“I, too,” Hampton replied politely. “I have enjoyed your company and am most grateful for your medical assistance.”
The older man bowed and moved away. Hampton watched him return to his cabin and his gray eyes narrowed in thought. He did not trust the doctor. The old man had accepted the story too quickly, without even a murmur of protest or a demand to hear it from Katherine herself. And he had not even mentioned a desire to bid Katherine farewell. The good doctor was up to something. It would be prudent to have him watched.
“Peljo!” he roared and when that grinning little man appeared, he said, “I think we may need to impede Rackingham somewhat. Nothing serious. Just a light tap on the head perhaps as he leaves the docks and a few days shut away in a room somewhere.”
“Will do, Captain. I have a friend in Liverpool who’s just the man for the job.”
“I am sure you do,” Hampton said dryly. “But, remember, no harm is to come to him.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Matthew and Katherine spent an uncomfortable evening together in the midst of the fruits of her destruction. Katherine maintained a cold silence, but Hampton thought he detected a hint of smugness in her stance that confirmed his suspicions that something was afoot. He simply kept his face stripped of all expression. They slept the night in the same bed, but coldly and separately.
Dr. Rackingham spent a more unpleasant evening, however. First Hampton delayed him—quite unnecessarily, he thought—on the ship for over an hour. Then he had to wend his way through the crowded, noisome Liverpool docks at dusk. Suddenly a large, hard, painted old woman stepped into his path and swayed her hips in a pathetic attempt at seductiveness.
” ‘Ey, mister, wanta ‘ave some fun?” she cawed.
Just as he started to step around her, he felt a sudden crack of pain at the back of his head, and he slumped to the ground.
When he came to, he found himself lying on a lumpy bed in a cramped, dirty room. He groaned and sat up slowly, trying to collect his scattered wits. Cautiously he edged off the bed and tottered to the door. It was locked from the outside. Turning, he went to the small window; it, too, would not budge, and it was so coated with grime that he could not see out. He sighed and returned to the bed where he ingloriously passed out again.
Katherine found that she was much more able to make Peljo suffer than his captain. Heretofore, her relationship with the monkeyish little man had been warm and friendly. He was very fond of her and thought her the first woman he had ever met who was suitable for Matthew. They had joked and laughed; he had taught her to use a knife. He would have sworn himself to die to protect her if need be. But now he was her jailer, commanded by one to whom he had greater loyalty, and Katherine turned against him the wrath she usually reserved for Matthew. Every time he unlocked the door and brought in her tray of food, she greeted him in icy silence, despite his jocular efforts to converse with her. She simply looked at him as if he had turned into a toad or a snake. He cajoled her, made excuses, cut jokes, all to no avail. After three days of this treatment, he revised his estimation of Hampton—he had more courage than Peljo had thought to have been able to stand this sort of treatment for so long.
However, after three days, Katherine was getting so worried, she decided to unbend in order to pump Peljo for information. She was afraid that something had happened to Dr. Rackingham. Otherwise, surely the police would have been here by now to rescue her. It occurred to her that perhaps the doctor had been stupid enough to confront the captain with his knowledge. If that were so, it wouldn’t surprise her to find that Hampton had callously done away with the old man. She spent many hours worrying about the condition of his health and regretting that she had involved him in her troubles; she should not have asked anyone else to fight the captain when she had such a difficult time of it herself. After a time, though, she realized that the doctor’s absence, whatever the reason, meant that she was once again on her own. If only she knew for certain what had happened to Rackingham—
“Peljo.” For the first time since docking in Liverpool she addressed him when he brought her supper. “How long will Captain Hampton be gone?”
“Dunno, Miss Kate,” Peljo replied, happy to be back in her good graces. “Depends on how long it takes him to get us a ship.”
“Oh, is he going to steal a British ship now?” she couldn’t resist asking.
Peljo grinned. “No, ma’am, not unless he has to.”
Katherine had to laugh, in spite of herself.
