I walked out of the LeClair house holding my head high, feeling proud and assured of myself. I then certainly believed that I had conducted myself very cunningly in that I achieved my design using whatever mean possible.
I felt no shame at letting myself be passed around that lowly crew. I then believed that there was no shame in need.
That was my first true lesson in what it means to be a woman. I learned that love and need are often confused, that humility only suits those who have nothing lo lose or nothing to gain. I could not be humble: I had to soldier on, tolerate anything that came my way, and refuse to concede defeat.
After all, I had not lost anything in that exchange, if not those immaterial tokens of love and kindness, and of honour and property, which then seemed to have little currency among people.
I walked into the apartment and walked towards the boudoir to dust myself off.
'Did you go to the shop? Did you see that boy?'
I turned towards the origin of those questions.
Mother was sitting on a chair, reading some papers.
I stood there, dishevelled and bearing the signs of my debasement, and said with great pride:
'I delivered your letter.'
She studied me for a moment. While she couldn't gather the details of my journey, she could plainly see the traces of a great agitation on my face.
She smiled and thanked me for my service, then she went back to the papers.
'I'm trying to decide how much money to give your brothers without leaving us completely penniless. What do you think?'
I took my bonnet off, studying it for a moment, as if it contained the answer to that question. The smell of Grin and his friends was still on me. I could feel the throbbing of my breasts and the smarting of my bele chose in the front and of the not-so-bele one behind.
'Men…' I mused. 'So strong, and yet so needy.'
She looked at me without saying a word. She squinted a little, just to study me better, but betrayed no emotion.
'I leave it to you,' she said, finally.
'A penny?' I said.
Mother looked at the papers.
'I'll give them a quarter each, and we'll keep half of the lot.'
Then, she added:
'This is the duty of a mother.'
To owe so much to someone who deserves so little? I wondered, but didn't express these feelings. Instead, I excused myself and retired.
*
The next morning, my brothers dragged their trunks along the hall.
Mother and I were in the drawing room.
I stood up to hug them and bid them goodbye.
'She won't even say goodbye to us,' Armand said pointing at our mother who, once again, was busy with her papers.
'Aren't we the injured party?' Blaise asked me.
'All the better. Let the strumpet be,' Armand said.
I looked at him, rather shocked by these harsh words, but Armand made a great show of not caring.
Meanwhile Blaise glanced at our mother with some sadness.
Then, it was time for them to leave. They both patted their breast pocket where they held their wallet and the money neither of them had any issue in accepting from our mother. They kissed me on the cheeks and wished me well, and they were gone.
I was saddened by their departure, and I am sure my mother was too.
When I walked back into the room, she appeared to stare at the papers intently, but her eyes were not moving about the page, and her hands were shaking slightly.
She might have felt my gaze upon her, for she pulled herself together and looked at me brightly:
'Let's go for a walk. It's a fine day, and I confide we will receive an answer to my letter upon our return.'
We walked outside.
The day was indeed a beautiful one. The sun was shining, the sky was a deep blue, and small white clouds ran in the distance.
People were rushing about, and everybody seemed busy with some activity. As we passed the little shop where Maurice worked, I noticed him sweeping the floor. He looked up at me, and I cowardly turned away without meeting his gaze.
'You will see,' Mother said, maybe guessing my thoughts, 'soon we will be installed in a large house; we'll once again dine with rich food, attend glamorous events. There will be theatre every night, and, when this bores us, it will be a ball with the most handsome men and women in the city. We will not have a care in the World.'
I grew animated at this prospect.
'I will want new clothes,' I said.
My mother laughed, and asked:
'Any colour of the rainbow! Any length and cut, silk and velvet and laces. Anything that takes our fancy!'
'And we'll have a carriage for our walks once again.'
And, in this fanciful state, we conversed until we returned, forgetting our present misery and dreaming up some future happiness.
As my mother had predicted, a letter had been delivered while we were out.
We sat at the table, and she opened it with some trepidation. Having read it, she looked at me and said:
'We have been invited to Mr LeClair's house for dinner. We will have a new dress made. Our hair will be done. We need to look our best.'
Then, she looked at the puzzled look on my face, and she added:
'I am certain of what I'm doing. My last act of stupidity was to give your brothers some money and tell them their failure was all my fault. I know I've spoilt them, but I didn't have the heart to speak to them in earnest. Let the World teach them that harsh lesson that they much smaller and unimportant than their mother and father let them believe they were.
'No, the expenses that I want to enter into are my investment. I will have my every hair trimmed, my skin perfumed and lathered with the latest remedy; my lips will be painted, my eyelids threaded with false eyelashes to be even more seductive than I plan to be. I will be the perfect courtesan to this gentleman.
'And you, my darling, will soon be an alluring morsel for the wealthy youth of France. You will be rich and respected. A wife, in the fullest meaning of this word! Imagine that: you will not need to beg, but you will give orders, and everything will be done just as you wish.'
