“Calm down! Calm down,” Pearl cackled. “Since you are all so fired up to have her, we’ll have to do a little compromising here. Now this little beauty says she’s willing to give you all a chance. Ain’t that right, dearie? Highest bidder first and then on down. How does that sound? She claims she can handle the whole sultan’s army. Let’s just see what she can do, huh?”
Matthew slumped at his desk, his head cradled on his arms. It had been so long since he had slept. With one shaky hand, he reached out and poured himself another whiskey and downed it. Wearily he dragged a hand across his face. Three days—they had been frantically looking for her for three days, with no luck. She seemed to have vanished into thin air. Dear God, what had happened to her? Had she been seized and thrown into a ship headed for the brothels of Europe or the West Indies? Or was she still in Liverpool, locked away in the dark bowels of some filthy building? Either way, she would not have gone tamely. She wouldn’t submit, he knew, and he also knew they would feel no compunction about hurting her. Or maybe—maybe she was dead.
All through his own selfishness. Hurt or dead, it was because of him. All his waking hours, while he searched the vice dens of Liverpool, his thoughts haunted him; he was plagued with guilt and remorse. He remembered the unkind things he had done to her, the way he had teased her, had forced her to submit to him, had tried to bend her will to his. And for no reason except that he wanted her and was angry because she didn’t want him. Her spirit and independence—the very things that had made him love her because she was so different from all the others—he had tried to break, to conquer, even while realizing that no mastery over her was worth having unless she accepted it willingly, lovingly. He had been an impatient fool.
She hated him for the way he had treated her and now, rightfully, she would blame him for whatever horrible thing happened to her after she escaped him. He realized that if he found her, he would still not win her. But if only he could find her, that wouldn’t matter. He would gladly give her up, return her to the American embassy, if only he could find her safe and sound. He could accept the awful, bleak pain of living without her, if only he could save her.
But after three days of searching, they had found nothing. Her earrings and engagement ring had been found at a pawnshop, but, even under the most forceful persuasion, the clerk could not remember who had pawned them. Tenderly Matthew touched the ring and hot tears seared his cheeks.
“Cap’n.” Peljo popped his head inside the door, his voice full of barely suppressed excitement. “I’ve got somebody out here who says he has seen Miss Katherine.”
Matthew’s head shot up and he turned. “Who? Where is he?”
“On deck, sir.”
Matthew crossed the room in two strides and ran up the steps to the deck. A man stood there, nervously wringing his cap.
“Who are you?” Matthew’s voice rapped out.
The man gulped, frightened by the tall, unkempt, wild-eyed man before him. “Alfred, sir.”
“All right, Alfred, describe this young lady you saw.”
“Pretty, sir, dark blond hair, brown eyes, very tall. Talked funny, like a Yank.”
“How was she dressed?”
“Dressed? I don’t know; it had little flowers on it, I think.”
“When was this?”
“Three or four nights ago, sir.”
“What happened?”
“Well, me and my friend Ned was talking to her when this flashy-looking dandy comes up and stabs Ned.”
“Just because you were standing there talking?” Matthew’s voice was cold and hard as sleet.
The man cleared his throat and said, “Madman, I guess, sir.”
“Is it not more likely that you were accosting this young lady?”
“We was just having a little fun, sir,” Alfred whined.
Hampton’s hand shot out and he grabbed the man by his shirt, lifted him up, and shook him. “Did you hurt her, you sniveling little—”
“No, no, I never touched her; I swear,” the man squealed. “It was Ned, sir—honest.”
Matthew stared at him with flinty eyes and said finally, “All right. Tell me what happened.”
“Well, this man stabbed Ned with his cane, and—”
“With his cane?”
“Yessir. He had a little knife in the end of it.”
“I’ve seen ‘em like that,” Peljo volunteered. “Well, that’s all. He stabbed Ned and I ran for my life.”
“Leaving her there, of course.”
The man squirmed.
“Well, describe the man with the cane to me.”
“Flashy dresser. He had on a plaid suit—yellow and gray. And a fancy hat. And this cane.”
“Sounds like a pimp. Is that what he looked like?”
“Yessir. But I don’t know him.”
Matthew turned to Peljo. “All right, Peljo, let’s start looking for that man. Now.”
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, he was gone, flying back to the seamen’s dives. For hours his search was fruitless. But finally, early in the morning, a barmaid touched him on the shoulder.
“I heard you asking about that man with the cane.”
“Yes.” He looked at her eagerly. “You know him?”
“Maybe. Why you want him?”
“I think he’s kidnapped a woman that—that I love.”
The girl looked at him shrewdly. Then she said, “Well, you better find her quick then. That sounds like Parker; he works over at Pearl’s. He gets girls for her.”
“And where is this Pearl’s?”
“I’ll show you. But you won’t be able to do anything by yourself. Pearl’s got Parker and two guards; not to mention the customers.”
“I can get several men. You just show me where.”
“All right.”
He delved into his pocket and crushed some money into her hand. “Wait right here while I get my men. I’ll give you more when we get there.”
The girl shrugged and nodded. Matthew rushed out to gather Peljo and his men. When he returned an hour or two later with his crew, armed to the teeth, the barmaid gaped in astonishment.
“You got an army there,” she said.
“Not quite.” Hampton smiled, filled with that ice-cold calm that always came just before battle was engaged. “Now lead on, dear girl.”
She grabbed a shawl and hurried out into the cold of predawn. The streets by this time were quiet and littered with drunks. They followed the girl, silent and purposeful; Hampton had had no trouble enlisting their aid in finding Katherine. She had fed them when they were prisoners and tended them when they were wounded; they had long ago adopted her as their own.
Suddenly the girl stopped. “That’s it. The one in the middle.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” He shoved more money into her hand and she scampered off.
Hampton strode to the front door and tried it. Locked. Calmly he shot the lock and then kicked the door open. Once inside the now-empty parlor, he picked up an ashtray and hurled it against a mirror. The crash brought a sleepy guard stumbling out; he stopped dead at the weapons drawn on him.
“I want to see Pearl,” Hampton said.
“Pearl!” The guard’s voice came out a whisper and he had to call again.
“Damn it, I had just gone to bed; what’s going on?” Pearl stopped short at the head of the stairs.
“Madam, I have come about a new addition to your staff. A tall girl with dark gold hair and amber eyes—” he paused inquiringly.
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, g
rabbed 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.
Chapter 14
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 becau
se 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.
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