The Revolutionary Mistress

Barmaid Mariette hates that she’s had to resort to giving favors to men for a few extra francs, but everyone is scrambling for money with the revolution boiling out of control. Even so, Mariette enjoys her illicit activities—particularly when she meets Rene, a caring, handsome patron whom she desires even more than his coin.

But Mariette has also caught the eye of a revolutionary who makes her share his bed and one of his missions. A mission that plunges Mariette deeper into the revolution when she’s tasked with seducing a rich lord and Rene at the same time…

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

When the gentleman left, Mariette felt exhausted. She never thought that as a barmaid, she would have to resort to giving favors in the back room for an extra franc or two. Unfortunately, with a revolution boiling and nearly out of control, she had little choice when it came to keeping the roof over her head. Everyone was scampering for a franc. Everyone was desperate. She was nothing special.

Mariette used her palms to push her skirts back down, and then held up a tarnished spoon to check her reflection and fix her hair. The sausage curls had fallen and frizzed, and the paint on her lips smeared onto her cheeks. “This is shameful.” With her thumb, she cleaned her face then tried to pin her hair back so it didn’t look so disgraceful.

Silence filled the front of the house. Not many patrons came to Le Fleur anymore, not since the organized mobs began to form. Sometimes, the crowds would filter in to enjoy a drink together, but it wasn’t often, as they had better things to do, plans to carry out. A revolution to empower.

Mariette wanted little to do with it. She worried more about keeping a roof over her head than if the king or queen stayed in power or not. She worried about where she would get her next meal, or if there would even be a tavern for her to work at tomorrow. It kept her up at night, made the circles under her eyes darker. Made her thinner and more delicate.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the permanent haze of cigarette smoke that filled the room. The patron that she had just serviced ordered her a drink on the house, tipping his head in her direction. “For you, mademoiselle.”

Mariette smiled prettily, trying her best not to let it falter. Usually, she would decline such a gesture, but this time, she wanted something to wash the taste of him from her mouth. “Merci.” With a tilt of her head, the glass was emptied. Whiskey. It burned down her throat, erasing the musky taste.

The tender of the bar did not look twice at Mariette. His name was Jean, and he was aged almost twice over than she. Whatever she had decided to do to earn her keep, Jean ignored it politely. He knew it wasn’t his place to comment, seeing as he sold illegal goods, like poppy seeds, from the back door. Unlike Mariette, Jean had other mouths to feed.

“Monseiur. We will be closing up soon.” It was a polite way of telling the other man that it was time for him to leave. Relief washed over Mariette. She already felt dirtied enough, but to stand in front of the one she had to please while he drank ale and leered at her was uncomfortable.

The man took the cue, grabbed his tricornered hat and turned to exit the establishment.

Mariette exhaled. Maybe she had been holding her breath the whole time; she didn’t know. “Are we closing up?”

“Yes, I think that will be it for the night.”

“Merci, Jean.” She went back into the cloakroom to find her hand-me-down coat. In some places, it was missing patches of fur, and up the front, buttons hanged from threads. Slipping it over her arms and shoulders, Mariette pulled the two sides to the middle and with her hands, she bunched them together at her neck. “Have a good night!”

“Be safe, mon amie.”

Mariette pushed the doors open and the mixed smells of the streets of Paris overwhelmed her. Piss and trash, women’s cheap perfume and the sweat of men, it all lingered in the air, and on the clothes, and in her hair. When she arrived at her flat, she went straight through the modest and sparsely furnished living room to the bathroom, where her favorite asset awaited her: the porcelain bathing tub. It would take some work to draw the water and prepare it for a washing, but Mariette wanted to scrub the stain of Paris off herself as soon as possible.

After lugging pails of water from the pump outside, she filled the basin with pails of nearly scalding-hot water. The steam rose into the air, filling the room with humidity. She dropped some crushed, dried rose petals into the water, and soon after, a sweet floral sent mixed in with the humidity.

Shrugging off her apron and dress, Mariette dipped her legs into the bathwater, sucking air through her teeth at the feel of the warmth on her skin. Her feet hurt from working all day, not to mention the other parts of her. Just as she sank down, water blanketing her shoulders and neck, the door opened.