The Invisible Girl

I have cleaned the library twice since my last encounter with the Judge, but he did not show. However, when I was upstairs in his bedroom to change the sheets, I found my undergarments tucked between the sheets and the matress, with a small note in his hand that consisted of just one word: "SOON." So I dare to hope still. Today is my afternoon off, chances of seeing him are slim. Maybe it's better this way. He has been confusing my mind and my feelings so much that I hardly know who I am any more. I know there's something weighing on his mind, something that keeps him busy, but I have no idea what that is. Robertson of course never complains about his master, but I heard him murmur something about 'in a foul mood today' when he left the dining room. I wish I could see him. And I wish he would talk to me, more than just two or three dirty phrases.
Whenever someone mentions the Judge, I feel that what I've done – or rather, what he has done – shows in my face somehow. But Mrs Harris, strangely enough, hasn't noticed. She looks very pale and agitated and has hardly said a word to me all morning.
After the meagre lunch in the kitchen, she takes me aside.
"What is it, Mrs Harris?" I ask, a bit puzzled.
"Listen, it's your afternoon off, isn't it?" she asks hesitantly.
"You know perfectly well that it is," I say, a little impatiently. "But don't go beating about the bush. If there's anything I can do for you, just tell me."
"I hate to bother you with this," she says reluctantly, "I would go myself, but my knees won't let me." She rubs her knees demonstratively.
"Don't worry, just tell me what you need. It's no big deal, really."
She gives me a forced smile and presses an envelope into my hands. "Would you take this to…" She searches the pockets of her apron and produces a slice of paper… "…to this address for me, please? It is urgently needed."
I glance at the address briefly. No name, but an address and a room number. "Whitechapel?" I ask, now totally confused. Who on earth does Mrs Harris know in Whitechapel? I am about to ask her exactly that question when she squeezes my hand and looks at me pleadingly. "Don't ask any questions, dear. It's better this way. Will you do it for me, please?"
I still don't understand, but I nod. She seems deeply worried. I haven't seen her like that in… well, ever.

*

I reach the address in Whitechapel a little after four o'clock. I check the note twice because I can hardly believe I have come to the right place. The houses here are run down, and the address Mrs Harris gave to me belongs to a particularly decaying building with heavy red curtains and a door that opens and closes frequently to allow wealthy-looking gentlemen in and out of the house. I blush as I realize that it is an 'introduction house'. How could Mrs Harris send me here? It's a filthy place.
I watch the door for a whole half-hour before I pick up all my courage and knock.
The door opens to reveal a woman in her mid-fourties, with a painted face and a dress so bright red that it hurts my eyes.
I don't want her to think I have come looking for a … job, so I quickly state my purpose and tell her the room number Mrs Harris gave to me.
She eyes me for a long moment, looking me up and down. "Very well," she finally says, "Come on in, you can give it to her yourself."
"I'd rather not come in," I say stiffly. "Perhaps if you would be kind enough to give this envelope to the resident of room…"
"Do I look like a postillion to you?" Despite my protests, she pulls me inside. "You can't stand under the door all day, my ladies have work to do, so least you can do is stay out of their way!" she hisses. Then she turns around and calls up the staircase: "Hey, El, you've got a visitor!"
She pats my arm, which I withdraw immediately, and says, "It's the third room on the left."
I reluctantly head for the stairs when, again, I feel her hand on my arm. "What are you, girl? A domestic maid?"
I nod mutely.
She is scrutinizing me once again, then nods appreciation. "You know, you could make much more money here than in the low-wage job you're doing now."
"Thanks," I reply coldly, "But no, thanks."
She shrugs. "Can't hurt to try!"
I hurry up the stairs to escape from that awful woman. I find the room without difficulty and knock.
"I told you I'm not working today, with my child sick!" a woman's voice shouts angrily.
I knock again, telling my name, adding: "Mrs Harris sent me."
There is a long pause.
"The door is open," the woman finally replies.
I push the door open.
The woman reclining on the sofa can't be much older than myself. She is of medium height, with fine auburn hair, dark eyes and a very pretty face. A black corset and stockings lie discarded on the bed, she is only wearing a dressing gown, and she's smoking. She looks at me intently. My mouth stands open. I know her. The memory is very dim, far away, but I can still see those eyes, I remember when we were playing together as children, I remember her laughter when we were taking down the sheets in the courtyard together during our first days as housemaids. What did the Madame call her? El?
