Godley House

This is the first chapter of a novel that I'm playing around with, using chatGPT to write.  Feel free to tell me if it feels like chatg has written it.  In fact, I'm doing nearly all the writing, but I'm using chatg to fill in the gaps, correct the period references and, occasionally, to propose dialogue.

Chapter 1

The iron gates of Godley House's courtyard stood open, as they always did. The baby blue 1954 Chevy Bel Air glided through them. Randall inched the car forward, careful not to disturb the mid-afternoon tranquility. Leaning forward, he peered through the windshield at the sprawling, three-story manse, his mind brimming with reverence. It had been a decade since he'd last laid eyes on the house, yet memories of it flooded back. He had only ever visited after nightfall; seeing it in the cold light of morning was new to him. But even so, the grandeur of the house remained undiminished in his eyes.

Randall guided the car in a wide arc across the gritty, hard-packed lawn, bringing it to a stop before the entranceway and its sweeping porch. The lawn, doubling as both driveway and parking lot, would typically be filled with dozens of cars by evening, but for now, there wasn't another vehicle in sight. The residents of Godley House rarely ventured into town or frolicked in the countryside. By day, they slumbered; by evening, they toiled.

Godley House held legendary status throughout West Tennessee. Reconstructed in 1866, following its devastation in the war, the mansion appeared timeless, untouched by the passage of years. At the snap of the owner's fingers, a legion of eager workmen would materialize, ready to repair or repaint any imperfections. Many of these laborers had experienced their first trysts within the house's upper rooms, likely before their sixteenth birthdays. Thousands more young men, scattered within a day's drive, likely drifted off to sleep beside their spouses, reminiscing about nights spent at Godley House, a distant memory but never forgotten.

The mansion, often illuminated like a beacon for miles around, had become an institution in Tennessee, commanding respect beyond reproach and operating beyond the reach of the law. Miriam Godley, known as Miss Miriam, ruled over the estate with unquestioned authority. From the lowliest ratcatcher to the highest elected official, all acknowledged her dominion over the house and its surroundings.

Randall glanced over his shoulder from the driver's seat, his gaze falling upon the young lady nestled in the back. Gwendolyn Charlotte, her delicate hands adorned with soft, pink gloves, clutched a small suitcase on her lap. A youthful blush graced her cheeks as she met Randall's eyes before shyly lowering her gaze. She was barely sixteen, the daughter of Randall's formidable employer, Renee Charlotte, a woman of considerable political sway, known to keep many men firmly under her control.

As the car idled before the imposing entrance of Godley House, Randall found himself swept into the currents of Ms. Charlotte's influence, tasked with delivering her daughter from St. Louis to Godley House. It was a journey into the unknown, one that left Randall with more questions than answers. But in matters such as these, he had learned long ago not to question orders. Instructed to retrieve Ms. Charlotte's daughter from her boarding school in Georgia and deliver her into the guardianship of this most notorious Madam, whose reign over Godley House cast a shadow over the entire country, Randall was left pondering the mysteries shrouding the estate's walls and the complexities of the lives it touched.

The mousey innocent had uttered only three words since their encounter, she'd come down the stairs of her dormitory and accepted the letter Randall had handed her. That letter, Randall presumed, held all the explanations. Gwendolyn had simply said, "One minute, please." With that, she retreated upstairs, retrieved the solitary case in her possession, and returned, granting Randall permission to open the car door.

That had been early that morning. Since then, they'd driven for hours, pausing only once for gas. Gwendolyn had silently slipped out of the car to use the restroom, taking the case with her. There was no urgency in her movements, prompting Randall to wonder if he might need to prompt her to hurry along. However, she emerged at a leisurely pace, cradling the case delicately in both hands, before gracefully returning to the back seat. Randall had inwardly shrugged before restarting the car. Following that, the girl hadn't caused a bit of trouble.

Now, she made no sign of acknowledging the enormous manse filling the car window. "We're here, Miss Gwendolyn," Randall informed her.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice akin to that of a bird. She did not glance up at him.

Randall cast another glance at the house, half-expecting someone to emerge and greet them. When no one appeared, he reached for the car door handle. The mechanical click reverberated through the quiet, punctuated only by the distant chirping of crickets. Stepping out, Randall closed the door with a gentle touch. The Bel Air was still fresh, having been collected from the Lakewood Assembly plant in Atlanta just four months prior for Ms. Charlotte. This marked Randall's third opportunity to take the wheel, and he relished the chance. His hand trailed along the smooth fender as he circled around the back of the car and made his way towards the porch.

