Keeping Katerina (The Victorians)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  So she read. It was not what she had expected, and the blunt description of the violent murder struck her in a weak place. She hated being such a watering pot, but there was no help for it. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she turned to the next poem. ‘My Last Duchess’. This was more subtle, but she found the reference to the murder readily enough. How close she had come to being the subject of a story just like these. Except in her case, her lover had saved her, not harmed her. She closed the folio, so her tears would not stain the paper, and set it aside. Her tea forgotten, she buried her face in her arm on the table and gave vent to her emotions again. And that was where Christopher found her when he returned from work a few minutes later.

  He didn’t say a word. Approaching from behind, he wrapped his arms around her, intending to comfort her. It was a terrible mistake. She started violently, pulling away with a cry of terror and curled into a ball, protecting her head and belly from a perceived attack.

  Cursing himself, he laid his hand on her shoulder.

  "Kat," he said softly, "I’m sorry I startled you."

  "Christopher?" Recognizing the voice, her rigid body began to relax and she straightened, turning, seeing his handsome face filled with concern. She launched herself into his arms.

  "I’m sorry," she murmured, her face hidden against his shoulder.

  "Think nothing of it, love. Anyone would have been surprised to be grabbed from behind when thinking of something else. It was my fault. I didn’t think."

  He slid his hand under her chin and raised her face.

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Yes. I read your poems."

  "What, the Browning?"

  She nodded.

  "Oh Lord. Terrible aren’t they?"

  "They’re real. They had to be terrible or they wouldn’t be convincing. Isn’t it interesting how both men blamed the women for their attacks on them?"

  "Yes. But neither woman was at fault. They didn’t even know there was a problem. And it wasn’t your fault either."

  "I know."

  "But do you believe it?"

  "God willing, some day."

  She looked so sweet and pretty, there, in his arms, just where he wanted her to be, and he greeted her with a kiss that left her breathless and panting.

  "Is that any better?"

  "Oh yes, lovely."

  "Now then, sweet wife, I have a question for you. My father recommended we take a wedding trip. It’s an excellent idea. Where would you like to go?"

  "I have no idea. I’ve never traveled."

  "Well Nice is lovely this time of year, warm, you know, but there’s also Italy. Do you have any family you might want to visit? Where are your parents from?"

  "Florence. I’ve always wanted to see it."

  "Shall we go there then?"

  "Would you like to?"

  "I would like to take you somewhere you want to go, and see you excited and happy."

  "That’s easy, darling. You only have to take me to bed."

  He grinned. "And Florence?"

  "If you would like it, I would."

  "Shall we find out if your family is interested in a visit?"

  "How? Wouldn’t a message take almost as long as a voyage?"

  "Yes, a letter would, but what about a telegram?"

  "Ah, I forgot about that. Yes, let’s."

  "I’ll go to the telegraph office tomorrow. And now, you mentioned another little trip that would make you happy. Is there time before dinner?"

  She glanced at the clock she had placed on the mantle. "It’s 5:30. Katie says dinner is at seven. That ought to be plenty of time."

  "Just barely enough. Let’s go, love."

  And he took her hand and led her to the bedroom for a brief voyage to Heaven.

  ***Chapter 12***

  The following Monday, Christopher caused a stir by arriving at work on time. His father looked him over, taking in the clean and well-pressed suit, the recently trimmed hair, the warm coat, not to mention the lips stung with many kisses, and grinned. Christopher was quickly becoming every inch a married man. It suited him. As they made their rounds through the factory, the younger man looked relaxed and easy, another sure sign of domestic contentment.

  The noisy task complete, they retired to the relative quiet of the office with Colonel Turner to discuss the week’s business.

  "I must say," the Colonel began, "Christopher, well spotted last week. I had Mrs. Turner talk to Miss Jones. She said it was like pulling teeth but eventually she got the story out of her. The young lady’s been courted by a man with a jealous streak. At first she found it charming… until he turned violent. She didn’t know what to do, and was embarrassed to go to her family, since they’d always told her he was no good."