"Eleanor," I say softly.
Eleanor Harris looks at me defiantly. "So you're the daughter my mother never had." She inhales the smoke deeply, closing her eyes, then looks back at me. "What does she want?"
I hand her the envelope, wordlessly, too shocked to speak. When I have recovered from the shock a bit, I ask: "I don't understand… when you left, Mrs Harris told me you were working for a member of the House of Lords."
She laughs, and her laughter rings in my ears like silver bells. "One? Twenty, I daresay. Every week."
My disgust is written all over my face apparently because she adds: "Don't look so shocked. I'm not surprised my mother doesn't go telling everyone about my current… occupation. She's ashamed of me. She hasn't inquired after us in six years, so why would she now?"
The truth dawns on me. "Because your child is sick. Her grandchild," I say softly.
Eleanor waves her hand dismissively. "How she can possibly know, I don't have the foggiest. I wouldn't have told her if she'd been the last person on earth." She hands me back the envelope. "Tell her to keep her money. I can take care of my daughter by myself."
I hesitate. I haven't seen Eleanor in many years, but she was like a sister to me when we were children. "Can I… can I see your daughter?" I ask curiously.
"If you must." Eleanor rises from her sofa and leads me to the adjoining room. "But be quiet," she instructs me, "She's just fallen asleep."
I follow Eleanor to a tiny chamber that is even darker than the main room.
The girl in the bed is four or five years old. At the sight of her little daughter, Eleanor's expression softens. The girl is adorable. She looks like a little angel as she sleeps. But her sleep is not undisturbed. Her breathing is heavy, rattling, and there is sweat on her forehead. She's very pale and looks so fragile. She needs medicine, so much I know. It dawns on me that Eleanor is not allowed to keep a lot of the money she makes, the procuress probably takes it away from her. Oh, Eleanor, how could you end up in a place like this?
We leave the room quietly.
"Have you bought medicine for her yet? Has a doctor seen her?" I ask sharply.
Eleanor laughs, but there is a bitterness in her tone. "Yeah, right. And next week I'm going to build a palace for her and buy her a crown! Do you have any idea how expensive an apothecary is, or a doctor? My girl is strong, she'll make it through."
"No, she won't," I insist. "Listen… Eleanor, your mother may not always have been perfect, but I know how low her wage is. This must be all her savings. If you won't take the money for yourself, take it for your daughter and buy some decent medicine for her."
Eleanor hesitates. I can tell from her expression that she is torn between what little pride she has left and worry about her daughter's safety.
"Take it," I urge her.
She hesitates. "You're a pest, you know that?" she says angrily, but snatches the envelope back from me.
"I've been told once or twice," I reply with a self-satisfied little smile. "Anything you want me to tell your mother?"
"Tell her…" She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "No. Tell her nothing."
"Are you sure?" I ask compassionately.
She nods firmly. "Absolutely."
I squeeze her hand. My eyes travel over the shabby furniture and the heavy curtains, the huge four-poster bed at the centre of the room.
"I know what you're thinking," Eleanor says and lights another cigarette. "How could I sink so low. How can I even think about raising a child in a place like this."
I shrug helplessly. "How about her father?"
She snorts. "When I was thirteen, a member of the House of Lords approached my master, the Great Judge Turpin," she says the name with utter contempt, "asking him if he knew of a reliable housemaid. Judge Turpin offered my mother to recommend me for the post, and she agreed." Her eyes are strangely empty, devoid of feeling. "She thought she was doing me a favour," she says bitterly. "As the years passed and I got older, I noticed the looks my master gave me. He was waiting for me everywhere, paying me compliments… I was so stupid. I thought he loved me. I thought he cared!" She blinks away a tear. "And then, one day…" She can't speak any more, but she doesn't need to. I can figure out the rest of the story by myself.
"When his wife found out that you were pregnant, you couldn't stay in the house any more and were turned out without any references," I conclude quietly. Hence Mrs Harris' lectures on fallen women.
She nods. "No one employs a domestic maid of doubtful reputation with an illegitimate child." A tear slides down Eleanor's cheek, very slowly. "So, now you know the story. Her father is a nasty, upper-class bastard, who broke my heart, stole my honour and my life. But, strangely enough, I can't hate him. He gave me the best thing that has ever happened to me --- my little angel."
