Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  “That's enough, Chris,” Collin said softly, “you'll kill him.”

  “He deserves it,” Christopher replied in an unsteady voice, wrenching his arms against his friends' grip.

  “I know. But you need to stop,” James urged.

  “He hurt her!”

  “I know,” Collin agreed. “It's terrible. It should never have happened. But don't kill him. Don't become the murderer. Come, you need to see to your wife.”

  “What about this piece of shit?” Christopher poked at his father-in-law with his toe.

  “I'll take care of him,” James volunteered. “Go on, Chris. Katerina needs you.”

  “Listen now, Valentino.” Standing menacingly over his father-in-law's twitching body, Christopher spoke in a voice cold enough to freeze a steam boiler. “If I ever see your sorry arse again, even by accident, you will die.”

  He let his friend lead him away.

  * * *

  James looked down at the beaten man and shook his head. He realized he had blood on his trousers. Disgusting.

  “Well, Signor Valentino,” he said sarcastically, “you're certainly in a world of trouble now. I've never seen him this angry. You'd better get the hell out of England while you can and pray to God Katerina and the baby both come through, or I'm quite sure he will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and disembowel you alive. You know… there's a ship leaving for America in the morning. Maybe you should plan to be on it. Because I'm certain of one thing – he was not exaggerating. He will kill you if he gets the chance, and London isn't so big people can't meet by accident.”

  He hoisted the battered man to his feet. Blood poured from Giovanni's nose and mouth, and he spat a tooth onto the floor. He stared at James in silence.

  “I would offer to pray for your soul,” the young vicar said, “but I wouldn't be able to do it. I saw what you did to her too. Now get out.”

  James wrenched the door open and shoved Giovanni hard, sending him stumbling down the stairs to land in a crumpled heap on the sidewalk below. He slammed the door and then hurried into the parlor, where a piteous tableau awaited. Katerina lay unconscious on the sofa. Christopher knelt beside her, clutching her hand to his cheek. Colonel Turner gingerly touched Katerina's head with one fingertip. “I hated to move her, not knowing how badly she's injured.”

  “I know, but it wasn't safe there, not with that fight going on,” his wife replied, though she looked just as alarmed as her husband. She laid a hand on Katerina's belly, her focus shifting away from the conversation.

  “Has anyone called for a doctor?” James asked.

  “Yes. Your wife just went to send the housekeeper to fetch him,” Mr. Bennett said.

  “Good,” Colonel Turner said. “I'm worried about her head injury.”

  Christopher looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why won't she wake up?”

  “I'm afraid she's got a skull fracture,” the colonel said, his face twisted with concern.

  Christopher's face went ashen, which darkened the bruises on his cheek and jaw from the two blows Giovanni had managed to connect. “Oh my God. Will she live?”

  “It depends on how bad it is,” Turner replied grimly. “I've seen many of these in the cavalry… people thrown from horses or kicked. Some survived. Did you see how far she fell? Just from standing?”

  “She was on the stairs,” Christopher said. “She must have fallen three, maybe four steps before she hit the floor.”

  “Then we have another problem,” Mrs. Turner said. “Falls in pregnancy can cause premature delivery. At only five… almost six months, if the baby is delivered now, there's no way it will survive. Did he do anything else to her?”

  “He kicked her all over.” Christopher's voice cracked and shattered.

  “Her belly?” she queried.

  “No. I stopped him before he could do that.”

  “Good. Listen, Christopher,” she took his free hand and made him look up at her. “Katerina and the baby may both pull through this. It's in God's hands now. I suggest you pray like you've never prayed before. It's serious, but not hopeless.”

  “It was my job to protect her. I failed her.” He lowered face again, as though unable to look away from his wife.

  “How could you have known he would come here?” Adrian demanded, trying to break through Christopher's fixation.

  “I should have guessed,” Christopher snarled. “I instructed my servants at home to turn him away at all costs, but I didn't tell anyone here. I thought he had given up, that she was finally safe.”

