Catherine sat on her pallet, alone, in the corner of Harrison's shack. She'd requested he place it at the farthest point away from his pallet as possible, but there really wasn't much wiggle room. His shanty was slightly bigger than hers, but no matter the perspective, it was close quarters.
She stared at the door, expecting it to open at any moment. Harrison had gone back out as soon as he had her situated that evening. He'd wasted no time in putting distance between them and she couldn't blame him. It was an awkward, embarrassing situation to be in. They would be sleeping next to each other, in the very same room. Catherine had never even slept in the same room as her own cousin. And this was a warm-blooded man who was not her husband.
A sound from outside made her jump out of her skin and she collapsed backwards onto the bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. Best to pretend sleep, she decided, her heart pounding through her chest. She waited like that for minutes that felt like hours. Finally, she realized it must have been something else. Harrison had not yet returned.
Catherine turned towards the wall and stared at the corrugated iron. She followed the flaws in the pattern with her gaze, trying to think of anything but him. Alone, in the dark, she could admit to herself that she had spent eight years harboring a crush for this man who had taken her into his home. She wished seeing him again had erased those fantasies as misconceptions, but Harrison was still larger than life. He still had something about him that seemed to set him apart from the rest. That made things more difficult.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn't worried about infidelity. She wasn't an animal on the savannah, subject to base desires. She had control over her actions if nothing else. It was her thoughts, his thoughts, and the world's opinions that concerned her. There was no doubt their living situation would be talked about. It was also inevitable that if she found Marcus, he would not like what she had resorted to. Unfortunately, she would not compromise her safety for his pride.
There was another noise from outside, like a footstep, and this time she was certain it was Harrison. She flattened herself to the bed, face still turned to the wall. Her chest was rising and falling much too quickly, but she couldn't help her breathing. There wasn't enough oxygen in the room. It was hot. Positively stifling.
The padlock jiggled, then the door opened and Harrison came inside and shut the door behind him, affixing the lock. Then came a heavy scraping sound as he moved the bureau to block the door.
She had to stop herself from smiling. She never would have guessed he'd use the same techniques she did to protect herself. She tried to relax, feeling as though her state of alertness was filling the room with its energy, bouncing from wall to wall in a way any one should be able to sense.
Harrison didn't move around the room much. She heard him remove his boots, then his leather suspenders, depositing all on the floor with a clunk. Then she heard him sink into his pallet. He was only six feet away.
She exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Even that, she tried to do carefully and quietly. How she could spend a dozen nights like this, she had no idea.
The room was quiet enough she could hear him breathe. She focused on the rhythm of his breath, letting it lull her to sleep. It was only because she was paying such close attention that she noticed when it stopped.
Catherine then held her own breath.
"We aren't in England," he said. "Things are different out here."
After pretending to be asleep for so long, it was hard to shake it off and respond to him. She had trouble finding her voice and didn't know what to say.
Her lack of a response didn't seem to bother him. "I'm sure you could name many ideals of proper behavior that you've had to let go of. This is just one more of them."
Now she knew she didn't want to answer him. He couldn't know she was awake for certain, even if he clearly suspected it.
"If it makes you feel any better, I promise your honor is safe with me. You need not fear any inappropriate advances. No need to sleep with one eye open."
She should have been relieved by his statement, but instead, she was slightly offended. She didn't take him for a rogue, at least when it came to a woman not welcoming his advances. That wasn't new information. It wasn't nice to be told she wasn't a temptation, though. She turned over on the thin pallet, sighing at the feel of the floor against her hipbone. Then she threw her arm over her eyes and feigned a delicate snore.
"Goodnight, Catherine."
She opened her mouth to respond, then her heart started its pounding again, so she pressed her lips together and remained quiet. Exhausted, she fell asleep soon after, the sound of his deep voice reverberating through her head.
* * *
"Did you discover anything today?" Catherine leapt up from the one chair in the room, eager for news. Harrison had disappeared before she awoke that morning, off to do whatever it was he normally did along with seek information about her husband.
"Nothing much," he said, not meeting her gaze.
"I don't believe you." She needed to hear something. Anything. The day had been spent much the same way she'd used her time before Marcus left. Cleaning up after the constant accumulation of dust, fetching water, and procuring something for dinner from the marketplace. Anything to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.
Harrison's first stop was the coffee kettle. "It's not anything you're going to want to hear."
She nodded. She'd expected as much. "I'm ready to hear it just the same."
"Well, it seems that while Marcus was still in Kimberly, he spent most of his time in saloons rather than digging. I'm skeptical he did any prospecting at all."
"I'm confident he at least began our arrival on the right foot. He may have gotten discouraged, but things didn't start out that way."
"I said you wouldn't want to hear it." He poured coffee into a dented iron cup. Not even a tendril of steam rose from the stream.
Catherine held out her hand. "Let me heat that for you."
"There's no need," he said and drank.
"It's no bother."
