Saturday's Child (8 page)

W
hen Quentin stepped into the room, she stared at him solemnly without saying a word.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

She could see that the simple answer nonplussed him but she couldn't offer more. Edith rushed by him, her eyes bright with concern.

"Are you hurt, Katie?"

"No, I don't think so. My dress is ruined, though, and I don't think I'll be able to mend these stockings." She turned her head, a fitful frown creasing her forehead. "If you'll hand me my wrap, I'll be more modestly covered."

Quentin reached out, snagging the cloak from where it had landed across a chair when Joseph ripped it from her. Edith took it from him, her eyes meeting his. This calm wasn't natural. She handed the wrap to Katie, draping it across her shoulders.

"Now, would you look at that. The tie is ruined." Katie tugged at the dangling end of ribbon that had served to hold the cloak together. "I'll have to replace that, too. It seems the mending is never done."

"Are you sure he didn't hurt you, Katie?" That was Edith, her voice gentle.

"Didn't I tell you I was fine?" Katie asked irritably. "My garments have taken more damage than my person."

"Perhaps you should lie down," Quentin suggested.

"I want to go home."

"Perhaps you should see a doctor," Edith said hesitantly.

"I don't need a doctor. I just want to go home." Katie's voice rose, taking on a querulous note.

"All right. We'll take you home," Quentin told her soothingly.

"I don't need an escort," she began, but he interrupted her.

"You're not going home alone."

Her eyes met his for an instant before dropping away. "If you insist."

"I do. Edith, go and tell Graves to bring the carriage around to the side entrance. And say nothing to anyone about this. Not to anyone."

Edith nodded and threw one last worried look at Katie before hurrying from the room. Katie barely seemed to notice her going. She'd wrapped the cloak tightly around her and now clutched it with a grip so tight that Quentin could see the white gleam of bone beneath the skin over her knuckles.

"It won't take Graves more than a moment to bring the carriage around. Are you ready to go now?"

"You needn't act as if you think I'm going to dissolve in a puddle of mush," she told him, her voice lacking the strength to put any real annoyance in the words. "I've told you I'm fit."

But her legs didn't seem to have gotten the message, for when she slid off the bed, her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. Her startled gasp brought Quentin to her side, his hand under her elbow to offer support.

"I'm fine," she insisted but she didn't try to pull away from his grasp.

With both hands clutching her cloak across her torn bodice, she crossed the room with slightly shaky steps. Quentin felt Katie shudder as she paused in the doorway. Joseph was sprawled on the landing, blood oozing from his split lip. He'd regained consciousness and was propped drunkenly against the wall. Hatred flared in his eyes when he saw them.

"Going to finish what I started, cousin?" His sneering words were distorted by his swollen jaw.

Quentin's hand tightened on Katie's arm, feeling the rigidity of her muscles beneath his fingers.

"It's a pity I didn't kill you," he said quietly. "I would suggest that you be gone when I get back, lest I regret my generosity."

The very quietness of his tone made it more threatening than any invective he could have shouted. He turned away, making it clear that Joseph wasn't worth another thought.

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 curtains, 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.