  “Well, she's safe now,” James said from the doorway.

  All heads turned his direction “How do you know?” Christopher demanded.

  “After the drubbing you gave him? He's not stupid. I suggested he take the next ship to America. I'll check in the morning to be sure he's on it.”

  “What?” Christopher demanded, appalled, “you didn't call for the police?”

  “Think, Christopher. You beat him to a bloody pulp. If the police came, whom would they be arresting? Not only him. I think he's going to respect you now.”

  “Or put a bullet in your back,” Collin commented darkly.

  Christopher didn't say a word. He leaned over and pressed his lips to his wife's face. Her blood smeared on his lips. If her nose wasn't broken, it would be a miracle.

  No one else spoke. They just stood by, supporting the couple as best they could. James put one hand on Christopher's shoulder. With the other he pulled his wife close, thankful her father was a kind man who approved of their marriage. Eliza wept softly into his shirt.

  * * *

  Nearby, Julia also clutched her husband and cried. How I love this girl. She had chosen her for her son, and not just because of the danger. She had wanted Katerina for herself, for her own daughter. And now, there was a real chance that both she and the baby she was carrying would die. Lord, why? You took my daughter when she was six. Will you really take this one too? Must you? Please let her live, let them both live.

  * * *

  About half an hour later the doctor arrived. Christopher could barely take in the details of a small, dark-haired man in a black suit, but the white fingers compressing his wife's head remained emblazoned in his memory forever. “Fractured skull,” he said at last, and Julia let out a low moan. The doctor sighed. “It's a significant break, but not necessarily fatal. The bone is cracked but not shattered and there's no depression.”

  “Will she live?” Christopher demanded.

  “It's possible,” the doctor allowed, “but I can't guarantee it. You see, it's not so much the break that presents a danger. Her brain hit her skull, not once but twice, from what you've told me. It's sure to swell. If it swells a little and then subsides, she'll live. If it swells more, she'll die.” Though the words might have seemed brutal, he spoke them with sympathetic kindness.

  Christopher ground his teeth.

  “How much time has passed since the attack?” the doctor asked.

  “About three-quarters of an hour,” Colonel Turner replied, surprising Christopher. Between the battle rage and the utter fear, time had changed its course in Christopher's mind. I thought it had been less… or more. I'm not sure. Confused, he blinked as the men kept talking.

  “Her best outcome will result from moving her as little as possible. The last thing we want is to exacerbate the swelling,” the doctor informed them.

  “Well, she can certainly stay here as long as she needs,” Julia volunteered, and her husband concurred with a nod.

  The doctor acknowledged their offer with a dip of his chin. “Wait a while. At least an hour. And then, if nothing has changed, move her slowly to the bedroom. Can anyone assess her condition?”

  “I can,” Colonel Turner replied. “I became sort of a de facto medic often enough when I was in the infantry, though I certainly didn't expect to assess war wounds in London… on a woman.”

  The comment incited grim silence. Christopher gulped. It was a war. That he
had won only helped a little. None of it will matter if Katerina… his mind veered off, unwilling to finish the terrible thought.

  “I'll come back tomorrow and check on her,” the doctor said. “If something happens, call for me, though – I'm sorry to say this – if she takes a turn for the worse, there's really nothing I can do for her. It's in God's hands now.”

  Eliza Cary sobbed, and Julia sniffled. The doctor rose, patted Christopher hard on the shoulder, and removed himself from the room.

  Gloomy silence entombed the formerly cheerful partygoers again.

  “Let's pray,” James suggested. As one they moved to form a circle, surrounding Christopher and his wife, and grasped hands. “Lord…” he began, but his sonorous preaching voice wavered, and when he continued, it was in a quieter, more subdued tone. “Lord, heal Katerina, protect the baby and strengthen Christopher.” He made a choking sound. “Amen.” After a shaky breath, he added, “Sorry, Christopher. I just… I didn't know what else to say. Some vicar I am.”

