Virginia Henley (36 page)

“Topaz, what’s wrong?” he reached out and touched her cheek. The gentle gesture undid her. Tears flooded her eyes.

“Oh, sir, your Kitty’s not dead.” He jumped up so quickly the chair went over backward. His eyes blazed. “Where is she?” he demanded.

“The mistress sold her to the slave buyer.”

His face went ashen and he slumped to his knees before her. “Sweet Jesus, I’ve prayed that she was alive and now I wish to God she was dead!”

“Oh, lord, sir, she’ll kill me for sure!”

“Stop crying, Topaz, I won’t let her harm you. Where did he take Kitty? The slave auction in Charleston? What’s the slave master’s name?”

“I can’t remember, sir. Oh, lord, she’ll kill me.”

“Go to bed, Topaz,” he ordered quietly.

Jacquine rode full gallop up to the house and drew rein under Patrick’s balcony. He looked down upon her and struck a match to light his cheroot. The flame flared up and outlined his naked body against the darkness. She smiled up at him and dismounted quickly. She picked up the hem of her habit and ran up the stairs eagerly. He was there before her, splendid in his manhood. She reached out her hands and ran them up his arms and along his muscled chest. He took her in his arms, lifted her high above his head, then brought her crashing down across his uplifted knee. A crack rent the air as her backbone snapped and her body crumpled to the floor, quite dead. Calmly he washed his hands and slipped into his clothes. He lifted her body and took it down to her horse. She rode like a madwoman; it would be natural to assume she had
killed herself in a fall. In the stables he caused no stir as he saddled a horse for himself. He knew how impossible was the task that lay ahead of him. He feared he would never find her, but he had to try.

Little Charles caught Kitty’s eye. He pulled himself up by a chair leg and tottered over to her, threatening to lose his balance with every step. She chuckled at his progress through the packing cases. Their departure had been delayed a couple of months before the new governor had arrived. She was supervising the packing of Charles’ art collection to take back to England with them. She would feel a pang of regret at leaving here, because she had been happy. Charles was so good to her. He treated her as a precious possession, constantly giving her tokens of tenderness to show his love. Often she felt she was cheating him because he made few demands of her in bed. She knew he wasn’t indifferent, but she knew he feared failure and embarrassment. Perhaps things would change when they were aboard and he had left behind the heavy responsibilities of his governorship. Kitty longed to see her brother again. As soon as they were back she planned to have her grandfather go back to Ireland to live on the estate Charles had deeded her. Terry could manage it and even breed horses, which always were his first love.

“I did the right thing,” she assured herself as she thought of the happiness she would bring to her family when they learned they could go back to where their hearts had always been.

Kitty dressed carefully and picked a large hat that shaded her face well. She walked swiftly and surely from Government House, through the business section of Basseterre and up through the posh residential area where each mansion was more imposing than its neighbor. The last house was larger
and more impressive than the rest. Without hesitation she went through the gateway and up to the massive front doors. She pulled the bell and waited patiently. After a few moments Molly Maguire answered the door herself. Her eyebrows rose in surprise when she saw Kitty.

“Well, I’ll be damned, it’s the governor’s lady. Come in, honey. It’s not every day I get a visit from flaming nobility.” She led Kitty into a small salon furnished in exquisite taste, and rang for a serving girl. When she came, Molly ordered tea and gave orders that they were not to be disturbed.

Kitty spoke for the first time. “We are sailing for home in a few days. The new governor is already here.”

“Oh, I’ve had the pleasure. This is one of the first stops gentlemen make when they arrive on the island,” Molly said.

“Well, that really shouldn’t surprise me, should it?” said Kitty, laughing and feeling more relaxed.

“I don’t often get the chance to entertain a lady. Aren’t you afraid someone will see you visiting such an unsavory place?”

“Not at all. I couldn’t leave the island without thanking you for all you did for me when I arrived. You saved my life, Molly. I came to say good-bye.” She hesitated.

Molly looked at her keenly. “You seem as if you would like to ask me something but don’t quite know how to go about it.”

