not the target here.

She looked down to the book in her hands-a BIBLE!-and opened to a bookmarked page as if she too, had read and reread the good word countless times. "I wish to read a passage." She said quietly, and even if they shouted or jeered, Marie would read in a clear, slightly accented voice.

" The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman caught in adultery, and having set her in the center of the court, they said to Him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in adultery, in the very act.“ "The laws of Moses say we must stone her." They were saying this, testing Him, so that they might have grounds for accusing Him. But Jesus stooped down and with His finger wrote on the ground.But when they persisted in asking Him, He straightened up, and said to them, “He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” "

Marie looked up to the women who stood accusing them. "And they left them, one by one."

She closed the book. "In the book of Matthew, it is written "Do not judge, lest you be judged." The girls before you are chaste. They sing, they dance, they serve drinks-but they do not sleep with the gentlemen who frequent my club. This building provides a method for them to care for themselves, keeping them off the street and respectable. Would you cast stones and judgement upon these women? Do you believe yourselves wiser than God?"

Marie lifted a brow, sternly gazing back. She made a strong argument. To fight against her was to fight the word of God, now.

 

[deevo]

It was all going very well, Robert had to admit. It was a smaller group than he had hoped for, but the women's faith could not be denied. They sang, they prayed, they decried all those who would enter this house of the damned.

And then she appeared, her hair flowing wild down to her shoulders, framing a determined face. Robert eyed his enemy, peering at her through hard, narrowed eyes.

Much to his consternation, she began to read from the Good Book herself, which sadly didn't immediately burn up in those hands that had beckoned so many men to lust and sin. So she was going to quote the Bible to him now? Beat him at his own game, was she? Well, no Papist would use the Lord's words against this man!

He listened to her little speech and turned to the women behind him, saying, "Remember, ladies, the devil can cite scripture for his own purpose." He turned back to Marie, taking a step forward so that he might address her properly.

"So you know your Bible, but you do not know it well," he declared. "For does the Book of John not read 'For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world'? Your business pulls men and women from the Father! And while we know ourselves to be sinners, we strive to live by God's laws! Did you forget, Madame Marie, that Jesus told the woman not to sin anymore? It is in the Lord's heart to forgive, but one must redeem oneself in the process!"

He stepped away from her then, gazing at the young women this harlot would parade before them. To hear her speak of this place, she would say she was performing a public good! Robert tut-tutted.

"For shame!" he said, his voice low and ominous. "Displaying these women as an excuse for your actions? We all know what their singing and dancing is supposed to incite! I admire your attempts to justify your behaviour, but do not fool yourself, Madame Marie. There are finer and godlier ways to keep oneself!" He crossed his arms, his face stony, working hard not to smile. This night, the righteous would prove victorious!

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Marie decided, then and there, that she hated Robert Bailey. The judgmental man disgusted her with his hatred and righteous anger, his pretending to know the will of God. "Yes, Christ told the women to sin no more. Do you pretend to be Christ? Do you believe it in your power to judge and condemn as only God can judge and condemn?"

She paused when he decried the girls gathered before them, many of the young ladies looking downcast and upset to be called little more than whores. Marie felt guilty for subjecting them to his abuse, and the guilt only made her angrier.

"Are there other ways, Lord Bailey?" Her voice demanded as she came down the steps and into the street, closer to his group so that would see her respectable manner of dress, her bearing. Marie looked like a proper lady, not a harlot.

"These women have no where to go. No social standing, no wealthy fathers, no tradesmen willing to apprentice them as they would young men. Would any of -you- ladies care to offer them a position in your household?"

She turned the question on the gathered assembly, walking boldly into their midst. "Would any of you extend a home, a job, a "proper" way to live? For if I turn them out, they have nothing but the streets to call home, and nothing but their chaste bodies to offer."

Marie's eyes narrowed on Robert. "Not everyone was born into priviledge."

 

[deevo]

The harlot was trying to make out as if she did these girls a favour, inviting them to work in this den of vice! She was striding towards the increasingly nervous-looking ladies, whose souls were too timid to deal with a fiery Mediterranean temptress like Madame Marie.

