Watson, come to see me as soon as you can. We have much to discuss. Trenton
Trenton? Wasn't that the man with the large claim consolidation? He was the one Harrison and Abraham helped with recovering stolen diamonds. She stamped down her disappointment at the note not providing any new or useful information about Marcus.
Catherine pushed open the door with her foot and went inside. She surveyed the room and gasped.
Various mining tools were spread across the tiny space and every piece of cheap furniture was displaced. Each drawer in the bureau was hanging open, the contents bunched up in the corner and spilling onto the floor. The thin straw mattress was shredded and unsalvageable. The old pots were even more bruised and dented then they'd been when she'd left. Not much seemed to be missing-they didn't have much of value-but everything was destroyed.
It seemed that whoever had paid her an unexpected visit hadn't wanted her to take out her own rage on the furniture, as she'd so often thought of doing. She slumped onto the broken bed, pieces of straw sticking into her bottom. Catherine couldn't deny the truth any longer.
Marcus was in trouble.
Chapter Five
Catherine stood up, looking around the small house furtively. Though the room was tiny, her gaze focused on every shadow, every corner. She had suddenly realized the danger she might be in, that might still be lurking in wait for her return.
Shaking her head, Catherine quickly found the bag that she'd brought from England and packed it with the only things of value she owned. Carefully shutting the door, she hurried to the heavy iron kettle and carefully scooped out the old coffee grounds. Feeling through the dark, fragrant mess, she eventually found the hard rock she was looking for.
Catherine rolled the two diamonds around in her hand, smiling with relief. If that was what the vandals had been looking for, she was pleased they'd walked away empty-handed. Catherine wiped the perspiration from her brow and left the sad little shack.
She realized that whether or not she could figure out where Marcus had gone, she needed to get to Cape Town with enough money to pay for her passage home. That gave her two things to focus on: money and safety. She needed to be able to afford the journey and she needed to do it in a way that wouldn't put her at risk.
She took a deep breath, knowing what she had to do. Despite the way Marcus had treated him, David had been a friend to them. If anyone could help her, it would be him.
* * *
Her clothing was moist and sticking to her body when she finally knocked on David's door. She looked up at the dusty house. David's home had more permanence to it, small but made out of brick. It even had a pot of flowers next to the door. A bright spot in an otherwise dismal town.
When no one answered the door, she knocked again and leaned her head against the wood. She was about ready to pass out. Her hair had escaped its tight bun, greasy and unmanageable from the heat. It was also covered with dust because she hadn't stopped to retrieve a scarf from her bag.
As she knocked again, she considered how odd it was that she had left England to escape a life as the poor relation, yet there she was in Africa, bruised and broken and begging at the door of her betters.
Finally, the door was yanked open by a tiny black boy.
"Is your master at home?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Gone. Went away."
Catherine fanned herself desperately with one of her hands. "Where did he go?"
The boy shook his head, his dark chest glistening with sweat. He moved to shut the door, suspicion and fear in his loaded gaze. "No. Not coming back."
Catherine jumped back before the door flattened her nose. She turned towards the street, immediately looking into the face of a rough miner. He offered her a gap-toothed smile, but, thankfully, kept walking. Resting her back against David's house, Catherine struggled not overreact.
Then she laughed bitterly. Not much of what she could do could possibly be considered too much. If anything, she wasn't facing the full brunt of what had happened to her. Knees weak, Catherine pushed herself away from the cool brick and started walking, her destination frightfully ambivalent.
Each step Catherine took along the road, another wave of dizziness besieged her. She thought of Harrison. He was at least someone she knew and who she felt was a basically honest person. But if she were truly honest with herself, she didn't know why she felt that way. What did she really know about him?
Either way, they were still practically strangers. She couldn't deposit herself on his doorstep and beg for help. And what could he do anyway?
The thought of going back to the shack filled her with dread. There didn't seem to be any way of avoiding it though. She couldn't afford a hotel without risking her trip home. Even if she could manage to pay for one night, it would be a very short-term solution. There was no option but to return home and resume her search for Marcus the next morning.
Hopefully, at least David would return and help her. If not, she knew whom she had to turn to. She wanted that to be a last resort.
Catherine turned towards home and, as soon as she got there, pushed the heaviest piece of furniture she owned up against the door to prevent anyone from entering while she slept. Then she collapsed onto the bed and tossed and turned for hours in fitful exhaustion.
* * *
She was dreaming about a door. Someone was knocking on it, over and over again. The door was straining and creaking against the onslaught. Catherine sat on her pallet, heart pounding. It wasn't a dream.
Someone was pushing against the door of the small shack from the outside. Slowly, bit by bit, the dresser she'd placed in front of it was moving forwards.
She leapt out of bed and pushed against the dresser as hard as she could into the door. It inched backwards with the monumental effort, closing the small gap. Her heart beat in her throat. She listened. Waited.