I try to hug my childhood friend, but Eleanor backs away. "You'd better get back to the big mansion with the white marble columns and the expensive library."
I nod slowly. "Yes, I'd better get going." I look around the dismal room. "Will you be alright?"
She smiles beneath her tears. "Don't worry. Thank you for coming."
"You're welcome," I reply. With a trembling hand, I open the door, step out and close the door behind me.
I lean against the wall and take a few deep breaths. Poor Eleanor! No wonder Mrs Harris never talks about her any more.
Just as I recover from the shock of finding my old friend in such a situation, a door opens, and another prostitute steps out into the corridor. I can't bring myself to walk past her to reach the stairs, so I hide in the shadows, determined to wait until she's gone.
She is no older than sixteen. Her golden hair curls down to her waist, and she's wearing a very expensive dark blue silk dress and corset, one that is so luxurious that I would never have expected it in a place like this. What scares me is not her age or clothing, but the scared rabbit look in her eyes.
The Madame appears and addresses her. "Was everything to your client's liking? You didn't make a scene, did you?" she asks sharply.
The girl's blue eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head and looks even more frightened than before.
The Madame extends her hand.
The girl reaches into her corset and produces some pound notes.
My eyes widen. Twenty pounds? I haven't seen that much money in one place ever.
"The charge is twenty-five," the Madame chides her sharply.
With a resigning glance, the girl gives her the remaining five pounds. Her shoulders are trembling with violent sobs.
"Stop whining," the Madame says coldly, "You should be happy that your virginity was worth twenty-five pounds! Lots of girls get less than that."
I feel sick.
The girl is crying harder. The Madame looks around carefully, making sure no one can see her, then smoothes her hair and squeezes her hand compassionately. "Was it that bad?" she asks in a low voice.
The girl replies with another sob.
The Madame gives her a handkerchief. "Blow your nose and wash your face. He won't bother you again. It's a particular fantasy he's after. But not everyone's like him. We have quite a lot of very charming gentlemen here, you'll find out when you've been here for a while, Jo..."
"Don't call me that!" the girl cuts her off. "That's not my name! It's what he used to call me!"
The Madame shrugs. "For twenty-five pounds, he can call you anything he likes, for all I care!" She pockets the money. "Things will get better, trust me. Now make yourself presentable, I have another client interested in meeting you at seven."
Oh God. I have only one wish at this moment, I want to leave this place and never come back. I'm determined to talk to the Judge at the next opportunity, to speak to him on Eleanor's behalf… to get her and the child out of here. But maybe I'm overestimating my influence on my master. Will he even listen to me? Or will he laugh in my face?
These are my thoughts as I practically fly down the stairs towards the door. I reach for the handle to get out of here when I suddenly freeze.
A man's dark laughter behind me is so familiar that it makes my blood run cold.
I turn around and my world falls apart – Judge Turpin is standing at the foot of the stairs with the procuress.
I try to escape, but it's too late, he has noticed me. Oh, what I'd give to be invisible again now!
He nods at me in greeting. "What a pleasant surprise," he drawls.
I cast my eyes down. "Sir." It is a nasty feeling to know for certain that I haven't been special, after all. I have just been a silly servant girl he toyed with. Looks like he prefers professional entertainment now. I want to cry, but I won't let him have that kind of satisfaction.
"One of your servants, Your Honour?" the Madame asks incredulously.
"Indeed," he replies, and inquires what I'm doing here.
"I could ask you the same question," I burst out, realizing that I have no right to ask at the very same moment.
"Insolent girl," the Madame hisses, but the Judge just laughs.
"Ah, the privilege of youth," he says with a smile. "Of course you are aware that you are in no position to ask such a question."
I avoid looking at him. "Yes, sir."
I expect him to chide me, but he doesn't. He walks up to me and grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes are ablaze with the same fire I saw there two days ago, but there's something else I haven't noticed before – fury. His voice is low, but intense, as he speaks. "However, allow me to satisfy your curiosity." He shoves me away and turns to the Madame. "Do you happen to have an empty room where I can talk to my servant in private?"
I stare at him. This isn't happening.
But the Madame hands him a key. "You amaze me, Your Honour," she says with an unreadable expression. "Always happy to oblige."
He accepts the key and gestures at me to follow him. Then he remembers to turn around to the Madame at the very last moment: "Where is that room, Madame?"