But not Robert Bailey! He strode in front of the girls, these innocent lambs who didn't even know how close they were to the wolf's jaws.

"Your tongue is quick but none too sharp, Madame," he said. "I am not God nor a saint, merely a servant doing his best to stem the tide of corruption and sin in this decaying city. And who are you to talk of a proper way to live? Your gains, misbegotten as they were, could have been better spent than on this horrid bordello. A boarding house, hmm? A hotel? A place where these girls would not come face to face with lust at every waking moment.

"We are not all born into privilege," he said with venom in every word. "But those of us who have obtained it should use it well. I suppose it's true - a whore dressed up like a lady is still a whore."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

He had no idea. She had borrowed money from a loan shark, gone in debt up to her eyeballs to purchase this place. She had drawn long time, experienced women from the streets and taught them to be ladies, gave them their choices. Take clients or don't, it was entirely up to them. Yes, many of the women slept with men, but the coin came at the door, the cover charge. These girls would have been on the streets, were it not for Marie's bordello. No one spoke to offer an alternative, and if Robert wanted to blast her for housing them in a whore house-what choice did she have? She could have turned them away to let them straight up BE whores.

Hotels did not make the kind of money to pay the exorbant interest rates, and the bordello did. She wasn't under the thumb of a cruel man putting her out-and neither were her girls, the innocent nor the experienced. He thought she had wealth, had the freedom to run something other than a whore house? Fool.

And then he issued his final venom filled a statement, and a gasp of shock sounded from the girls he stood before, Marie's dark eyes flaring wide.

What happened next was so sudden and so quick there'd scarcely be time to stop her-she strode forward and slapped him hard across the face. The girls rushed forward in worry, afraid Bailey might strike their madame back-but instead Marie shot him the most hated of stares before turning and striding back into her Bordello. The girls, dismayed and surprised, turned to follow suit after their protector.

Minutes later, two burly men exited, their expressions seething violence. "The Madame has given you five minutes before she releases the dogs." Said the bigger one, crossing his arms.

Upstairs, Marie stormed up to her office, throwing pieces of parchment aside as she tore open a desk drawer, retrieving a quill and paper. She remained standing as she wrote a furious letter, a drop of ink splattering onto her dress. Once done, she sealed it and sent it with one of the more experienced women, Heather-her right hand when it c,ame to...unsavory practices.

"Take it to him." She bit off-and once the woman was gone-slumping into her chair, finally able to feel empty. So she had been a whore. It hadn't been her choice. She was out of that now, had gotten a bit of freedom. So why did his denouncement affect her so much?

Slapping him would cause trouble, but Marie had allies of her own. She wasn't a greedy business owner-she was desperately working to meet her payments, lest she and the others were on the street, working for a -man-. Marie couldn't go back to that. She would die first.

Looking around at the spacious room, she wondered, for just a moment-how she had gotten trapped in such circumstances. If she ran away, he would find her. Besides-even if she could escape to America or back to Italy, her girls would suffer in her stead. She dared not.

Her eyes filled with tears, tears she bitterly suppressed. She musn't be weak now. She could not be-her girls depended on her.
____________________________________
The next day Bailey would receive a gentleman caller-a known ruffian and criminal who was rumored to be linked to an underground ring of million dollar proportions. He was a dapper fellow in a grey wool suit and tophat, a gold watch chain on his chest.

This was not a social call, but a warning-but Bailey need not know as such, just yet.

Eric Brently was a thirty four year old man with a cruel smirk and broad, meaty shoulders and arms. He looked like a muscled bear shoved into a suit, his neck thick and tightly contrained in his suit. He had sent ahead word of his arrival-and then had rudely arrived minutes after. The police had wanted him for years, and while sometimes a lackey was apprehended-he himself was never caught doing anything, despite the knowledge he -was- running half the crime in London.

 

[deevo]

Robert had half-expected the slap, but was still somewhat surprised by the sudden shock of pain. There was that infamous Latin temper he'd heard about, no doubt. He watched her march back into the brothel with a certain sense of satisfaction. She could not use his own tools against him, no matter how she tried.

