"You knew about that? I didn’t think you noticed."
"Do you think there’s anything about you I don’t notice?"
"Weren’t you upset?"
"No. I’m just glad you’re accepting it now."
She smiled. "You know, I think I am."
***Chapter 21***
The evening of Katerina’s twentieth birthday party began well. The special dress she had ordered for the event fit like a glove from the rib cage up, and floated away from the swell of her belly below, disguising the fact that she was past half-way through her pregnancy.
After this party, Katerina would enter her confinement, and not attend any other public events until she recovered from the delivery. It sounded rather boring, all in all, though her mother-in-law promised to keep her company. Several of the young matrons with whom she had made friends over the last few months would likely do the same. In particular she had become close to Eliza Cary, née Carlisle, the pouting girl who liked pretty poetry. She and James had wed during the Bennett’s honeymoon. The young vicar had apparently kissed the young lady on the balcony a little too long. When those leaving the party looked up, the passionate embrace became a public display and caused quite a scandal. Nothing truly untoward had happened, but a vicar must be above reproach, and being married helped. She still teased her husband mercilessly, but the gleam in his eyes told everyone he didn’t mind one bit. Her pink cheeks and shy smile spoke clearly as well of the young clergyman’s prowess. Now she only used the pout for effect.
They had been invited to the party tonight, which was held at the elder Bennetts’ home, rather than their little townhouse. Also invited were Christopher’s younger brother, Devin, down for a visit from the university, Lord Galway and his mother and stepfather, the Wilders, and the Reardons. It was a cozy group, rather small compared to some gatherings, but that was what Katerina preferred. There would be music (she had auditioned the performers herself) and food, and silly party games. It promised to be a lovely evening.
First they had dined. Katerina had taught the Bennett’s cook how to prepare Tuscan foods for the event, and she hoped everyone had been feeling adventurous because she knew the garlic would be a challenge to their sensitive palates. No one had commented either way, which, she supposed, was better than outright rebellion.
Now it was time for the games. They began with a rousing round of charades. The Carys won handily, earning them the right to choose the next game. Hide and seek was proposed, and though the two older couples bowed out, everyone else hurried off to hide while Katerina closed her eyes and counted to 100. When she looked up, only her in-laws and the Turners were left, sitting by with cups of tea, and she flashed them a quick smile before heading out of the parlor to search for her guests. She hoped to find her husband first, perhaps in some dark corner where she could let him steal a kiss before she continued stalking their friends. It felt wonderful to be able to relax and be ridiculous. She was… having fun, impossible though it would have been six months ago.
With that thought in mind, she entered the front hallway, where a wide staircase in a very dark wood with a scarlet runner led to the second floor. She would begin there.
"Katerina." A commanding voice spoke in a lilting Italian accent. She froze like a small prey animal, poised between one step and the next.
No, she wouldn’t cower. She was not a rabbit. She was a woman and a wife, and she was surrounded by friends. No one could hurt her now. Deliberately, slowly, she straightened her spine and turned.
"Father," she replied coolly in Italian, "What are you doing here?"
"Obviously there was some mistake. I heard you were having a party, but my invitation never arrived."
She quirked an eyebrow. "There was no mistake. You were not invited. I do not want you here."
"I am your father, Katerina. That will never change."
"More’s the pity. But no matter. I don’t need a father."
He narrowed his eyes. Where had the terrified girl gone whom he had spent years beating into submission? Who was this new and confident woman? Giovanni didn’t like this new Katerina, not at all. He pressed harder, trying to gain the upper hand.
"I can’t believe you ran away with that… cotton weaver. Have you no pride, girl?"
"I can’t believe you would be surprised I did. Honestly, Father, I would have run away with a gypsy if one had appeared at the right moment. How fortunate I was to find Christopher. He’s very good to me, though I doubt you’re concerned with that."
Her hand went unconsciously to her belly. He noticed.