  "So what happened?"

  "Mrs. Turner and I took her to her father and explained the situation. I believe he had a talk with the young man, and her father’s a butcher, so you can imagine how that went. At any rate, courtship is done, and the young man is gone. Miss Jones seemed sad, but relieved. I hope in time she will find someone better."

  "What good news. Was her father angry with her?"

  "Disappointed, but not truly angry. No man wants to see his child hurt."

  What a shame that wasn’t true.

  Business meeting concluded, Colonel Turner returned to the work floor while Christopher applied himself to ordering new vermillion dye. They were running far too low.

  "Well, son, how are the travel plans going?"

  "Quite well. It’s taking longer than I expected, but we should be ready to leave a week from Friday."

  "That’s very good. Did you settle on Italy or France?"

  "Italy. Katerina’s mother’s family still lives there. We made contact with her grandfather, and he would like us to stay with him."

  "How nice. Let’s hope he’s better than…"

  "Than her father? Yes. I doubt he could be worse, and if it doesn’t work out, Florence is a sizable city and we can certainly find a hotel, but I thought it best to start out this way, at least."

  "No doubt you’re right. Did you know, since trains have taken off so nicely, they’re developing steam ships? Imagine how much faster ships could go if they did not depend on wind."

  "Yes, imagine. Do you think it will happen in our lifetime?"

  "It might."

  The gentlemen worked in silence for the rest of the morning. After a brief break for lunch, a tall young man with the shock of auburn hair burst breathlessly into the office. It was Christopher’s younger brother Devin.

  "Father, Chris, you have to come home right away."

  "Why, what’s happened?"

  "It’s old Tibbins. He’s had a heart seizure. He’s not expected to live. Come on. Hurry. I have the carriage outside."

  Christopher and Adrian glanced at each other for a moment before grabbing their coats and hats and running for the door.

  ******

  It was very late, after midnight, when Christopher finally arrived at his town house. The little structure was dark and silent, and no surprise. Katerina was inclined to be a morning person, and Mackenzie and Katie both started work early. He climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom to find a lamp still lit, a low fire on the grate. It was dark, but not so dark as to prevent him from moving quietly through the room to the commode, where a bowl of cool water awaited. He was glad it wasn’t hot. His face was wind-burned and his eyes stung. Dipping a cloth into the refreshing liquid, he washed, the water making soft lapping and splashing noises. Then he extinguished the lamp, moved over to the bed and undressed wearily. He glanced at his wife. She was curled into a little ball sleeping, but not peacefully, muttering softly and twitching.

  Beautiful girl, he thought, the sight of her soothing him. It was very nice to come home and find his precious wife waiting for him. Not bothering with nightclothes, he slid into the bed in his undergarments and snuggled against her back.

  She started awake with a screech, pulling away, nea
rly falling from the bed. He took hold of her arm to steady her and sighed. He really did not need her nervous reactions right now.

  "Kat," he said in his gentlest, most soothing voice.

  "Christopher?"

  "Yes, love. Just me."

  "Where have you been?" There was an odd note in her voice.

  "I had an emergency."

  "I needed you here. Why weren’t you here?" She sounded… upset… no, more than upset, frantic.

  "What’s wrong?"

  "He came here."

  "Who, your father?"

  "Yes. He beat on the door, tried to force his way in. He said he was taking me home."

  "Oh my God. What happened?" Terrifying images crowded his exhausted mind.

  "I had Mr. Mackenzie bar the door and refuse him admittance. And then Katie slipped out the back and went to get the police."

  "Did they turn him away?"

  "Not at first. I had to show them the marriage license."

  "Ah, and that worked?"

  "Eventually."

  "Did he hurt you?"

  "No. He never even got through the door."

  "So then all is well?"

  "No, I needed you. Where were you?"

  He looked at her in the dim light of the fire. She had handled the situation herself, so bravely. It was done. She was safe. So why was she so upset? He didn’t understand it, but reached for her anyway. She pulled back, turned over so she was facing away from him.