"Second floor, sixth door on the left," she tells him. "Take all the time you need."

*

He closes the door behind us, and – my heartbeat stops – locks it.
The room isn't quite as shabby as Eleanor's, the furniture is newer, the carpets are fluffy… but there can be no doubt that this is still a brothel. And it is extremely inappropriate for me to be here, locked into a room, alone with a man.
I'm too scared to ask any questions, so I just wait for him to speak.
For a long moment, he just looks at me, starts walking around me in circles. He knows it makes me nervous, that's why he keeps it up.
When he still doesn't talk, I decide to break the silence. "So this is how the respectable Judge Turpin spends his free time," I say sarcastically. "No wonder you were too busy to see me in the library."
"Is that what you're thinking?" he asks coldly.
I cross my arms in front of my chest. "Well… yeah."
His eyes sparkle dangerously. A deep crimson spreads over his face. "Do you really believe I would ever touch one of the Madame's filthy whores who have received five or ten other men before me on the same day?!" He looks so furious that I'm afraid he might hit me. I'm scared.
"I… I don't know!" I stumble.
"Nothing of what I am going to tell you now will leave these walls," he says strictly, "Is that understood?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"I can't hear you," he snaps.
"Yes, sir," I say, louder, but I can't keep my voice from trembling.
"I know why you are here," he begins.
I look at him doubtfully. "You know?"
"Yes." He walks behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. I stiffen at his touch, but my skin is tingling, and I realize how much I have longed for him. He speaks close to my ear. "You are here for the same reason that kept me from meeting you in the library…" He raises a hand to my neck, caressing my skin. "Have you misssed me?" he asks casually. He kisses my ear.
I mean to say no. I really do. I'll just say no and walk out on him. He kisses my neck.
"A little," I say with a small smile.
"Just a little? I'm disappointed to hear that," he says, pouting.
"Why couldn't you come to the library?" I ask, trying to ignore that one of his arms closes around my waist, pulling me against him, while kisses are raining down my neck and shoulder.
He chuckles against my neck. "You're a persistent little creature, aren't you? All right, I'll tell you." He reaches into my hair and pulls loose the needles that hold the bun together at the back of my head. My hair comes down. "I had an appointment with an elderly sollicitor the day before yesterday, someone I have been loosely acquainted with for a very long time. He happens to frequent this…" His eyes dart around the room. "… establishment here. He told me that he came across a young prostitute he remembered from earlier visits to my house, when she was still a girl. Eleanor Harris."
I shiver at the thought of my friend. My heartbeat quickens. "Eleanor."
"I had no idea what happened to her after she left my household," the Judge continues, caressing my shoulders and arms. "So I made some inquiries. Imagine my surprise, and my shock, at finding his observations true. Mrs Harris never said a word to me, of course. But to think that I was the one who recommended her daughter to her master, the very master who abused her trust and dishonoured her --- I suppose that explains her cool resentment of my person." His voice is filled with sadness, so much grief that I turn around and pull him into a tight embrace. We stand there for a long moment, just feeling each other's warmth. He swallows hard before he continues. "So I finally came here to talk to the procuress on behalf of Eleanor. I wanted to inquire her price for letting the girl return to my house."
I look up at him in disbelief. "Did you really?"
"It's the least I can do," he says, running his hands through my hair. "It will take me a while to obtain the sum she demanded, but I am willing to try to aid Mrs Harris' family. Just promise me you won't tell her. I don't mean to get her hopes up."
I nod and smile at him warmly. "Of course. I promise." I caress his cheek softly. "Mrs Harris was so wrong about you," I say thoughtfully. "And so was I. I'm so sorry!"
He looks into my eyes. "Are we friends again?"
I shake my head. "I don't want to be friends with you."
Before I know what I'm doing, I close my arms around his neck and bring his lips down on mine. I'm kissing him, very gently and reluctantly at first, brushing my lips against his, then slowly parting my lips, his tongue is darting into my mouth, exploring me, playing with me. For the first time on this horrible afternoon, I feel whole.
I don't want to break the kiss, not ever, but I finally have to gasp for breath.
"We have the room for an hour," the Judge says casually, leading me towards the bed.
He moves forward for another kiss. I let it happen. I also let him pull me into an embrace, although I know it is dangerous and stupid of me, but the thought of parting with him one minute before I absolutely have to is unbearable.
