Gregory, Lisa (39 page)

Pearl's
eyes bulged. "You can't be—"

Hampton
laughed, "Matthew Hampton, ma'am. Has she threatened you with my wrath?
Well she might. Where is she?"

"I
don't know what you're talking about."

Hampton
aimed his pistol and fired; a crystal chandelier crashed to the floor. Pearl
set her face stubbornly. Another chandelier fell. Then, in a burst of anger,
Matthew dashed up the steps, grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her.

"Where
is she?"

"I
don't know what you're talking about."

Hampton
raised his pistol to her head. "Where is she?"

"Oh,
all right," Pearl snapped. "I'll take you to her. Good riddance to
her anyway. She broke one of my windows and gave Harry a lump on his head the
size of an egg and damn near stabbed Parker to death."

Matthew
roared with relieved laughter. "Oh, that's Katherine, all right. Take me
to her. Peljo, come with me. The rest of you men, go through this house floor
by floor, flush out all the guards and girls and customers. And break
everything you find. Mirrors, furniture, wine bottles. Everything. Come along,
Pearl."

He
gave the spluttering Pearl a shove and she stalked off to the upper stairs.

Loud
voices and crashes slowly pulled Katherine from her sleep. Her foggy mind could
make no connection between her perception of the sounds and any identification
of them. How far away everything seemed, how brightly colored. Faint laughter
reached her ears and she smiled a little—Matthew. But of course Matthew was not
here. Where was he? She tried to pull her fuzzy thoughts together, but gave up
on it and closed her eyes, feeling herself float away, like a cloud on the air.

Matthew's
pistol urging her on, Pearl climbed to Katherine's attic cubbyhole at a faster
pace than usual. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, followed by Matthew
and Peljo. Matthew stopped dead at the sight of Katherine asleep in the shabby
bed, her face pale and fragile. At the sound of their entry, her eyelids
fluttered open and she stared at them vaguely, no hint of recognition on her
face.

Hampton
had to swallow hard before he could speak. "Katherine? Katherine, it's
Matthew. Can you understand me? It's Matthew. I have come to take you
home."

Katherine
looked at him, frowning slightly. Suddenly tears welled in her eyes and she
lifted her arms up to him like a child. "Matthew," she whispered.

Blindly
Matthew shoved his gun into Peljo's hand and went to Katherine. Wrapping her in
the dingy sheet which covered her, he lifted her tenderly in his arms.
Trustingly she put her arms around his neck and rested her head against his
shoulder.

"Matthew.
I knew. I knew you would. I told her."

Matthew
turned to leave, his face so cold and full of fury that Pearl gasped and
stepped back a pace.

"Peljo,
set fire to this place. Madam, consider yourself lucky that I don't cut your
heart out."

He
strode past her and out of the house, his boots thundering on the stairs.
Katherine slipped limply back into sleep against his chest. Grimly he carried
her through the dawn-deserted slum streets, cuddling her against him, his arms
steel hard in rage.

Damn
them. Damn everyone who had ever harmed her, including himself. What had they
done to her? Was she drugged? Or teetering on the brink of insanity? She had
been so vague, so slow, so unlike Katherine. Had it finally happened—was that
stubborn spirit of hers finally broken? His heart felt as if an iron hand were
squeezing it, squeezing it as if to remove all joy from it, all feeling, all
happiness, until he would be left with only cold emptiness in his chest.

He
boarded the
Susan Harper
and went down to his cabin, where he gently
laid her down on the bed. Softly he pulled away the sheet from her body, barely
suppressing a gasp at the sight of little purpling bruises scattered here and
there over her body, smudges left by grasping, overeager hands. Careful not to
wake her, he turned down the covers and slipped her into bed. Wearily he sat
down on the edge of the bed himself, his head in his hands. Dear God, she would
never forgive him. He would never forgive himself.

Slowly,
sadly, he pulled off his boots, then stood to slip out of his clothes. He
crawled in beside her and pulled her to his chest. Cradling her to him, he at
last gave in to sleep.

It
was hours before Katherine awoke. For a moment she thought herself in one of
her dreams—lying in Matthew's arms, her cheek against his bare chest, the slow,
even rhythm of his breathing a counterpoint to the gentle rise and fall of the
ship. But gradually her still-hazy mind assured her that she was not asleep and
dreaming; this was real.

"Matthew,"
she whispered. "Matthew." How had she gotten here? Why was it so
difficult to think clearly? Thank God, at least the colors and distortions were
gone.

"Mm?"
he rumbled, still asleep.

"Matthew,
wake up. I'm frightened."

His
eyes opened. "Katherine? Are you all right?"

"Oh,
Matthew." She squeezed herself against him. "Where are we?"

"My
ship, love."

"Truly?
Are we safe?"

"Very.
We are on my ship, in my cabin with the door locked, and all around us on the
ship are my men. No one can get to you or hurt you." He spoke softly, as
to a child, and his arms tightened around her.

"Oh,
Matthew." Suddenly the tears began to flow, spilling quietly down her
face. "She said you wouldn't come, that you couldn't find me."

"But
you knew better, didn't you?"

"I
thought so, but I—I was so afraid you might not."

"I
shall always find you, Kathy, you know that. Sweet Kathy. I won't let anyone
hurt you." Softly he kissed her hair and murmured into it, "I love
you."

"Matthew,
you never told me about—about things like—"

"Like
what, my love?"

"Like
what he did."

"Who?"

"Paul.
The guard. He did—awful things to me."

"What?"
His voice turned icy-cold.

"I
can't—I can't talk about them. It's so horrid, so—oh, Matthew!" Suddenly
she collapsed into tears and sobs shook her body.