Randall's last visit to Godley House had been in 1945, just a month before the altercation in Paducah that landed him a stretch in prison. He had struck a man in the back of the head with a pool cue during a brawl involving at least a dozen others. It remained unclear whether the man had perished from the blow or from being trampled upon while lying unnoticed on the ground. Randall had been sentenced to twelve years, but he served only seven before a pardon was granted, courtesy of Ms. Charlotte's intervention with Dawson Reeds, Kentucky's Governor at the time. Thus Randall found himself liberated from prison only to be bound in comfortable servitude to Ms. Charlotte for the remainder of his days. Randall mused that there were certainly worse fates.

Randall had spent countless hours lying in his cell, his gaze fixed upon the concrete ceiling mere inches above his face, consumed by thoughts of Jeannette. He'd loved her deeply and had frequented Godley House often to be with her. Although he couldn't expect that she'd still be there, he knew he'd inquire nonetheless. Miriam Godley, the Madam, held the answers to such inquiries. She knew everything. Randall wouldn't be surprised if he were recognized, no matter how many years had passed, and no doubt Miss Miriam would remember his association with Jeannette.

Miss Miriam herself was utterly unforgettable, like a force of nature. Possessing a captivating beauty, with her cherry blonde hair fashioned atop her head like a crown, Miss Miriam was keenly observant, missing nothing that transpired in her domain. Her eyes, which met everyone's gaze in the room, commanded the attention of all. She ruled over her girls with an unwavering authority.

These girls came in all varieties: some were fresh-faced, friendly and eager, while others were aloof, cultured and well-read. Some carried an air of danger or ferocity. Yet, they all submitted to Miss Miriam's watchful eye. Those who followed her orders and performed well would endure, while the weakest among them would be culled like livestock. Some fortunate ones, who earned Miss Miriam's favor, would be paired with chosen suitors, who could elevate them from working girls to wealthy women. However, those who fell out of favour would face exile. They would flee the state if they knew what was good for them; otherwise, if they dared to persist, they'd find themselves behind bars. No woman in Tennessee treated her subjects more ruthlessly. No woman in the state wielded as much power to do so.

This, Randall knew, was nothing compared to what Miss Miriam would do to a man who crossed her.

Randall climbed the three stairs to the porch, each creaking beneath his weight, the sound echoing in the stillness of the morning. He forced a smile onto his lips, aware that his presence would be unwelcome at this early hour. Then, as he approached, he noticed a subtle movement in the shadowy depths behind the screen door, too far back to be seen clearly. A shiver moved up his spine.

A breathtaking twenty-something woman approached the door, deliberately making herself visible. Her arresting appearance sent a wave of self-consciousness through Randall. She was draped in a satin dressing gown, casually open to her waist, revealing the inner cleavage of her breasts without a hint of shame. Her gaze met Randall's with indifference.

A warm, sultry voice resonated from within the manse. "Who is it, Eloise?" Unlike a northerner, the voice pronounced it 'ee-loys'.

"Just a man," replied Eloise derisively. Her eyes turned back to Randall, and he felt a stab in his heart at the dismissive tone. "We're closed, sugar," Eloise informed him coolly. "Come back when the sun goes down."

Randall removed his hat and cleared his throat, though he couldn't prevent a slight stutter from escaping his lips. "I've — I've brought Miss Gwendolyn Charlotte. I'm her driver. She's expected," he explained, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

"Is that so?" the woman answered. "Then you better stay right where you're at." Saying it, she turned away. Randall felt his foot begin to slide forward, as if compelled to follow her, but he quickly pulled it back.  A flush of warmth spread across his face as he realized his near misstep.

He heard voices. Then, the embodiment of Godley House, Miss Miriam herself, emerged, opening the screen door. Her shrewd, arresting gaze froze Randall where he stood, despite the oppressive heat of the Tennessee day. She studied him coolly, hands resting on her ample hips, the door held by Eloise. Randall couldn't help but feel ensnared by her allure — the commanding curves of her body, the majestic lift of her bosom and the calculating scrutiny of her eyes, tearing him apart effortlessly before reassembling him. A strange compulsion washed over Randall, urging him to drop to his knees. It was a sensation he'd felt before, stronger in his younger years at 19, yet even now, at 29, he still couldn't prevent himself from automatically lowering his gaze.

As Miss Miriam stepped forward, another girl emerged — a figure of allure and appetite, her eyes brimming with hunger. She was shapely and tempting, clad in a black, sheer dressing gown that tied at her throat, leaving nothing to the imagination. Both she and Eloise remained behind the door, like devoted handmaidens to their queen.

"Was the trip pleasant?" the Madam inquired.

