Bessie

  Bessie

  Songbird

  Cheryl Wright

  Bessie

  Songbird

  Copyright 2017 by Cheryl Wright

  Cover Artist: Black Widow Books

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  Thanks

  Thanks to my very dear friends (and authors), Margaret Tanner and Susan Horsnell for their enduring encouragement.

  Thanks also to Alan, my husband of over 45 years, who has been a relentless supporter of my writing for many years.

  And last, but by no means least, I must thank all my wonderful readers who encourage me to continue writing these stories. It is such a joy to me, knowing so many of you enjoy reading my stories. I love writing them as much as you love reading them.

  Chapter One

  Hudson Falls, Montana, 1880.

  Bessie Williams paced the room waiting to be called.

  She glanced at her dress for the umpteenth time, ensuring it was not ruffled, and was appropriate for the occasion.

  She had traveled to Hudson Falls, Montana by stage coach for many long days with the promise of an ongoing position.

  She braced herself for what was ahead.

  Entertaining was not her idea of the perfect position for a young lady, but in desperate times, choices were few.

  She took one last look in the full-length mirror.

  Her pale blue dress was a little dated, but it was respectful and appropriate. The square shaped collar was edged with handmade lace, and the bodice came in at the waist where it ruffled out and had layers of blue cotton alternated with wide lace.

  Bessie sighed. What was she doing here?

  Just a few weeks ago she was at a deportment school for young ladies. At the tender age of eighteen, she should be learning to be a wife, not singing for her livelihood.

  Who could have predicted her parents would both be killed in a stage coach accident, and leave her destitute?

  She straightened her shoulders and braced herself for the difficult task ahead.

  * * *

  Bessie stood up on the stage and gazed down at her audience.

  The piano player began to pound out a tune, and Bessie started to sing. Despite being word-perfect, the words seemed to be incoherent over the top of the noise from the rowdy customers, most of whom were cowboys.

  A few faces turned her way, but on the whole, they continued to guzzle their beer and flirt with the ladies as they walked in and around the crowd.

  She watched as one customer slapped the behind of a woman walking past. Bessie balked. What kind of establishment had she got herself into?

  The offer of free board and lodgings in return for a small stipend was very enticing, so her uncle had accepted on her behalf.

  As the words rolled off her tongue, she watched the goings on in the saloon, wishing she was back home in her own bed. But of course, that would never happen again.

  After her parents were killed, their home was seized by her uncle and sold out from under her. As a minor, and a female, she had no legal right to anything. She lost it all.

  The music stopped and she took a deep breath. No applause was forthcoming. She blinked rapidly trying to stop the tears. This was no place for a refined young lady such as herself.

  There was a brief break, then the music began again. She sang the words strong and clear, not that it really mattered. It was very apparent to her that no one was listening. All they were interested in was booze and women.

  Bessie sang for the next hour, then left the stage. She wondered why she was even there. Obviously not for the entertainment, since as far as these patrons were concerned, it was non-existent.

  When she’d sung back home, everyone stopped and listened. Here? They didn’t care if she even existed.

  She made a beeline for her room, and that was where she would stay for the remainder of the night.

  * * *

  Bessie had been singing at the saloon for three nights now.

  George, the owner, who had made her feel uncomfortable to begin with, had brought her a whole new wardrobe of clothes, since hers were so run down. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all.

  She had to admit her once beautiful dresses were a little worse for wear now. But these dresses, as beautiful as they were, seemed a little more…. risqué…. than Bessie was used to.

  She hoped he wouldn’t charge her for the clothes as she had no money. He did say they were a gift, so she should just accept them and be happy.

  After her third performance, he’d asked her to mingle with the clients. It didn’t sit well with her, but he’d been kind to her, so she did what he had asked.

  It wasn’t too much of a burden to bear, so why not comply?

  Bessie was rather taken aback when one particularly drunk gentleman ran his fingers down her arm.

  She flinched and pulled away. How dare he?

  Looking around she noticed the other girls weren’t worrying when the men touched them, or even slapped their behinds. She was confused. Why would they let strangers do that to them?

  They seemed to be lovely young women. Not that she’d had any contact with them. When she wasn’t performing, she spent most of her spare time in her room. Being new to town, she didn’t want to venture outside as yet.

  She’d been told Hudson Falls was a nice town. The saloon owner said once she’d settled in, she should check it out for herself. But she was in mourning, and didn’t have any mourning dresses, so she could not wander around town, particularly alone.

  “You’re a sweet young thing,” she heard someone shout. “Come over here.” She glanced across, but didn’t like the look of him. He appeared scruffy and dirty, and he had a leering smirk on his face. She shook her head, and moved in the opposite direction.

  They were a rowdy bunch. She’d known that from the moment she’d set foot on stage. It was obvious that the customers were not here for the entertainment, so she could only assume it was for the booze they were drinking.

