Saturday's Child

by Dallas Schulze

  Descending the stairs, he could feel fine tremors starting in Katie's arm. The shell that had encased her was cracking, as if seeing her attacker had brought home the reality of what had so nearly happened.

  Out of respect for her pride, Quentin waited until they'd reached the foot of the stairs and were out of

  Joseph's sight before he bent, sweeping her feet out from under her as he lifted her in his arms.

  It was a measure of how shaken she was that she muttered only one incoherent protest before letting her trembling body relax against his broad chest.

  With Quentin's arms about her, his long strides carrying her away from the scene of her terror, Katie felt almost safe. But deep inside, she didn't think she'd ever feel truly safe again.

  With a soft sigh, she turned her face against the fine wool of Quentin's dinner jacket, shivers wracking her body as reaction set in at last.

  Quentin tightened his arms around her. His jaw ached with tension as he carried her down the hall to the servants' stairs. He'd never been able to tolerate someone who used their strength to hurt others. It was a sickness he didn't understand.

  But that didn't excuse the fact that he'd let this happen. He'd known what Joseph was like. He'd been a cruel and vicious child and age had not changed him. He'd seen Joseph's interest in Katie. He should have foreseen this possibility.

  The carriage was waiting at the side door. Quentin set Katie down, knowing that if he carried her to the carriage, gossip would fly through the house with the speed of a telegraph.

  Katie paused, taking a deep breath and drawing herself upright. One hand still clutched tightly at her wrap but the other came up, striving for some sort of order in the tangled mass of her hair. The pins were gone, scattered during the struggle. The best she could do was push it back from her face and smooth some of the wilder curls into place.

  Her skin still carried the pallor of shock and there was a hollow look about her eyes, but she looked steadier, more in control.

  "I would appreciate the use of the carriage, but there's no need for you to come any farther with me. I'll be fine."

  "Edith and I are both coming with you," Quentin said firmly. "I'll have Graves hold the carriage here while I get my coat and hat and tell my grandfather what's happened. I was with him when Edith came to get me," he said in answer to her instinctive protest. "He'll want to know that you're safe."

  "There's really no need," Katie said.

  "There is a need. I wouldn't feel right about sending you off on your own."

  Seeing that there was no dissuading him, Katie acquiesced, lacking the energy to continue the argument. Alone in the carriage for a moment until Edith appeared with her cloak, Katie leaned her head back against the soft cushions, trying to keep her mind a perfect blank. What had so nearly happened simply didn't bear thinking about.

  The only conversation during the drive was when Quentin asked Katie for her address, which he passed on to Graves. Katie wondered distantly what the dignified coachman thought of being asked to drive the son of the house, a maid and a seamstress to such a seedy area. There would surely be gossip. It was probably just as well that she wouldn't be returning to the Sterling household.

  It seemed as if the journey took only a moment, accustomed as she was to walking the distance. When the coach drew to a halt in front of the worn building she called home, Quentin jumped down first, lowering the steps for her, holding up his hand to assist first her and then Edith.

  Standing on the cracked walkway, Katie turned to look up at Quentin. "I thank you for your kindness, Mr. Sterling. If you had not arrived when you did..."

  "You don't owe me any thanks, Katie. On the contrary, I owe you an apology. That something like this could occur under my family's roof is appalling."

  "There's nothing for you to feel badly about."

  "I'm not going to stand here arguing with you. I think you need your own home and your own bed. Will your brother be home?"

  "I don't know. There's no need for either of you to come in with me," she protested as Quentin began to shepherd her toward the door.

  "Certainly there is. Your brother, if he's at home, will want an explanation, an explanation I certainly owe him. You were under my family's protection when this happened."

  "No, really, there's no need." She hadn't planned to tell Colin if she could avoid it. She hadn't wanted to upset him, especially since she'd taken no serious hurt.

  "I'd not argue with him, were I you, Katie. I think he has his mind made up," Edith said, slipping her arm about her friend's waist as Quentin opened the door for them, ushering them into the shabby entry-way.

