Beholden

by Bronwyn Williams

  But she smiled and thanked everyone again, assuring them that nothing was broken, that she was only a wee bit shaken. The crowd began to disperse. Traffic was once more trundling past. Mules pulling farm carts and freight wagons. Traps and buggies drawn by sleek horses.

  “Are you sure?” asked the judge. “You look pale to me.”

  I am pale. I’ve always been pale. Is there a law against being pale?

  She wanted to shove everyone out of the way so she could breathe. Instead, she smiled and said firmly, “Thank you all so very much. I’m quite all right now, truly I am.” She kept on smiling, daring them to argue.

  No one argued, but two kind gentlemen and the woman in lavender insisted on seeing her to Mrs. Baggot’s establishment. It was easier to go along than to protest.

  They left her at the door. Mrs. Baggot took one look at her and led her into the cluttered closet she called an office. “There, look at you now, if you’re not a mess.”

  Katy took it in the sense it had been offered. As concern. She accepted a cup of tea, was told that until she felt steadier on her pins, she could stay in here and address envelopes, and when she finished that, she could look through the new Delineator and see if they would need to order new fall patterns, or if the old ones could be adapted.

  It was not until she finished her tea and reached for the pattern catalog that she discovered her glasses had been crushed. It was the crowning blow. Her gloves were ruined, her stockings laddered, there were smudges on the front of her skirt, and now this. Her lovely new spectacles. How in the world was she going to be able to work when she couldn’t see?

  For the next few hours, she managed the same way she had managed ever since her eyes had begun going bad. By turning up the lamp and stretching her arms to their full length. Long before noon she had developed a pounding headache, not to mention aches in nearly every other portion of her body.

  The woman in the lavender taffeta who had been so kind to her had warned her that the soreness and stiffness would come later. She’d been right. It was all Katy could do to hold back the tears. She wanted to cry because everyone had been so kind, and her a stranger, not yet even a citizen.

  And because she was very much afraid that she’d been pushed from behind just as that freight cart had come rumbling past in front of her.

  *

  It was Tara who told Galen about the accident. Katy had wanted to. Had wanted to hurl herself into his arms and cry out her pain and fears, and let someone stronger and wiser than she deal with them, which was the very reason she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone but Tara. And Peggy, of course, when she’d had to explain the sorry state of her clothing, not to mention various scrapes and bruises.

  It was Peggy who had told Jack, and evidently everyone else within five city blocks. By the time Galen came storming aboard the Belle, demanding to see her, Katy was so stiff she could barely hobble. She’d been sent home early from work and told not to bother to come in again until she was feeling better, which was both a boon and a worry. What if Mrs. Baggot discovered she could get along quite well without her?

  “Why is it I seem to take three steps back for every step I take forward?” Peggy was sponging the stains from her skirt when Galen rapped on the door and called out, asking if she was decent.

  “No, I’m not,” she snapped just as Peggy invited him inside.

  Katy was sitting in the easy chair Jack had brought down to her room, with a stack of books from the library beside her, also provided by Jack, who knew her reading tastes by now.

  He’d forgotten, though, that she could no longer see to read without straining, and as she’d already strained every muscle in her body, it was hardly worth the effort.

  “You look awful,” Galen announced. He stopped just inside the door, hat in hand, feet braced apart, and gawked at her.

  “How sweet of you to notice.”

  “Sarcasm? Katy, you’re beginning to sound like Aster.”

  “If you’re done paying me compliments, you may leave now. I’m busy, as you can plainly see.”

  “Peggy, would you go see if you can find us a pot of hot, strong tea? Steer it by the bar on the way back and see if you can stiffen it up a bit.”

  The maid flashed her molars in a grin. “Yes sir, Captain McKnight.” She took off with a swish of petticoats, her mahogany face alight with amusement.

  Katy didn’t see anything at all amusing.

  Galen dragged up a stool and sat down without waiting for an invitation. He took her hand, turned it over, and winced at the abrasions near her wrist. “Ouch. This town hasn’t exactly been kind to you, has it? First a face full of cat scratches, now this.”

  Katy had spent the whole afternoon shoring up her defenses. Telling herself she wasn’t hurt, that she wasn’t frightened—that no one had intentionally jostled her, causing her to fall.

  Without even trying, Galen sent every stone in her pitifully inadequate fort a-tumbling. “I suppose Tara told you,” she said sullenly, wishing she didn’t look quite so awful. “So now you’ve come to gloat.”

  “I never gloat. Poor sportsmanship.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I came to say good-bye.”

  The last stone rolled silently away, leaving her utterly defenseless. To her everlasting shame, tears seeped into her eyes. If there was one thing she hated even more than she hated being seasick, it was letting anyone see her cry. She wasn’t weak, she truly was not.

  “Katy? Can’t you even wish me farewell?”

  “Then you’ve sold the Queen? I’m happy for you, but what about your shipyard?”

  Reaching out, he tucked his fist under her chin, lifting her face to stare at her red-rimmed eyes. “Don’t look at me,” she hissed.

  At that moment, Galen wondered which of them was hurting most. It killed him to see her like this. He wanted nothing so much as to sweep her up in his arms and take her with him, but it would only complicate an already complicated affair.