"Miss Watson?" came the masculine voice. It was a smoker's voice, a scratchy whisper. "Are you in there alone, Miss Watson? I heard about your husband."
Her entire body tensed up. She dug her feet into the packed dirt floor of the shack and kept her back against the dresser. She thought it sounded like the man she'd met when talking to Elsa, but she couldn't be sure. Whoever it was, she didn't want him in her house.
"I can keep you company, if you like. Don't be afraid, Miss Watson."
Catherine shook her head, even though he couldn't see her. Her chest was tight. She couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he got in. She didn't know if he was pushing with all his might, but she was definitely using all of her strength to keep him out.
The dresser pushed against her back, but she seemed to have the advantage. He was surely stronger than her, but the arrangement of her furniture gave her an advantage. She stayed completely silent, concerned that if he heard her voice, he'd take it as an encouragement.
He had gotten quiet, too, but she could still feel pressure against her back. He was still trying to get in.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She felt the urge to cry, but she couldn't waste the energy on it. All she needed to focus on was pushing.
Minutes passed, then hours. She didn't know when he left, most likely before the minutes turned into hours, but she didn't move from her position. She kept her back against the dresser and her heels dug into the ground. Both eyes twitched from exhaustion. Every time she started to close her eyes, she'd jerk back awake at some imagined sound.
When daylight began to appear through the cracks in the walls, she relaxed somewhat and thought she might be able to sleep. But her eyes kept snapping back open of their own volition, even when she could hear the bustle of activity going on all around her home. It wasn't a very lawful place, but she didn't think she'd be assaulted in broad daylight in front of a crowd. Still, she couldn't sleep.
Finally, she got up and dusted herself off. There was only one thing she could do.
Catherine checked to make sure the small diamond was still in the hem of her skirt, then
she set off to find Harrison.
* * *
She'd seen Harrison's home before. It was much like her own and only a meager distance away. Marcus had pointed it out to her once, during the time Harrison was away chasing the illegal diamond dealers.
Catherine glared down at the hem of her skirt, focusing on the dust and grime it was positively covered with. It was humiliating for Harrison to see her like that. She was glad he didn't connect her to the shy girl he'd once defended.
She stood in front of the shack and waited. With sweat pouring down her face, eyes stinging, and her lips cracked and parched, she knocked on the door.
Harrison opened it almost immediately, ever her savior.
"Mr. Foster," she said, taking great pains to keep her voice from trembling, "may I speak with you?"
His firm expression softened. He ushered her inside, where there was only a narrow pallet and one wooden chair to sit on.
Catherine remained standing.
"Has your husband returned?"
"No. I don't know where… or what…" It was all she got out before she lost the careful control she had over her emotions. Catherine shook with the force of her tears, her body sinking with each hiccup. Somehow, she found herself on the bed. She felt Harrison's weight beside her. His arm went around her. It was warm. Hard.
"I was afraid he'd do this," he said then, his hand moving up and down her back.
She shook even more, unsure if it was from his words or his touch. Taking a few deep breaths, the anxious feeling in her chest began to go away. That agitation was replaced by surprise and dismay. Surprised that Harrison was so confident in his touch and dismayed by how she was letting him distract her from what he was saying. "You were afraid he'd do what?"
"Desert you," he replied.
"What makes you think he deserted me?"
"Because that's what the evidence points to. What do you think happened to him?"
Taking the handkerchief he offered, she dabbed at her eyes. When she looked down at the white cloth and saw it spotted with dirt, she was mortified. "I'm worried he's hurt somewhere, unable to get home. Or perhaps he's been kidnapped."
"Kidnapped? Why would anyone do such a thing?"
She paused. She hadn't thought about that. Staring down at her skirt in a pathetic attempt to stall, she tried to think what a person could gain from the kidnapping.
"Would you be able to pay any sort of ransom?"
Catherine sighed. "If only."
"Is there any other logical reason someone would abduct your husband?"
She bristled at his tone. "No. I can't think of any."
"So don't you think the answer is clear? Marcus ran away from home."
Lips trembling, she replied, "He wouldn't do that to me."
Harrison frowned. "I know it's difficult to face, but it's true."
"You don't know that."
He stood and crossed the room. "Watson constantly deserted you, the entire time you've been here. He wanted to go after a diamond thief, a mission that took an entire week."
Catherine hung her head, embarrassed. She felt like a fool. Seeing the dirt beneath her fingernails, she picked at that, avoiding his gaze. "Perhaps Marcus isn't the perfect husband. Even so, he knew what it meant to leave me here in the middle of nowhere."
"With a claim you can't possibly manage on your own."
"And the desperate need to get to Cape Town before the next ship arrives. Otherwise, I'll be stuck here for six more months. Something sinister is afoot and I won't stand by to watch it happen. My shack was torn apart by someone. That tells you that my husband didn't leave Kimberly purely to desert his wife."
"No," Harrison replied snidely. "Watson was probably involved in all sorts of other illegal activity."