  She had hoped for a more refined audience, like those she performed to back home. Her parents had moved in high circles, and they would often entertain important people, such as the mayor, and once they’d even entertained the governor.

  What a thrill that had been. Her mother had taken her to the finest dressmaker to secure a custom-made dress. It was even more important, mother had said, since the governor was bringing his bachelor son with him. Bessie had balked at the idea, but mother and father were insistent.

  As it turned out, the young gentleman had injured himself whilst playing tennis, and couldn’t come after all. So that was the end of that.

  She wondered if her life would be different now, had he visited that day.

  Bessie was taken out of her revelry when the stench of a customer hit her nostrils. He was touching the bodice of her dress, and she brushed his fingers away. “You have a nice voice,” he told her, as though that would forgive his indiscretion.

  “Thank you,” Bessie said, then hurried on.

  She headed for the stairs to return to her room.

  The owner scurried over to her. “You must stay a little longer, Miss Bessie,” he implored her. “I am paying you a lot of money, as well as food and lodgings. Surely you can do this small thing for me?” He looked deep into her green eyes. “It makes the clients buy more,” he whispered into her ear.

  He sounded so needy that Bessie nodded her agreement.

  She took a deep breath and strolled back into the crowd. Hands reached out to
touch her and she backed away.

  “Try to think about something else,” a quiet voice told her. “It will keep you sane.” She’d seen the woman walking through the crowd. She touched Bessie’s shoulder. “You’re so young,” she said. “Sixteen?”

  “I’m eighteen,” Bessie said in a huff. Sixteen indeed! She wasn’t a child anymore.

  “Take care,” the woman said, then scurried over to one of the customers who called for her.

  As she moved on, a drunken customer bumped into her, spilling beer all over her new dress. Her dress with the too low cleavage, and the indecently tight bodice. If the dress didn’t cover her ankles, she would not have left her room.

  Every dress the owner had brought for her was the same. Bessie would not have dared leave the house dressed like that, let alone be seen in a public saloon. Her parents would be rolling over in their graves.

  She shivered.

  With the stench of stale beer on her clothes, Bessie retired to her room. She decided to have a bath as her skin was sticky with the amber liquid, and the smell seemed stuck to her.

  As she made her way back to her room, she could hear the ruckus from the saloon below, and was glad to be away from there for the evening.

  This wasn’t what she thought it would be. It wasn’t the sort of place a genteel lady should be performing.

  She would have to try and find something more suitable to her upbringing in the days that followed.

  Safely tucked away in her room, Bessie dressed in her night attire. A pretty nightgown her mother had given her for Christmas.

  It was made from pure white cotton, and had a panel of valencienne lace at the top, with pale pink ribbon hanging from it. The sleeves were also lace, with matching ribbon threaded around the wrists.

  It was very special to her, and she treasured her mother’s gift.

  She sat at the dressing table brushing her long brown hair. Two hundred strokes every night – that had been drummed into her since she was a toddler. Bessie took a lot of pride in her silky locks, and loved the way they curled at the ends.

  It had been a long day, so she finally laid down on the bed. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  She awoke to confusion.

  Her covers had been pulled back and someone, a man, was climbing on top of her. As she started to scream, he clamped a hand across her mouth.

  He was old, at least forty, but he didn’t smell bad.

  She’d seen him downstairs drinking earlier in the evening. He had stared at her for a very long time. She’d hurried away.

  Now he was in her bed naked. She thrashed about, but it did her no good. “I paid good money to deflower you, girl,” he said, annoyed. “A whole month’s wages. Keep still and let me have you!”

  It was no good. He was bigger and stronger, and she was not going to win. Despite that, she continued to fight him, until he was fully on top of her and inside her.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. This was not what she signed up for. She was a singer, not a …. whore.

  She suddenly recalled the words of the kind woman downstairs – try to think about something else.

  Was this the owner’s plan all along? Did he intend turning her into a whore to service his clients?

  As she felt his hand slip under her beautiful nightgown and onto her breast, she silently wept. She knew her life would never be the same again.

  * * *

  Bessie felt totally ashamed and defiled.

  How could she let herself be tricked into becoming a whore? She knew it wouldn’t just be the once. From now on she would have men coming to her room regularly. She was sure of it.

  She needed to talk to the other women; they would know what she should do. Maybe they would even help her to get away from this dreadful place.

  She heard the door slam as he left her room, and got up from the bed and looked down on the bedding. It was covered in blood. Her nightgown was also covered in blood.

  It hadn’t been a dream, she had been raped. Her heart was racing. She began to sob.

  She was thinking about what she should do next, when there was a tap on the door. It slowly opened.

  The kindly woman who’d spoken to her downstairs stood in the doorway. “I’m Elizabeth,” she said. “I’ll be looking after you from now on.”

