The Queen of Wolves
Author’s Notes:
English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/ grammar mistakes.
For several reasons, this chapter is rated +16. Check the TW and tags
This chapter and its main character has been a delight to work with! Marianna is an underrated character and she deserves some love and spotlight of her own.
Disclaimer: I am not, by any means, romantising something as complex as prostitution, but rather humanising the prostitutes and making the reader see that, despite their job, they are human beings and have lives and problems and goals of their own and shouldn’t be seen as less for their line of work.
Summary: Marianna’s backstory and impact on the story.
TW: This chapter contains violence towards women and violence in general, alongside with strong language and discussions of prostitution.
Word Count: 4.8k
Reading Time: 25 minutes.
May, 1798
The young Marianna Spencer danced away with her new husband, Richard Spencer, on their wedding day, laughing and smiling, not being able to take their hands off each other. The couple had met the past summer while he was visiting with Prince Ernst’s troops –he was a soldier at his service—and during that time, they had stopped at Devonshire to visit the duke. Young Marianna was at the edge of 20 years old, the perfect age to be married.
The couple have had rendezvous and had promised her all, and she in return gave him all… and with all, she meant her maidenhood. Soon, the moment they arose from that beautiful night, he proposed, promising to do things right the moment the wars ended. She accepted and waited for him.
He returned and was quite aloof and reserved, and Marianna took the hint that war was something traumatic and that it’d pass and her Richie would come back. But all changed the moment she announced she was pregnant. He stated he wished not to ‘bother her with his manly needs’ and that she should rest and carry safely the child. It burned her that he was unfaithful, but he claimed they were nothing but ‘a mere fuck for the night’ and that his one true love was her, not them. She believed it at first, and did her best to make sure he didn’t drink so often… but made it worse.
On her second term, he was always screaming and throwing things and having rage fits. Sometimes he even went back to his mistresses, and she cried all night, waiting for him. The pariah’s son soon visited her, bringing her food and listening to her. They had a strong and friendly connection, but Richard never believed her, proclaiming that she had been unfaithful to him in sinful vengeance. The pariah did his best to quell his rage, but had to forbid his soon to see Mrs. Spencer ever again.
When she tried to tell him that nothing wrong ever happened, and they just chat and ate her baking, he, in his drunkenness, beat her so, the morning she arose, her child was no longer there. It had to be taken from her, and she was inconsolable. Richard didn’t care, too busy with his new mistress as she buried her child, what could’ve been her son.
The moment she lost her pregnancy’s protection, he showed his true self: beatings every day, belittling her, making of her a fornicator and a liar, not to be trusted or being seen with. She tried her best to explain herself, but everyone in the village blamed her. She even tried to beseech the lord of the land, the duke, but said he had no time for such a sinful woman and that she should be thankful he didn’t divorce her or kicked them out.
Soon, he was fired from the job, and the blame, once more, was put on her. The beatings got more violent. The insults, more insulting than ever, and there was a time he had no remorse of slapping her in the plaza, in front of everybody to see. Only a little boy helped her by giving her a fresh apple.
Five years passed, and one day she came from confessing when she was dragged by her husband, who was clearly angry and drunk “Wife, to bed.”
She took a deep breath and stopped him gently but with determination “I must refuse you. I’ve yet to recover from the other day.”
He grunted “Lovemakin’ will do you good. Now, to bed.”
She disentangled herself from him and looked at him “I said no. I will happily massage your feet or nurse your drunkenness, but I shall not lay with you tonight.”
Instead of accepting the kind offer, he took one stick he used to tame the fire and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her out despite her complaining “Damn you, woman! I am your husband, and you will do as I say!” She cried for help, but no one came. They were too scared of her husband “I’ll teach ya what it means to refuse your husband, who has given you everythin’!”
Deep in the woods, he threw her and ripped off her dress from the back. He then placed the metal stick on her back, burning still and she screamed in sheer pain “Richard, please! It is just one night! I beg you!”
“Oh, you’ll be beggin’ for me, yes.” He was about to go when something stopped him.
Not something. Someone. A young man took her and covered her with his coat “Here, ma’am. Run along, run now!”
“I cannot, he is my husband!” She pleaded.
“Well, run now, for you are to be a widow. Run along.”
“What is his crime?” She demanded to know.
