“Oh, no!” Katherine gasped. That was it: he no longer desired her. He was filled with disgust at her unclean body, just as she was. Rackingham was trying to make him marry her, but he wanted to be rid of her, would not even touch her if they married. She was swept by a wave of shame; she was repulsive to him.
In a shaking voice she said, “I will go, Matthew.”
His fist closed around the paperweight so hard that the muscles of his forearm bulged. “All right. I will just sleep here in the chair tonight, if you don’t mind. So you won’t be afraid. I bought you this box of things in London. Please take them with you.”
“All right.”
Without undressing, he turned off the light and settled down in the chair to sleep. Katherine pressed her hand against her mouth to hold back the tears. Oh, God, what was she to do now, all alone?
In the chill of early dawn, the sound of approaching horses was clear and crisp. Matthew watched silently as the carriage pulled to a halt and Kenwick and his second stepped out. The baron looked Britishly cool and calm. Matthew felt his stomach knot; in a moment the baron would be Britishly cool and dead. Britons were fools; the thing they did best was die. Witness the Crimea, where they had floundered about incompetently and claimed triumph because they had fallen so well.
Impatiently Matthew waited through the formalities: checking the pistols, choosing them, the request by the judge for reconsideration. They stood back to back, then at the signal paced away, turned … his body sideways to present a narrow target, Matthew fired, saw Kenwick recoil as the bullet struck him, and then felt a sudden spear of pain and a blow that knocked him flat as Kenwick’s bullet slammed into him.
“Captain, Captain, please wake up.” Fortner’s anxious voice seeped into his brain.
Matthew made a determined effort to open his eyes, then closed them against the glare of the rising sun. He heard Fortner exclaim in relief. So the son of a bitch had hit him. Again he opened his eyes to see Fortner’s boyish face floating above him.
“Are you all right, sir? Can you stand?”
“Of course I can stand,” he said gruffly. “Is he dead?”
Fortner’s eyes lit in admiration. “Indeed he is, sir. Cleanest shot I ever saw.”
“Good. Then I suggest you and I visit a doctor.”
The doctor cleaned his wound and pronounced him lucky the ball had gone clean through and not lodged in his arm. The oversize fee they left compensated his curiosity.
When they reached the ship, they were greeted by Peljo’s sour face. “Well, she’s gone, sir. Crying like a baby, too.”
Matthew felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “Shut up, Peljo.”
He shook off Fortner’s supporting arm and walked to his cabin. It looked the same, except for the swelling emptiness of her absence. Matthew sat down at his desk and propped his head on his good hand. This afternoon he would return to London and spur Redfield to come up with that mission of his. He hoped grimly that it was suicidal.
He wondered how the War was going. The reports from the British correspondents were of course outdated and probably inaccurate as well. It sounded bad for Lee; they were steadily losing ground. No surprise to the Navy; they had been losing since the War began. He shrugged. What did it matter? Doomed country; the gallows waiting at the end for a Rebel pirate; Shel gone and half his friends, maybe David now, too; the family bankrupted. To hell with it. If he had had Katherine—well, that would be something to live for—a new life with her, children, dreams, hopes. But now, well, might as well be like the British and make a good end. He opened his desk to pull out a bottle of whiskey, and a gleam of silver caught his eye. He reached in and pulled it out—Katherine’s silly little popgun. Softly he ran a finger down the handle. Scalding tears slid down his face and splashed upon the metal.
NEW YORK
Chapter 15
Afterward Katherine could hardly remember the first few days away from Hampton; it seemed as if she had done nothing but eat, sleep, and cry. While they waited for a ship leaving for the States, Dr. Rackingham kindly left her alone, realizing that sleep would heal her far better than any of his ministrations. So she lost herself in sleep, too shattered to face her broken world—the terror of her aloneness, the emptiness without Matthew, the intense self-disgust. She never left her room, taking her meals there, too. She locked the door and kept a chair under the knob, and checked the locked windows a hundred times a day.