  With a sigh that was perilously close to a sob, Katie gave in. If the truth were told, she was grateful to have Edith's strong arm about her, grateful for the presence of another woman who could perhaps truly understand the terror of what she'd experienced.

  When they arrived at the scarred door of her room, she found her hand was shaking too much to fit the key into the lock. Without a word, Quentin took it from her and unlocked the door.

  "Katie!" Colin was home, still in his shirtsleeves, his dark hair only half-combed. He started toward her, only to slow, his smile of welcome fading when he saw that she wasn't alone. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, really," Katie said quickly. "Just a small incident. Mr. Sterling was kind enough to insist on seeing me home, but it wasn't really anything."

  She was talking too quickly. She could hear it, as well as see it in her brother's face. Her words, intended as reassuring, were having the opposite effect as Colin's expression tightened with concern. His eyes skimmed over her, taking in her pallor, the tangled mess of her hair. An end of torn ribbon hung from the neck of her pelisse, which she clutched together in a white-knuckled grip. Even in the fitful light cast by the lamp, it was possible to see the beginnings of a bruise on her cheekbones.

  "What happened?" Colin barely got the words out past the tightness in his throat. Katie was all the family he had. If she'd been hurt...

  "Nothing, really." But Katie's voice wavered, giving the lie to her words. She pressed her free hand against her mouth as Colin's figure blurred before her.

  "Katie!" Colin reached out, his hands on her shoulders drawing her close as a sob broke from her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Katie cry. When she was a small child, she'd cried with each new move, each new set of ties broken. But as she'd grown older, the tears had disappeared, though he could still remember the set look that would come over her face as the train pulled out of each town.

  Feeling Colin's strong arms around her, Katie's control dissolved like soap flakes in a washtub. She sobbed into his shoulder, crying out all the fear, crying out the deep exhaustion of the past weeks. But she gave way only for a moment. She drew back almost immediately, wiping at her eyes, her breath shuddering.

  "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

  "You're exhausted. That's what came over you." Edith bustled forward. "You need some rest, that's all. Let me help you."

  It was a measure of Katie's exhaustion that she didn't protest, didn't even think to offer a word of farewell to Quentin. She let Edith lead her away without a word.

  Colin waited until the two women had disappeared behind the curtain that set Katie's bed off from the rest of the room before taking a quick step toward Quentin, his eyes fierce.

  "What happened?" "

  Quentin gave him the explanation he demanded in as few words as possible, seeing Colin's eyes darken when he realized what had so nearly happened.

  "She wasn't hurt?"

  "I believe her hurt was more emotional than physical," Quentin said.

  "I should never have let her go out to work," Colin said angrily. He ran his fingers through his already mussed hair. He lifted his jacket from where it had been draped over the back of a chair, jerking it on with quick movements. "I should have insisted that she stay home."

  "And watch the two of you starve?" Edith stepped through the curta
ins, her eyes flicking up and down Colin in a quick, contemptuous glance. "Katie probably thought that at least one of you should be doing an honest day's labor."

  "I beg your pardon?" Colin seemed confused by this attack.

  "Well, it's plain to see that you don't hold with working. Just getting out of bed at this hour."

  "As a matter of fact, I have just gotten out of bed." Colin's temper flared to match hers. "But, contrary to your opinion, Miss—I don't even know who you are."

  "Edith Miller, a friend of Katie's and someone concerned for her welfare. She's fallen asleep now. Someone should stay with her tonight, unless you've better things to do, Mr. McBride."

  "I'll stay," he said shortly. "And for your information, Miss Miller, though I have only recently risen, it's because I happen to work at night."

  "Of course. At the gaming tables, no doubt."

  "As a matter of fact, yes."

  Quentin broke into what might have become an increasingly vituperative discussion.

  "I would guess that Miss McBride would sleep a great deal easier if it were a trifle quieter."