The two ruffians that appeared a few minutes later were also to be expected. There she went, hiding behind a wall of violence, threatening to unleash dogs on these good, God-fearing people.

He snapped at them that she needn't bother; they had done their work tonight. He lead the women away and bid them goodnight before returning to his house.

Once again, the night and his conflict with Madame Marie left Robert feeling invigorated. He had to smile; it had been quite some time since he'd had such an opportunity to test his mettle against one such as her. He endeavoured to succeed, however - he would not allow some foreign harlot to undermine the good work he was trying to achieve.

He reflected as he tried to fall asleep. Had he been too harsh? No, that was nonsense; a woman such as that would and should only expect such hard language. If she was willing to cite scripture in defense of her immorality, he was all too ready to throw insults back at her.

The caller arriving the next day was a surprise. Robert had settled down to the paper when word came that an Eric Bently was going to call. Robert knew no Eric Bently but, when the man arrive, Bailey knew his type. He was a street thug disguising himself as a gentleman.

Bently wasted no time making an appearance and, while Robert would have liked nothing more than to throw the wastrel out, Bailey was a gentleman. He stood and offered a hand.

"Mr Bently, I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Brently removed his hat and held it before his chest, his eyes on the extended hand with the slightest of smirks as if shaking it were beneath him.

"No. Can't say we have." He commented absently, looking around the spacious room before returning his eyes to Robert. "But I've heard of you, and most recently-heard of your endeavors to close down the gentleman's club downtown? Protesting outside it, I hear?"

He moved around a small table, running his gloved fingers along the surface as if checking for dust.

 

[deevo]

Bailey lowered his hand and watched the visitor with narrowed eyes. If that was the game Bently wanted to play, he thought, then so be it.

"Then you've heard correctly, Mister Bently," he said, almost spitting the last two words like an insult. "It's a den of sin, turning good men down a wicked path. I assume you're here to tell me how I'm making a terrible mistake, aye?"

Robert went back to his chair, placing the newspaper on a table beside him. He crossed his legs and clasped his hands, placing them on his lap. His pose was relaxed, but his eyes were alert, watching Eric Bently pace about the room.

Was this the type of company Madame Marie kept? Perhaps Bailey's words last night hadn't been harsh enough. He watched Bently's gait, the nonchalant manner of his movements, and saw a man of supreme confidence. Clearly, Eric Bently had no fear of Robert Bailey.

But while he stood in this room, in this house, Robert Bailey had no fear of him, either.

"So is this a social visit, Mister Bently?" asked Robert with a smirk.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"Hm. I'm not here to speak of morality, but of business. You see...I ponied up the funds for that little brothel, and it's a sizable debt owed to me. Interrupting their business means less gold is being made, and that, dear sir, is money you have stolen out of my pocket."

He cast his predatory eyes on him, gaze boring into his. "Women are weak. I doubt enough if I shall continue making a return on my investment-but I can't have these...interruptions on a nightly basis. You are a business man. You must understand."

The words seemed...ominous.

"Stay away from the den of sin, sir, and more importantly-leave my little business sensed madame alone."

He inclined his head slightly, eyes never leaving him. "I humbly request."

----------------

Across town in the shipping yard and trading company warehouse, a group of ruffians were taking axes to several barrels of wine. The red drink spilled across the floor and filled the area with a rich aroma-and after Lord Bailey's most recent shipment was utterly destroyed, they slipped back into the streets and disappeared, job done.

 

[deevo]

Robert Bailey watched Eric Bently with a calm face, but inside he was raging. So, this was the braggart that funded Marie's vile bordello! And now he had the gall to enter his home and make veiled threats?

Bailey was ready to strike the man, but that would do no good. Instead he stood, straightened his trousers and locked a cold gaze on Eric.

"I understand perfectly, Mr. Bently," he said quietly. "But I'm afraid you've come all this way only to face disappointment. I must deny your request. Now I must ask you to leave. I'm sure you have... better places to be."

+ + +

Later, he would learn of the attack on the warehouse and the barrels destroyed. The loss of the wine hurt his pride more than his finances. More wine could be bought and sold, but to let this attack go unanswered could not be done.