The man’s expression hardened “He raped and killed my sister and burned down the barn where he did it. Now run along. Take this,” he gave her a sack with plenty of money “it shall get you as far as it can. Now go, go! Ye’ll be accused otherwise of the crime. Run, Mrs. Spencer. Be free of this abomination.”
She nodded and started to run and it didn’t take her long to find a kind traveller who took her to London by the exchange of three coins and some bread and cheese.
Two days later, she landed on London, the famous capital. She took a deep breath and started to live off in the streets, always looking for a job. She started off as a baker, and made a good amount. Everything went on well.
Until everything went down again. She was happily chatting with a rather becoming man when the smoke was too strong, and when she went to check what happened… the kitchen was on fire. She didn’t know what to do. The shop was about to close. She just ran.
The next day she was fired. She had been punched, slapped, beaten. But the slap of Mrs. Capel hurt her even more than any of her late husband’s. She also made sure that no one would hire such a ‘sloppy, silly girl’.
And she was on the streets again. Begging for food, living with the rats and people of the night. Until one day, a woman with pretty clothes and a strong demeanour stopped to observe her “What is your name, girl?”
“M-Marianna, ma’am.”
“How old are you?”
She bit her lip “Five and twenty, ma’am.”
She got close and observed her up and down “Hmmm. Gorgeous blonde hair. Nice features, small and looks like you can do anything, right?”
“I—I learn fast, madam.”
She smiled “Come with me, child.” They went into her carriage and started talking “My name is madame Èponine, but you may call me Mrs. Shirley. And given by the ring you have and the fact that there is no man in sight to provide for you, you’ve ran away… or were widowed.”
“I am Marianna, and I am indeed a widow.”
She observed her further “You’re rather shy for a beautiful widow.”
She flushed “I am like any other village girl, madam.”
She tutted “I see. Another mediocre man who didn’t treat his wife like the treasure she is. Ah, they get worse by the day.”
Marianna sighed, trying not to cry. Madame Èponine lifted her chin “Chin up, stand straight, child, and wipe your tears. Do not let those nasty men and their goons see you weak. They eat the weak for breakfast.”
She nodded “May I… may I ask what do you want of me, madame?”
She smiled “I want to turn your anger, tears, and feminine wiles and beauty into power, so strong that no man will raise his hand at you. I want to teach you to tame the wolves trying to eat you… and make of you, their queen.”
She frowned “How can you do that?”
She laughed “My dear, first lesson: men are weak and dumb. Blinded by material things like political power and beauty. We women are stronger and wiser. Yes, Eve was made out of Adam’s ribcage, but because of her, we exist. Who, if not us, have brought their heirs into the world? Who, if not the queens, have made the job to persevere the dynasty while the men wiggled their swords and went on dumb crusades? Who, if not us, have kept the babes alive with our breast milk and motherly love? Yes, they may provide with money, but it’ll be gone afterwards. Loyalty, wisdom, self-worth and words are to never be revoked. Hell, even the Earth is a woman! We are kept alive by a living and breathing female deity who, by giving us trees and flowers and oxygen we are still standing. We are amazing, and they don’t realise it. Don’t tell them either, or they’ll have a meltdown and tell the Pope,” She winked, and Marianna laughed “being a woman in this world can be either a gift, or a curse. You choose what to make of your existence as one.”
The carriage stopped and Marianna, intrigued, came to see her new job… and gasped “This is a whorehouse!”
Madame Èponine replied calmly behind her “No, my dear. This is your kingdom. Come along, give me the benefit of the doubt at least.”
She sighed, fully knowing she had no other options and came in to see some young men chatting with the ladies and others lounging around. Everyone greeted Madame Èponine and carried on to the oldest one, no less than fifty “What can I help you with, Madame? And who is the young flesh?”
“This is Marianna…”
“Howard,” she replied “Marianna Erin Howard is my maiden name.”
She smiled “Nice to make your acquaintance. I take you want a place here?”
“I am trying to persuade her to join us. Do tell her your experience.”
She smiled and signalled the youngest girl in the room to get them some tea and scones and smiled teasingly “Even us whores deserve nice and delicious teatime, dear!” They sat down and she explained that she was from the Falkland Islands and had been taken by pirates to be sold. Mr. Shirley saw her and her fiery temper and took her in. He had recently married Madame Èponine, who was a young bride of eighteen. They trained her and taught her everything she knew. She and Madame Èponine grew up as best friends and sisters.
“So, I don’t have to lay with the men all the time… right?” She asked shyly.