  They glared at each other a moment longer before Edith gathered her wrap a bit more firmly about her shoulders and swept by Colin. She paused at the door as Quentin opened it.

  "Sleep is the best thing for her now. Tell her I'll be by to see her tomorrow after I've left work."

  Colin stared at the door for a moment before turning to look at the curtain that blocked off his sister's bed. In the quiet, he could hear the occasional half sob that broke the rhythm of her breathing.

  ❧

  Quentin was fastening his cuffs when someone knocked on the door of his room. Glancing up, he bade the person enter, reaching for his jacket as he spoke.

  "I've just come to tidy your room, sir. If you'd prefer, I can come back later."

  "No, this is fine. I was just leaving." It wasn't until he turned that he realized whom he was talking to. The stilted little voice had failed to ring a bell. "Edith. I didn't realize it was you. Did you see Katie yesterday evening? Is she well?"

  "Yes, sir. I saw her." Edith's expression remained wooden, her eyes lowered to the feather duster she was whisking over a narrow table.

  "And how is she? Is she rested?"

  "A permanent rest is what she'll be getting," Edith said with a touch of acid in her voice.

  Quentin had been reaching for his hat and walking stick. He had an appointment at his club this morning. At Edith's words, he turned to look at her, his brows raised in question.

  "Permanent rest? Is she ill?"

  "Not unless she's sick at the ingratitude that some persons have shown."

  "Edith, pray stop talking in riddles," he said shortly. "Is there something wrong with Katie? Did she take some injury from the events of the other day?"

  Edith turned to look at him, the duster clutched like a weapon in her fist. "She took an injury, all right. It's just like my brother William has always said. The rich is the rich and they make their own rules. Katie is the one who was injured, so it makes sense that Katie should be the one to be punished."

  "Punished? What are you talking about?"

  "She was given her walking papers yesterday. Not only from this household, but from her position at the shop."

  "Where did you hear this?"

  "From Katie herself. I went to see her last night, just as I'd said I would. Katie told me that Mrs. Ferriweather had let her go yesterday. Seemed she regretted it, but after Katie had made improper advances to one of the wedding guests, she had no choice in the matter. She had to protect the reputation of her shop. So there's poor Katie, booted out of her job and no one to care about it."

  "I care," Quentin said quietly, his eyes cold with anger. "Thank you for telling me this, Edith."

  "Well, Katie wouldn't thank me for it."

  "I thank you for it." Picking up his walking stick and hat, Quentin left the room, a set look about his jaw that made Edith glad it wasn't she he was planning to talk to.

  ❧

  "Excuse me, Mother, but I fail to understand your reason for complaining to Miss McBride's employer about her services. Are you aware that she has been fired?"

  "Really, Quentin, what Miss McBride's employer sees fit to do is certainly none of my concern. I simply told her what had occurred."

  Sylvie Sterling twiddled nervously with the elaborate diamond and emerald brooch that decorated the neck of her gray silk dress. There was something about Quentin that made her uneasy, always had, even when he was a child. He'd look at her with those big blue eyes that wanted explanations for things that other people simply accepted. And now, here he was, getting involved in something that was none of his concern. She felt vaguely put upon.

  "Let's not argue over semantics, Mother."

  "I'm not," she protested indignantly, uncertain of what he meant but sure it didn't sound ladylike. "You know, this is really none of your concern, Quentin. She's only a servant."

  Quentin sighed. Staring at his mother's vacant, but still pretty face, he reminded himself that she was not an unkind woman. She just didn't believe in thinking—had, in fact, avoided anything approaching it all her life. A woman's duty was to be pleasant at all times; to dress herself in a manner befitting her husband's position; to maintain, and if possible, advance her position in society.

  "Mother, last night Joseph attacked Miss Mc-Bride. He could have done her great harm if I hadn't interfered."

  "Joseph told me all about the incident. Naturally, I had to tell Mrs. Ferriweather what had occurred. After all, I can't have that kind of thing going on in my house. All our girls are virtuous," she added firmly.