  He was halfway in love with a woman far too young for him. A woman who had come five thousand miles following a dream. A woman, damn her, who was far too stubborn to understand why it wasn’t possible.

  Women—young women—respectable young women, especially those without a backer—simply didn’t set themselves up in business. It wasn’t done.

  Yet he knew he would have helped her if he could. The trouble was, one dream was all he could afford to buy. His own dream made sense. Hers didn’t, but he lacked the courage to tell her so when she was hurt and discouraged.

  God, he wished he knew more about women. He’d known his share of them—more than his share. Known some intimately, some only casually, but with very few exceptions, he’d enjoyed them all.

  But not a one of those women had been anything at all like Katy. He had yet to figure out how her mind worked. Right now, she was extremely fragile, juggling a prickly mixture of pride and determination, stubbornness and vulnerability. The slightest wrong move on his part could break her spirit, and he’d be damned before he could risk that.

  “Katy, if there was any way I could get out of going, you know I wouldn’t leave you at a time like this. I—”

  Her eyes took on that glittery look he’d come to distrust. “A time like what? Saints preserve us, it’s not like I lost both jobs and broke my neck besides. I tripped, is all. I’ve never been known for my grace and nimbleness.”

  Something inside him twisted painfully. Keep your hands off her. McKnight. Just keep your bloody damned hands off her!

  “Right. You tripped and scraped your cheek raw, bruised both elbows, skinned both hands, and strained a shoulder. Other than that, there’s nothing much wrong with you.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  He could have told her that both Tara and Peggy had filled him in, but then she’d probably take their concern as some sort of betrayal. “I spoke to the doctor. Bellfort says your glasses were broken, but he’s already ordered you a new pair. I would h
ave done it, Katy, you know that.”

  He saw it coming. Saw the tears spill over. Watched as the tip of her nose turned bright red. At the sound of the first sob, he opened his arms, and she fell into them like a fledgling bird from a broken nest.

  “I d-don’t know why I’m crying,” she sobbed.

  “It’s all right.” He patted her shoulder, stroked her back, tried to think of a magic word that would make everything all right for her.

  Had she considered the possibility that someone might have tried to kill her? There was no way of knowing, but ever since he’d heard about the incident the possibility had stuck in his mind. Torn between wanting to warn her and wanting to dismiss it from his own mind, he’d gone to the police with his suspicions, downplaying Tara’s part in the affair. He’d talked to Bellfort. He’d even talked to Sal, who refused to say anything that might get Charlie into any more trouble than he already was.

  The best he could do was wait and see what developed. And at the moment, he couldn’t even be here to watch over her personally, not without breaking a promise and disappointing someone he loved very dearly.

  So he’d sketched in his suspicions to Bellfort, who’d agreed that Katy would be guarded at all times, just in case it hadn’t been an accident. When she was ready to perform again, he would personally vet the audience.

  Knowing Katy, it wouldn’t be long before she would insist on singing for her supper. She had a thing about being beholden to anyone for any reason. He had spoken to Inez Baggot. Her job there would be waiting for her whenever she felt like going back. It seemed that Katy had turned out to be far more valuable than expected.

  The best he could hope for now was that she wouldn’t insist on going back until she had her new spectacles, which would take at least a week. By then, Galen would be back in town.

  He’d been on his way out when Bellfort had brought up the matter of the Queen. “I’m interested, if we can come to an agreement on the price. What are you asking?”

  His mind still on Katy, Galen had mentioned a figure.

  Bellfort had countered with a lower one. “We both know she’s a tub. All show and no go.”

  “We’ll talk about it when I get back if you’re still interested.” Galen’s mind had been on more important matters. Still was.

  Sniffles and a growing restlessness indicated that Katy had about used up all her tears. He managed to ease his handkerchief from his pocket and shove it into her hand, all without loosening his hold.

  He could have held her this way forever. It was a good thing he was leaving town. This odd mixture of protectiveness and possessiveness, not to mention a healthy dose of lust, was beginning to get out of hand. “All right now?”

  She sniffed and nodded, and stepped back from his arms. Reluctantly, he let her go. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve wet your shirt”

  “It’ll dry. Like I said, Katy, if I didn’t have to go—”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “You see, she’s old and not quite as clear-minded as she should be. I promised her I’d be there. She’s just as apt to forget it herself as not, but I can’t take that chance. If she takes it in her head to get her feelings hurt, it’s hard to make her understand.”

  “Who is she? No, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

  “Her name is Drucilla Merriweather. Everyone calls her Miss Drucy. She lives with her husband and staff at a place called Merriweather’s Landing, about a day’s sail from here.”

  “Sail?” Katy sniffed again, wiped again, and blinked her matted lashes at him. “But what will you sail?”

  “Ferry boat. A small one. The facilities there can’t handle anything much larger. Like I said, I’ll be back by the end of the week. Meanwhile, if you need anything, Pierre or—”

  “I won’t. I’ll be just fine. Tomorrow I’ll be back at work. Mrs. Baggot promised to let me try my hand at adapting a pattern, and if she likes it, then I can choose the fabric and make one up. Did I tell you she’s starting a line of ready-mades this fall?” Her watery smile nearly broke his heart. “So you see, I’m already on my way to success, and here you said I couldn’t do it.”