Kitty laughed nervously. “You’re very observant.”

“I don’t wish to pry, but if I can help you with something, all you have to do is ask. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“Well, there was something I was going to ask your advice about, but it doesn’t seem important now. I’d better go,” said Kitty.

“Sit right where you are! It’s something intimate, isn’t it? Something isn’t right between you and your husband. Tell me,” she urged.

“Well, it’s just that, he doesn’t … he can’t …” Kitty stopped.

“Listen, Irish, I’ve seen every sex problem in the world. Sometimes a man can’t get an erection.” She knew from Kitty’s face that she had guessed right. “Usually the easiest way to cure that is to take it into your mouth for a minute and run your tongue along …”

Kitty jumped up, outraged. “I couldn’t do anything like that!” she cried angrily.

Molly threw back her head and laughed. “I’ve shocked you! Well, listen to me, Miss High-and-Mighty, if you were passionately in love with a man, doing something like that wouldn’t disgust you so much.”

Kitty thought of Patrick and silently admitted that what Molly said might be right.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to look down my nose at you. I came for advice and then acted like a prude when you were good enough to speak plainly.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m so used to dealing with whores, I forgot myself. Now, for a man who has trouble getting hard in the first place, you sort of have to set the mood. Undress in front of him, be very seductive. Kiss him, touch him, manipulate him with your fingers. Allow him to explore your body and play with your breasts. A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t have any difficulties, unless of course his tastes are perverted in lovemaking. That’s an entirely different thing.”

“No, I can assure you that isn’t the case,” replied Kitty.

“That’s good! With the nobility you never can be sure. Give me a man from the working class every time—he always prefers his sex straight.”

Kitty stood up and extended her hand. “We’ll probably never meet again, but I shall always remember you. Goodbye, Molly.”

“Good-bye and good luck, Irish.”

*   *   *

Patrick walked down the wharf in Charleston. He was thinner, and the lines in his face were deeper. He’d searched every pleasure palace from New Orleans to Natchez. He’d done it knowing it was hopeless, but he wouldn’t give up. Finally, he’d come full circle back to Charleston, without a trace. He collided with a burly sea captain.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Patrick John Francis O’Reilly, himself! Let me buy you a drink, boss; you look like you could use one.”

“Big Jim, I haven’t seen you in years. Did you just make port?” asked Patrick.

“Aye, aye, sir. By God, you’re looking rough. It has to be a woman!”

“We can get a drink in here, Jim. I’ve some questions to put to you.”

They sat down at a table and ordered rum.

“Have you been to the islands lately, Jim?” asked Patrick, getting straight to the point.

“I’ve just come up from down there.”

“I’ve been going mad looking for a young woman….”

“Our glorious Kitty!” cut in Jim.

Patrick sprang up. “How the hell do you know Kitty?” he demanded.

“She sailed with me from Liverpool last year, that’s how I know her.”

Patrick groaned and sank down, his head in his hands. “She’s been sold as a slave, probably shipped to one of the islands.”

Big Jim let out a bellow of laughter that was deafening. “What in Christ’s name are you laughing at, you bloody fool?”

“A slave! That’s bloody rich, that is! Well, the laugh’s on both of us, boyo. She wasn’t good enough for me, and by the
looks of it she wasn’t good enough for you, either. She sold out to the highest bidder, Patrick, my lad. She’s a bloody duchess!”

“Duchess? Make sense, man!” Patrick demanded angrily.

“Two months back I made port at St. Kitts, and who was sailing for England but the Duke of Manchester and his duchess. Traveling like a bloody queen, she was, with enough sodding baggage to sink a freighter.”

Patrick sat stunned.

“What you need is a woman. Come on, I was just on my way to Dirty Annie’s.”

“Dirty Annie’s be damned!” replied Patrick. “I’ll take you to the fanciest goddamned whorehouse in Charleston— La Maison de Joie.”