“Oh dear, do not mistake us! Our principal focus is pleasure, but I’ve made friends of clients and even allies! Èponine here could persuade the Prince Regent to try out marriage with only drinking with him to oblivion! We have a choice with our bodies and who gets the dessert. But first things first: you need to know how to be a room hostess and woman of the night.”
“What would I learn?”
“Read, write, poetry, art, a language or two in case a dashing foreigner comes, the other kind of clients you could get, politics… the sort.”
Marianna frowned “Other clients?”
The women giggled “We do not only entertain men, dear. Some women come too, and surprisingly; angry wives are rare to come here looking for their husbands!”
“So, I will also… bed women?”
The women laughed “If you’re not into them, then no, dear! There are other girls and even some male companions who take care of that.”
Marianna looked around and yes… there were at least four men dressed in burlesque clothes and chatting with other men. She supposed they also bedded men. She was no one to judge.
“I would like to see what it is before making a decision.”
Three years later
Three years had passed, and Marianna was content as a worker in the house. Many saw the burlesque part and looked at her with disgust, pity and intrigue, but she never cared. She was happy. She had made friends out of her clients, the new girls looked up to her and had buried her scars long time ago. She had also decided to become a mother despite all. After the loss of her son, she had always dreamed to have something of her own left on earth after her. A legacy.
But the owner, Madame Èponine’s son, was adamant “The house is no place for a babe. You must either be rid of it or give it away to the Church.”
She had cried, but could negotiate with him to have two weeks with her firstborn and to name them, and he accepted. She’d also have a month off lovemaking until her body recovered, and then back to the clients. During her time, she’d teach the new girls and train the debutantes. They didn’t meet the queen or went looking for a husband and danced and partied, but rather were trained for their night debut. Most decided on which client would be their first, and a bargain was made: she’d cost even more for being a virgin, and could express to the client three wishes they were obliged to make true. In exchange, they’d get the new boon.
Marianna’s experience wasn’t like that. She did lay with a few, but always chose which one suited her better. The others paid her to hear her unbiased opinion on marital, political and parenting matters. Sometimes they needed a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes they wanted to be held as she told them they’d be alright—all while making 50 pounds per client, though the prices differed on the client’s intentions. Marianna’s debut was with no less than Prince William, and she was presented to him in his palace, dressed in blue and gold with the most beautiful makeup and elaborate hairdo. Both of them chatted as she briefly saw his illegitimate children and then went upstairs. He was kind to her, and gave her a handsome tip for her ‘lovely service’ and his talking did wonders, for many of the highest society of England and some of Europe were in need to meet the ‘Colourful Widow’ for her charisma, wisdom and sharp and bright mind. Some German dukes and counts went to visit her. She revelled on her popularity.
There was one kind of men she never laid with—navy men still on the job. The man needed to be a year and a half out for her to be alone with him. After her fiasco marriage, she refused to see any navy men. She was sent a letter from her rescuers all those years ago, sending her roses and his hand, proclaiming that now he had no power to raise his hand at her again. She buried the hand in the deep mud, promising that neither her nor the daughters she could have would ever go through what she went through. She’d only bear the children of good men who were kind to her. The others would go, being given to women who did want them, as Madame Èponine had explained to her. An aborted baby didn’t die, but instead went to the womb of a mother who was far more deserving of them.
She had realised, she missed being pregnant. To feel its kicks, a language between mother and unborn child. The connection. Like she was not alone in this. She loved the idea of being a mother. She knew it’d be a girl. She’d have her hair, and the father’s handsome dark eyes and features. She was sure. Her name would be Charlotte, like the queen.
And when she gave birth, she was delighted to see that she was not wrong. She enjoyed being her mother. Singing her lullabies, talking to her, breastfeeding her… she didn’t even complain during the diaper changes, and her head’s smell was her most favourite smell in the world. She was also sad to see her go, but the vicar was a kind man who’d assure her a good future.
Throughout the next days up until 1810, three more would follow: Andrew, Jenna and Joseph. Andrew was very much like his father, meanwhile Jenna was more like her, and Joseph was a handsome mix. She had memorized their smell, eyes, hair and voice. Even if a thousand years passed, she’d know they were hers.