“He has to get some instructions if he can and hopefully the ship they was building for us before we got caught. It’s like piloting in a fog, you see—can’t get word in or out of the South. The captain’s always fighting his own little war.”
“I am sure that is the way he prefers it.” She paused, frowning. “Peljo, has he done anything to Dr. Rackingham? Has he hurt him?”
Peljo assumed an air of innocence. “Dr. Rackingham?”
“Peljo, please tell me. Did he kill that dear old gentleman?”
“Good God, no, Miss Kate. Don’t you know the captain better than that?”
“No, I don’t. It seems to me very much like something he would do.”
“Oh, Miss Kate, you’re too hard on the captain. He wouldn’t kill the doctor, after the way he worked to help save our wounded, and knowing what a special friend of yours he is.”
“I think he is in danger because he’s my friend.”
“Then you did have a plan cooked up!”
“Peljo,” she said sternly, “for Heaven’s sake, tell me.”
“The old doctor’s all right, ma’am; he’s just where he can’t get to the authorities. As soon as he got off the ship, a ruffian just happened to kidnap him, and he’s sitting very safe and sound right now in a locked room.”
Suddenly her knees felt like rubber and she sat down heavily in a chair. It was true, then, what she had suspected—there would be no help coming. She was all on her own against him. Despair washed over her. She could not hope to escape him; he defeated her at every turn.
Peljo felt a little frightened at the pale, broken look on her face. “Ma’am—” he began tentatively.
“I hate him,” she whispered. “I hate him. Why does he torture me so? I can’t stand being locked in here; I shall go mad. He despises me; he does nothing but abuse me.”
“Miss Kate, that’s not so!” Peljo exclaimed, shocked.
“Isn’t it? He knows what it’s like to be imprisoned; he knows how locking me in here would make me feel. Can you call that anything but cruel?”
“This cabin is hardly like the prison me and the captain was in.”
“It’s a prison nonetheless!” Katherine flared. “How can you defend him? He treats me as if I were his possession, his property, like a horse or a piece of land or a slave. He stole me! He raped me! And now he refuses to release me, locks me in here like a dog in its kennel.”
“Oh, no, ma’am, he didn’t want to lock you up like this!”
Katherine gave him a withering look. “I suppose someone forced him to?” she said bitingly. Her rush of anger had given her back her strength, cleared her head. After all, it wasn’t Hampton she had to overcome; it was Peljo. The captain was far away in London. By the time he learned of her escape, she would be safe with the police, and he would not be able to get to her. All she had to do was overcome Peljo. Her mind raced while outwardly she kept her face set in weary, bitter lines.
“He just couldn’t let you go, ma’am. I have never seen him so taken with any other woman.”
She got up and began to pace the room distractedly, glancing around her in a seemingly vague and distraught way. In reality, her sharp eyes were searching for some heavy object to use to stun her jailer; her gaze fell upon the heavy crystal decanter on Hampton’s desk. She moved toward it slowly, keeping up her act of despair.
“Then why treat me so? Oh, Peljo, I am at my wits’ end.” She turned to face him and stealthily slipped one hand behind to grasp
the heavy bottle.
“Please don’t judge him so harshly. He’s never met a woman with your spirit before, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with you.”
She slumped against the desk, her face sullen. “Oh, stop it. I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. Just go away and leave me alone. And take that supper tray with you; I am not hungry.”
Peljo sighed. She and the captain were a pair, all right, both as stubborn as mules, and both blind to their true emotions. He walked across to the table and bent down to pick up the tray, his back to her. Swiftly, Katherine raised her arm and swung; with a heavy thud the bottle crashed into his skull. He slumped to the floor amid the wine and broken bits of glass. Katherine bent to feel his pulse, fearful that she had struck him too hard. Reassured that he was only unconscious, she took one of Matthew’s handkerchiefs and pressed it against his wound to stop the bleeding. Then she took the keys from his belt, snatched up her cloak, and scurried out of the room. She stopped long enough to lock the door from the outside, then dropped the keys beside it. It would give her a little extra time if he had to yell for someone to release him, but she was afraid to buy more time by tossing the keys in the water. What if they couldn’t get him out?