  “It's enough that you're here,” Christopher replied, speaking without reflection, directly from the heart. “You've been here through so much, helped so much. Thank you, my friend.”

  The reply James made sounded something like a mixture of grunt, sob and sigh. As the circle broke up, he made his way to Christopher and clasped his shoulder. “I'll keep praying.”

  Christopher responded with a dip of his head, knowing his voice had finally failed him. As before, the hour passed in agonizing slow motion, and yet when the clock chimed, it startled him.

  Colonel Turner approached and knelt before the unconscious woman, checking her breathing, her eyes and her pulse. “She seems the same,” he said, sighing with relief.

  Christopher nodded. “Okay. I'll take her upstairs. What bedroom, Mother?”

  “Take her to your old room,” Julia replied.

  For reasons he couldn't fathom, the suggestion twisted Christopher's heart. “I… uh… all right.”

  “We'll just go now,” Cary said. “There's nothing more we can do here. I'll keep praying, Christopher. I swear it.”

  “I know,” he replied. “Go on. Thank you for… for everything.” He bowed his head as agony closed in on him again.

  James paused as though uncertain how to continue. Then he dragged his friend to his feet and crushed him in a hard hug. Through swimming eyes, Christopher regarded his friend. He's gone beyond anything I ever expected, he realized. I underestimated him.

  As James and his wife trailed out, the sound of her soft crying echoing down the hallway, Christopher eased Katerina into his arms, careful to support her head and neck.

  “I'll come up and check on her in a little while,” Mrs. Turner told him, her voice calmly compassionate.

  He acknowledged her with a glance before making his slow way into the hall. To reach the stairs, he had to pass the entryway, and the blood on the floor raised a gag in his throat. Dear Lord, how could this have happened?

  Never have stairs been climbed as slowly and carefully as Christopher did carrying his injured wife. It seemed to take a year. And then he progressed across polished floorboards, past the place where, only a short time before, he'd lain in wait to capture his wife with naughty kisses. Will I ever kiss her again, and feel her shy, eager response? He turned right down a long hallway of bedrooms, hardly noticing the gleaming wainscoting on the walls, the cream-colored plaster, the painted portraits of the family hung in gilded frames. His whole attention remained riveted on the door at the far end. She's never seen my room. The thought struck him as odd. This woman, who now reigned as queen over his heart, had never seen the bedroom where he'd spent his childhood. He opened the door and stepped in.

  Christopher tenderly laid his wife on the bed and collected warm water and a cloth to bathe her face. Her nose had stopped bleeding. She looked better, though bruised, once cleaned up. He stood slowly and looked down at her. I promised her, damn it. Promised she was safe, trained her to be safe, and in so doing I left her vulnerable to another attack. His breath caught in a harsh sob. A little sizzle of pain shot through his hand and he frowned to see his sore, oozing and split-open knuckles. He had damaged them… all over his father-in-law's face. Shouldn't I feel something about that? Regret? Pride? Something? Only numbness sank heavy over his heart, in contrast to the stinging of his torn skin.

  “You need to clean that,” his mother said matter-of-factly, as though she were not looking over the hand that had just beaten a man bloody.

  “What am I going to do, Mother?” he asked, his voice breaking again. Katerina, please pull through, my darling.

  “Endure. Pray.” She hugged him tight, stroking his back.

  “Do you think she'll live?”

  “I hope so, son. I hope so.”

  By the time Mrs. Turner arrived, Christopher's knuckles had been bathed, and he had changed his wife into a loose cotton nightgown and tucked her into bed. He lay beside her, holding her hand and murmuring in her ear.