In 1811, she started to feel the passage of time. She was no longer the young, witty and vivacious woman she had been. She was five and thirty, and became pickier of whom she laid with. It was a tough year, for she had heard her beloved brother, Leo, had died during the wars. She mourned him greatly. But what was worse, a Duke Richards started to accost her, bringing insane amounts of money for her to lay with him. He demanded ‘the best whore’ at all costs, but she always refused, and had many friends from Parliament and outside England who defended her, much to his chagrin. He stopped frequenting her, always talking down their brothel, calling them ‘cheap, ugly whores’ and that the others were far superior, even though the Prince Regent had announced that Shirley’s House of Delights was the best house to seek pleasure and everything beyond that. She was backed by the royals, and he, by his worshippers who only followed him for fame and money. She pitied them, honestly.
In 1812, she met Mr. Sinclaire, and her life changed forevermore. She has had many kind clients, but never met someone who she could relate to. Despite being young and deeply hurt and traumatised, that didn’t stop him from being the most gentlemanly, polite, kind and giving man she’s ever met. The times they laid with each other, he focused on her sometimes, which was indeed rare. She had grown fond of the man, the most dangerous thing for someone like her: to become too attached to a client.
Her affairs always had to be ephemeral. She didn’t see the gravity up until he mentioned her that he was seeking for a wife and had considered her, knew this had to end. She would miss him the most, but it was for the best. She thought herself free of the attachment… until she learned she was pregnant for the final time of him. She was scared, and not knowing what to do.
He couldn’t know. He’d propose to her, and would marry her out of duty. No. He couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t allow it. He deserved someone young and beautiful who loved him so and could give him what he deserved. He, of all men, was the worthiest of it. And she wasn’t able to do that.
She had told him so, laying on the grass of his estate “I learned something in there a long time ago; just because I wasn’t loved properly before doesn’t mean that I wasn’t worthy of it.” She looked at him “I don’t doubt your wife appreciated you, but she didn’t love you. When someone loves you, they always look for an excuse to be with you, they prove it to you, they tell you in a million ways, and most importantly, they don’t stab you in the back with no remorse for their own gain. They are sincere with you, because they loved you so.”
“And if they hide a secret?” He asked.
“They will tell you eventually, and if they don’t, when you confront them, they admit it and tell you the whole story, because they love you and don’t want to lose you, or thought they protected you with it.”
He smiled for a moment as he looked at the stars “Do you think there’s someone out there made for us?”
Marianna smiled and squeezed his hand “Not exactly. There is someone, but not made for us. Made for love, for healing… I know there is someone who will love you the way you deserve, and that will give you what you need. And every challenge you face, they will choose you, because you’re their priority.”
He made a face “And I’m not yours?”
“Don’t say that. I do care about you greatly, but… we cannot be. You are destined for someone else, and that someone isn’t just me.”
He looked at her “You always speak of how I am deserving of love, but you forget that so are you. You may be imperfect and flawed, but that doesn’t mean you’re unworthy of love. But if you think we are not meant to be… I will respect your decision, and if you want me to, we can be friends.”
She smiled “I’d like that very much. Now, off we go before we catch our deaths.”
The birth wasn’t the easiest. She has had worse, but she was stressed. Luckily, her most favoured midwife was a wonder and the baby was out safely, and incredibly healthy, as bright as the sun. But times had changed. New things were coming, and child deaths were still high, and this time, she was able to raise her on her own. She wanted to wait to see if she was truly healthy and bright. Two months came. And four. And eight. She decided to call her ‘Girl’ in case.
The moment she was born, her health started to decline. She had weakened and, while she tried to be the best mother to her by hiding her condition, she felt weaker by the day.
She loved teaching her daughter. Her most favourite lessons were lions and its way of living “Did you know that lions are a matriarchy? Yes, it is the lionesses that rule the lion kingdom! They hunt, take care of the baby and keep the lions alive, and they respect their women greatly. It is because of their bravery and strength that the lions still persevere. Look at me,” she looked at her daughter’s intense blue eyes “the lion is who he is because of the lioness. You, my dear, are a lioness. Your lion will be nothing without you. You are strong, brave and have been born to lead. A King without his Queen is nothing, meanwhile a Queen without a King is everything. And you, my dear, will one day have your own kingdom to rule. Always remind that king that his line and kingdom is standing and stable because of you. You are the pillar of earth, with the power to create life. No man will ever be able to match it, remember. Never let any man forget that they’re alive because their mama lioness did the job to keep them alive. Promise me, baby?”
“Pwomise, mama!”
