had broken free of the shackles of their degrading profession and were busy training in any number of useful fields, such as housemaid, seamstress, cook, and there were even a few she had higher ambitions for, including that of amanuensis, governess or lady’s companion.
Working as a seamstress or a hatmaker wouldn’t necessarily provide better wages than servicing men in the alleyways, but Melisande already had funding for several cooperatives that would hire the girls, give them decent meals and a clean roof over their heads, and, with luck, prepare them for marriage.
Emma Cadbury, her second in command and capable of almost anything she turned her hand to, might eventually go on to become a governess. Perhaps to a prosperous shopkeeper’s family—someone who had worked his way up in the world and wanted a genteel female to teach his awkward daughters to ape the ways of the upper class and wouldn’t be too nice about her history. Though Melisande would be devastated to see her go. Emma, at thirty-two, was close to her own age, and yet so many worlds of wisdom separated the two of them. She counted on Emma for the more unpleasant facts of life, for the practicality she sometimes lacked. Melisande would have brought any soiled dove into her house, but Emma cautioned her against some, and she listened. She could scarcely jeopardize her work by trying to retrieve a soul already happily lost.
Such as Violet Highstreet, who was still a question mark. When Emma had closed her establishment the exquisitely beautiful Violet had come along with her, happily willing to take the easiest route. She was far from the brightest of lights, and she was entirely devoid of ambition or interest in finding an alternative way to make a living.
“The girl needs a husband,” Emma had announced one evening over tea. The girls had all been tucked away in their dormitories and Emma and Melisande were discussing the myriad decisions that had to be made for their charges. “She’s never worked a day in her life and I doubt she’d know how to. She’s good for one thing and one thing only, and the man who wins her will be a very happy one, possibly happy enough to ignore her past and her far from intellectual leanings. Her talents are remarkable.”
“Talents?” Melisande had echoed, confused. “Exactly what is so special about her occupation?”
Emma made a little face. “She’s good with her mouth. The best in London.”
“You mean she knows how to kiss? Or something else, like singing?”
Emma had laughed. “My poor innocent! Something else not at all like singing. She gives a man pleasure with her mouth.”
“How?” Melisande asked, mystified. And Emma had explained.
From then on she could never look at Violet without feeling slightly disturbed. In the beginning the thought made her queasy, but that had disappeared long ago and left her with an odd sort of curiosity that was both shameful and unmistakable. Not that she’d ever do such a thing. She had no intention of kissing a man’s mouth, much less his…
She was blushing again. She pushed back from the desk, unable to concentrate, wandering over to look out onto the London street outside Carstairs House. She’d inherited it from her husband, who would probably be rolling over in his grave if he knew to what use she’d put it. But in truth she’d ended up with too much money and too much time, and there was a world of pain and suffering out there, and she could have brought in a half dozen more if she found the space. Not that their neighbors were particularly happy about her project. But she was no more interested in her neighbors’ opinions than she was in her husband’s postfuneral concerns.
Right now the only thing that interested her was who had been sneaking down the stairs at a time when most of the women were having dinner and working on their reading and writing skills.
The door to her study was flung open, and Betsey stood there, positively bursting with news. The youngest of the inhabitants of the household that society, and even Melisande, referred to as the Dovecote, she was twelve years old, and she’d spent most of her life in the brothel where her mother worked, until the past two years, when she’d somehow managed to survive on the streets simply due to her impressive wits. No one had touched her, but the necessity of selling herself had been coming closer when Melisande found her,