  "Now really, Kat," he said, his voice stern, "don’t you think you’re overreacting a little? Everything is fine. You took care of it. You didn’t need me."

  She didn’t reply.

  "Kat…"

  His dismissive answer had hurt her. Her shoulders were shaking and he realized she was crying, softly, trying to conceal it.

  "Kat." He pulled her back against his body, not giving her the opportunity to squirm away, holding her close.

  "Where were you?" she choked.

  "There was an emergency."

  "Couldn’t you have sent a note?"

  "I suppose I could have. I didn’t think of it." And that had been inconsiderate. He remembered her telling him she liked to know where everyone was, that the knowledge made her feel safer. And he had been gone, she didn’t know where, for a very long time, with no word. And then her father had been there, frightening her. No wonder she was upset.

  "I’m sorry, Kat. Do you remember Old Tibbins, who worked for my parents?"

  "Yes."

  "He passed away this evening. I went to tell him goodbye." His voice caught a little.

  She thought about this in silence for a long moment, gathering her composure.

  "Was he very important to you then?"

  "Yes. I have no grandparents, love. Mother is an orphan, and father’s parents died before I was born, but Tibbins has been part of the household since I was a baby. He’s like a member of the family, like the grandfather I never had. When he wasn’t on duty he was playing with me, and my brother. The old gentleman could campaign with toy soldiers for hours, build castles out of playing cards, and decimate the Spanish Armada in the garden pond. He was wonderful." Christopher’s voice wavered, "And now he’s gone."

  Katerina thought about this. Until today she had never stopped to consider the feelings of others. There had been no opportunity. But things were different now. If she was going to be a woman and not a rabbit she had to let her own needs go from time to time and tend others, most especially this man. She had needed him today, but apparently he had needed her more. Someone actually needed her. How novel. She had never considered that her existence might matter to someone else. But whose arms would soothe Christopher’s grief if hers did not? Squashing down her irritation, she rolled in his embrace and slid her arms around his neck, kissing him softly.

  "I’m sorry, darling," she said, "that must be very hard. I remember when my mother passed away. It hurt like hell."

  It was a strong word, but of course, she wasn’t wrong. Her mother’s death had been the start of her descent into hell.

  And then she pulled him closer, pressing his face against her, where her shoulder met her chest. She was soft there, pillowy. Her fingers ran into his hair, stroking gently. She was doing something right, something selfless, and it felt very good.

  ******

  The naked girl restrained from a hook in the ceiling whimpered under the lash and then moaned in pleasure, the sound muffled by the lush red velvet curtains which hung on every wall. Giovanni drew back his arm and whipped her again. It was so much more difficult here, less satisfying. He had to control his strokes, not just give vent to his rage. And the fact that she was enjoying it reduced his pleasure tremendously.

  What a disgusting whore. For him, this had never been sexual, he argued vigorously in his mind, but with his daughter gone, there was no other choice. Of course, she had turned out to be no better. Only the other day he had looked in the parlor window of the townhouse his daughter shared with her bastard husband, only to see the couple embracing indiscreetly. Vile. He brought the whip down again, harder, and the girl squeaked in protest as her skin broke and a thin line of blood trickled down.

  "Sir, that’s too much. You promised!"

  "Silence, slut."

  "No. You know the rules. Soften your strokes or I’ll call the manager."

  "Merda," Giovanni muttered under his breath. This was hopeless. He had so wished to have Katerina back in his clutches today, but that damned burly footman had barred the door, and then the police had come. Now his rage was volcanic and this tepid partial release would not suffice. Somehow he would get her back, and then she would pay like she had never paid before.

  ******

  The funeral took place that weekend, at the same little church where Christopher and Katerina had married, a humble place for a humble man. It might have seemed odd for such a wealthy family to attend, but the Bennetts didn’t care. They had all adored Old Tibbins, and that meant more than appearances.