"Are you incinta? Already? What a whore. You’re just like your mother."
"No, Father. Not a whore. A wife. It’s my job to provide my husband children. Do you know something? I really don’t wish to talk to you any more. This is not your home and you were not invited. Get out." She dismissed him with a flamboyant hand gesture.
"Puttana." He yelled.
"Ti odio, bastardo!" She shot back. There was no worse thing she could have said to her father. He was sensitive to the fact that he was descended from an illegitimate line, royal though it might be, and she knew it. If she had slapped his face, it would have been no less effective. Turning, she stalked up the stairs away from him, confident she was safe now.
She was wrong.
With a cry of rage, Giovanni leaped into the room and was behind her in a moment. Out of the habit of protecting herself, Katerina took too long to react to the sudden movement, giving him time to grab the heavy coil of hair at the back of her head and pull hard.
She shrieked as she fell, thudding down three steps and landing on the wooden floor of the entryway, her head hitting hard. There was a crunching noise inside her skull and stars bloomed in her field of vision. Unconsciousness threatened, but she couldn’t succumb. If she did, she was dead. Rolling painfully onto her side she curled into a ball, protecting her baby with her arms and legs and back, tucking her head.
A heavy boot connected with her spine. She whimpered and he kicked her again. The thick scars protected her somewhat from the blows, but she was getting badly bruised. More kicks rained out of the growing darkness, colliding with her back, her arms. Stubbornly she clung to her protective posture…and to consciousness. A heavy hand coiled in her hair again, pulling her head back, and a meaty fist connected solidly with her nose. Blood sprayed and again blackness threatened. He dropped her, and her wounded skull collided with the floor. This time there was no escaping the darkness. Her last sight as consciousness faded was that heavy boot descending inexorably towards her unprotected belly…
******
Christopher had been ‘hiding’ near the top of the stairs. He really rather wanted to be found quickly. It was silly, but the potential for more fun pulling his wife into the corner with him was irresistible. Not that he needed more, of course. They’d kissed for ages before leaving their little house, and he’d nearly made her late to her own party. Not that anyone would have been surprised. But with Katerina there was no such thing as too much.
And then he heard her soft voice.
"One hundred."
Good, she was coming soon. He readied himself to pull her into the shadowy angle of the stairwell. It was a risk, he knew, grabbing her without warning, but she was better enough that he decided to try it. Where was she? She should be up here by now.
A low male voice filtered up to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t sound like his father… perhaps Colonel Turner. And then Katerina answered. Had her voice ever sounded hard and cold like this? She would never talk to the Colonel in such a way. But he still couldn’t make out the words… wait… they weren’t speaking English. The familiar rolling rhythm of Italian rose from the bottom of the stairs.
Oh God, no!
Only one person in all of London could speak Italian to his wife and receive such a harsh reply.
He hurried to the top of the stairs, horrified by the roar of masculine rage, the feminine shriek, the loud thud. Looking down, he c
ould see his wife falling to the floor, her body tightly curled as her father kicked her, over and over, with his heavy boots.
"Help!" he shouted, but had no idea whether anyone else could hear him. Descending the stairs at reckless speed, he was still unable to reach them before his father-in-law pulled back Katerina’s head to deliver a massive blow to her unprotected face. As she lost consciousness, he stretched her out, preparing to stomp on her abdomen, on their baby.
"No!" Christopher roared, shoving the older man in the chest, knocking him backwards onto the floor.
"Christopher, what on earth?"
"Mother, get Mrs. Turner, quickly."
"Oh God." Julia fled.
Drawn by the noise, the guests poured into the room.
Giovanni was rising, enraged, approaching again.
Christopher stepped over his wife’s prone body, between her and her father, protecting her. Cold anger filled him. He stepped forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Turner, guarded by her husband, picking her way across the room.
Christopher stepped forward again, closing the distance between him and Giovanni, drawing the other man away from Katerina.
"Get the hell away from my wife!"
