Part 17 (1/2)

”Run, Amy! If he catches me I'll be tied to the stake and whipped for real! This way!”

I grab her arm and we pounds down the alley and out into some yards that I sort of recognize and I heads through some rose arbors and out another alley and onto Union Street. I spies Ezra's office and haul Amy through the door and into Ezra's office sayin', ”Save us, Ezra,” and out the back door and through the backyard and through some gardens and then on to Water and then up High, but the constable keeps after us, movin' real well for such a big bloke, I gotta say. I sees somethin' up ahead, maybe a way out of this.

”That stairway, Amy! Head for that!” I shouts, and we makes it to it and storms up the stairs and through the door. I slams it after us and throws the lock, me back to the door. Amy's breath is comin' in huge gaspin' rasps and her eyes are wild in her head.

There is a woman there, sitting at a small desk. She looks up slowly, unruffled by our sudden disturbance.

Soon there is a loud poundin' and a tryin' o' the lock.

”Hide us, Mrs. Bodeen, please!”

Mrs. Bodeen calmly gets up and goes to the window and pulls the curtain aside, ever so slightly, and looks out.

”All right. I'll take care of it. Get in that room there.” She points to a room at the end of the hall.

I grabs Amy's arm and we runs down and dives into the room. I puts me back to the door again and closes me eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths and then I opens me eyes. Everything is yellow.

The walls are yellow and there's a yellow dresser with a yellow pitcher of water and a yellow basin, a yellow chair, and...

I hear a rustle of cloth and a wave of a very familiar perfume rolls across the room and breaks across my nose.

”Why, if it isn't my Little Miss Precious, come to visit her dear aunt Mam'selle Claudelle day Bour-bon. And she's brought a little fray-und with her. How nice.”

Lord.

I turn and look, and there is Mam'selle herself reclining on her bed, wearing a yellow day dress and snuggled up against big, fluffy yellow satin pillows, which I'm guessin' is silk cause it's all kind of s.h.i.+ny. She is holding a little lapdog, which being white has somehow escaped the yellow brush. It does, however, wear a yellow ribbon around its neck.

Well, I sighs, let's tough this out as a lady, shall we?

”Good day to you, Mademoiselle,” I says, and dips a bit and turns to the astounded Amy. ”May I present my very good friend, Miss Amy Trevelyne? Amy, this is Mademoiselle Claudelle de Bour-bon of the New Orleans Bour-bons. She was kind to me when I was in prison.”

Amy recovers enough from her astonishment to dip and shakily say, ”Enchante, Mademoiselle de Bourbon.”

”Charmed, I am sho-ah,” says Mam'selle, moving her head to make her golden earrings jangle. ”What a lovely little friend you have, Precious, and she even speaks Frey-unch.” She pets her little dog and looks up through her impossibly long eyelashes. ”Shall I call you Little Miss Dumpling, then, Little Precious's special fray-und? Yes, I believe I shall.”

Mam'selle pats the bed next to her. ”Now, come over he-ah, both of you, and let me relieve you of some of your garments ... It's rather warm in here, don't you think? Would you like some refreshment? Hmmm?”

”It's a lovely room you have here, Mam'selle,” says I, moving out to the center of the room and looking about.

”Why, thank you, Precious,” simpers our hostess. She looks at Amy cowering by the door. ”Does my apartment not make it plain that I am for the discriminatin' gentleman, the one who desires somethin' rare and refined and exotic in the way of female companions.h.i.+p?”

”It does, indeed, Mam'selle,” says I, tryin' to think of somethin' else to say.

Mam'selle puts her finger to the side of her nose and looks at me all tender. ”I can see by your clothing that you have had a fall in your station in life. Poor, poor little Miss Precious, it is such a hard life, isn't it? Why don't you come over he-ah and put your dear little head in Mam'selle's lap and I will pet you and caress you and make it a little bit better. Now doesn't that sound good, Precious baby?”

Actually, with her singsong purring voice and my tiredness from the events of the day, it does sound kind of good, but there's a light knock on the door and I shakes my head to clear it of Mam'selle's soft and insinuating voice.

”You can come out now, girls,” we hear Mrs. Bodeen say from the other side.

