Chapter One Madame looked right and left to check the hallway was empty, then stooped and pressed her eye to the brass key hole of the Rose Room. Peeping wasn't altogether wrong, she reasoned. The lady proprietress of a gentleman's club must be well informed, and certain information could only be learned in secret. Granted, the awkward bending was an affront to one's dignity and a strain on the knees. But all in all, spying through keyholes had served her well over the years and had saved more than one girl from a sticky end. Mais oui, she thought, those girls trust me with their lives. We'll have no catastrophes in my house. Quelle horreur and all that. Madame was working on her French. She suppressed a sigh of sympathy for herself. Despite many years at the helm, the responsibilities of management remained a heavy burden. At La Maison des Fleurs, they walked a very fine line. It was important to appeal to a better class of chap. The notion that her girls had a certain rare quality added to their price. But you don't want to turn too many men away either, she mused. Because we're not here for the good of our health, are we? And time waits for no one, as they say. On that, she and the girls were agreed. Madame, now well into her fifth decade, was acquainted with the effects of time on one's person. Madame focused her attention on the scene beyond the keyhole, being careful to stay silent. The man had paid good money for a private audience with Violet Kelly; better let him believe it was what he'd got. She smiled in satisfaction at what she witnessed. Just as she'd hoped, Violet had taken charge of the situation and now the customer was being led, quite as if by Nature herself, through a practised set of moves. God, she was good. Madame felt her knees beginning to seize. She straightened up in the doorway, joints protesting loudly as she unfolded her long frame. You can quit the melodramatics, she told her knees. Spry as a goat for fifty five years, yet now you decide to give up? I don't think so. Not when the Marigold Room needs stripping and there's a shortage of champagne at the bar. Curiosity satisfied, Madame set off down the carpeted hallway, chin in the air, to find her niece Bunny. There were half a dozen men in the downstairs parlour. Special guests, given rare early afternoon appointments. At this very moment they were probably reaching into their pockets to retrieve their wallets. Saints alive, it would be rude not to help them. She would return to Violet Kelly in half an hour. Or the full hour, Madame amended, in case Violet should decide to show off the full array of her skills. Madame descended the back stairs slowly, in deference to her creaking knees. She deigned to grasp the banister to steady herself. Violet Kelly was quite unlike any girl she'd encountered. Prepare yourselves for a convent blonde, Madame had told the men while drumming up interest for Violet's debut earlier that year. Legs up to her armpits and the 'touch me not' look of an English heiress. You've never seen anything like it, not in Paddington, not in Parramatta, not even in Paris! In the men's murmurs, Madame heard the clinking of coins. The strategy worked. Now, some months later and well into the winter of 1930, Madame had noticed a pleasing surge in the takings of the house. Violet Kelly was quite simply raking it in. Did Violet hear the chatter? It was hard to say. Surely the girl only had to glance in the gilt edged hallway mirror to see she'd been showered with natural gifts. Those legs, the Folies Bergère smile. Any girl would be happy to be half so well endowed. The thing is, Madame thought, Violet Kelly's got gifts the mirror doesn't reveal: she's as shrewd as a brown snake. Lord knows, if I was making a speech about it--though there's scant call for speeches in our trade, except at a graveside, more's the pity--I'd say that in the short time she's been here, she's picked up a bank manager's tact, a pirate's cunning and an alley cat's knack for landing on her feet. Madame paused on the landing, leaning on the banister to catch her breath, and smiled to herself. Because right now Violet Kelly wasn't on her feet at all, was she? She was underneath a fat Dutch sea captain who reeked of ale and herring. But he posi tively rattled with unspent wages. That girl would go far. The thump of boots on the stairs broke her reverie. Albert-- butcher's boy, occasional pleasure house strong arm and Violet's best friend from their orphanage days--thrust his head around the corner of the stairwell. 'Alright up there?' 'Albert, love, what are you doing here at this time of day?' Madame straightened. 'Come to see Violet, but she's busy. There's a man at the front door for you. I've left him in the hallway. And there's a new girl waiting in your office. Calls herself Mrs Brown. Top lip stiff as the clasp on a Scotsman's purse.' 'Good Lord. Alright.' Deserted or divorced, Madame had seen Mrs Brown's type before: fallen on hard times, a kid or two tucked away with an aunt or sister. Believed herself too dignified for their game but wanted the cash. It never worked out, and Mrs Brown would be sent away. 'Will you stay for tea?' Albert shook his thick mop of brown hair. 'Nah, have to push off. I'll stop by the kitchen and see Charlie, then take myself out the back way.' 'Right you are.' I'll deal with the customer in the hallway first, thought Madame. With any luck, Mrs Brown will have come to her senses and fled to the Samaritans for a food parcel by the time I return. But when she turned into the hallway in search of the customer, she gasped in surprise at the familiar face that greeted her instead. He was older now, the stern lines around his mouth and chin set more firmly into the flesh, yet his expression was as cool as ever. Xiao Zhu spoke quickly, before she could recover herself suffi ciently to demand an explanation for his unexpected appearance. 'Ah, good. You're here.' He raked his gaze over the expensive carpet, the fine glasswork of the chandelier. 'I hardly recognise the place . . . or you.' Now she felt his gaze travel her body, taking in her garnet necklace and the fine lace trim of her dress. 'I believe they call you Madame now.' He turned away abruptly, ending any opportunity she might have seized to question him. He opened the front door and nodded to someone waiting in the street. Madame peered over his shoulder. Two men were bundling a cloaked figure from the back of a sleek black saloon car parked on the street in front of the house. She saw a flash of scarlet embroid ered slippers as the figure stumbled up the steps towards them. Xiao pulled the cloaked figure into the hallway and closed the front door. The hood of her cloak fell away and Madame found herself staring at a beautiful young girl: an almond eyed Celestial, whose face was etched with fear. Madame steadied herself against the wall and opened her mouth to speak, but instead a ragged cough escaped her lungs. 'Tsk. You should see a doctor about that,' said Xiao impas sively. 'Health is wealth. And one's riches must be protected.' He waved a hand, lazily describing an arc that took in her empire and every one of its souls. 'Wouldn't you agree?' One's riches. The threat was made so casually. Xiao hadn't lost his knack for making an ever-so-sharp point. She eyed the girl, who cringed and brought her hands to her face as if anticipating a blow. 'I don't know what this is, Xiao, but I forbid cruelty. You know that.' 'You ask what I know?' He blinked slowly and Madame felt a surge of terror. 'I'll tell you,' he continued. 'I know that it is unwise to refuse me. Let's go.' Excerpted from Violet Kelly and the Jade Owl by Fiona Britton All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