By 1815, she asked the vicar to let her see her children. She’d adapt to their schedules. Her eldest, Charlotte, had been adopted by a dowager baroness who had never been able to carry children, but had a massive fortune by her husband’s death and was trained to be a socialite and lady. She was cold and prejudicial towards her, thing that hurt her, but couldn’t blame her. She was a child. She tried to introduce her to her baby sister, but coldly said that ‘that walking sin is not my sister’. She was deeply hurt and, the moment she left reluctantly paying for the lunch, she broke down. Mr. Chambers was the sweetest by comforting her and giving her scones and other sweets that soothed her. Her Andrew, of nine, had been intrigued by her and even greeted Girl. He did tell her to please name his sister, and that he’d call her to his schoolmates ‘Goldie’ for her golden hair. Jenna, of seven, was curious and hurt that she abandoned her, and she said she’d be happy to welcome her back into her life in a way she was comfortable with. Her adoptive mother, Alma, had died, and was happy to call her ‘Mama’. She was the spitting image of her: same golden hair and blue eyes, with soft and angelical facial expressions and sweet demeanour. Finally, Joseph, of five, was thrilled to meet his birth mama, for he was adopted by an old farmer who needed a strong boy to help him in the hard farm chores. He played with Girl and promised to be good to his adopted grandfather.
When she was with her daughter in her deathbed, she held her and Jenna’s hand “Listen to me, my daughters. Today, I will leave to be with God in his realm, but that does not mean I will leave forever. And thus, I have two parting gifts. Remember, my angels of golden hair: always know you’re worth it. Today, tomorrow, and always. You are smart enough, beautiful enough, always enough, and if others don’t see it, that’s because they don’t bring much to the table. Being a woman is not certainly easy nowadays, but it is up to you whether you make it the most wonderful experience or the worst thing to ever happen to you. We are the reason the men you’ll marry are here, their lines continue because of you, and the very soil we step in is feminine. Your bodies are your most sacred parts, and nobody can take them away, for they belong to you and you alone. You can be anything you wish if you set your mind to. And always remember, that they can take one, but never if you’re together. Nothing can stop us if we women remain united. Always help your sisters. Be kind to the other, God knows how mean men are to us already. Always tend a hand, be kind, be steadfast, be true to yourself, be strong, and unapologetic. Be loud, take your deserved space, speak up and never, ever, kneel to a man. Only kneel to God, and no other man. And, if you have to choose who lives and who dies, choose yourselves. There is no man on earth who is worth dying for. And most of all… be yourselves, for the very best of myself lies in yourselves. And if someone doesn’t like it… that’s their loss, not yours. Now, come, my daughters. Hug Mama until she’s reunited with God.”
That day, she died while Mr. Sinclaire and Mr. Hughes, the kind farmer who had taken in Joseph, watched as she passed away. Jenna’s father was looking for a job for her, and was more than happy to send Jenna to be educated with her younger sister.
Marianna Howard hadn’t had the easiest path, but her story was an inspiration to her children: a woman who had come to London with nothing more than an aching heart, who grabbed pain by the hand and made it her weapon to thrive in society and turn it into power. She was never insulted again, nor touched without permission by other men, or even humiliated by her condition. She had been a strong woman who showed younger girls what it meant to be a woman and make the best of it. She never once allowed anyone to make her feel less human or womanly or worth it because of her position, nor she abused it. She had left a legacy to the girls, that being a woman was a blessing and not a curse, and that respect, wisdom and loyalty would get you far. And what’s more, because of her, her daughters would later become historic, and their magnificent deeds would vindicate her decades later.
It was Marianna’s loyalty and eternal love to her daughters, and her last words what inspired them to become their greatest selves. And what’s more, Marianna was the greatest Legend Maker, considered an angel for having brought the magnificent woman who’d rule Dracaria to their lives. And in Devonshire, who had turned on her, would apologise to her… in a statue form in 1916, an icon of female strength and empowering figure for those women in the oldest job in the world wanting to be more than an object to men’s enjoyment, and the inspiration to wanting out and be something else.
Marianna had promised herself that, someday, she’d be vindicated for all the pain she had suffered, and that promise became true. The woman who lost it all because of a man’s ego was restored for centuries to come. And many more would follow her example.
What Marianna couldn’t complete, her daughters and those who were inspired by her finished it for her.
She had been thrown into the deep forest to be devoured by the wolves, and, as she had been promised, came back stronger, leading the pack as their queen, and reigned victorious and remembered for the rest of eternity.
