Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  “Probably,” she replied.

  With a deep breath, Christopher tucked away his wild imagination and channeled his fury into motivation. “All right. I'll be right back. You wash up.” He kissed her once more, briefly, and left the room.

  * * *

  It took her several tries, but Katerina managed to hoist herself upright and make her way to the mirror. On a wooden commode below was an ewer, creamy white and a painted with pink roses, and she washed the heavy powder away from her battered face. A glance in the mirror was all she spared herself. I look terrible. Christopher's going to be furious when he sees.

  Suddenly, Katerina felt ill. She was intentionally defying her father, trying to escape him at last. If they failed, she was dead. She had to trust her future to her little-known champion, a man of two weeks' acquaintance. He seemed kind, but how could she trust him? How could she actually marry him and give him complete control for the rest of her life? What if he changed after they were married? She was subtly aware that the abuse a husband could inflict on a wife would be different from that of a father. Just look at how her mother had suffered all those years until she finally died of it.

  In Christopher's defense, his mother had been one of her closest friends for the last year. There's no way such a good woman could have raised an evil son. Realistically, he should be trustworthy, but the terrified creature inside her shied away from trust. Injured and frightened, nausea at last overcame her, and she stumbled stiffly to the chamber pot, knelt painfully, and vomited. And that was where Christopher and Cary found her a few minutes later.

  As the last of the spasms passed, her suitor placed his hands on her shoulders, supporting her. Cary approached with a glass of cool water. She rinsed, spat, and took a deep sip. Christopher helped her to her feet, turning her to face them. Both men reacted to the sight of her face.

  “My God,” Cary said.

  “Was that the whip?” Christopher indicated a deep bruise on her cheek.

  “The stick.”

  The corners of his eyes tightened. “Are your teeth all right?”

  “They seem to be.”

  He sighed heavily. “Thank God. Cary, do you think your uncle would agree to issue a license tonight? There's no time for the reading of banns.”

  “And it would undoubtedly prove fatal if we tried,” Katerina added softly.

  Cary stared at the injury in silence for another moment, and then visibly shook himself. “My uncle is a rabble-rouser. He loves social reform. I think he would be delighted. Let's go right now.”

  Katerina attempted to take a step, but the room swayed around her. Everything seemed to be moving, though her feet remained rooted to the ground.

  Christopher scooped her into his arms. Although the corset had hurt, not wearing it meant the fabric of her chemise chafed her raw flesh uncomfortably. Determined to enjoy the warmth of his arms, she tried to ignore the painful sensations, even when a couple more of her wounds reopened and started bleeding. They would heal, and by then she would be safe.

  Safe… does such a place actually exist? How wonderful it would be to find it. It seemed Providence had decreed she had suffered enough and provided her an escape. If this is wrong, I can't see it. Anything is better than waiting for Father to succumb to a fit of rage and beat me to death, and the risk is constant.

  The carriage was already waiting, and Cary gave directions to the driver while Christopher settled inside with her on his lap. She winced again as her weight settled on her bottom. He hadn't seen it, but she had the worst, deepest bruises there. It was where he had started, full strength, bending her over his desk and whipping her thighs and buttocks violently. Then, as always, when his strength waned, he became enraged, flailing harder, with less aim, only this time the worn horsewhip had snapped, infuriating him further. He had grabbed his cane, beating her savagely until he could scarcely lift it. She had remained passive, motionless against the onslaught until Giovanni, in a fit of fury, had whipped her face. Startled, she had turned, avoiding another blow, and he had thrown her to the floor, pummeling her belly with his fists.

  There was little doubt he would have killed her had not his footman, unwilling to witness murder, pulled him off. The servant would have been fired, of course, except that Giovanni, drunk beyond imagination, had finally passed out, and awoke remembering nothing. And so, as always, Katerina's maid Marietta had tended her injuries, all the while lecturing her about what a bad girl she was. Nothing ever changes.

  So, Katerina, driven beyond her ability to cope, had decided to take this opportunity and flee. And with luck, this would be the last beating she ever had to endure. Imagine, a life without fear. It would take time, but with Christopher willing to help, she was determined to make it happen.

  The ride to the Bishop's snug little home took only a few minutes, and then they approached cautiously, uncertain of their reception, especially as Christopher still cradled Katerina in his arms. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, drawing strength from his touch, from the scent of his skin. Cary knocked. The bishop himself, wearing a burgundy dressing gown, a cup of hot tea in one hand, opened for them and took in the scene with an eyebrow quirked in curiosity.

  “James, what's happening?” he asked his nephew.

  “Can we please come in?” the young vicar pleaded.

  “Of course.” He ushered them through the door and into a sitting room, where they all settled. Though her focus remained shaky, she noticed a luxurious oriental rug, a table with an ornate Bible on it, and some threadbare but comfortable looking furniture, which had obviously been heavily used for many years. The bishop and Cary selected matching black upholstered armchairs, leaving Christopher the settee. He sank against the back. Katerina breathed slowly to avoid crying out at the pain the movement caused. Then she slowly turned to regard the bishop. Through the veil of swimming black spots, she saw him looking askance at her, sprawled in Christopher's lap. Her face burned with embarrassment, but she couldn't move. Once again unconsciousness tempted her like a siren's song, promising blessed relief from her agony.