  “I, I was raped,” Bessie said, tears coming to her eyes once again.

  “No, my darling,” Elizabeth told her gently. “That gentleman paid a huge amount of money to have you. That wasn’t rape.”

  Bessie stared at her. What did she mean it wasn’t rape? And who did he pay money to? It certainly wasn’t her.

  “Now let’s get you cleaned up before your next gentleman arrives.” Elizabeth set about stripping her bed and placing clean sheets on the bed, while Bessie watched on, still in shock. Next, she pulled the blood-stained nightgown over Bessie’s head, and took a clean nightgown from one of the drawers.

  This one was more risqué than anything Bessie had ever laid eyes on. It was sheer, and you could see right through it. Scandalous!

  “I can’t wear that,” she protested. But it was too late. Elizabeth had already begun helping her into the see-through nightgown.

  “You can, and you will,” Elizabeth told her sharply. “You belong to this whore-house now, and here is where you will stay.” Seeing Bessie’s distress, she softened her tone. “I know it’s hard to understand my darling, but you were marked from the moment you arrived. The owner, George, knew from the beginning what he was going to do with you.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the bewildered Bessie.

  “It must be very hard for you to understand, but you are very beautiful, and you’re so young. Those horrid men down there, they like them young.” She stroked Bessie’s hair, trying to comfort her. “You are worth a lot of money to George.”

  Bessie sat on the end of the bed and cried until she could cry no more.

  “That’s it, my darling. Get it out of your system, because this is your life from now on.” She spoke quietly as she walked over to the pitcher and poured some water into the matching bowl. “Come over here and put some of this cold water on your eyes. They are all red and puffy.”

  She stumbled over and did as she was told.

  “Now,” Elizabeth said. “I run a clean brothel. She took a small breath, then continued. “You will bathe daily, and you will change your clothes daily as well.” She indicated to the closet full of beautiful dresses. “You will wear those for your performances as well as downstairs when you are mingling with the clients.

  I will organise for your clothes to be laundered, and you will be well-fed. My girls are properly looked after,” she finished. “Understand?” she asked when Bessie didn’t respond.

  Bessie spoke quietly. “Yes.”

  “Good. If you have any problems, you come to me. Now, I have a nice gentleman waiting for your services. I will send him up shortly.”

  Bessie was overwhelmed. This really was happening to her. Her head was spinning, and she thought she might throw up.

  Chapter Two

  Bessie admonished herself when she realized she had become almost immune to her new life.

  She could sleep-in each day, waking around lunch time. The whores would all get together for lunch, then they had some free time. She couldn’t say she was completely unhappy, but certainly wasn’t thrilled with the life she’d been forced into.

  After she’d been there a few months, Elizabeth and some of the others took her into town. She recognized some of the clients from the saloon. But they weren’t drunk, and many would be walking arm in arm with their wives. They did not acknowledge the dirty whores from the saloon.

  The group went into the general store, to have some fun, Elizabeth had said, and immediately, the owner’s wife balked at their presence. Little did she know her husband had his way with Bessie the night before. Or did she?

  Surely the wives knew what was going on? Did they think it was better to let their husb
and’s do what they wanted with the whores so they would leave them alone?

  Bessie sighed. That was likely exactly what they thought, but then they admonished the women who helped keep their marriages intact.

  After having some fun picking up items in the general store, and watching the owner’s wife follow them around and put everything back where it belonged, the group left.

  Never did she think her life would take this turn of events. If her parents could see her now they’d be totally ashamed.

  But it was because of them, she’d been forced into this life. Did her uncle know? Had he any idea what would happen to her at that saloon?

  She shook her head. What a terrible thing to contemplate. Her uncle was an upstanding man, and would not have sent her away if he’d know the fate that awaited her. And it certainly wasn’t her parent’s fault they’d been killed. But it was their fault they hadn’t left instructions about her upbringing and the remainder of her life.

  As they stood outside the general store, Bessie turned her head skyward, lapping up the warmth of the sun.

  The owner’s wife shooed them away, saying they were giving the place a bad name. Bessie didn’t care. It wasn’t her fault she was now a whore. That was probably the case for each one of these girls too. Which was sad. She knew what she’d gone through when she was forced into it.

  They wandered around town for about an hour, then it was time to return for dinner.

  Dinner was always early. Once the saloon was in full swing, they didn’t get to stop and eat. They only got to lay on their backs, spread their legs, and let their minds wander elsewhere while the men did whatever they wanted to them.

  After dinner, Bessie had a bath. She lay in the fragrant water longer than she should have, but it was so quiet and serene in there.

  “Bessie!” Elizabeth shouted. “Get out, get out now!” She pounded on the door, and Bessie reluctantly climbed out of the water, wrapping a towel around herself.