Gradually, however, her fear began to recede, especially after they boarded the ship for New York. At sea, insulated by the encircling ocean, she could feel more secure. She took long walks around the deck, and the brisk sea air revived her. Her brain began to function again, and all the horrors that lurked at the back of her mind she was able to separate and bring to the forefront one by one where she could focus the light of reason on them and gradually wither them to nothingness. Day by day, she felt her strength of character returning, growing to fight the turmoil within her. And as it did, she realized that she must fight to regain herself. No one could restore her but herself; she had to destroy all the demons on her own.
First she had to recover her own self-respect, and that was the most difficult part. Each day she coached herself in all the reasons why she was not to blame for what had happened, why she was not the wrongdoer, why she must not hate and punish herself. Her humiliation lessened, she began to look straight at people again and not off to the side. Her first understanding, painful acceptance of Hampton’s rejection passed, and was replaced by bitter resentment and anger. Oh, yes, it was fine for him to take her, willing or not, and be maddened when she protested. But if other men took her, then she was no longer fit for him. It did not matter that they had raped her; it did not matter that he had known far more women than she had men. Oh, no, all that mattered was that someone else had used her, and therefore he no longer wanted her. Damaged goods, that’s all she was, and so he tossed her aside.
And how stupid it was of her to be hurt because he no longer wanted her. Naturally, she had focused on him during her trials and had viewed him as her savior because he had charged in with his huge, commanding presence and taken her from her tormentors. She had been consumed with gratitude and so ready, even eager, to repay him by throwing herself at his feet. That was why she had wanted so to cling to him, and been so destroyed when he sent her away. But now that she could put things in their proper perspective, realize her gratitude for what it was, and recall that it was his fault that she had been put in a position where he had to rescue her, she could see that it was silly to be hurt. After all, had he not done what she had been begging him to do all along?
The days at sea slipped by and Katherine’s mental recuperation sped along, helped by pleasant conversations with the doctor and their friendly games of chess and large chunks of time spent alone to quiet her nerves in sewing or to soothe her raw emotions in reading. Her irrational fears died; her firm jaw and clear, straight gaze returned; her spirit revived. But nothing helped fill the aching emptiness inside her. Sadness darkened her eyes; she was slower, quieter, less likely to return a witticism. It seemed as if there were always a steel band around her chest—squeezing, squeezing. No wonder, she told herself, since her life was ruined. No man would have her now; she would be shunned by Society, doomed to while away her life in the musty company of Aunt Amelia. That was reason enough, surely, for her to sob her heart out nearly every night.
It was some time before she could bring herself to open the box he had given her. She wanted no more to do with it than he had, but finally curiosity won out: why, and what had he bought for her in London? On top lay a little white box; inside a delicate gold chain nestled against black velvet. She gasped at its simple, fragile beauty and hurried to clasp it around her throat and preen at her image in the mirror. A faint smile curved her lips. Damn the man, he had excellent taste. She returned to the box and pulled out a lace and ivory fan, beautifully carved, and lovely, lacy, enticing underthings. Her smile broadened
. Shocking, really, and no protection from the cold, but how subtly provocative against one’s bare skin, the sort of thing one wore only to have taken off. She blushed at her thoughts, a little ashamed of herself that she could feel a tingle of excitement at the thought of sex after the awful things she had been through. Sternly she put aside the underthings and dove into the box again, retrieving this time a nightgown that made her blushes seem inadequate. White, gossamerlike, pristine yet completely revealing. Quickly she undressed and slipped it on. It clung softly to her, concealing nothing, yet somehow was more enticing for the gauzy hint of covering it gave. Dreamily she looked in the mirror. She would have put it on and the fragile chain also, and then walked toward him, so that the slit sides revealed alluring glimpses of her bare flesh. And he would have smiled that little, almost mocking grin, his eyes burning, watching her, not moving. When she reached him, he would have reached out and slid his fingertips down her, grazing her breasts and stomach.