He sent messages that afternoon and arranged to meet with some associates in the constabulary. Sergeant MacDonald was a Scotsman, much like Robert, and like Robert he had to deal almost daily with the sin and grime of London. Still, it was with some reluctance that he gathered a group of officers together for an impromptu raid.

"So you say there's gambling in there?" he asked as they watched the house from the bottom of the street.

"That's what I've heard," replied Robert. In truth, he knew little of what went on in there, besides the drinking and whoring. And wasn't that enough? This was God's work; He'd forgive the white lie. "Illegal activities of all type."

"Well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough," said MacDonald. "Come on, lads!"

They rush towards the door, Bailey a short distance behind, smiling to himself as the police officers, with batons in hand, entered the bordello. Would they find anything? Robert hoped so, but regardless it was another night of disruption for Madame Marie and her benefactor Bently. That would be enough for him. There was already noise and commotion before he reached the door.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The policemen were met with some surprise from the girl at the front desk-she had the good sense not to ask for cover charges-she rose halfway out of her chair as the men rushed past and into the expansive lobby-where they found little use for their night sticks.

Men and women lounged comfortably in plush red couches while in deep conversation, others dined on exquisite fair at small wooden tables. A few gentlemen sat with their backs to the lit bar, a girl tending in a suitcoat and tie that was tailored for her feminine frame-and even she wore a skirt so as not to be too scandelous.

On stage a play of some sort was being conducted, a light hearted comedy where two sisters had traded lives for a day-while a jaunty musical score was played on the piano by yet another beautiful young woman. Everyone was fully clothed (and dressed well at that, not a scrap of cleavage or bare legs to be seen!), the lighting was bright and hid no illicit activities in dark corners, and it seemed, honestly-like a perfectly legitimate bar or lounge, rather than a bordello.

Of course, some of these men would indeed be taken upstairs to a room-but that was by the woman's volition, not theirs. They came for company and entertainment, and yes-the hope they would enjoy a romp with their favorite lady.

Business as usual.

The blonde desk girl was standing behind the group of policemen, her brow furrowed. "Is something the matter sirs?" She asked, her voice as sweet and honeyed as her hair.

----------------

Upstairs and through the large wooden door at the head of them, Marie had no idea her brothel had just been invaded for something as ridiculous as a rumor of -gambling-. She was at her desk, dressed this time in a light blue, more comfortable gown of silk, her dark hair done up in that school marm bun, her right hand busy with it's quill as she added figures and expenses and calculated the taxes owed and the amount open for improvements and raises. The brothel was doing as well as ever, despite her recent troubles.

 

[deevo]

Sergeant MacDonald led his men swiftly through the lounge. It was an expansive room, much larger than expected, and it radiated opulence. MacDonald felt as if he would go broke just by laying eyes on the place.

Robert was somewhat surprised himself. Not here the bawdy longs and revealing outfits of a typical whorehouse. At first glance, it had all the makings of a regular gentleman's club, albeit one with far more women than usual.

But then, that was the idea, wasn't it? This was the mask of a legitimate business, hiding the true source of this building's wealth - Bently's wealth. For this was no longer just about Madame Marie and the way she flaunted the most base of vices. This was something bigger than that and, while Robert still felt aggrieved by the fiery young Italian, it was the brutish thug Eric Bently that garnered ever more of his ire.

MacDonald turned to the blonde and cleared his throat.

"Just a routine search, miss," he said. "We've had reports of possible illegal activity and, uh... scandalous behaviour form patrons. But everything seems above board..."

"Perhaps you should check upstairs, Sergeant?" called Robert from the door. "Best to do a thorough search, no? I'm sure the ladies won't mind."

"Oh, yes," muttered the sergeant. "Yes, we'll take a quick look upstairs, if you please."

Robert smiled slightly. He recognised a few faces in the room - some looked at him with growing fury, others kept their eyes down and blushed. He wondered what their wives - or the papers - would say, but there was no need to play that hand just yet. He bowed his head to the guards at the door.