"She is mine."
"No. She’s not."
"You stole her from me."
"I saved her from you."
"Why?"
"Because I love her, you miserable bastard. You could have killed her."
"She is mine to discipline." Giovanni shrieked. Being called bastard again was the last straw.
"Not anymore. Now she’s mine to defend. You hurt my wife. My God, you could have hurt our baby."
Christopher tightened the space between them again. He didn’t say another word. Instead he drove a furious fist into Giovanni’s jaw, quickly followed by another blow, this time to the gut.
Giovanni was very powerful compared to a slender and frightened woman. He had only once faced down an angry man in his prime. But Carlo had been young, in his prime but untrained. Not so with his son-in law.
Christopher was an experienced fighter from his school days on, and he had studied pugilism for sport. He brought every one of those skills to bear now and inflicted on his father-in-law the thrashing of a lifetime. He kept hitting the older man long after he was down, after he had given up, submitting in terror to a shower of blows from which he could not escape. There was little doubt Christopher would have beaten him to death had not James and Collin finally pulled him back.
"That’s enough, Chris," Collin said softly, "you’ll kill him."
"He deserves it."
"I know. But you need to stop."
"He hurt her."
"I know. It’s terrible. It should never have happened. But don’t kill him. Don’t become the murderer. Come. You need to see to your wife."
"What about this piece of shit?" He poked at his father-in-law with his toe.
"I’ll take care of him," Cary volunteered. Go on, Chris. Katerina needs you."
"Listen now, Valentino." Standing menacingly over his father-in-law’s twitching body, Christopher spoke in a voice cold enough to freeze a steam boiler, "If I EVER see your sorry arse again, even by accident, you will die."
And he let his friend lead him away.
James looked down at the beaten man and shook his head. He realized he had blood on his trouser. Disgusting.
"Well, Signor Valentino," he said sarcastically, "You’re certainly in a world of trouble now. I’ve never seen him this angry. You’d better get the hell out of England while you can, and pray to God Katerina and the baby both come through, or I’m quite sure he will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and disembowel you alive. You know… there’s a ship leaving for America in the morning. Maybe you should plan to be on it. Because I’m certain of one thing. He was not exaggerating. He will kill you if he gets the chance. And London isn’t so big people can’t meet by accident."
He hoisted the battered man to his feet. Blood poured from Giovanni’s nose and mouth, and he spat a tooth onto the floor. He looked at Cary for a long moment.
"I would offer to pray for your soul," the young vicar said, "but I wouldn’t be able to do it. I saw what you did to her too. Now get out."
Cary wrenched the door open and shoved Giovanni hard, sending him stumbling down the stairs to land in a crumpled heap on the sidewalk below.
Then he hurried into the parlor. Katerina was lying unconscious on the sofa, Christopher kneeling beside her, clutching her hand to his cheek. Colonel Turner was shaking his head.
"I hated to move her, not knowing how badly she’s injured."
"I know, but it wasn’t safe there, not with that fight going on."
"Has anyone called for a doctor?"
"Yes. Mrs. Cary just went to find the housekeeper."
"Good. I’m worried about her head injury."
Christopher looked up. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.
"Why won’t she wake up?"
"I’m afraid she’s got a skull fracture."
"Oh my God. Will she live?"
"It depends on how bad it is. I’ve seen many of these in the cavalry… people thrown from horses, or kicked. Some survived. How far did she fall? Just from standing? Did you see?"
"She was on the stairs. She must have fallen three, four steps before she hit the floor."
"Then we have another problem." Mrs. Turner said, "Falls in pregnancy can cause premature delivery. At only five… almost six months, if the baby is delivered now, there’s no way it will survive. Did he do anything else to her?"
"He kicked her all over."
"Her belly?"
"No. I stopped him before he could do that."
"Good. Listen, Christopher, she and the baby may both pull through this. It’s in God’s hands now. I suggest you pray like you’ve never prayed before. It’s serious, but not hopeless."
