The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series) Read online

  THE PRICE OF INNOCENCE

  BY

  VICKI HOPKINS

  The Price of Innocence

  Published by Holland Legacy Publishing

  ISBN: 978-0-9832959-3-8

  Copyright 2009 by Vicki Hopkins

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

  Work of Fiction

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Author’s Notes

  The Legacy Series

  Dedication

  To God, my faithful mentors, supportive friends, loving family, and departed English grandfather, whose name and lineage inspired me to leave a Holland legacy.

  Prologue

  Paris, France – 1878

  Suzette nervously watched Madame Laurent take one last assessment of her appearance before leading her up the grand staircase of the opulent Chabanais. Her hand brushed a stray curl from Suzette’s cheek and then arranged a few other strands strategically on her plump breasts spilling over her bodice. Unfortunately, it was too late to do anything about the red blotches creeping up her porcelain neck.

  “As I stated earlier, I’ve procured Lord Holland for this evening. You shall not be disappointed. He’s one of the more satisfying and kind patrons we have.” Madame Laurent grasped Suzette’s cold hands in firm reassurance, before announcing her final instructions.

  “I know you’re apprehensive, Suzette, but this is your job. I have done my best to provide for you. Do your best to satisfy him, in spite of your obvious fright. After all, this is a business. If my customers are not gratified, I will not be happy.” Madame Laurent released her hands and turned to ascend the stairs ahead of her employee. “Come along now. He’s waiting.”

  Suzette sighed, reluctant to follow the austere brothel mistress. She was dressed as a French queen and heading for the Louis XV Chambre to lose her virginity. Her legs could barely climb the red-carpeted path to hell. Her deflowering had arrived, and Suzette was terrified.

  As she laboriously placed one foot in front of the other, her mind drifted to the events that had cruelly driven her to this moment. Tears filled her eyes as Suzette painfully recalled the last day with her loving father. Everything had changed in her innocent life—everything.

  Chapter One

  “Papa, can I get you anything else?”

  Edgar saw his daughter glance warily across the table at his tired, wrinkled face. He lifted the last piece of bread to his mouth, chewed it slowly, and then swallowed. No doubt he looked pale and exhausted, and he noted the concern in her eyes.

  “Did you have a hard day?”

  “No more than usual, angel.”

  He dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and then smiled at his daughter. “Thank you for dinner. Very good, as usual. You never disappoint, Suzette.”

  “You’re welcome, Papa.”

  Suzette gloated over his kind approval. Each night, without fail, he thanked her for dinner. Edgar knew that she enjoyed doting over him whenever possible.

  Satisfied and full, he watched his daughter stand to her feet. Suzette removed the empty plates and dirty utensils. As she passed by his chair on the way to the kitchen, she bent down and gave him an affectionate peck on his cheek.

  “I’m glad you liked it. You should go and rest now. You look exhausted.”

  Edgar Rousseau exhaled a long, drawn-out sigh. His daughter had correctly sensed his weary state of mind and body. He felt drained after spending the entire day lecturing. His feet pounded, and his backed ached with every move.

  He had a solid vocation as a professor at the University of Paris, and for the most part, he enjoyed his job. However, his day had been filled with arguing students debating the New Republic. Traditions, family roots, and passionate views were deeply inbred in the student body, most of whom came from aristocratic and bourgeoisie families.

  Confrontation went against the grain of his good, mild-mannered nature. He had discovered that as he grew older, it had become harder to handle the daily stress of work. Unfortunately, retiring was impossible to consider. He had a daughter to marry off, and financial matters that needed to be settled.

  Suzette headed for the kitchen, and Edgar rose from the table, silently cursing his aching joints. He felt old and decrepit. His hair had turned noticeably gray over the past year, and he had gained a considerable amount of weight around his belly.

  He meandered over to his favorite overstuffed chair, flopped into the seat, and embarked on his usual after-dinner routine of reading the newspaper. The words blurred before his tired eyes, and his disordered mind refused to concentrate on the articles. He squinted at the paper for some time, and then lifted his gaze toward the kitchen.

  Edgar peered over the rims of his reading glasses to watch his petite, auburn-haired daughter performing her chores. A pang of nostalgia stabbed his heart. She had grown into the beautiful likeness of her mother. The resemblance was uncanny, and each time he considered their similarities, sadness swept over his soul. He couldn’t help but think of his dear, departed wife, Marie. When he did, grief clutched his heart. It had been twelve years since his wife’s death, yet the wounds were as fresh as the day she died.

  After the passing of his wife, Edgar had naturally become extremely close to his daughter. Though he had brought on a governess to care for Suzette during her young, tender years, he had dismissed the woman upon his daughter’s sixteenth birthday. Suzette insisted that she was more than happy to assume the responsibilities of running a household. Edgar’s modest salary forced him to agree.