After a week’s rest in London, Kitty was launched into a whirlwind of social activities that dispelled forever her fear about being accepted. They were immediately deluged with invitations by those who were vying for a return invitation to the Duke and Duchess of Manchester’s. Charles couldn’t resist showing off his son for all their visitors. Kitty allowed him to show off his new son because it gave him obvious pleasure and pride.

The first thing Kitty had done on her return was to make sure Terry took their grandfather to her estate in Ireland. After that every moment was taken up with fittings for new clothes, making the rounds of the shops for new pieces for the house and entertaining Charles’ friends. They went to the ballet, the opera and the theaters. Kitty began to enjoy herself. At first she had been nervous of society, but Charles encouraged her to be herself and she bloomed under this encouragement. She didn’t affect any airs, but spoke to any and all with her natural exuberance. Charles chuckled to himself when he heard two of his friends discussing her at a party. “Remember this: The bluer the blood, the bluer the language, I say. The girl’s descended from royalty—wrong side of the blanket, of course.” Sometimes Charles accompanied her shopping and she became very familiar with Hatton Garden off Bond Street. It was a dark shop with a room behind where they kept their stock of diamonds, and the tellers in Coutts’ Bank knew her on sight. Men were very attracted to Kitty, but soon she acquired a witty repartee that kept them in their place. However, there were one or two
ready to step over the line the moment she gave them the slightest encouragement. At buffet suppers, they rushed to help her select the tastiest dishes.

“Do try some of the cucumber salad, my dear,” said Lord Macklesfield, standing much closer than he needed to.

She fixed him with a direct look and answered, “A cucumber should be well sliced, dressed with pepper and vinegar and thrown away.”

“Touché
, my dear,” he said with an appreciative twinkle. “You can’t blame a chap for trying!”

Granville, a rather small man, overheard them and cautioned Lord Macklesfield, “Patience is bitter, but it bears sweet fruit.”

Kitty winked at Lord Macklesfield and said, “Never listen to a man with short legs—brains too near his bottom.”

“I won’t tangle with you, your Grace; your tongue has a decidedly sharp edge to it,” he said and laughed.

The Duke of Portland, whose job it was to engage all the royal footmen, saw Kitty coming toward him. He turned to Lady Chatham and said, “Here comes an angel, and by God I’d like to clip her wings. I do believe she fancies me, you know. She always singles me out for a compliment or two.”

Kitty gave him a dazzling smile, “How do you do it?” she asked sweetly.

“Do what, my dear?” he bridled.

“Delude yourself practically every day of your life.”

Lady Chatham hooted with laughter. “You’re incorrigible! Come, let’s find that husband of yours. I think he went into the card room with the dowager Duchess Gresham.”

“Good God, not that horsey woman! Did she have Mr. Weatherley’s stud book under her arm?” asked Kitty with horror.

“She doesn’t go anywhere without it, does she?” laughed Isobel Chatham.

“We must rescue him at all costs. The last time she cornered me I had to get away from her before I was wormed or served!”

Kitty slipped behind Charles’ chair and put her hands on his shoulders.

“Darling, I was hoping you’d take me home. It’s a terrible crush tonight.”

“Excuse me, Maude, duty calls,” he said politely.

After the theater, they often invited a few friends back for a light supper. Kitty enjoyed these intimate evenings because the conversation always was lively and interesting. She became famous for her devastating imitations of people in the inner circle.

“Where were you last evening? I missed you at the opera,” said Lady Derby.

“Viscountess Palmerston’s soiree in Charlton Gardens,” answered Charles.

“Oh, it was lovely,” said Kitty, “except I got cornered by the Duchess of Sutherland. She uses all those double words. What do you call it, Charles?”

“Reduplicative,” he said with a smile, knowing what was coming.

Kitty mimicked, “Pish tush, I say! The whippersnapper talks claptrap. He’s a wishy-washy, namby-pamby nitwit. What a mishmash it is tonight, nothing but riffraff and ragtag. Tut-tut, girl, drink up, chin-chin, no more chitchat, don’t shilly-shally. Oh, fiddle-faddle, here’s the major so I’ll say ta-ta.”