Christie

by Veronica Sattler

  With a fury only barely controlled, he crumpled the paper and threw it into the fireplace. How dare she! What madness was this? Leaving! The fires of injured pride began to work in him as he pushed aside the deeper emotions that threatened to surface, burying them deep within him as he once had some other feelings he did not wish to confront. Where could she have gone? She had no money. Then he recalled that Lula might still have some money he had given her for any additional expenses his wife's wardrobe might incur. Damn! And that black wench and her son had gone with her!

  Quickly, he sought for any possible routes they might have taken. Of course! She had to be going to Rutledge. Well, he would hurry and seek them out there, and when he did, she would regret this!

  His mind filled with murderous thoughts, he turned on his heel and raced out of the suite, stopping only briefly to take care of his bill downstairs.

  Noting the empty stall next to Jet's, his mind boiled over in a renewed burst of anger. Of course she would be sure to take that damned, beloved horse of hers! As he rode out in the direction of Rutledge's lodgings, he worked at sorting out his scattered thoughts in a deliberate attempt to replace fury with reason.

  He could have sworn their wedding night together was spent with as much enjoyment and satisfaction on her part as on his. He had believed her to have given herself completely to him, meeting his passion equally, without reservation! Well, this would teach him what a false little bitch a woman could be! Again, his thoughts turned black as he was filled with the desire to wring her soft little neck with his hands. She'd never get away with this! She'd rue the day they'd ever met when he found her—if he found her—and it was with this last thought in mind he quickened his horse's pace as he reached the street where Rutledge dwelt.

  Rutledge greeted him at the door wearing his hat and carrying his cane, as if in readiness to leave.

  "Mr. Randall! Er—do come in! As you can see, I was just about to make my way to our offices. Was there something you forgot to pursue from our conversation of this morning?"

  Stepping into the antechamber, Garrett quickly looked around and through the open doors to the chamber beyond, hoping to catch signs of a hasty arrival. Finding none, he turned to face Barnaby.

  "My wife—is she here?"

  "Your—Christie? Why, no, Mr. Randall. Why should she be? Didn't I just leave your hotel in the assumption she had been there, with you? How—"

  "Barnaby, the fact is, she's fled. Gone with only a note to say she was leaving me. No further explanations."

  "Left you, you say? But whatever would have caused her to do that? This is very alarming, Garrett."

  He used the familiar first name carefully for the first time, having picked up the use of his own with the same minute attention to detail he gave every aspect of his life, for Barnaby Rutledge was a man whose attention to nuances had built his fortune.

  "I say alarming because I'm afraid I have no idea where the girl is either, and that means she must be at large, even lost, somewhere in this strange city. We must find her at once!"

  Garrett was stupefied to discover Barnaby knew nothing of Christie's whereabouts, and his furious thoughts of moments before gave way to a sudden gnawing fear that, alone as she was, with no male protection, she could be prey to any number of dangers.

  Carefully, he scrutinized the face of the older man, searching for any clues that he might be lying for her. But Barnabys blue eyes, schooled from years of careful business maneuverings, told him nothing.

  "I'm going to search the city," he said. "In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you would agree to remain here. She may yet turn up." Then turning quickly to leave, he added, "I'll return in a few hours to see if she's here or if you've had a message from her. Will you stay?"

  "Of course, Garrett," replied Barnaby, and flinging one last sentence down the stairs after Garrett's hastily retreating figure, he added, "Good luck, my boy!"

  When he was sure Garrett had gone, Barnaby went to the servants' quarters behind his private rooms and, unlocking the door, admitted a shaken Christie and a disgusted-looking Lula.

  "Hmraph," snorted Lula. "All dis skulkin' aroun' 'hin' back do's. Wheah you put yo' se'f-respec', chile?"

  "It's precisely because of my need for rediscovering some self-respect that I'm here, Lu. Uncle Barnaby, I'm sorry you had to lie for me. You know it's something I wouldn't ask you to do unless I were desperate—" She broke off into a quiet sob.