She told me that, as we walked the street of the city, she had been on the lookout for the most elegant dressmakers' boutiques, and she had her eyes on a few shops she was now eager to visit.
*
As Mother's heart was set on improving our appearance as much as possible, we began visiting all sorts of shops.
Apothecaries were consulted over remedies for our complexion. Dressmakers were ordered to make our waists thinner and our bosoms rounder. Hairdressers well versed in phrenology designed daring hairstyles to showcase our metaphysical bump.
On the day of our dinner, my mother and I visited a renowned shop that could expertly bring all these ideas together, paint our faces, style the hair, dress us, perfume us, and, in a word, present us under the most flattering light.
My mother had struggled to find an opening, for this place was very popular among the ladies of the city, but, she was glad to inform me, they had been able to accommodate it.
As we walked in, the richness of the décor impressed me greatly. Gilded friezes, exotic scents, ivory stuccoes, sensual perfumes, Oriental vases, and thousands of crystal vials filled with colourful liquids.
Women of various stages of deshabille sat on chairs, lay in bathtubs, rested on little beds, conversing among each other; young girls of about twenty, dressed in white gowns, moved expertly among them, massaging, measuring, washing, painting, and laughing greatly.
'Welcome, welcome!' two young women chirped as we walked in.
One linked arms with my mother.
'Come this way, madame,' she said, and the two disappeared through a corridor.
The other took me by the hand and asked me to follow her.
'Have you been here before? No? It's all ready for you. All your dresses are in the next room. We have the design for your hair, the formulation for the perfumes.'
This girl was a young brunette with a lithe body and petite features. She had a small, upturned nose, little eyes, and small pouty lips. She was made up like a little wax doll: every feature was perfectly painted to enhance its slenderness or its rotundness; the dark hair was held up to showcase the thin neck. She wore a white gown, almost in a fashionable and much studied version of a nurse's dress.
She took me to a little room with walls covered in pink wallpaper with little bright flamingos.
'My name is Estelle,' she said. 'You must be Eloise!'
I said I was, and she laughed. She seemed to laugh a great deal, which, as silly as it was, put me in a great mood.
'I understand you have a grand soiree this evening,' she continued. 'Our establishment has dressed a Russian tzarina, an Empress of China, countless noblewomen, and the finest young ladies of the region.'
I thanked her for taking the time to assist me.
'Oh, not a problem, not a problem,' she said merrily. 'Now, please undress.'
I complied, and she asked me to sit in a bathtub that emerged from a little alcove. She then began to pour water; she mixed it with salts; she added other liquids, always measuring weight and volume, now and then tasting the liquid with a little spoon.
'Your skin will be cleaned, now,' she explained. 'Every part of it.'
The bath was now full, and a great deal of froth rested on its surface, rising to my chest and nearly my chin.
Estelle, having found a sponge, dunk her hand into the water and began to rub me with great force.
'Ow!' I protested.
'Miss, this is the newest method to cleanse the pores and revive the capillaries!' she said, almost offended.
The sponge went through my armpits, over my nipples, then along my back and in that space between my buttocks.
'Lift yourself,' Estelle said.
Then, the sponge rubbed between my thighs, on my legs and knees.
I found this process rather uncomfortable, and I twisted and turned to avoid the scrubbing as much as possible.
'Miss, you're splashing so much, I'm all wet!' Estelle said.
Meanwhile, I could hear distant little cries and muffled sighs coming from other rooms, such was the roughness of this method.
Estelle now asked me to stand up while she removed the soap from my body with a towel. Her hand ran expertly on my body, not leaving any part untouched.
I found this initial preparation quite unusual, but I said nothing, having understood from my mother that these procedures were very costly and also what was expected from any woman of some importance.
I stepped out of the tub. My body was red all over.
'The old skin is gone,' Estelle announced. 'I believe the next part will be more to your taste, Eloise.'
She now offered me a glass into which she poured a strong sweet wine.
'Our preparation, made with herbs and flowers. It helps pass the time and achieve a deeper state of relaxation.'
Now, she laughed again.
I lay on a divan covered with drapes of Persian design, sipping the liquid which was quite strong but had a very aromatic quality that I found quite pleasing.
Estelle began massaging me, rubbing lotions, oils and creams, each one for a specific part of the body. As she moved from one region to the other, she described the properties of the preparation she had selected:
'Bergamot to reinvigorate the tissues – milfoil for the inflammation – artichoke for purification.'
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of the girl's fingers now caressing, now pressing. First, my temples; then, my cheeks and the mouth.
'Please turn… Yes, like so.'
Estelle now rubbed a new ointment on my neck.
'I'm now creating a new skin for you, mademoiselle,' she explained. 'Out with the old, in with the new, as they say, eh?'
I was now laying prone.