  Suzette had done well in taking over the management of their residence. He had no doubt that she would make a splendid wife, mother, and caretaker one day. Although he believed his daughter deserved better, Edgar allowed her to cook and clean, because Suzette assured him that she enjoyed such tasks. He hoped that when she married, she would live comfortably enough to assign such menial jobs to the household staff instead.

  The newspaper no longer held his attention. He set it down and stood from his chair. His wobbly feet shuffled over to his daughter’s side. An odd sense of discomfort pressed heavily upon his chest. He needed rest.

  “I think I’ll retire early tonight, Suzette. Would you mind?” He placed his hand gently upon her shoulder.

  Suzette encouraged his decisi
on. “No, Papa, of course not. Go and rest. I’ll be fine.”

  Edgar smiled at his daughter, and with a tender kiss on her cheek, he bid her goodnight. As he slowly lumbered toward the fireplace, he briefly stopped to look at a picture of his wife on top of the mantel. Silently, he prayed that she would visit him in his dreams. He needed her comfort for his weary and lonely heart.

  A moment later, he retreated down the hall to his bedchamber. Edgar entered and then closed the door behind him, hoping to find respite and solace after a long day.

  * * *

  Suzette watched with concerned interest as her father retreat down the hallway to his bedchamber. After hearing the door close, she returned her attention to the pile of dirty dishes. She smiled thinking about his pause at the fireplace to look at her mother’s picture. His nightly ritual touched her heart.

  For years, Suzette hoped that his mourning would subside, and he would remarry. It was another unanswered prayer to add to her list. When her own grief subsided over the death of her mother, she fervently prayed for someone to fill the void. Eventually, as God’s silence grew harder to bear, she stopped asking and refused to hold onto silly hopes.

  Obviously, her father did not want to remarry, even though Suzette longed for a mother’s tender embrace and female wisdom. Now, at the age of eighteen, she ached for female companionship even more. She had no confidant to ask the many questions about womanhood that beset her mind.

  After finishing her chores, she removed her stained apron and hung it up on the back of the kitchen door. The quiet apartment gave her a chill. She walked past her father’s door, stopped, and heard the sound of snoring coming from the other side. Thankful that he had quickly fallen asleep, she smiled with relief and made her way to her room.

  She closed the door and walked to the window, parted the heavy curtains, and looked at the street below. Snow flurries danced about like white butterflies. The view sent goosebumps up her spine. It had been a long winter, and she was tired of the cold. She hoped this would be the last trickle of snow, because Springtime was just around the corner. It wouldn’t be long before new life bloomed from the barren earth. It was by far her favorite time of the year.

  Suzette pulled the curtains tightly shut to keep out the cold draft, and then walked over to her chest of drawers. A small wooden jewelry box, with a variety of compartments, sat upon a white-laced doily. She pulled out a little drawer at the bottom of the case and retrieved a folded piece of paper. A smile brightened her face. It was time for her nightly ritual.

  Suzette walked over to her bed, sat down, and then carefully unfolded the precious document. Lovingly, she lifted the ragged corners of the white parchment and read the words. Her fingers traced along each stroke of the quill until they reached the end of the message. When finished, she brought the note to her lips and kissed it reverently. Her eyes sparkled.

  Suzette folded the parchment carefully into the same creases, stood up, and walked back to her dresser. She returned the paper to its hiding place. Tomorrow night, she would resurrect it once again, read it, and kiss it goodnight, just as she had done for months on end since its arrival.

  Cold and tired, she yawned, and then undressed to slip into a beige, cotton nightgown. She turned out the oil lamp and climbed between the cool, crisp sheets. The cold made her shiver, and she pulled her wool blanket up to her chin.

  After closing her eyes, she faithfully mumbled her nightly prayers, blessing her father and those she loved. Within a few minutes, Suzette fell asleep and traveled to a world of troublesome dreams, where she found herself lost and filled with fear.

  The cold night passed, giving way to a rude morning awakening. A small sparrow chirped as it sat on Suzette’s windowsill. She rolled over, pulled the pillow over her head, and moaned as she tried to decide whether to shoo the bird away or get out of bed. Unable to fall back asleep, she sat up and swung her pillow to the side heaving a sigh of frustration.

  For a few moments, her dark and convoluted dreams haunted her, but she shrugged them off. She raised her arms above her head and stretched. The ice-cold wooden floor greeted her toes as she climbed out of bed.

  “Burr,” she moaned. Suzette grabbed her white robe off a nearby chair. She slipped it on, tied the sash, and then headed out her door down the hallway. She stood by the bath chamber and noticed an eerie silence permeate the air. Usually at this time of the morning, her father would be in the kitchen boiling water for his tea.

