Chapter 427 - Madam Zenarie’s, Emporium of Fine Delicacies, Treats, and the Exotic. Ⅱ (1/2)
Cool and ever so collected, despite the now strange atmosphere that immediately followed the haunting scream, Madam Zenarie turns to her guests and smoothly says, ”Please continue to enjoy yourselves, gentlemen, I can assure you that there is nothing to be concerned about.”
Put at ease by Madam Zenarie's words the patrons return to cautiously chatting as Madam Zenarie steadily gathers her skirt in her hands and hurries upstairs in a calm fashion as if said incident occurred every day. Seeing her act in such a serene fashion further quelled the guest's doubts and their fears. It must surely be some sort of joke or nothing too serious to be truly concerned about. Within minutes, the entire incident is put out of their minds as they move on to more enjoyable activities for the evening.
The sentries were already upstairs had already calmly ushered the guests back inside the bedrooms, before Madam Zenarie had even made her way up the staircase. In the meanwhile, three sentries having used a master key had forced the door open and made their way inside. Two of them had immediately captured the patron, who tried to duel them to only find that physically brute force can in fact beat a wand at close range. While the third sentry hurried over to tend to the flower on the bed where the sheets were stained bright red, and wet.
Hearing loud vehement cursing from inside Madam Zenarie waits for the sentries guarding the outside entrance to move aside to let her enter. Once inside she slows to a halt at seeing one of her sentries carefully cradling in his arms one of her flowers named, Tamara, while the other uses his wand to halt the flow of blood as best as he can before she bleeds to death.
Tamara is a rather new flower at the establishment, but fairly popular given her age and innocent willow-like maiden looks. However, that gorgeous visage was now visibly tarnished by cruel, bleeding whip marks that covered her entire body except for her face. She must have protected her face with her hands as the back of one of her limp hands is slicked open and dripping crimson drops onto the bedsheet.
Madam Zenarie's eyes flash with fury and barely controlled outage. One of the rules of her establishment is that none of her flowers or herbs are to be physically hurt by any of the patrons. If some of her patrons enjoyed such sadistic pursuits, they pursued them elsewhere at some of the other less than selective brothels. These rules were all in place to protect her flowers and herbs, and to ensure that as no underage flowers or herbs are actively employed.
And in fact, the Potentate of London actively enforced that particular rule for any brothel located within his territory. Any pimp or madam caught doing so would swiftly wish they were dead for there are truly are far worse fates than death. In fact, death can be merciful in some cases.
Madam Zenarie takes a breath to control herself as she had her reputation to main. Still, there was not much that could be done at this point. Tamara would certainly survive but not even the best of healers including St. Mungo's could remove the scarring that a curse would leave behind. No, the poor girl's lucrative career had come to an abrupt end.
Still, Madam Zenarie would not see Tamara thrown to the street. She'd find a place for the girl in the kitchens or as a tailor to ensure that the girl would have a place to stay and be paid. It was the least that she could do. And if she was clever, she would even be able to gain a bit of remuneration for the girl.
Filled with a steely purpose in mind, Madam Zenarie turns to the figure that is spewing vile insults out loud. ”She's merely a Harlot! I can't believe this; do you know who my father is?! He'll see to it that all of you are dead!” Said, the recently turned fifteen-year-old pureblood.
”Enough, Mr. Mulciber,” Madam Zenarie frostily said causing the handsome golden-haired pureblood youth to stiffen in dismay at being recognized.
”How do you know my name?” Damian Mulciber heatedly asked knowing full well that he had entered the said fine establishment using a false name.
”I make it a point to know the actual identity of all my patrons, Mr. Mulciber,” Madam Zenarie coolly replied with a touch of scorn. ”However, that being said, Mr. Mulciber, you have broken one of the foremost rules in my establishment and are here forthwith banished from the premise forevermore.”
Damian leans back and coldly sneers at the middle-aged woman. ”So what? This is merely one of many whorehouses available to me, I shan't be missing any of your whores. Now have your dog's release me!”