  “Don’t say it,” he warned.

  I told you so, she mouthed silently, eyes sparkling with mischief through the tears.

  Taking both her hands in his, Galen tried to think of some way to warn her not to set her hopes too high. If he knew Inez Baggot, that lady wasn’t going be too eager to train her competition, no matter how it might look now.

  “Don’t rush into any agreements. And, Katy—plan on taking a few more days off before you go back to work. If you think you’re stiff and sore now, just wait until tomorrow. I’ve been launched off enough horses to know that the second day can be worse than the first, and there’s pains that wait a week to show up. Promise me?”

  She refused to promise him anything. Instead, she smiled. It occurred to him that when she looked at him the way she was looking at him now, tear stains and all, whatever common sense he possessed went down the drain.

  Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving. A little perspective might not be a bad thing. “I’ll be leaving about ten, so if you need anything before then—or if Tara has any more wild dreams . . .”

  He squeezed her hands, muttered an apology when she winced, and left before he could do any more damage. If she’d called him back—if she’d spoken another word, he might have revised his plans. When months ago in one of her more lucid moments, Miss Drucy had invited him to her birthday party, he’d accepted gladly. He’d had no way of knowing at the time that Katy was going to burst into his life, complicating it beyond all comprehension.

  He tried to tell himself that it was nothing more than a simple accident. Katy wasn’t used to city traffic. A kid had a dream about seeing a man being murdered. Next, she imagined a man staring at Katy. What man in his right mind wouldn’t? Tara was hardly the world’s most reliable witness, especially as she’d been sound asleep when she claimed the murder had taken place.

  All things considered, Galen told himself it wasn’t a bad idea to get away for a few days. He needed a clear head, and with Katy screwing up his concentration, that was all but impossible. He wasn’t getting enough sleep. He’d lost his appetite. He was snapping heads off right and left, and all he had to do was think about her to grow instantly, embarrassingly aroused.

  *

  The news was all over the waterfront even before the police arrived. By the time the wharf was swarming with vagrants, stray dogs, and uniformed men, everyone this side of Road Street knew that a body had washed up on the other side of the lumber mill with a mark that could have been made by a rope or a wire on the front of his neck. According to the coroner, he’d been dead before he’d ever hit the water.

  Galen wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet. And definitely not alone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  He sent word to the Merriweathers by Pam, the ferryman, that he would be a day or two late. That something had come up that demanded his personal attention. As fond as he was of the elderly couple who had taken him in when he’d come south in search of his brother, Galen was discovering that his priorities had shifted rather drastically.

  Katy hadn’t wanted to cooperate. The fact that Bellfort wanted something from him had made it easier for the two men to work together. Between them they persuaded Katy that it was in Tara’s best interest to move back aboard the Queen until this business could be cleared up. Playing on her greatest weakness, he had suggested that as school hours were shorter than Katy’s workday, Tara might need more supervision than Bellfort’s staff could provide. “I’m sure they’d do their best,” Galen said, “but it’s not like having Willy and Ila and Oscar keeping an eye on her.”

  “But—”

  “Now, we don’t know that all this is even connected—Tara’s dream—your accident—and now a body turning up. But if it is, and if word gets out that Tara thought she saw someone . . .”

  Katy’s imaginatio
n had done the rest. Galen felt almost guilty. God knows, he didn’t want to take advantage of her, but he needed her right where he could watch her every minute, day and night. The rest of his business could go to hell for all he cared, but if anyone tried to hurt Katy again—or Tara—Galen would personally deck him and haul his ass off to the county jail.

  Aster had reacted predictably to the news that the O’Sullivans would be moving back aboard the Queen. When she’d lit into him, Galen hadn’t even bothered to argue, he’d simply given her The Look. Part of his armed-and-dangerous act. He was amazed she’d even fallen for it, but she had.

  With Aster momentarily silenced, he’d set Ila to readying their old room and gone to escort them back, which was when Katy dug in her heels and demanded to know why they couldn’t stay where they were at night, and let Tara spend her days aboard the Queen.

  After a long day, his patience was on a short fuse. “There’s no point in arguing, it’s all settled. Ila’s even made your bed. Besides, it’s not like I was asking you to move across town.”

  “Exactly. That’s my point. Why move at all?”

  “We went over all that,” he said patiently. He hadn’t wanted to remind her that there was a stiff in the county morgue that had yet to be identified, and that somewhere there was a murderer walking around on the loose. The whole town was buzzing over it. It wasn’t the town’s first mystery, nor would it be the last, but until it was solved, no one was going to rest easy.

  Tara had to chase Heather and stuff her into the basket. Then, with Galen carrying the bags Peggy had packed, the trio set out. Several members of the Belle’s staff and crew lined up to see them off, already whispering among themselves. There were a few openly curious looks, but no one asked any questions.

  Not much doubt about what the chief topic of conversation would be over the dinner table that night. Anyone would think the two of them were suspects and he was taking them into custody.