  "There, there, child. Desperate straits require desperate measures. What we need to do now is to get you away from here before your husband returns. And we are in luck! Although I detest the man, there is someone in New York at this time whom we both know. I ran into him at dinner the other evening and have been busy dreaming up excuses not to join him in his invitation to dine together, but now I think I shall make my visit to your uncle, Philip Stanhope."

  "Uncle Philip—here?"

  "Aye, Christie, in New York on some bank-related business. How glad I am that he long ago gave up his mercantile pursuits. Keeps us from running into each other as often."

  Christie had, years earlier, learned of Barnaby's antipathy toward Philip, but had chosen to assign it to one of the several eccentricities that must come with being an old bachelor. Everyone else loved Uncle Philip, herself included. His company was always charming and infinitely preferable to that of Aunt Margaret or their two affected daughters. Now, learning he was here in New York, she was as overjoyed as she could be in her present state of mind. Philip Stanhope could not refuse to take her with him and see her safely home!

  But at the thought of Windreach and facing Charles, her face suddenly grew somber. How could she face her father after all that had happened? She would need time to ponder that.

  Barnaby called his servants to see to the transfer of their luggage, then turned to speak to Lula after he had done so.

  "Is that boy of yours disguising the gray as I instructed him?"

  "Ah reckon, Mistah Rutledge."

  "Please go and check on it, won't you? And let's pray it doesn't rain again until you're all safely out of New York! I wouldn't say that ink's waterproof!"

  Lula hurried to find Jasper, leaving Barnaby alone with Christie.

  "Now that we've a moment to talk, Christie, I want you to tell me whether you're absolutely sure this is the correct course to follow. Think carefully, girl. This is your future and your life we're about."

  "Uncle Barnaby, you'd be the only person who knows me well who would question my leaving a man who doesn't—cannot—love me. How can I make it any clearer to you, you wonderful old bachelor! Living with Garrett Randall while he's married to his—his revenge! It's something I cannot bear to even think about, sir. Please try to understand." She bit her lower lip and looked away.

  Barnaby did understand how she felt. But he also felt he understood her well enough to hold his peace concerning his real feelings in the matter. Garrett Randall would be good for her and when he came to love her one day, as he perhaps already did a bit, would probably have the capacity to make her the happiest woman alive. They were a magical match, these two, with their readily visible strengths and noble spirits, but both so very proud!

  No, he chose not to tell Christie of what Garrett had told him of her importance to him, despite the other matter. In her pride, she wouldn't believe him anyway. Let her find out for herself—if he could only be sure she would do that. Ah, but she had to! Christie Trevellyan had always learned things by firsthand experience—and seldom the easy way!

  Chapter Fourteen

  Philip Stanhope was in his hotel suite preparing some last-minute notes related to a foreclosure his bank was about to make. His mood was cheerful as he checked the final figures and he hummed a nameless little tune as he dipped his quill into the inkwell. He was quite pleased with himself today, and smiled inwardly as he thought about his own suitability for the job at hand, reflecting on those unusual qualities he knew himself to possess that made this so.

 
; There were any number of men in his line of work—or any other, for that matter—who found themselves limited by their inability to deal with matters such as this, those aspects of their businesses which they often termed "the dirty work" involved. But such had not been the case with him! Indeed, he mused—stopping for a moment to survey the neatness of his penmanship as he went over these things in his mind—it had been his very willingness to plunge headlong into cases of property foreclosure and equally delicate matters commonly regarded by his confreres in banking as "distasteful" which had given him his start in the banking business when he

  had first made the change from mercantile pursuits some twenty years earlier. At first, as a newly hired junior bank manager, he had been assigned such work simply by being low man in the pecking order; but soon thereafter, when it was discovered how easily he dispatched these tasks, indeed, even volunteered to undertake additional ones, the word quickly reached the right ears that here was a man who could prove highly useful to the firm, and Philip's star was on the way-up.