Randall's hand clenched around his hat, pressing it against his chest. "Yes, Miss Miriam, Ma'am," he replied. "Miss Gwendolyn is in the car, as bright and sunny as you could wish for. Her mother sent me to bring her; we've been driving all day." Randall stepped back, gesturing toward the car with his hat as he descended one step off the porch.

"That's most kind of Renee," Miss Miriam said, gracefully passing Randall and stepping onto the yard. Her gaze fixed on the girl seated in the car. "You be sure to tell the girl's mother that I appreciate not having to wait. It's thoughtful when a woman of Renee Charlotte's stature shows consideration for a humble country woman like myself."

Randall quickly discerned his role and hastened to open the car door. "You can come out now, Miss Gwendolyn," he announced. "This is Miss Miriam Godley, and she's eager to meet you."

A frightened, wide-eyed Gwendolyn cautiously placed one foot on the ground. Miss Miriam moved closer to get a better look at the girl, extending her hand. "Come now, dearie. Let's have a look at you."

Gwendolyn remained rooted to the spot, clutching her case tightly. Her legs were covered in thick beige stockings, and her feet were adorned with square-strap shoes. A shiver ran through her.

"Aren't you just darling?" Miss Miriam exclaimed, her eyes softening as she looked at Gwendolyn. She then glanced at the case. "I believe you've brought that for me," she stated, reaching forward to take the case from the girl's grasp. Gwendolyn hesitated for only a moment before relinquishing her hold.

The Madam wasted no time in opening it, placing it on the trunk of the Bel Air. Randall was stunned to see that it was full of money.

"Isn't that sweet?" Miss Miriam remarked, closing the case. "I don't think we need to count it. Beatrix and Eloise, darlings, please take hold of, um, Dolly. Yes, I think Dolly is just the right name for her."

The two young women moved forward resolutely. Gwendolyn shrank back, her back pressing against the Bel Air as her face turned pale, while with unexpected aggression, they took hold of her, as if expecting the girl to take flight. "Take her inside to the room we've prepared," Miss Miriam said coldly. "Make her ready." Randall watched with a sense of unease as they pulled Gwendolyn away. He watched Beatrix open the screen door and Eloise pushed Gwendolyn through it roughly.

Miss Miriam maintained her regal composure, as though nothing unusual had happened. Randall's expression revealed that wasn't the case, but the Godley House madam said calmly, "What's your name, honey?"

Randall gave his name, hesitating to ask about the strange scene that had just occurred.

"And are you on your way home to Ms. Charlotte?" Miss Miriam asked, her tone smooth as satin. "You be sure to give her my warm regards."

He cleared his throat. "Ms. Charlotte said I should stay down here for a week or two. Just in case things don't work out."

"Isn't that thoughtful? And do you have a place to stay, Randall?"

"No. Not yet, Miss Miriam."

"Well then," she said kindly, "you just make your way right into Brownsville and ask some kind soul where to find Jefferson Avenue. Look for the Delta Dream Tourist Court; tell them that I sent you, and they'll fix you up proper."

Randall hesitated to ask, but began, "Is it ...?"

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Yes, sugar, it's just right for you. Don't you worry."

"I don't remember the Delta Dream," he said. "But I know Brownsville from when I lived here ten years ago. I worked in the grain mill in town."

A look of recognition passed over Miss Miriam's face. "Why, don't you know, I thought you looked familiar. Your Mama lived down on Sugar Creek, didn't she?"

"Yes Ma'am," Randall answered with elation. "She surely did."

"Well, that solves it, honey. The Sugar Tea Lodge burned down 'bout seven years ago, before it was rebuilt. You must have known the Sugar Tea."

"Yes Miss Miriam, I did." Feeling gratified, he couldn't help but grin. "But—" he began, uncertainly. "But if it's not too much trouble, Ma'am, there's something I'd like to ask."

"You go right ahead."

"Well, you used to have a girl here. Nearly tall as me, dark curly hair, spoke in a throaty way ... her name was Jeannette."

Miss Miriam smiled. "And you'd like to know if she's still here."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Why no, darling. Jeannette is married to a hog-slaughterer in Cincinnati these days. She's very happy. But you come by tonight and when you do, ask for Miss Pauline. She'll be just your type."

His heart fell a little. "I'll remember Ma'am," he answered, backing away politely. Going around to the driver's side door, he added, "After dark."

"That's right honey," Miss Miriam said sweetly. "Now you pull out real quiet, you hear? Some of my girls are still sleeping."

Randall nodded. "Yes ma'am." Confused whether he should put his hat on and get in the car, or get in the car first, he solved it by throwing his hat on the seat and getting in afterwards. With a wave to Miss Miriam, he started the motor as quietly as possible and maneuvered the car out of the yard and onto the roads of Tennessee.