Deed to Damnation

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

When Ireland woke the morning after the card game, she was alone. Henry was gone and her hands had been untied sometime during the night. She had been so tired she hadn't felt it at all. The corset and the bawdy dress lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and the sun was streaming through the dusty windows telling her it was late morning.
Gathering the plush, red comforter around her nude body, she moved towards the window and stared down into the bustling street. It was Sunday and the townspeople had probably just gotten out of church. She saw them all dressed in their finest clothes, the women's fanciest bonnets warding off the glaring summer sun.
Normally, she would have been among them. Instead, she was up here, naked and ravaged, her virtue just a memory now. She would never be stepping foot in the Lord's house again. Henry would never allow it and if she was completely honest with herself, she didn't belong there anymore for lots of reasons.
She turned from the image of what once was and noticed a wooden tray on the dressing table offering a breakfast of strong coffee, warm corn muffins and jam. Despite her somber mood, her stomach growled hungrily and she found herself wolfing down the meal. Afterwards, she discovered the small basin in the washroom had been filled with fresh water so she could clean up. What she really desired was a long soak in her tub but she was happy to have these small offerings of comfort.
She washed her face and body as thoroughly as she could and brushed her hair and teeth. But she soon discovered there was something missing from her morning routine. Fresh clothing. She stared at last night's discarded dress with disdain. The memory of what Delarue had done to her came flooding back. He had taken control of her and her senses even though she had tried to resist, closing her mind from the feel of his tongue exploring her ravenously. But in the end, her body betrayed her and she abandoned herself to it and him. Afterwards, he had called her his whore. It made her absolutely livid.
Pulling the top sheet from the bed, she wrapped herself in it and moved towards the door, grabbing the knob and turning it. It was locked but no sooner had it rattled than it was thrown open, startling her. It was one of the gang. Ireland hugged the light coverlet tighter to her body and took a step back.
The man's eyes flicked over her briefly before tossing the garments he was holding at her.
"Get dressed. Mr. Delarue left me with instructions for you." He stated and shut the door again.
She stared down at the rumpled pile of clothing and realized they were men's clothes. Picking up the coarse, gray breeches and simple cotton shirt, she grimaced. It wasn't proper for a lady to wear breeches. That's what she had been taught anyway but it seemed that life was teaching quite different lessons as of late.
Pulling the baggy pants up her legs, she cinched them tight with the drawstring and pulled the clean but worn shirt over her head. The outfit draped her like a horse blanket , hiding her womanly curves beneath the excess fabric. Did he pick this out? He was so unpredictable. One minute he had her dressed like a harlot and the next, a tattered looking farm boy. The door flew open and the same man was there holding a pair of worn looking ankle boots.
"Let's go." He grumbled. "You have a busy day ahead of you."
He left her to lace up the footwear, that was a bit too large and she headed downstairs. Her babysitter was waiting at the bottom with a bucket and a mop. A pile of clean rags sat on one of the sticky tabletops.
'Where is Mr. Delarue?" She asked, her eyes sweeping the filthy room.
"Gone for the day," He answered dryly. "You're to clean this place and make it look nice for him."
What a disaster, she thought angrily. This wasn't a job for one person. It had been hard enough when she had maintained it when it was tidy. This was deplorable and would certainly take more than one day.
"I have to do this alone?" She quipped, grabbing the mop in disgust.
"I'm to take out the broken furniture and that's it." He informed her.
"And when will your boss be back?" She asked.
She was surprised when he answered.
"No telling when." He grumbled. "My job is to look after you until he does. So, that's enough yapping. Get to work."
Despite the daunting task ahead of her, Ireland appreciated the quiet of the empty building. Her keeper's name was Eddy. He told her after she kept calling him 'hey you', whenever she needed his height or his strength to move something heavy or stock the highest bar shelves with liquor. There wasn't a lot of booze left but there were a couple of untouched bottles of expensive whiskey and a few more of cheaper gin. At least there could be some kind of profit.
By the time the ladies of the inn began to stir in the late afternoon, Ireland was exhausted and dirty. The broken glass had been swept up along with cigar butts and dried globs of mud. She had gotten on her hands and knees and scrubbed the floor of the spilled liquor and tobacco spit. Eddy had made sure she got breaks as per Henry's orders and she was given a hot lunch although the soup was devoid of flavor.
She had just plopped down on a parlor chair when Missy came and sat down beside her.
"Miss Ireland, you look worse for wear." She said gently. "The place looks a whole lot better though. Mr. Delarue will be pleased."