Good heavens, what was she doing? Standing about dreaming wanton daydreams! Hurriedly she jerked off the filmy gown and redressed, then opened the box to pull out bolts of cloth—deep rose, emerald, and—breathtakingly beautiful—pale gold satin. She touched them softly; he must have selected them carefully, for the colors were just right for her. He had thought of her in London, taken the time to select things to please her, things that were meant only for her and no one else. How could he have done that and then rejected her so coldly? For that matter, why had he even bothered to save her, just to throw her out? Hadn’t he whispered, “I love you” as he comforted her? Or had that only been a delusion caused by that drug they had given her? Had he said it? Meant it? Was it possible that her defilement had so completely destroyed his feeling for her? No, he could not have said it; he could not have loved her and then rejected her so. She felt the salty taste of tears and realized that she was crying. Would she never stop all this weeping? Sternly she wiped away her tears, returned all the presents to the box, and shoved it out of sight.
The voyage was a long one, as the ship sailed first to Nassau and spent several days exchanging cargo before continuing its journey to New York. Katherine was glad, especially for the sunny, sleepy days in Nassau. The longer she delayed facing Boston, the better she would feel. But at last the vessel docked in New York City, and Katherine and the doctor continued their journey to Boston on the train.
Rackingham telephoned her father from New York, and when they stepped off the train they found the Devereaux carriage waiting for them. A smile of genuine welcome split the coachman’s professionally blank face for a moment, and Katherine smiled back, but felt a pang that her father had not come himself. She found it hard to reenter the restrained, formal world of Boston society after the tumultuous, emotional weeks spent with Matthew. The streets, the buildings, even her own house as they approached it were all so familiar, and yet somehow so strange. She was gripped by a sudden, icy realization that she no longer belonged here, and she wanted to cry. Was there anyplace she belonged now?
The butler opened the door and led her to the drawing room, where Mr. Devereaux and Aunt Amelia awaited her. Her father hugged her joyfully and her aunt burst into tears. Katherine kept hold of her father’s hand, hoping that soon the barrier of her strangeness would fall. She was overjoyed to see them again, of course, but—why did she feel so sad, as if something was missing? Before long, pleading travel weariness, she retired to her room, leaving her relatives to talk to Dr. Rackingham.
“Oh, Miss Kate! I’m that glad to see you!” Pegeen ran to her and gave her a hearty hug.
Katherine returned her hug and then closed her bedroom door. Somehow she felt better here with her maid.
“Oh, miss, you have no idea how dreadful it’s been without you.”
“Well, I have missed you too, Pegeen. In fact, I discovered that I hardly knew how to do a thing for myself!”
The Irish girl laughed, then suddenly sobered. “Oh, Miss Katherine, was it very dreadful? I—he didn’t harm you, did he?”
“No.” Katherine sat down on the bed, tired. “He didn’t harm me.”
“I knew he wouldn’t. They all said he was a Rebel devil and no telling what he would do to you. But I thought he was a fine gentleman, even in chains like that. And the way I had seen him look at you, I knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He just wanted to—you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“It’s dreadfully exciting to think how much he must have wanted you, kidnapping you like that, right in the teeth of the Navy.”
“I am sure he loved the danger of it.”
“But he must have known how much worse they would be to him for taking you as well as escaping.”
Katherine sighed. “Matthew fears nothing, I found—and for good reason. Oh, Pegeen.” She turned to her, her face suddenly alight. “If only you had seen him in the midst of battle. He’s magnificent; so audacious.” Katherine, for the first time having a receptive audience, found herself pouring out all her memories of his bravery and skill and determination: the battle, the storm, tricking the captain of the Susan Harper.
Pegeen was enthralled and elated at the change in her mistress. She seemed so much prettier, warmer. “But, mum, why ever did you leave him?” she burst out.
