Page 2 of Gone with the Rake

Lydia quickened her pace, crossing the hall to the winding staircase.

Lydia had meticulously memorized the hell’s layout, cross-referencing maps drawn by three different regular patrons. She needed absolute certainty about the location of the owner’s office. While each map contained inconsistencies, they agreed on one crucial detail—the path to the owner’s office led through the private chambers.

But that was where all maps stopped. From the men’s words, she knew a guard would be in front of the nook leading to the owner’s wing. Other than that, she had no idea what to expect.

Lydia paused at the second landing, right in front of the crimson velvet curtains. She stepped forward when a woman with a softly defined figure in a white wig and a garishly painted face appeared from behind the curtains. A harlot.

“How may I help you?” she breathed.

Drawing herself up to her full borrowed height, Lydia cleared her throat and affected her best impression of a low baritone, adding some drunken slur. “I need an entry to private chambers.”

The woman’s kohl-rimmed eyes swept over Lydia’s short form from top to bottom, causing sweat beads to appear on her forehead, before she inclined her head. “Follow me.”

Lydia slowly let out a breath. Thank God for poor lighting.

“Is this your first time here?” the woman called over her shoulder as she led Lydia down a maze-like corridor.

Lydia tried to count the steps to memorize the path, but it was difficult to do in complete darkness. Her voice trembled slightly as she answered, “Y-yes. Is it that obvious?”

“I recognize many who come through here.” The woman’s shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “For your first time, would you like the observing chambers? Or are you interested in participating?”

Participating? In all her meticulous planning, she hadn’t even considered the possibility of being thrust into a private chamber where a scantily clad woman would be waiting, expecting to perform her duties on what she believed to be a gentleman. Lydia pressed her lips together to suppress a hysterical laugh that threatened to bubble up. “O-observing chambers, please,” she muttered when the woman paused and turned toward her in silent question.

“Very well.” The harlot produced a key and unlocked a creaky, wooden door to a cramped, dark chamber. The tiny space was dominated by a single chair and tiny table, a pristine cloth and pitcher of water on top. “Somebody will be there shortly, do not despair,” she added with a knowing wink.

As the door behind her closed, Lydia turned slowly in the confines of the tiny room. With her back pressed against the rough wall, her outstretched fingertips could easily brush the opposite side. Good thing Lydia wasn’t scared of tight places.

The wall before her was punctured with several peepholes. She crept closer, eye pressed to one of the openings. Through the darkness, she could make out the shadowy silhouette of a bed in the adjacent room.

Ah. Observing chambers. It made sense now. People came here to observe the coupling going on in another room without disturbing the love birds. How curious.

Curious that anyone would be interested in such an activity. Not curious in a way that Lydia was tempted to actually experience this… No, she was not curious about that at all. She shook her head to dispel the image that strangely made her tingly.

Her traitorous mind conjured a scene—a woman’s hands exploring, caressing a strapping young man, peeling away his clothing to reveal sun-kissed skin, corded muscles bunching beneath her touch. Heat crept up Lydia’s neck, her skin growing damp under the stifling layers of her disguise.

And then the woman in the image transformed from a random, painted harlot into herself, and a man from a random, strapping young lad to him—the only man who’d ever claimed her heart. Lydia shook off the thoughts from her mind. Focus, Lydia! You’re not here to fantasize about him.

The door creaked open at that precise moment, and Lydia muttered a thanks to the universe for providing a distraction and bringing her back into reality. The light of the candle illuminated the ghostly white skin of a woman who entered the room. She was as scantily clad as other harlots in this establishment, except that her dress was already disheveled, and her wig lay askew.

Following her steps was a middle-aged, balding gentleman with a pouch-like stomach. Gray, curly hairs peeked from beneath the open V of his shirt.

Lydia averted her eyes, her previous tingly feeling quickly leaving her body. Good thing, too, as she was not here to observe the salacious tryst. She was there on a mission.

Turning on her heel, she opened the door and squinted into the dark corridor.

It was empty. Or at least, it appeared to be empty.

Moans and heavy breathing penetrated the thin walls from the adjacent room, forcing Lydia to clap her palms over her ears. She needed to get out of this rotten place as soon as possible. Because even though she was quite repulsed by the idea of what was going on in the other room, her traitorous body responded favorably to the primal sounds. She felt quite hot and flustered, and this was the last thing she needed to feel at the moment.

So she slowly stepped out of the tiny room and silently made her way down the dark corridor, which was filled with twists and turns. She ran her finger against the wall so as not to miss a turn.

Faint voices came from somewhere down the corridor, growing louder with her every step.

A sharp sound pierced the air, and Lydia plastered her back against the wall. There it came again.

Was it a… giggle?

Straining her ears, she finally recognized the sounds to be female chatter and laughter. Probably the working ladies tittle-tattling in the absence of customers.