  "Katie is virtuous," Quentin got out between clenched teeth. "Did you forbid Joseph to return to this house?"

  "Certainly not." She was shocked by the idea. "He is a member of our family. The poor boy admitted that perhaps he'd been a trifle naughty but the girl enticed him, Quentin. He was quite embarrassed."

  "Hellfire and damnation!" Quentin shot from his chair, his brows knotting over his eyes as he glared at his mother, who was staring at him in startled shock. "Katie would no more have tried to entice Joseph or any other man than.. .than you would," he finished irritably, pacing to the window to stare out at the pale sunshine.

  "Really, Quentin." His mother drew herself up in her seat, her back rigid with offense. "I don't appreciate your comparing me to that girl. She has no breeding, no background whatsoever. This incident simply proves it. A truly virtuous young woman would never have allowed herself to be put in such a compromising situation. Enticing poor Joseph..." She dabbed at her eyes. "And that's another thing. Do you realize that you nearly broke your cousin's jaw, and knocked out three of his teeth?"

  "I'm sorry I didn't wring his worthless neck," Quentin said bluntly, snatching up his cane and hat and striding to the door.

  "Quentin." Sylvie's voice rang with alarm. She remembered that look from when he was a boy. That particular set of the jaw had always meant he was about to do something particularly distressing. "Quentin, where are you going?"

  He turned in the door, fixing her with cool blue eyes. Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. "Did I tell you that I'd come to San Francisco looking for a wife?"

  "A wife?" She stared at him, trying to connect this apparently irrelevant statement to their earlier conversation. She half started from her chair as a possible connection struck her. It was too incredible to imagine, but there was that look in his eyes. "A wife? Quentin. You're certainly not— You wouldn't?"

  "Yes, Mother, I rather think I would." He grinned wolfishly as she fell back, one hand pressed to her bosom. He set his hat at a jaunty angle before tossing the walking stick in the air, catching it with a wicked grin. "I think Katie McBride might be just the girl I'm looking for."

  ❧

  He'd only meant the words to startle his mother out of her smug complacency, but as he strode down the street, the idea seemed to grow in his mind. He tried to di
smiss it but it persisted. He'd come home to find a wife. Maybe he didn't have to go back to Wyoming without one.

  Quentin paused at a street corner, waiting for a trolley to go by before venturing off the sidewalk. He didn't know a great deal about Katie McBride, but she seemed to be a girl of sound good sense. Whatever her background, it surely hadn't been one of ease and luxury. She understood the value of hard work, and heaven knew, ranch life provided plenty of that.

  She was attractive and seemed intelligent. Knowing how isolated the ranch was, Quentin understood the importance of a woman he could talk to. Heaven forbid he should find himself sharing a house with a woman, miles from the nearest neighbor, only to discover she hadn't a thought in her brain but fashion. Not to mention that such a girl would have little enough to occupy herself.

  No, his grandfather had been right in saying that he'd not find a suitable wife among the women of his own class. But Katie McBride was another story. She was not ill-bred. In fact, she seemed more refined than some of his sister's flighty friends.

  By the time he stopped outside the scarred door of the room Katie shared with her brother, he'd wavered from one side of the fence to the other without coming to any conclusions.

  The building was even shabbier than he remembered. His previous visits had been after dark, when the lack of light had helped to mask some of its seedier attributes. He'd narrowly avoided a fall when his shoe caught in the torn carpet and the woodwork showed the scars of too many careless bumps over the years, leaving splinters in the unwary hand.

  He lifted his hand to knock on the door, his nose wrinkling at the scent of onions that drifted down the hall.

  He forgot about the onions when the door opened. Katie stood in front of him, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw him. Surprise and not much welcome, he acknowledged ruefully. But then he could hardly blame her. The Sterling family was unlikely to be on her list of welcomed guests.

  "Hello." He removed his hat, trying a smile on her.