Katherine’s face closed and she looked away. “He is a wonderful sailor and fighter, Pegeen, but not particularly good at being a human being. He’s arrogant, selfish, and cruel. Besides, how can you think that I would live in sin willingly with any man?”
“I am sorry, miss; I know you are a good, moral woman. It’s just that—well, you seem to love him.”
“Don’t be absurd, Peg. I am simply aware of his attributes as a captain. Also, I am grateful to him for saving me from something quite dreadful.”
“What?” Pegeen asked, her eyes wide.
“Frankly, a life in a brothel.”
“Saints preserve us, mum! You mean you was actually in one of them places?”
“Yes, unfortunately. But Captain Hampton rescued me. And then he let me go. He no longer wanted me, after—”
“Oh, Miss Kate.” Pegeen hastened to put a comforting hand on her arm. “How terrible! He is a wicked man for turning you out like that. I can’t see why men think it’s so awful for a girl to have slept with other men, while they have any number of women they want. And especially when it wasn’t even your fault. They are so unfair!” Her poor mistress—men were such beasts. Anyone could see she was eating her heart out for him, for all her saying she didn’t love him. But he threw her over because some other man had raped her. Pegeen felt a sudden urge to find that handsome scoundrel and choke him to death. Poor Miss Katherine, whatever would she do now?
The doctor stayed on with them for several days, urged by Mr. Devereaux, who realized how much he owed to the old gentleman. Katherine was grateful for his company; he was the only person now who was secure and familiar. Though they never talked of Matthew, she knew the shared experiences of Matthew’s ship would be gone from her forever when he left. Besides, he was the only relief from the company of her aunts—and they were almost more than Katherine could bear.
Aunt Amelia, true to form, was weepy and forever trying timidly to comfort her calm, strong niece. If it had not been so irritating, Katherine would have found it amusing. Aunt Amanda, however, amused her not at all. That worthy matron came to call the day after Katherine’s return, her face a study of righteous pity and forgiveness.
“Poor child,” she sighed tearfully, hugging Katherine to her massive bosom. “Thank God you have been returned to us.”
Katherine forbore to comment that they had hardly been on the best of terms when she left. Amanda wiped away an imaginary tear and seated herself wearily.
“This time has been such anguish for me, for us all. Why, poor James—”
“Please, Aunt Amanda, spare me,” Katherine said dryly.
“He was quite driven to distraction,” his mother said firmly.
“I am sure that would no
t be too difficult.”
“Katherine, you are the most ungrateful child! Why, that boy is willing to marry you, even now, just to save your good name!”
“I am sure that is very kind of him, Auntie, but I shan’t require such a dreadful sacrifice from him.”
“Well, I doubt your penniless lieutenant will have you now, although he may be even that anxious to trap your fortune.”
“I intend to release him from his obligation,” Katherine said evenly.
“Of course.” That seemed to improve her aunt’s humor and she smiled again. “Naturally the family must close ranks now. You can depend on Amelia and me to stand by you. If only you had listened to me and stayed home, like a decent young girl, instead of traipsing down to those docks every day, none of this would have happened. I trust that now you will depend on my advice and perhaps we will be able to lessen this blot on the Fritham name.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Katherine said coldly.
“I am talking about what we must do now. I think that after a while, if you stay quiet and don’t cause any further fuss, and if you marry James, after a proper time of course, to prove—” she paused meaningfully.
“That I’m not pregnant?” her niece snapped, and Aunt Amelia gasped and began to fan herself.
“Katherine, please, no doubt being around that Rebel monster has made you forget what few manners you once had, but if you ever expect to be allowed to enter a decent house again, you had better learn a little propriety!” Amanda said heatedly. “Until now, your peculiar notions have been tolerated because of your name, which you have managed to besmirch through your stubborn, headstrong ways, and from now on, you’ll have to tread lightly, or you will never get even a toe into Society again.”
“But I have done nothing wrong!” Katherine blazed. “Why should Society be closed to me?”
Gregory, Lisa Page 28