"It was my job to protect her. I failed her."
"How could you have known he would come here?"
"I should have guessed. I instructed my servants at home to turn him away at all costs, but I didn’t tell anyone here. I thought he had given up, that she was finally safe."
"Well, she’s safe now," Cary said from the doorway.
"How do you know?"
"After the drubbing you gave him? He’s not stupid. I suggested he take the next ship to America. I’ll check and be sure he’s on it."
"What?" Christopher was appalled, "you didn’t call the police?"
"Think, Christopher, you beat him to a bloody pulp. If the police came, whom would they be arresting? Not only him. I think he’s going to respect you now."
"Or put a bullet in your back," Collin commented darkly.
Christopher didn’t say a word. He leaned over and pressed his lips to his wife’s face. Her blood was everywhere. It smeared on his lips. If her nose wasn’t broken, it would be a miracle.
No one else spoke. They just stood by, supporting the couple as best they could. James put one hand on Christopher’s shoulder. With the other he held his wife close, thankful her father was a very kind man who approved of their marriage. She wept softly on his shoulder, moved by her friend’s plight.
Nearby, Julia also clutched her husband and cried. How she had loved this girl. She had chosen her for her son, and not just because of the danger. She had wanted Katerina for herself, for her own daughter. And now, there was a real chance that both she and the baby she was carrying would die.
About half an hour later the doctor arrived, confirming Colonel Turner’s diagnosis of a skull fracture. The bone was cracked but not depressed, not shattered. It might not be fatal. Her survival would depend, not so much on the severity of the fracture itself, but on how badly her brain, bruised when it hit the undamaged front of her skull, not once but twice, would eventually swell. If she died, there was no hope for the baby, but even if she did survive, even if the child came through, Katerina could still have permanent damage. So many things could go wrong
, and only time would tell what the outcome would be.
Eventually, when several hours had passed and Katerina remained unconscious, the doctor allowed that she could be brought home. It was unlikely to make the damage worse. If she would die of her injuries, she would die, and moving her would make very little difference at this point. He was cautiously optimistic, when he pried her eyelids open, that her pupils were the same size and remained that way.
Christopher gently cradled his wife in his arms and carried her out to the carriage. Julia accompanied them, hoping to support her son. The rest of the guests eventually drifted home. Mrs. Turner promised to come in a couple hours to check on Katerina again.
Back at the Bennetts’ townhouse, Christopher tenderly laid his wife on the bed and collected warm water and a cloth to bathe her face. Her nose had stopped bleeding, and she looked better, though bruised, once she was cleaned up. He stood slowly, and looked down at her. He had promised her, damn it. Promised she was safe, trained her to be safe, and in so doing he had left her vulnerable to another attack. His breath caught in a harsh sob. A little frisson of pain shot through his hand. His knuckles were split open. He had damaged them… all over his father-in-law’s face.
"You need to clean that." His mother said matter-of-factly, as though she were not looking over the hand which had just beaten a man bloody.
"What am I going to do, Mother?"
"Endure. Pray." She hugged him tight, stroking his back.
"Do you think she’ll live?"
"I hope so, son. I hope so."
By the time Mrs. Turner arrived, Christopher’s knuckles were bathed, and he had changed his wife into a loose cotton nightgown and tucked her into bed. He lay beside her, holding her hand, murmuring in her ear.
Mrs. Turner silently sat on the bed beside Katerina and pulled the covers down. She lifted the nightgown, carefully checking the unconscious woman for signs of premature labor. There was no blood or amniotic fluid on Katerina’s thighs or privates, and her cervix was tightly shut. Then she settled her hand on the swell of her client’s belly for a long time. A very long time. During that half hour, she felt a single soft contraction, of the sort a woman might experience in mid to late pregnancy. Nothing alarming. She also felt the child move several times, which was even more reassuring.
Keeping Katerina (The Victorians) Page 19