  Suzette glanced around. The only sound her ears detected came from the chirping bird perched on her windowsill. She walked down the dark hallway toward her father’s door and leaned her ear against the wooden barrier, expecting to hear his snore. The silence persisted.

  Suzette stepped back and with a light tap of her knuckles, knocked softly.

  “Papa? Papa?”

  When no answer came, she thought perchance her father had left early for work. She walked to the sitting room to see if his jacket had been removed. It remained exactly where he placed it the evening before, hanging on the coat rack by the front door.

  A sense of dread clutched her heart. She turned quickly around and ran across the wood floor toward her father’s room. Her bare feet slapped against the floorboards.

  “Papa? Are you in there? Can you hear me?”

  Suzette knocked feverishly, but no answer came. Her hand trembled when she reached for the metal doorknob. Slowly, she turned it to the right. When the latch released, Suzette pushed the door open just enough to poke her head around the edge and peek inside. The curtains remained closed, and the room was dark and quiet. Suzette stood motionless for a moment, while her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Finally, they rested upon her father’s figure in bed.

  “Papa, are you all right?”

  After the silence persisted, she pushed the door wide open and hesitantly walked to his bedside. Dressed in his overnight gown, he lay prostrate, with his face buried in the pillow. She looked at him and realized his chest neither rose nor lowered. Frantic over the lack of movement, she knelt down at his side and placed her hand upon his back.

  “Papa!” she cried. “Papa, wake up!”

  The touch of his cold, stiff body spoke of death, and Suzette quickly withdrew her hand in horror of the discovery. She sprang to her feet, stumbled backwards, and brought both hands to her mouth, to catch her horrified scream.

  Panicked, she fled out of the bedroom and ran down the hallway crying hysterically. Unsure what to do next, she paced back and forth in a distraught state of mind, until a moment of clarity returned. She exited the apartment and swiftly ran to her neighbor’s door. With both fists, Suzette pounded on the wooden barrier, begging for assistance in a desperate, sobbing voice.

  “I need help! Please, I need help!” Her hot tears burned her cheeks. A moment later, the door swung open.

  “My word, child! What is the matter?” Monsieur Pelletier looked astounded over Suzette’s frantic actions. His wife stood by his side wide-eyed.

  Suzette gasped. “It’s Papa. I can’t wake him up!” Sobs choked her throat. “I . . . I . . . I think he’s dead.”

  “Oh my God, Suzette!”

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and swiftly headed toward their apartment. His wife, Adele, followed closely behind, shaking her head.

  Suzette led them to her father’s bedroom and then stood by the door, terrified to enter. She watched Monsieur Pelletier approach the bed.

  “Edgar? Edgar!”

  Monsieur Pelletier received no response and bent down to touch the cold, rigid body. He nodded his head and turned to Suzette with an empathetic look.

  “He’s dead, I’m afraid.” Not wishing for her to gaze upon death, he took the wool blanket and pulled it up until it hid her father’s body underneath.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Suzette. He must have died in his sleep. God rest his soul.”

  He reverently made the sign of the cross, along with his wife, Adele. Suzette stood frozen in the doorway, unable t
o move. She sobbed loudly, and Madame Pelletier drew near to her side. Suzette buried her head in Adele’s shoulder and lost herself in grief.

  “There, there, Suzette,” Madame Pelletier offered in motherly comfort, while stroking her back. “It will be all right. Your father is in heaven now. Don’t despair.”

  Her words brought little comfort to Suzette’s heart. Anxiety tightened her chest, choking the air from her lungs, and she wondered if she would perish, too.

  Monsieur Pelletier placed his hand upon her shoulder. “It must have been a stroke or a heart attack. God is merciful. He probably died peacefully in his sleep. Your father was a good man.”

  “You should arrange for the body to be taken somewhere, William.” Adele’s eyes pleaded for her husband’s help.

  Suzette abruptly pulled from her embrace. “What do you mean take his body?”

  “Well, he can’t very well stay here, dear. We’ll help you arrange for a parlor to attend to his remains.” A look of panic spread across her face, and she inquired if Suzette had others to help her through this difficult time.

  “Do you have family here, dear? Is there anyone who can help you?”

  “No,” replied Suzette, her face sullen and shocked. “There is no one except my aunt and her husband, but they moved to the Americas years ago.”

  “Oh, I see, dear.” She turned to her husband and implored him to do something. “Go on, William. Get your hat and coat and take this child with you to the funeral parlor for arrangements. Please!”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He put his arm around Suzette and encouraged her to get dressed. Suzette stood paralyzed as she looked at the body of her father. Her audible sobbing had turned to silent tears that rolled freely down her flushed cheeks. Overcome with shock, Suzette realized she could no longer inhale any air. Black spots danced across her field of vision, and she floated into darkness and into the arms of Monsieur Pelletier standing nearby.