The place did look much better, Ireland had to admit. But it was a far cry from her inn. It looked like a saloon now. There were no lace tablecloths with fine linen napkins and dainty porcelain teacups waiting for the traveling guests anymore. In their place were small clay pots to be used for ashes or tobacco spittoons. Maybe it would deter the slobs from using the floor for such things.
"How did it go with you and him last night?" Missy asked cautiously. "You looked really pretty sitting next to him. Everyone said so after you went upstairs."
Ireland felt her cheeks burning. So they were talking about her now? She had played the game Missy told her to and here she was now cleaning up after it. It was quite a conundrum. Which was the worse of two evils? Playing Delarue's tramp or being his maid? Both were equally as difficult but one was hard on her body and the other was hard on her morality. Who was she kidding? They were both taxing on her body.
"I tell you what, Miss Ireland. I'm gonna make sure your soaking tub is full for you." Missy offered warmly. "You'll sleep better with a warm bath and some clean night clothes."
"I'm sure he's going to want me down here." Ireland responded.
"Mr. Delarue won't be back tonight. He told me very early this morning before the sun came up. He's only gonna want you down her for the poker games and only if he's here. He told me that too." Missy explained.
"And I'm just supposed to sit in my room and wait for him to show up?" Ireland barked.
Missy didn't react to her raised voice. Instead, she grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chair. Eddy approached immediately but the petite blonde kept him at bay with her soft, southern drawl and a feathery touch to the large man's chest.
"Don't you worry, Eddy. I'm well aware Henry put her in your care but I'm just having some woman talk and getting her room ready. You're more than welcome to do it but I don't think Mr. Delarue is gonna take too kindly to you helping her with her bath."
Eddy looked both flustered and annoyed at the same time.
"Fine." He huffed. "But she ain't allowed downstairs when the men come for the billiards but you make damn sure your ass is."
Missy gave him a wink.
"Of course." She purred, pulling Ireland towards the stairs. "Don't you fret that."
Billiards? There was no billiard table at the inn and Ireland told her as much. Missy giggled, a pink blush rising to her cheeks.
"Billiards is men paying to go balls deep in holes, if you catch my meaning."
It took a moment but she understood and blushed profusely. There would be no poker but the women would be working every night with or without Delarue's presence.
"You can rest easy tonight, Miss Ireland. No one's gonna bother with ya'. Eddy's gonna bring you dinner too." Missy exclaimed, leading her to her room. "Won't that be nice?"
It would be incredibly nice, Ireland thought wearily. The last four days had chewed her up and spit her out like the tobacco leavings she had scrubbed from the parlor floor all afternoon. Yes, rest would be wonderful and she would finally be sleeping alone.
Sometime during the day, the bed had been made and the pillows fluffed for her. Missy kept her promise and had big Eddy lug up buckets of hot water for the tub and put a few drops of scented oils in it. It made the entire bedroom heady with an aroma Ireland had never smelled before.
"Mr. Delarue brought this for us girls a while back." Missy informed her, dabbing her wrists with the potion. "He says it came all the way from the orient."
Ireland suddenly remembered what James had told her when she was chained in the barn. He had told her Henry treated the whores better than he treated her and so far it was turning out to be true. At least she wouldn't be hounded by him and be forced to feel things she didn't want to. She shivered at the memory of his tongue breaking her down and the way her sex had put forth a gush of liquid that had frightened and embarrassed her horribly. But he didn't seem to mind at all. He had stayed down there and drank her as if he had a terrible thirst.
"Miss Ireland? Are you okay?"
It was Missy talking but she hadn't heard a word.
"I'm just tired." She half lied.
"Well then I'll leave you be and let you have time to yourself. Dinner will be outside your door." Missy said, fixing her hair in the mirror. "I gotta go get changed and ready for billiards and earn my keep. You make sure you stay up here and safe. If Mr. Delarue finds out you disobeyed, you'll be in the barn quicker than a jackrabbit on date night."
If the girl knew how anxious she was to get clean and curl up in the bright red comforter, she wouldn't have wasted her breath. As soon as she left, Ireland stripped off her work clothes and soaked in the tub till the water was almost cold. Afterwards she toweled off and wrapped herself in the familiar sheet she had on that morning and quietly opened the door to her room.
It was just as Missy said, her dinner was there on the silver tea tray she used to serve her guests on when she had the inn. Now it was for her, the smell of herbed chicken and potatoes making her belly grumble. Ireland had no idea who cooked this but it wasn't the same person who made the bland soup she had today. Next to the tray were some neatly folded clothes. They were boys clothes again but she didn't care. They were clean and she wouldn't have to wear them until tomorrow.
Before long, the plate was clean and no sooner as her head hit the pillow that she fell into a dreamless sleep.