"I'm just happy it actually tastes like coffee rather than the dirty water I usually drink. Thank you for making it." He looked around the room as he finished the cup. "Actually, thank you for everything. You didn't have to clean."
"Idle hands, you know." She shrugged.
"In any case, most men out here gamble. The question is, what else was he doing?"
She moved to the other side of the room, still embarrassed by his presence. It was hard to believe that at night he laid down beside her.
Harrison sat on the old chair and pulled some bank notes out of his pocket. He counted through them, then put them back in his jacket, grinning.
"Made some money?"
"I ran into a few of my old friends. They were anxious to bet away their savings."
"Some friend you are."
"It's how I make my living. Gambling can be a lot more profitable than digging for useless pieces of rock."
"Though I agree with you that diamonds are quite useless, one can make a fortune selling them to those who disagree."
"Yes, but too many get so wrapped up in the search, they forget that the end result will hardly be life changing. Unless you get exceedingly lucky."
She had started out a lot more optimistic than that, but it seemed to be the direction her mind was headed as well. "How long do you intend to stay in Kimberly, Mr. Foster?"
"Long enough to save enough to go somewhere else."
"Such as?"
"Australia… maybe even America."
"I hear those are both rough places."
"No worse than here, Mrs. Watson." He stirred the coffee. "In any case, I could never live the life of a gentleman."
"I don't think you give yourself enough credit." Nervously crossing her legs, Catherine decided to stop questioning him about his future and the lifestyle he obviously loved. "I can't avoid the topic any longer. About Marcus… was he dr
inking as well?"
Harrison nodded. "And betting on cards."
"Like you. Did you ever play him?"
He watched her suspiciously. Finally, he said, "No. Which seems strange in and of itself. I wonder if he specifically avoided me."
Catherine stared at the foggy window, the same window she'd gazed at all day. Her hands itched to do something and her skin gasped for breath. The shack was almost like an oven during the day, so even though the sun would hit her if she stood outside, it was a little better than being cooped up. At least then she would occasionally catch a breeze.
Watching Harrison start a new pot of coffee, she realized that her feelings were more complex than that. Though Harrison was nicer than her husband had been towards the end, their relationship was becoming very similar. He was gone all day while she sat at home waiting. Too delicate to help out with the rough mining work, but too poor to live a life of leisure. Instead of being one of the ladies in West Kimberly, riding their beautiful horses across the veldt, she was stagnating in a tiny, corrugated iron shack.
"I want to go with you tomorrow, to look for my husband."
He stared at her for a while before finally nodding. "Then you shall."
"Thank you."
Harrison poured the coffee into two battered mugs. "But if you get yourself into any trouble-"
"It will be up to me to get myself out of it."
He nodded at her comment, but somehow, Catherine knew he meant not a word of it.
* * *
They woke at about the same time the next morning, through no prior planning. He seemed to be as light a sleeper as she.
Catherine shyly turned her face to the wall and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She pinched some color into her cheeks and tried to smooth down her hair so it wasn't sticking out in all directions. Probably not much of a difference was obtained after all of her ministrations, but she knew it made her feel better.
When she turned to face the room, Harrison was sitting on his pallet, already pulling on his boots. "Ready for a day of twisting information out of uncooperative people?"
"Yes, of course," she said, sitting up as much as she could while still holding the sheet up to cover her chemise-clad body.
"Shall I make the coffee? I managed to get mealies as well. Can heat it up in just a bit."
"That would be lovely."
Harrison got up and started measuring out the coffee. They already had water in a jug next to the stove.
Catherine just watched him, not knowing what to say. She looked at her dress, folded neatly on their one chair.
Harrison looked at her at just that moment and followed her gaze to the dress. She could practically see him thinking. It was good that he thought before he spoke. Marcus never had. "Oh," he finally said. "You need to get dressed."
She smiled wanly. "Yes."
"I'll step out for a moment, then. Give my boots a good cleaning outside."
"I'm sorry," she said. "It's your home. I feel awful to send you away."
"A woman is entitled to her modesty, Mrs. Watson. Think nothing of it." And before she could protest anymore, he opened the door and shut it firmly behind him, leaving her alone.
She sighed in relief. She'd not been sure he'd understand. He might have laughed at her caring too much about such things and just offered to turn around or close his eyes. The kind of thing the boys did when they played dress up at home.
Catherine still dressed quickly, almost afraid he'd pop back in unexpectedly to catch her. As soon as she finished, she called him back in and continued the coffee from where he'd left off. Then they worked in companionable silence, her making the coffee and him the mealies.
They ate the small breakfast sitting on their pallets. If Catherine hadn't been so worried about Marcus, she wouldn't say the time spent with Harrison was altogether unpleasant. Sometimes it was even nice.
"Ready to go?" Harrison asked, standing tall.
"Ready."
* * *
The saloon was bigger than either Harrison's or Catherine's home and it felt like an eminently male domain. The lighting was dim, which seemed to be a good thing considering the state of the furniture, both when it came to condition and cleanliness. As expected, it was mostly filled with men, either gambling or straight out drinking their wages away.