In this position, Estelle could easily massage my back, but, every so often, she ran her hands underneath me, feeling my breasts. When she felt them, she said:
'I believe you have a very fine figure. I have already seen the dress you have chosen, and your bust will certainly stand out.
The warmth of the wine spread to my limbs, and I felt a great state of relaxation, as if I was on the verge of slumber, but not ever falling asleep. I felt light and happy.
'Do you believe you will meet a gentleman tonight?' Estelle asked as she massaged me.
'No, but I confide my mother will.'
'That's too bad,' she commented. 'How will you have a good time, then? How will you get rid of all your nervous humour? A natural state of a woman, I believe, is to be wooed or to recovering from having been wooed. It's much better than leeches, I'm sure!'
She laughed merrily.
'I myself don't go more than a day without a good release,' she said. 'Sometimes, it's multiple times a day. It keeps your system clean and your head clear, don't you think?'
I was happy to listen to her cheerful chatter and enjoy the treatment that I didn't answer. I closed my eyes and exhaled peacefully.
Her fingers were very gentle on my body, increasing the pressure ever so slowly, so that, when the fingers were eventually lifted and moved to a new part of my body, I could feel my muscle unclench.
Meanwhile, the noise from the other rooms were coming a little clearer to my ears.
'Are other ladies being treated now?' I asked.
Estelle replied that a great many great ladies always visited their establishment. They got their skin rejuvenated, their hair washed and arranged, their eyes threaded with fake lashes, their lips painted with rouge.
'We also like to flush their organism of all toxic humours.'
As she said this last part, I felt her hand move between my thighs and run along the length of my pussy till it reached the clitoris.
'Nice and plump,' she said assessing what she was holding. 'It's often the case in a young woman. Of course, you can have the English type which is more elongated. And the older kind that usually loses much of its turgidity. What you have, I am told, is what gives a gentleman the greatest pleasure, and I will recommend a few creams to maintain the bloom longer.'
As she spoke, she rubbed gently.
'Estelle?' I asked.
'It won't be a moment, mademoiselle,' she said quite matter of fact. 'Imagine that once we used to purge the system with bloodletting. How barbaric!'
I was lying on my stomach. My legs were quite close together. There was enough space between them for Estelle's hand.
I now began panting a little. I closed my eyes, feeling a little tipsy from the wine.
Now, the quality of the voices from the other rooms became clearer, and I felt that this treatment was in fact quite normal in this establishment.
I soon joined this choir, moaning loudly:
'Oh, Good Heavens, if you keep rubbing… Ahhh, that's too good… I'm going to come!'
'Isn't that pleasant, miss? That's Nature's way of telling us we need it.'
She was now leaning against my back. I could feel her small breasts under the uniform rubbing against my naked back.
'There, there! Let Estelle help you with the release.'
She rubbed very expertly. She knew where to go, how hard or how lightly to touch, and how to pace herself.
Her caresses were much more expertly delivered than those I had received by Margot. Certainly, no man had ever indulged in these parts with the knowledge that only a woman can have of how her own pleasure is created.
Estelle's fingers must have also had enough education in this institution and experience with all the clients to be as self-assured as the scissors of the best coiffeur or the knife of the most illustrious surgeon. She must have been a great expert in this activity, and it felt like the female anatomy held no secret to her.
'It's really the milking of some glands,' Estelle was explaining to satisfy a curiosity that I didn't feel in the heat of the moment.
I wished I could ask her to do more to me. I desired to have my ass slapped, or my holes liked or fingered; I desired to pinch my nipples as she rubbed, but I was fearful that this was inappropriate, and that the very scientific method she was employing was to be kept strictly professional.
I bit my lips, feeling very excited.
'Oh, don't worry about saying the wrong thing. It's also quite natural for the lady to make odd remarks in this moment,' she said.
I then began rocking back and forth and I felt a great urge to swear as my orgasm was mounting inside me:
'Oh, my fucking pussy! Great slut… Fuck… Ah, just like that. Don't stop… My poor little cunt… Argh!... shit shit shit!'
'There there,' Estelle said, now rubbing with great intensity, pinning me down with her torso pressed against my back.
'You fucking fuck… I'm coming… Oh, so good… Now, now, nooooow!'
I felt that great release rush through me, and my body shook violently.
Estelle made me turn on my back and wiped me.
She then resumed rubbing my front with some new ointment, as if nothing unusual had passed.
In the next room, other ladies were grunting and yelping, passing through one of the stages of the treatment.
I was then made to dress. My face was painted. My skin was perfumed. And, feeling quite lightheaded, I was escorted out of the little room.
Mother, already dressed very elegantly, was reclined on a sofa, sipping a warm tisane from a cup, and chatting to another client.
'Mother…' I began.
'Very satisfying, isn't it?' she said pleasantly.
'Very…' I said.
'Now, time to go then. Our carriage is waiting for us.'