  Now, as he reflected on all of this, Philip's pale lips curved into a thin smile. It was all so very ironic! How astonished they would all be if they knew the real reasons for his engaging in such endeavors. They would probably not believe that a man could actually relish such work! And yet, he thought smugly, he did. Not that it had ever come to so overly dramatic a matter as throwing widows and orphans out on the street. No, such tales were only for storybooks. But there was such a good measure of satisfaction in gaining retribution from those who failed to meet their obligations! Meeting obligations was a fact of life Philip had learned all about the hard way, and once he was placed in a position of being the exactor in such matters, the young Mr. Stanhope had gone about things with all the energetic zeal of a religious convert.

  He was about to ruminate further on these matters when there came a knock at the door. When his man opened it and he saw Barnaby Rutledge standing there, Philip leaped to his feet and came forward.

  "Barnaby, old man, this is indeed a pleasant surprise! Do come in!"

  "Thank you, Stanhope. Sorry to call without warning, but I have some urgent business to pursue with you. May we speak privately?"

  Philip gestured to dismiss his manservant and invited Barnaby to sit down.

  "No thank you," came the reply. "I haven't that much time."

  There was a brief pause, as if he had a doubt about something and then, thinking better of it, dismissed it from his mind.

  "How long will you be in New York, Stanhope?"

  "Oh, about a fortnight, I should say. Why—?"

  "That complicates matters a bit, but I suppose we shall have to manage. How do you travel home?"

  "Why, by ship, of course; but see here, Rutledge, what's this all about?"

  "A very simple but important matter which I am about to entrust to your discretion and safekeeping. Stanhope, I wish you to provide both sanctuary and safe passage home for your niece, Christianna Trevellyan."

  Within twenty minutes, Barnaby had laid out all the details of his request and plan to a startled Philip Stanhope, who immediately agreed to help; and within the hour Barnaby was back at his hotel, calmly and efficiently dispensing orders to his fugitive band to facilitate their brief trip to Philip's temporary residence across town.

  As they entered the carriage Barnaby had hired, Barnaby's instructions to the driver were brief and definite.

  "Do not travel the main road. Use only back lanes and alleys, if they are wide enough, to reach this address. I will pay well for any damage caused by poor road surfaces. If you succeed in getting your passengers there without—ah—any problems, you may return here for a bonus reward of three gold pieces. Is that clear, my man?"

  The driver of the hired vehicle smiled widely and he responded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir! Three pieces in gold beyond my fare for delivering these folks without detection and in one piece. Er—detection by what?"

  "The gentleman is wearing a russet-colored riding jacket and sits a large, coal-black stallion. You are to avoid him at all costs. If you succeed, the young lady here will write you a note to that effect and upon its presentation to me, you will receive your gold."

  Then Barnaby addressed Christie. "My dear, I would feel better if I were going with you, but I must be here should your husband return early. Be sure to stay hidden within the carriage, keeping well away from the windows. And don't worry about Thunder. My man will be riding over with him after dark. That ink is, at best, a makeshift disguise. Your husband is no fool, and should he see the animal in daylight, I'm afraid recognition would be swift.

  "And now, my dear, I must say farewell. Let us hope all goes according to plan."

  Christie turned to face Barnaby, then, trying to present him with some measure of the calmness she knew him to favor, but as she viewed the dear old face, her resolve left her, and throwing her arms about his slim shoulders, she muttered fiercely in watery tones, "Oh, Uncle Barnaby, what would I have done without you? You dear man! I should have been lost completely without your wonderful, wise old counsel and help!"

  "Now, my dear, if an old bachelor can't be of use when his dearest friends need him, what good is he at all? Being available to help a Trevellyan has been a major function of mine for many years, you know." The cool blue eyes assumed a twinkle she had only seen sparingly over the years she had known him and Christie knew then she loved Barnaby Rutledge as she loved her father.