Harrison made a beeline to the card table. He immediately approached one man holding court at a poker table and cleared his throat. When the man looked up, Harrison said, "I'm looking for Marcus Watson? Do you know where I can find him?"
The rotund man leaned back in the wooden chair and it creaked so loudly Catherine feared it would break. "Why do you ask me, Foster?"
Harrison slapped a sovereign on the table. "You gossip more than a woman at a church bazaar. Stop fooling around and give me the information."
"Straight to the punch, eh? I was just kidding around. Trying to get a little enjoyment out of it, but fine. Speak to Fred there in the corner, moping over his watered-down whisky. He might be able to help you." He tried to turn in his chair, having caught a glimpse of Catherine. "Who's that you're with?"
Harrison hooked his arm around hers. "Let's go talk to this Fred character."
She desperately tried to ignore the heat that filled her when he touched her and reminded herself of what they were trying to do. Find her husband. Her husband. "This seems to be costing you money already," she said to Harrison. "I promise that I will pay you back. Anything I have to-"
"That's not important right now."
Together, they approached Fred. He wasn't just moping in the corner. He was in an absolute pout. Never had she seen such a public display of sadness, not even when her cousin Susan was not allowed to buy the showpiece at the town's milliner on her birthday. This man was devastated about something. She was about to suggest they tread carefully, but while she was still forming the words in her mind, Harrison began and as usual, got straight to the point.
"Are you Fred? I hear you have information on Marcus Watson."
Fred continued to stare down into his glass as though he'd hidden his claim's finds in it. "I really don't feel like talking right now."
"I am willing to pay for the information."
"Just go away." He was rather non-threatening, even in his brush off. He was of small stature and his nose was long and hooked.
Catherine pictured him as a bird drinking from a small pond, its beak bobbing in and out of the water. She leaned forward to whisper in Harrison's ear. "Ask him what is wrong."
He backed away so they were out of Fred's range of hearing. "Come on now. Don't be silly. This isn't a tea party."
"I realize that. Actually, I would never ask a lady what is wrong with her at a tea party. That would be highly presumptuous."
His expression was getting exasperated. "Fine, I'll try it your way."
She hung back while he approached the man again.
Harrison rested his hand on the end of the bar. "You seem to be a bit glum, my friend. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"
Fred didn't reply. He just looked up at Harrison and rolled his eyes. "We aren't friends. I don't want to talk about nothing."
Now Harrison reached into his pocket and pulled out another sovereign. "All I need is some information. I hate to interrupt your bad day, but this is important."
Fred shifted in seat, looking at Harrison with new interest. "Keep talking."
"I want to know where Marcus Watson is."
"Has he disappeared?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Unfortunate for whom?"
Catherine should have been shocked, offended, or even confused at the man's response. Unfortunately, she was none of these things. Even with Marcus gone for just a couple of days, she was coming to an understanding about all the things she'd overlooked. Everything she'd pretended not to notice. Her husband wasn't a very likeable man. She admired the way Harrison was at ease in any setting, able to bring men onto his side. Marcus had none of that.
Harrison didn't take the bait and didn't comment on who Marcus's disappearance might be bad for. "That's not really important, now is it? I have good reason to want to find him."
"Does he owe you money too?"
"Pardon me?" Catherine asked, then snapped her mouth shut. She'd promised to behave with decorum. It was difficult to keep it up while hearing what she was hearing and while in a setting where no one else seemed concerned with proper behavior. Being the one lady in the room also didn't help.
Fred looked her up and down. "Marcus Watson would be in debtor's prison if this were England. We have different ways of dealing with that kind of behavior out here."
Harrison closed his fingers around the money. "This is all very interesting, but do you or don't you know where we can find him?"
Just then, a man's voice boomed from the back of the room. "Is there anyone in here interested in some very fine ladies?"
This certainly got Fred's attention. His back became ramrod straight and he leaned from side to side to try to see around Harrison's broad chest.
"What is this?" Catherine asked Harrison. All around her, the men in the room had quieted. What had been a rowdy, active place was now still.
Unless she was mistaken, Harrison's face seemed to get pinker. He put his hand over his eyes, wiping his brow. "Not now," he said, almost in anguish.
"It's an auction," Fred told her.
Catherine whirled around to see a man leading three women out of a back room. Her face heated. "Are those prostitutes?"
Harrison nodded.
Then she looked at Fred again. "Did you say auction?"
Fred smiled, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "This is my favorite part of the week." He grabbed Harrison's arm. "I do have some information about Marcus Watson. I will share it with you under one condition."
"What is it?"
"I want one of those ladies. Get me what I want and you'll get what you want."
"It can't go above five sovereigns."
"No?" He leaned back without a care in the world. "I thought your search for Marcus was important. If it isn't…"
Catherine pushed Harrison forward. "Why don't we see what the women go for? We can make our decision when we see what the price is. If it goes too high, we can reconsider."
The Queen of Diamonds Page 7