  Mrs. Turner sat on the bed beside Katerina and pulled the covers down. She lifted the nightgown, carefully checking the unconscious woman for signs of premature labor. There was no blood or amniotic fluid on Katerina's thighs or privates, and her cervix remained tightly shut. Then the midwife settled her hand on the swell of her client's belly for half an hour. During that time, she felt a single soft contraction, of the sort a woman might experience in mid-pregnancy. Nothing alarming. She also felt the child move several times, which further reassured her.

  “Well?” Christopher demanded.

  “I can't tell you about her head injury, but at this point, I see no signs of impending miscarriage. If she survives, the child should be fine,” the midwife informed him.

  “Thank God.” He touched his lips to his wife's temple.

  “I'm so very sorry, Christopher.” She patted his hand. “The poor girl. No one deserves that.”

  “I'm such an ass. I was so proud of myself, proud of my sacrifice. I saved her. That's what I told everyone. But I was the one who put her in danger.” His unsteady voice broke several times.

  “No. You rescued her from danger,” Julia insisted. “It's not your fault it followed.”

  “I couldn't get there in time.” He ground his teeth.

  “I know.” Mrs. Turner laid a soothing hand on his arm.

  “Why did this happen? Hasn't she suffered enough?” he exclaimed, and his angry shout caused Katerina to twitch, though she made no further sign of waking up.

  “She has, son,” said a deep voice from the doorway.

  “Father?”

  Seeing she was no longer needed, Mrs. Turner left.

  Adrian crushed his son in a tight hug. “Remember, Christopher, she suffered for years. With you, she was happy. You gave her the best months of her life. And, God willing, you will again.”

  “Are you still sorry I married her?” he asked in a tentative plea for his father's approval.

  “No. Why would I be? My concern was that she was too damaged to love you. Clearly, that wasn't the case.”

  “No. She loved me, Father. She truly did.” He met his father's eyes and saw that tears shone there.

  “I know,” Adrian said softly.

  Christopher's vision blurred. Hot tears clogged his throat. “I love her so much,” he said raggedly.

  Adrian gripped his shoulder. “I know you do. And she knows it too. If anything can pull her through this, it will be your love.”

  Christopher's crumbling composure cracked. He sank onto a chair beside his bed, taking his wife's hand. His mother gripped one shoulder, his father the other, while his grief poured from him, unchecked and unstoppable.

  * * *

  In the morning, Katerina still breathed but remained unconscious. The doctor checked her and found no change for good or ill. Mrs. Turner examined her also and found her pregnancy still holding, the baby still moving appropriately in its mother's body. There was nothing to do but wait. And so, they waited. In the early afternoo
n, she finally stirred, eyelids fluttering.

  “Kat, can you hear me, love?”

  A soft exhalation of breath escaped her.

  “Kat?”

  Her dark eyes opened.

  “Oh God, no!” Christopher exclaimed. Katerina was alive, awake, but that spark, that warmth that made her the woman he loved, the awareness, the sentience was gone. Katerina was gone.

  Chapter 22

  She was gone, the family soon realized, deep inside herself. Her eyes didn't focus. She didn't react to speech or stimulation. She would swallow water if it were poured into her mouth, but not food. She took no nourishment, and she gave no sign whatsoever of awareness.

  Three days crept past and she remained in this suspended state. On the afternoon of the third day, the doctor examined her thoroughly.

  “Can you do anything?” Christopher pleaded.

  “No. I'm sorry.”

  “Is this the fracture?” Christopher asked.

  “No. She's withdrawn,” the doctor explained. “The fact she's awake at all means the fracture likely isn't going to kill her. Not this many days later. That would have happened much sooner. The broken bone will heal in the next six to eight weeks. However, if she doesn't wake up and begin eating soon, healing won't matter. She'll just… fade. And only she can change it.”

  “So, this is a mental break?” Christopher gulped.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think she'll come out of it?” he asked. Please, please let her come out of it.

  “Hard to say,” the doctor replied. It's up to her at this point. I'll just go now. She can hear you, if she decides to listen. I think talking to her might be her best hope. Keep trying. Don't give up.”