Amy has the door open in a flash and is outside in an instant. I pause to thank Mam'selle for her kindness and to apologize for Amy's rudeness in not saying good-bye 'cause she is scared and don't know her way around yet.

Mam'selle smiles and says, ”That's all right, Precious, I understand. Just you be careful now, because I am quite fond of you and I know you to be one of those that aren't scared when maybe sometimes they should be scared, hmmm?”

We go back out into the foyer. Mrs. Bodeen looks at us and shakes her head.

”Girls, don't you know you've got to pay off the police?”

”Please, Missus,” I says, ”we warn't doin' nothin', just singin' and playin' in the street, we warn't...”

”Still got to give John Law his bit, Miss. Anyway, he's been taken care of.” Mrs. Bodeen casts her shrewd eye over the both of us standin' there. ”If you're ever looking for full-time work, girls, you know where to come. I run a clean house.”

I don't have to look over at Amy to know that she is brick red in the face and ready to fall through the floor. ”Everyone knows you run a clean and honest house, Missus,” says I, my face hot, too. ”And we thank you for the invite, but we're still in school and...” I trails off, not wantin' to offend her who has just saved us.

Mrs. Bodeen lets a knowing smile come to her lips as she looks me over.

”I recall you from the jail,” she says, dryly. ”You do get around for a schoolgirl, don't you? Ah. Here's our Mr. Pickering, come to collect you.”

I had not expected to arrive in Ezra's office in quite such an inelegant fas.h.i.+on. If he could have brought me in by the scruff of my neck, I'm sure he would have.

Amy weeps quietly in her chair, her hands coverin' her face, and I'm sittin' here all straight with my hands folded in my lap and my best Jacky-takes-her-punishment look on my face. We are both a bit mussed from our run. I stick out my lower lip and blow away a lock of hair that has found its way into my eyes.

Ezra, sitting at his desk, is looking at me most severely. I have finally managed to erase his little smile.

”It is possible that you are insane,” he says. ”Perhaps I can have you committed to the female asylum. That might keep you out of the Preacher's hands.”

”I was told that music wasn't against the law in Boston,” I says in my defense.

”No, but creating a public disturbance is against the law.”

”We warn't doin' nothing but-”

”If you had been caught, you would have been taken to court and charged. You would then have been thrown back in jail, a place I recall you did not enjoy overmuch the last time you were there, and I do not have the slightest doubt that the Court would have declared you a wayward child. The Preacher's pet.i.tion of guardians.h.i.+p would then have been immediately granted and you would have been taken directly to his house. After you were taken out and caned, that is. Remember, you were convicted of lewd and lascivious behavior, and although the sentence was suspended, it would be carried out if you were arrested again. Does any of this make sense to you?”

Amy whimpers all the more on hearin' this. I swears there's a steam of shame risin' off her like a fog. She may be in a state of fatal mortification. She was barely able to produce a decent curtsy when I introduced her to Ezra.

All right, Ezra, all right. I get it.

”I am sorry, Ezra...,” I say, and put on my best I'll-be-good look.

”Sorry. Hmmm.” He picks up his quill and points it at my nose. ”Shall I describe the rod? It is about three-eighths of an inch in thickness, and although it is called a cane, it is actually quite whiplike. You would be put on your knees and your back bared and your hands tied to the post. You would have to use your elbows to prevent your s.h.i.+rt from slipping forward and baring your breast to the crowd. Not that you'll care about that after the first stroke of the cane. Constable Wiggins swings the rod, and he makes it no secret that this is the part of his job that he finds most pleasing. Especially if the victim is a young and pretty girl. As the welts begin to form, succeeding blows would cause them to bleed and, eventually, scar. Is that a sight you want to present to your future husband? Your Mr. Fletcher?”

”No, Ezra, I don't,” I whispers and hangs my head, and this time I takes it to heart.

”All right,” he says, and sits back in his chair. He allows the half smile to return to his lips.

”The Preacher was back in court today to press his case. Once again, I was able to keep things up in the air, pending an inquiry by the Court. Of course, if he gets wind of your actions today, I'm sure he will press even harder, you exhibiting delinquent and immoral behavior and all.”