She hurried toward the gangplank, but when she reached it she was stopped by a sailor guarding the exit. Inwardly she cursed herself for her foolishness. She should have realized that there would be a guard at the gangplank. Why hadn’t she grabbed Peljo’s gun?
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the sailor said nervously. “Uh, the captain’s orders were for you not to leave the ship.”
Katherine fixed her haughty, glacial gaze upon him. “I beg your pardon?”
The young man cleared his throat. Damn. He was roasted either way. If he let her go, the captain would have his hide, but neither was it wise to get the captain’s mistress set against him. “Ma’am, I can’t let you pass. I’m sorry.”
“Your loyalty is commendable, sailor, but Captain Hampton is waiting for me in London. He sent a wire to Peljo, telling him to bring me to London to join him. And I don’t think he will be very pleased if you make me miss my train.”
“I’m sorry,” he said doggedly. “But I would have to hear that from Peljo himself.”
Katherine sighed impatiently. “Then why don’t you go ask him? He’s back in my cabin getting my baggage.”
The sailor turned to go, and Katherine made a slight move toward the gangplank. The young man caught the movement and swung back, stepping onto the plank to bar her way. Instinctively Katherine pushed him with all her strength and he, caught off balance, stumbled backward, teetered on the edge for a moment, and then tumbled ingloriously into the water. Katherine picked up her skirts and scampered down the gangplank.
At first her only thought was to evade her pursuers, and she ran at top speed, turning frequently. At last, however, she had to stop to catch her breath and she realized that it was growing dark and she was lost somewhere on the Liverpool waterfront with absolutely no idea of where to go. Sternly she forced down the panic that rose in her. It would gain her nothing to lose her head. Looking about her, she chose a direction and set off briskly.
As night fell rapidly and she remained in the twisting slum streets, she found it hard to suppress her fears. Once a drunk stumbled out of a pub and knocked into her. She began to walk faster, and her heart raced as if it would outstrip her feet. A sailor called out an indecent proposition to her, and she broke into a run. Rounding a corner, she ran full-tilt against two men.
“Hey, little girlie, where you going so fast?” one said jocularly, grasping her arms.
“Let me go!” She tried to twist away from him.
“Now, you’re a pretty little thing, ain’t you?”
“I would hardly call me ‘little,’” she snapped at the man, who wasn’t an inch taller than she.
His companion chuckled. “She’s right there, Ned. I’d say she’s a real handful.” He pinched her bottom and she shrieked indignantly.
“How dare you! Why, you—” She tore away from the short man and began to run, but they were on her instantly. She struggled wildly, clawing, kicking, biting, but she was no match for the two. They dragged her into a dark, dirty alleyway and pushed her down onto the ground amid the dirt and garbage. Desperately she tried to free herself, half-crazed with fear. One pinned her shoulders to the ground; in vain she lashed out with her feet at the other. He grinned down at her, the pale moon glittering on his round, lust-filled face, and began to unbutton his trousers.
“Quite a fighter, ain’t you, girlie?” he said and smiled unpleasantly. “Well, we shall see how much fight is left in you after we get through with you. I don’t mind a little fight—makes it more fun.”
The other laughed and slid his hands down over her breasts, squeezing them painfully. She battered at him with her fists and tried to rise, but he shoved her hard back to the ground. The one standing suddenly bent and gripped her legs and spread them apart, shoving her skirt and petticoats above her waist and tearing away her pantalets.
“Ain’t that a sight?” he crooned, his voice thick with lust.
“Don’t take too long, Ned,” the other joked. “I’m all ready for my turn.”