  "Off with you now, my dears, all of you, and godspeed. And remember, if you should need me, you need only send word. I won't try to contact you personally while we remain in the city. Garrett might trace such a visit. But there will be someone available at my office, night and day, until you leave for Virginia. Reach me there, if you must. Good-by." Then he settled Christie snugly in the carriage with Lula and Jasper and, closing the door, signaled the driver to be off.

  Less than an hour later they arrived without mishap at Philip Stanhope's hotel where Christie was greeted warmly by her uncle.

  "Christie, my dear, you're looking more beautiful than ever! It's good to see your ordeal hasn't had any effect on this lovely face! Come, let me show you to your rooms."

  Philip's familiar smile was like a balm for Christie's raw nerves, which had felt taut as a bowstring from the anxiety caused by the ride across town, and she readily gave herself into his care.

  "Uncle Philip, thank you so much for understanding about this awful mess I've made of everything," she said as they reached the room set aside for her use.

  "Think nothing of it, Christie. You wouldn't be the first person in the world to make a mistake in marrying, you know. It's just fortunate you realized it as soon as you did," he said, lighting a cigar with a spill from beside the fireplace.-

  Christie turned from the bureau where she had gone to remove her bonnet.

  "Then you don't think me a foolish child for acting as I did? You won't think me a fallen woman when I'm finally d-divorced?" She almost couldn't push the final word out.

  "No, no, dear Christie. Perhaps you were foolish to have married the man in the first place, but who could pronounce you anything but wise—and courageous—to recognize your mistake and have the wisdom to correct it? Really didn't care for the man, you know—met him at your birthday ball. No, I positively did not like him! You're lucky you left when you did. I can see no good having been able to come out of such a union. No good at all!"

  "I hadn't remembered you'd met Garrett. Perhaps, if I'd known of your assessment of him, you could have shown me how to avoid this entire sorry affair. You always were so clever, dear Uncle," she said, trying to smile at him while secretly, inside, she realized that at the time she had made the fateful ride to the Marianne, there probably wasn't a person in the world who could have "talked any sense into her," as Aunt Celia would have put it, so set had she been on assuaging her threatened pride. Her pride! She winced inwardly. See all that it had gotten her!

  She made a mental note to begin working on di
minishing the role her pride would play in the future, whatever that should hold!

  Philip was talking to Lula, giving instructions on the routine he liked his household to follow, and after a few more words of comfort to his niece, he announced that he was off on some business and would see them at supper. Then he closed the door and left.

  When she was sure he had gone, Lula spat into the fireplace and gave a disgusted snort of disapproval. "Sho' cain't wait t' be done wid dis paht o' de trip! Don' lahk dat man, nohow!"

  "Uncle Philip? Why, Lula, why not?" Christie was indeed surprised to hear of Lula's dislike for her uncle, for aside from Barnaby, she was the only person she'd known who simply did not take to Philip Stanhope.

  "Nevah did care fo' a man whut don' look me in de eye when he talk t' me," said Lula, "an' dat man, he wuz'n lookin' even neah mah eyes!" She spat again. "Wondah whut he got t' hahd?"

  "Oh, Lu! You're being silly! Why everybody just adores Uncle Philip! You'd really appreciate how nice he is if you ever met his wife, my Aunt Margaret. Now, there's someone it doesn't take much to dislike! And if she isn't enough, my cousins, Melissa and Belinda, just finish off the package! You'd better be thankful they're not along with us on this trip."

  Lula mumbled something unintelligible and proceeded to change the subject as she suggested Christie take a nap to try to recover from the exhausting events of the morning; and Christie readily complied.

  Once lying on the bed, sleep came quickly, for which she was later grateful. She didn't want to think, just now, of any of the events that had led her to where she was. They were just too painful. And, if in sleep, her dreams were troubled by a pair of emerald eyes and remembrance of a warm male body near hers, she could, when she awakened, dismiss this as merely dreams, and therefore not to be taken seriously.