I feel nauseous, so I let him lay me down on the bed. I feel flushed with fever, I don't prevent him from unbuttoning my dress. I shiver briefly with indignation as he reaches between my legs without warning, but I have already succumbed to him in my mind, I can't even protest. He teases me, through the fabric of my undergarments first, until I'm wet and needy, quivering and writhing beneath him, then shoves them down my legs unceremoniously. His fingertips grazing my folds make it hard to breathe. I feel as helpless and exposed as I did in the library, only that no one will walk in on us now. I can tell from his half-closed eyes and ragged breaths that he, too, is aching. I'm not sure what makes me do it, but I catch his wrist and gently force him away. "Wait," I gasp in sudden panic. "We have to talk about something first."
"I know." He sighs and rises to sit at the edge of the bed. He pulls me down to sit beside him.
It is hard for me to tell him, but I have to. "I can't get you out of my mind," I admit, embarrassed. "I mean… I dream of you, all day, all night, I miss you when you're at court, I wrap myself in your sheets in unguarded, weak moments, but…" I take a deep breath. I want to tell him that whatever we had has to stop now. That I'm his servant and he's my master, that I don't intend to end up in a whorehouse like poor Eleanor. But my mouth won't speak.
Still, the Judge understands me. He takes my hands in his and kisses them affectionately. "I want you. I won't deny it. I will do anything in my power to seduce you," he says softly, and I feel the heat rise into my face at his words. "I will wait for you in the library. I will whisper naughty things into your ear whenever I have the chance. I will touch you and make you mad with desire every time I get to be alone with you." He kisses my hand again, then meets my gaze. "But I will respect your boundaries. Rely upon my honour that yours will run no risk."
I know it's a big mistake. I know I won't be able to restrain my passions for much longer when I'm around him. I trust the Judge, but can I trust myself? But I still kiss him, pulling him back down onto the bed with me.

*

I'm still dizzy when I get back to the house. I can still feel the taste of his kisses, and – although I blush to admit it – his hard erection pressed against my thigh. I still see his surprised expression before me, the moment I unbuttoned his fly and began to stroke him, very slowly, delicately, carefully, pushed him to the edge until he came, head thrown back, eyes closed. I try to think of work again and abandon my thoughts of the Judge.
To my surprise, everyone is gathered in the kitchen, but no one is working.
"You should have seen his face!" Mary exclaims, "It was priceless! I mean, he's still standing there explaining, and the other fellow is done already!"
The other maids giggle.
"You looking a man who have had-a da glory to shave-a da Pope!" Lucy imitates a dreadfully strong Italian accent, and again, they burst into laughter.
They notice I have entered the kitchen.
"Hey," Laura greets me, "We were just talking about St Dunstan's!"
Ah, yes. I remember the maids went to the marketplace today. "Anything unusual?" I ask casually. Judging from their giggles, it was quite an eventful little outing. I bet their day can't compare to mine though…
"There was this barber, you see," Lucy informs me, "His name's Todd, from Fleet Street. And he challenged that old fraud Pirelli! The fastest, smoothest shave in London. You won't believe it - he won! He's so fast with the knife, you can barely see him move! He has such skilled hands! And he was so handsome, although he had this dark and brooding look about him, that was a bit scary."
"Bet you'd still like to find out just how skilled his hands are in certain other situations," Mary says suggestively, and Lucy goes beet red.
"You should have been there," Laura insists.
I shake my head and smile. "No, I really shouldn't." I don't see what's supposed to be that sensational about a barber.
"Pirelli was fuming!" Lucy says. "Todd called his so-called 'miracle elixir'… what was it?"
"Piss with ink," Laura and Mary say in harmony, reducing the whole group to giggles once more.
"He'll make it big," Lucy says thoughtfully. "After his performance, London's gentlemen will all want him to shave them."
"The Judge could use a shave too," Mary interjects, "Awful lot of stubble. And have you seen the claws he calls fingernails?"
I shrug. "I haven't noticed."
"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Mary says, just a little annoyed. "You never take notice of men at all. But where have you been all day? To the park, feeding pigeons?"
I look at her challengingly. "To a brothel in Whitechapel, where I ended up in bed with a gorgeous man with extremely skilled hands who made me climax three times in a row."
Mary stares at me. Her eyes narrow. "Fine, then, don't tell me!" she snaps and walks away.

TBC…