“I won’t,” Ned said. “Next time around I’ll take a little longer, but this one will be quick.” He slid his hands up her thighs and she cringed. Dear God, why had she run away?
“Matthew,” she whispered, “oh, save me.”
Suddenly a peculiar look crossed Ned’s face and then he slumped on top of her, a red stain spreading across his back. She stared at him in disbelief, for one wild moment almost believing that her prayer had been answered, that somehow Matthew had been magically transported from London to Liverpool to save her. Then she looked up and saw a tall, thin man holding a cane, from the end of which protruded a stiletto blade, stained with her assailant’s blood. The dead man’s friend gulped and took to his heels.
“Dreadfully sorry, madame,” the man said, politely extending a hand to help her up.
She struggled to her feet, staring at him in amazed silence. By his manner, he might have just been introduced to her at a tea, rather than saved her from rape.
“Liverpool at night is no place for a lady alone. Here, you seem quite shaken up. Let me escort you to my aunt’s house; it’s very near here. She will give you a cup of tea and you can rest a bit and freshen up and then I’ll take you back home.”
Dazed, she took the arm he offered, and they began to walk. Her thoughts were careening around wildly in her head. Who was this man? He talked like an English gentleman, but why did he wander about with a walking stick that concealed a knife? Gradually, she began to regain her senses; her heart stopped pounding quite so madly.
“Thank you,” she managed to say.
“Not at all, my dear, not at all,” he said airily. “Couldn’t just stand by, could I? Lucky for you, though, that I was there.”
She nodded. “Yes; very lucky.” Very lucky, indeed; she knew that it would have been much more horrible than anything she had ever suffered at the hands of Matthew Hampton. She felt weak with relief.
“I—I was trying to reach the police—the constable.”
“Whatever for?”
“I was a prisoner aboard an American—I mean, a Confederate ship at the docks. I escaped and was looking for the police.”
“My, you do lead an exciting life, don’t you?”
“Never before,” Katherine said, on the brink of tears or laughter, she wasn’t sure which.
“Well, then, as soon as we calm you down a bit, I’ll take you to the constabulary.”
“Yes, yes, please. Right now, please; I don’t need to rest, really. I won’t feel safe until I’ve reached the police.”
“Nonsense, you are so upset you can hardly stand up. My aunt will fix you up in a second. Now, I won’t take any argument.”
Too confused and weak to protest, Katherine could only give in and cling to his arm. She felt as
if her head would burst from all the wild, discordant thoughts and images and aches. What on earth would his aunt be doing living near here? What was a gentleman like him doing wandering around slum streets, for that matter? And how could anyone be as imperturbable as he? Although his clothes were expensive, they seemed a trifle flashy. Or was it just that she was so used to only sober Bostonians dressed in blacks and grays?
“Here we are,” he said, approaching an unprepossessing brown building.
“Here?” Katherine asked doubtfully, glancing at the squalid surroundings.
Without answering, he rapped sharply on the door. It was quickly answered and her savior propelled her inside. They stood in a small hallway that was dimly lit; but Katherine could see that the walls were a deep red and the carpets thick and plush. What a strange place! Through the half-opened door she could glimpse a large room with several people in it, men and—near-naked women. She remembered things Matthew had told her.
“Why—why, this is a broth—” she exclaimed as her companion’s hand clamped over her mouth. It held a sickeningly scented handkerchief. Feebly she tried to struggle, but the world began to whirl around her and then go black, and she slumped against him.
Chapter 12
The memory of their angry parting stayed like a bitter taste in his mouth. Matthew wished she were here in London with him: they would go to plays and eat intimate midnight suppers in sumptuous private rooms; he would take her dancing, to the races, to wicked clubs that she would be eaten up with curiosity to see. He would introduce her to a thousand pleasurable vices that prim Boston had denied her. Instead, she was sitting alone in their cabin, imprisoned, unhappy, no doubt feeling abandoned because the old doctor had not come to her rescue.
Gregory, Lisa Page 22