  Lawrence Tibbins had been more than a servant. He had also been a devoted husband and father. Though his wife, who had worked as cook for the family, was many years gone, his four children were present… three handsome middle aged daughters with husbands and nearly grown children in tow, and a son, with a wife, four grown children of his own, and a grandchild. All were happy, well-adjusted people. With no wealth, no social standing, no influence, Tibbins had still managed to improve London with his family. It was a legacy to be proud of, and everyone present at the service swelled with pride for the old man.

  Christopher, sitting beside his wife, clutching her fingers, trying to maintain his composure, said a silent prayer of thanks he had been blessed to know such a worthy gentleman. Katerina stroked the side of his thumb soothingly.

  When the funeral service was concluded, the assembled guests headed to the cemetery for the burial. It was very cold, and an icy February wind pierced their coats and stung their flesh as the old gentleman was laid to rest. The cemetery was nearly at capacity, and the sheltered corner, under the spreading tree with its naked branches was cluttered with mismatched gray gravestones. Some, like that of the late Emily Tibbins, which stood beside the freshly dug hole, were rather new and still stood straight. Others, like that of Tibbins’ father and grandfather, were much older and tilted at odd angles, cracked and crumbing, covered in moss and lichens. The new grave yawned like a ravenous mouth in the hard packed ground.

  Just to the other side of Emily’s stone was a small monument in the shape of an angel, her hand over her face, weeping. The inscription indicated a child, the Tibbins’ fifth, another little boy, Benjamin, who had only lived two years before succumbing to measles. The family had saved up for years to buy that statue in honor of their second son. And now, at last, Old Tibbins would be joining him.

  Christopher clutched his wife’s hand and tried not to think about another grave, in a much more prosperous cemetery, where his sister Andrea lay. He’d only had her six years, bu
t he’d never forgotten. While child mortality was terrifyingly common, the grief was no less intense for being so widely shared.

  A young man approached the couple, where they stood near the back of the group. Randall Tibbins was one of the grandsons, and was just Christopher’s age. The two had known each other since they were children.

  "Good of you to come, Mr. Bennett," he said.

  "Please, Randall, let’s not be formal now," Christopher replied.

  Randall smiled sadly. "Very well. And is this your wife? I heard you were married."

  "Yes."

  "Pleased to meet you, ma’am."

  "Likewise," she replied softly, "it must be very gratifying to have had such a well-loved grandfather." She indicated the small crowd squeezing among the headstones.

  "It is. Thank you. We’ll miss him, but he lived a good long life."

  "Yes." Christopher replied, "and I can picture him now, can’t you, in heaven? I imagine he’s delighted with his new knees. The old ones gave him trouble for years."

  "That they did," Randall replied.

  As comfort, it fell rather short, but these are the things people say at funerals, to remind themselves that death is not the end, and we grieve, not so much for those that are gone, but for ourselves, for our own loss. And the mourners tossed their flowers into the grave, hugged each other with no attention to wealth or social status, made equal by the death of one they had all loved, and went home.

  ***Chapter 13***

  The following Friday, Katerina clutched her husband’s hand as he escorted her into his poetry party at the Wilder home. This time, she was nervous, but in good health. The bruises had been gone for days, and the cuts on her back almost completely healed. She was wearing her stays, not a tight-laced corset. She was breathing freely, and, although anxious, was quite better. As she was no longer dizzy, she was able to take in the room and its occupants better.

  Mr. Wilder was leaning against the fireplace smoking a fat and acrid cigar. She noticed Christopher glance sharply at him and make an unpleasant face. James Cary was sitting on a chaise, but this time he had the lovely Miss Carlisle perched beside him wearing a mint green gown that emphasized the green of her eyes. They were not touching, but were looking at each other intensely, deep in a private conversation. Katerina could see the little blonde’s lips were pursed out slightly, though not precisely pouting this time. Her eyes were deliberately wide as she attempted to secure the handsome young vicar’s interest. Her venture was looking quite successful.