"Gentlemen. I trust the dogs will stay caged tonight?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The guards glared at him. "Git doesn't have anything better to do, does he?" Muttered one to the other, not bothering to speak to the self righteous trash they believed Robert to be.

The desk girl worriedly wandered back behind it, pausing to blink at Robert. "I-if you're not with the Y-Yard sir, I'm going to have to ask you pay the cover fee..." She timidly ventured, hoping someone got the Madame soon-she was one of the young ladies he had called such terrible things before, after all.

Upstairs, the sergeant knocked upon the ornate office door first...and came face to face- (or rather, Marie came face to chest, being rather petite) with the Madame herself.

She blinked, casting her dark eyed gaze towards the rest of his men. "I trust you have documented cause for this visit, gentlemen? This is private property, after all."

She was polite however, very much a respectable hostess. "Please-won't you come in to tea?" And the group at large-(save Robert, unless he managed to get upstairs in a hurry) would be ushered in by Heather to seat themselves in two leather seats while Marie poured tea.

She took a seat in the large leather chair at her desk and had a sip of her own tea, her small hand delicately handling the porcelain before she set her cup down in it's plate just as Heather offered large leather fold that held copies of Marie's business license, liquor license, tax receipts for the past two years to London and the crown, and all the things that showed she ran a legitimate business here, no matter how adulterous.

"I am confident you'll find everything in order, sir. There is a law being broken here, however, if I may be so bold to point it out?"

She'd wait for permission before, lowering her eyes to her folded hands. "Lord Baileys has been harassing my place of business, employees, and person for quite a few days now."

Dark eyes lifted to gaze steadily at him, her will evident. "I find it most distressing that he continues to infringe upon my personal freedoms."

It was frustrating-Marie was the picture of ladylike grace and manners-yet she was bold enough to call him out for his transgressions. She was wise enough to contain her temper in favor of speech, but really-what crime had they found here? None. "I fear he has it out for me." She worried.

 

[deevo]

Robert flipped a couple of coins towards the girl as he passed her by.

"Cover charge is all I'm paying for, I hope you know?" he said, strolling into the large room. More eyes were on him now, though the girls on stage showed their professionalism and the show went on.

"Mr. Crumb," he muttered, passing a table where an older gent was enjoying a bottle of wine with a curvaceous blonde. "Mrs Crumb is looking quite lovely tonight. At least, I think that's Mrs Crumb on your knee..."

"Bloody sanctimonious Scot," mumbled Crumb as he turned away and angrily knocked back his drink.

Bailey examined the rich furnishings and the tasteful decor. Bently's blood money was spent well, it seems. He stopped by the piano, where a young girl looked up at him, then back to the music sheets in front of her.

"Do you know 'Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence'?" he asked. "No? Didn't think so." He took a seat and raised a hand. "Pot of tea, please."

Meanwhile, Sergeant MacDonald was enjoying a cup of freshly brewed tea upstairs. He'd sent his men off on their search, though they largely went grudgingly - Madame Marie was certainly a sight to behold on a cold evening. The policemen did stumble on a number of couples in various states of undress and suggested they make themselves look a little more... proper, but there was little else of note on the upper floors.

MacDonald sighed as he looked through the papers and listened to Marie's accusations of harassment. He didn't think they'd actually find anything particularly untoward, but Robert was an old friend and the policeman felt obligated to see for himself what activities may or may not have been occurring.

"Well, Miss, the accusations weren't so much the business itself but what activities you might... turn a blind eye to," he said. "I understand that you and Lord Bailey have had a number of public arguments. Apparently you struck him recently? And he reports that a... business partner of yours made some thinly veiled threats." He set the book aside, drained his cup and set it down with another long sigh.

"If I'm honest, Miss? If Lord Bailey wants to call this building a den of sin, he is free to do so - as long as his language is not slanderous. Just as you are well within your rights to call him a nuisance and a blowhard." He chuckled and stood up. "But airing your grievances in the street does no one any good. Before either of you are arrested for disturbing the peace, perhaps you and his Lordship can settle this dispute as a gentleman and a lady should, hmm? A private conversation, if you will - one that doesn't keep a sergeant from his wife's dinner."