"Look, Mr. Foster, I'm going to look for Marcus. I don't have any other alternative. It would be wrong of me to assume something adulterous, wash my hands of him, and sail back to England. What if he needs my help? This is my husband we're talking about."
Harrison touched the scruffy hair on his chin, thoughtfully examining her person. It was as though he thought he'd find a response to her troubles somewhere in her sad eyes. Finally, he said, "You're in quite a bind."
Nodding, Catherine replied. "I know."
They were silent for moments before Harrison moved again, leaving his spot at the other side of the shack to begin pacing.
"I suppose you're wondering why I'm telling you all of this?" she asked.
His expression was curious and she knew that she'd pinpointed his distress.
"I was hoping you could help me."
He closed his eyes tiredly as a sigh escaped his lips. "Do you need money for your passage?"
Catherine swallowed nervously, her stomach in knots. "I was thinking more along the lines of finding my husband."
"I don't think he wants to be found."
Once again, tears threatened. "I don't want to be argumentative, but how can you just assume that?"
He clapped his hands together, leaning forwards plaintively. "It's just common sense . . . looking at the facts from a man's point of view. If I had been the one to disappear in the middle of the night, either I had gone willingly or I'd be damn sure to get back to my wife as soon as possible."
"Marcus might be trying to do that as we speak."
"And if that's true, you won't need my help to find him. He'll find you. You can wait for his return safe in England. Really, what can you do to save him?"
Catherine stood. "I can't do anything. In that way, you are absolutely right. That's why I went to David for help and, when I couldn't find him, to you."
"David is gone?"
"Yes," she reluctantly admitted.
"Poor Mrs. Watson! That's just more reason to believe that your husband took off."
She turned away from him, searching her mind for a response. Then, suddenly, she knew what to say. Catherine approached him plaintively. "I'll pay you well if you help me. Every sovereign I possess except for the price of passage to England."
"I don't want your money," he replied firmly, his brow set in hard lines. "This idea you have is pure insanity."
Catherine loosed a heavy breath of acceptance. "Fine. I'm sorry I bothered you."
"Wait," he said, sounding at once hesitant and reluctant. "What are you going to do?"
"The only thing I can do," she called over her shoulder. "Find someone else to help me."
Harrison followed her to the door. "You're not in England anymore. Someone will take advantage of you. Take your money and run."
"I'm not entirely stupid. I wouldn't give him anything until he found my husband."
Growling, he replied, "And what will happen if he finds your husband dead. What if he never finds him because, as I've already suggested, Watson doesn't want to be found?"
Catherine spun on her heels, eyes narrowed in fury. "I don't know! If you're so smart, help me. That's exactly why I came to you."
His face was stony, his gaze boring into a spot on the wall behind her. "Then I'll help you, Mrs. Watson. But only because I don't want you getting yourself into any more trouble."
"I don't care why you help me, Mr. Foster, just that you do."
He stood there watching her for a few seconds before finally saying, "I don't know what I'm getting myself into."
Neither did Catherine. It was difficult to see her partnered with such a man. She'd never known anyone like him before. She was used to well-bred gentlemen, who always said please and thank you. Harrison was of an entirely different variety. He had rough edges and even rougher manners. The last two times she'd seen him, she'd been agitated by his arrogant words. She could not imagine what it would be like trying to work with him on a daily basis.
Unfortunately, her husband was missing and she had little choice if she ever wanted to find him.
"We may both be surprised by what we discover," she replied at last, thinking of the misconceptions he probably had of her. Though that thought made her wond
er if she, too, was judging him too quickly.
"Just answer me this one last thing before you go," he started, revealing exactly how much he enjoyed having her in his home. "If Watson isn't to be found, what's the next step?"
"I would be pleased if you could escort me, or arrange for someone else, to Cape Town. Then, even if I've lost Marcus, at least I won't have lost my ride home."
Harrison nodded.
"When should we get started?"
"I would get going immediately, but I already have plans for the day. Can you return here at sundown?"
"We're going to look for him at night?"
"No. First thing in the morning."
"Then why-"
"You can't possibly think it's safe to stay in your own shack," he said.
Her entire body started to tremble. "Is there any other option?"
"Can you afford a hotel?"
"No."
"Then I don't see how there is."
She realized then that she hadn't even told him about her late night intruder. Staying with him was even more necessary than he thought. "What are people going to think?"
Suddenly, he couldn't meet her gaze. "You know exactly what they'll think. It can't be helped. Your safety is more important than your reputation."
"My Aunt Elizabeth would strongly disagree."
"And yourself?"
Her shoulders slumped. "I suppose I agree with you."
"Then it's settled."
She moved towards the door. "I won't know what to do with myself until sundown."
A grin played about his lips. "You will need to pack up your belongings and bring them over here. Including, of course, a pallet. Unless you want to share?"
Blushing, Catherine hurried out the door. "I will drag it here if it takes me the rest of the day."
Chapter Six
The Queen of Diamonds Page 6