MAEVE STOOD TALKING to a sailor in the doorway of the bawdy house, where she had found employment after leaving the Wolf And Lamb. She felt guilty about lying to Robert, the tavern owner, about where she was going since he had always treated her so kindly, but the thought of Johnas coming into the tavern, after what he had done to her, had sent a feeling of revulsion coursing through her body.
If she ever laid eyes on that pig again she would slit his throat, as he had threatened to do to hers in the alleyway, she promised herself.
Maeve's friend Julia, worked at one of the houses by the docks and she had encouraged Maeve to join her there after what had happened.
Julia had promised she could make a good wage from her misfortune, and she also assured Maeve that the madam who owned the bawdy house was a kindly woman, and that there were two strong stews, Samuel and Hugh who were employed by the proprietress of the establishment, who would keep her safe from any rough clientele who might try to enter the premises.
Including Johnas.
Maeve considered her friends words carefully, then asked Julia to speak to the Madam on her behalf.
After all, what more did she have to lose, after her virtue had been stolen from her by that pig she thought to herself.
Why not earn a fair wage by selling what had already been taken by force?
Maeve had met with the madam, whose name was Barbara, and she had proven herself to be as kindly as Julia had said that she was.
Barbara was a large busted woman, with mousy brown hair plaited and twisted into a chignon at the back of her head.
She wore an elegant dressing gown on her large frame, delicately embroidered with pink flowers.
There was a mischievous twinkle in her wide brown eyes, her lips curved into a smile as she greeted Maeve.
Barbara wore a heavy coating of powder, and rouge on her face, that accentuated the deep wrinkled in the skin beneath.
Once she had greeted Maeve at the entrance to the bawdy house, Barbara escorted her to a small room in the back of the house just off of the kitchen, that she used as a sitting room and private quarters, where she hosted her 'special' clients.
Barbara sat down on an overstuffed chaise lounge, grasped Maeve's hand pulling her down to sit beside her.
Maeve glanced around the brightly painted pink room, feeling nervous. The Madam asked Maeve to tell her a little bit about herself, listening intently to her words, nodding from time to time in agreement with a remark the girl made.
When she had finally confessed to Barbara why she had left her previous position at the tavern, recounting her ordeal with Johnas, the woman had embraced her, patting her on the back with motherly kindness.
"That creature will never bother you here my dear," Barbara confided to Maeve. "He never comes to the bawdy houses along the docks.
He prefers his woman untouched, and shall we say... unwilling." She finished, with a note of disdain in her voice.
"While I don't judge a man's for his proclivities," Barbara continued " I do not allow that kind of business in my establishment!" she stated emphatically.
"Though I cannot speak for the other houses along the docks. I have heard stories that would curl you toes my dear, I can tell you that!"
She concluded with a sharp snort of amusement.
Seeing a look of fear cross Maeve's eyes, Barbara reassured her that the Stews she employed to keep the rabble out, would never let any harm come to her as long as she was under her roof, then she patted the girl's hand kindly.
Maeve had moved her meager belonging into the house that very afternoon.
Praying that Barbara's words would prove true.
As Maeve turned her attention back to the business at hand.
She flirted coyly with the tall sailor for a few more moments, then with a silent sigh clasping his hand in hers, she led him up the stairs to her room, shutting the door after them.
* * *
Once the sailor had finished with her he handed her a few coins, before exiting her room without so much as a by your leave.
Maeve poured water from a large pitcher into the wash basin sitting on the stand in the corner of her room, using a damp cloth to clean herself in preparation for her next customer.
Barbara insisted all her girls cleaned themselves after each customer had left. Maeve wondered what her mother would think of her working as a whore?
She would probably be too drunk to care, Maeve snorted derisively.
Her mother had been a drunken bitch, who beat her children mercilessly when she was deep in her cups, which she frequently was.
Maeve could not remember hearing one kind word from her mother as a child. She had been the one who had shouldered the responsibility of taking care of her four brothers, and two sisters.
Making sure they were fed, that they had clean clothes to wear to the local village school.
Maeve had cleaned houses, and taken in washing from some of their neighbors, for a the few coins they could spare.
While her mother had pissed the money away drinking at the tavern all night.
When Maeve was fourteen, her mother had promised a man that she had dragged home from the tavern, that he could share Maeve's bed for money enough to buy her next tankard of drink.
Maeve had thrown the man out of the house, striking her mother across the face for good measure, in her anger.
That had been the last night she had spent under her mother's roof. She had packed her few belongings, leaving her mother, and her siblings behind, vowing never to return to the rundown shack they called home.
As she dried herself, Maeve thought of her brothers and sisters.
They were the only regret she had in leaving her home, and her previous life far behind her.
She loved her siblings as if she were their own mother, but she had realized she could no longer shoulder the full responsibility for their care.
She had to leave before it had destroyed her.
Maeve had set out to make a better life for herself, that life had ended the night Johnas had raped her on the trash strung ground of the alleyway.
Now she was just a common whore, selling her body for coin to any man who would have her.
She sniffed back a tear, wiping her eyes on the cloth in her hand. Maeve smoothed down her green dress carefully with her hands, glancing at her refection in the mirror on the wall, then ran her fingers through her flame red hair.
Adjusting the curls on her head where they had become flattened against the pillow on her bed as the sailor had rutted with her.
When she was satisfied that she looked presentable once more, she made her way back down the stairs, and into the brightly lit bawdy house's main salon, to sell herself to the next man with a few coins in his purse.