Her
story poured forth, coming out in fits and starts between choking sobs, so
confused and nearly inaudible that he found it difficult to understand. But
gradually he put together the pieces of her broken words, forming a searing
picture of the pain and humiliation she had suffered at the hands of Paul and
the unknown baron and the crowd of customers. A cold rage shook him, even as he
calmed her, smoothing down her hair, gently rocking her in his arms, until
finally, her emotions spent, she drifted into sleep.

He
lay awake, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind tortured by the images he
conjured up from her words. His hatred flamed—a fire both hot and cold, both
searing and freezing. He would make them pay for hurting her, though they could
never pay enough to heal her wounds. He lay there, his cold, hard purpose
growing, until at last he gently disengaged himself from Katherine's arms and
eased out of the bed. He dressed quickly, grimly, and left the room.

Again
he sought out their barmaid-guide of the evening before. At the sight of his
pale, set face, she said sympathetically, "Did you not find your woman,
then?"

"Yes,
I found her. And I am grateful for your help. But now I need some more of your
help. Tell me where I can find the guard named Paul."

A
frown touched her face. "Now that I don't know—since Pearl's burned this
morning." Her eyes twinkled for a moment. "He sometimes sleeps with
Maggie, down at the White Hare. Maybe she could tell you. He might have gone
there with the House gone."

"Thank
you." Matthew slipped a bill down the front of her low-cut dress between
her swelling breasts. "You are an angel."

The
girl smiled. "Lor', you're a fine one. That girl of yours is a lucky one,
all right."

"I
doubt she shares that opinion," he said, "but thank you,
anyway."

"Well,"
she said, "if you ever need a sympathetic ear—or shoulder—"

He
laughed and winked at her. "I'll remember you."

How
easily it came with other women—the casual charm that captivated them. Once one
of his mistresses had told him that he could wheedle a Yankee from his dollar.
Why had he not used it on Katherine, the one woman who meant anything to him?
Was it because she meant so much, was so special that he could not use the same
charm he used so indiscriminately on others? Or because he wanted her so and
was so blindly selfish to her desires that he just took without asking? Dear
God, if only he had taken a little time and trouble to woo her; if only he
hadn't been so rash and stubborn and overconfident!

At
the White Hare, the tavernkeeper said that Maggie had not arrived for work yet
and directed him to her flat. Matthew paused outside her door in the grimy hall
and pulled his pistol. Perhaps she had not come to work because Paul had
unexpectedly come to see her. He tapped sharply at the door and waited,
listening to the noises within—surely there must be more than one person
inside. The door opened a fraction and a girl's suspicious face peered out.

"Hello,"
Matthew said briskly. "I was told I could find Paul here."

"Why
should you be looking for Paul?"

"I
want him to do a little job for me. Could I see him?"

"Maybe."
She relaxed a little and Matthew, seizing the slight advantage, flung his
weight against the door and burst into the room, shoving the girl in front of
him.

At
his entrance, a half-naked man leapt from the bed. It was the same guard whom
he first encountered inside Pearl's.

"You!"
the man exclaimed. "What do you want now?"

Hampton
advanced menacingly into the room. "Paul, I presume?" His smile was
thin and bloodless.

"Yeah.
What of it?" he said with a show of bravado. "Think you can take me
without your army?"

"I
want a name from you."

"You
won't get it."

"Indeed?"
Hampton's lip curled into a sneer.

"Damn
you, I'd like to meet you when you ain't hiding behind that pistol."

"Well,
you shall have your chance. You see, I intend to use a knife on you."
Slowly, deliberately, he pulled a long glittering sailor's knife from his belt
and reholstered his gun.

Paul
gulped and stepped back a little at the deadly light in the captain's sea-gray
eyes. Slowly, gracefully, Hampton moved toward him, his arms extended,
half-crouching in the eternal knife-fighting stance.

"I
ain't got no blade," Paul whined, sweating and backing away.

"That's
true. But at least you aren't tied down—as you found it necessary to tie a girl
to overcome her."

"She
ran away—I had to tie her. It was Pearl; she told me to."

Suddenly,
Matthew flashed in and then back out, cutting a long slash down the big man's
arm. Fresh red blood welled out and the girl gasped.

"Tell
him what he wants, Paul," she urged.

"Shut
up, Mag!"

"Katherine
told me what you did to her."

"Some
girls like it," Paul excused himself.

"And
if they don't, you force them to do it anyway."

Paul
rushed him, but Matthew neatly sidestepped him and drew his blade swiftly
across his back. For the next few minutes Paul crashed about the room,
alternately rushing Matthew and dodging his knife, until finally he stopped,
winded and covered with sweat and blood from a hundred tiny cuts. Matthew faced
him, his knife ready, still cool as death.

"Good
God, man, whose name do you want?" Paul gasped, his eyes glazed with pain
and terror.

"Another
man assaulted her, a baron. She did not know his name. That's the name I
want."

"I
don't know his name," Paul said and Matthew slashed at him, cutting across
his chest.

Blood
gushed out and Maggie went into hysterics, yelling at the huge guard to tell
him the name.

"I
don't know. I swear to God I don't know. She wouldn't tell us their names, the
high and mighty ones. Didn't want us ruining her business by blackmailing them.
I swear it. She never called him anything but 'His Lordship.' But Pearl
knows—she can tell you."

"And
where is Pearl?"

"A
hotel—the Crescent."

"If
you're lying—"

"It's
the truth. I swear it."

"Then,
for your information, I shall give you more than you deserve—a quick
death." Matthew's arm flashed out, his knife spinning from his hand.

The
big man fell, Matthew's knife in his heart. Maggie stared, too numb with fear
to even scream, as Matthew retrieved his knife and wiped the blood from it,
then returned it to his belt. He turned toward her and she shrank away.