  “All right James,” the bishop said in a dark, suspicious voice. “What's going on?”

  “Perhaps Christopher should tell you,” Cary indicated his friend.

  “Well, Bennett, what the devil are you doing?” the bishop demanded.

  “I need a favor of you, Reverend Cary. I need a license right away.” He stroked Katerina's cheek in a soothing gesture. His touch helped anchor her to her senses.

  “A marriage license?” The bishop's eyebrows shot nearly to his hairline, furrowing his forehead into deep lines.

  “Yes,” Christopher replied simply. Katerina could see his focus was on her and not the conversation.

  “I see you're making rather free with the young lady.” Christopher glanced at the bishop and Katerina could see the older man's wry twisting of the lips.

  “I beg your pardon. She's injured.” He cuddled her gently.

  “Injured?” he met Katerina's eyes. She lowered her lids in shame.

  “Her father has beaten her nearly to death,” Christopher explained. “If I don't marry her immediately, I doubt he'll let her live another week.” In his arms, Katerina shuddered. He's right. And yet I hate to hear the words aloud.

  “How can I know this is true?” The bishop asked, suspicion thick in his expression and tone. “Sounds like a clever ploy to circumvent his wishes. Has he forbidden you to court her?”

  “He's not safe to approach. If you doubt me, just look at what he did to her face.” Christopher waved on hand in the vicinity of her cheek. She withdrew instinctively from the movement, even as her mind reminded her he was not going to strike her.

  The bishop approached and regarded the livid bruise.

  “He did that with a walking stick. He could have knocked all her teeth out.” Christopher's blunt, horrified assessment of the abuse struck Katerina as strange. What's been normal my whole life is suddenly abhorrent. I don't know how to understa
nd this.

  “I have seen bruises like this feigned before.” Clearly, the bishop would not be easily swayed. Katerina's breath caught on what must have been the hundredth sob. Please, Lord, let him listen. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears.

  Christopher growled with frustration.

  “Please, Uncle. Listen to him,” Cary urged. “Christopher would not be doing this if it weren't vital. Last week he was all for wooing her slowly. Tonight, he's frantic to marry her. Something terrible has happened. And you've known him since we were at school together. You know he's not the sort to take advantage of an innocent woman.”

  “My dear,” the bishop addressed Katerina directly, “you would be best served to listen to your father.”

  She shook her head, but speech had abandoned her. Her tongue felt useless as a board in her mouth. Her tingling lips refused to follow her mind's commands.

  “I promise you, Reverend, I'm not trying to dupe anyone.” Christopher's tone softened. “Katerina, I think we need to show him. I'm sorry love. Will you let him see your back?”

  She nodded numbly.

  “All right, I'm going to set you on your feet. Don't worry, I won't let you fall. Just lean on me.” He stood, still holding her close, and then lowered her to the floor, his arms under hers. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  * * *

  “Cary,” Christopher started. No. That's too formal. After everything that had gone on this evening, their friendship had moved to a new level. “James. Can you… can you open the back of her dress?”

  “What? Why?” the other young man asked in consternation.

  “Trust me. Please,” Christopher urged.

  He approached. “What in heaven's name is all over her dress?”

  Christopher glanced over her shoulder. “Damnation!” Quiet, fool. Cursing in front of the bishop isn't going to help. “I beg your pardon, Reverend. It's blood. Looks like more of her injuries have opened up. I've moved her too much. Sorry, love.”

  James reached for the fastenings of her gown, but hesitated. “This is wrong.”

  “It's necessary. And she agrees, don't you Katerina?”

  Katerina nodded against his shoulder. Her weight was growing as her trembling legs lost strength. “Please hurry. I'm afraid she's going to faint.”

  James opened the back of the gown and Christopher slid it, and her chemise, down to her waist, keeping her front pressed against his chest to preserve her modesty.

  “Good Lord!” James exclaimed, and his uncle grunted in astonishment.

  “There you see? Have you ever encountered injuries this bad?” Christopher demanded, his fingers sliding over one deep groove.

  “Once,” the Bishop said grimly. “The unfortunate lady did not survive. I had to perform her funeral service. Her husband was hanged. Is that the extent of the damage?”

  “No.” Christopher did not elaborate. He didn't need to. “Will you issue the license now?”

  “Perhaps. First I need to speak to her alone.”

  “James, a little help please?”

  Together they worked her clothing back over her ruined flesh and fastened it. Christopher walked her back to the sofa, supporting nearly all her weight, and helped her to lie down on her only uninjured side. With gentle fingers, he smoothed a wisp of dark hair away from her ashen face.

  “Don't leave, Christopher,” she pleaded, sobbing, finding her voice at last.

  “I won't go far, love,” he promised. “The bishop needs to talk to you. I'll be nearby if you need me.” He stroked her cheek gently and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Be strong, Katerina. And whatever he asks you, tell him the truth.”

  I hate to walk away from her even for a moment.

  He lingered in the doorway until James pulled him out. “She's safe with my uncle. Let's go look for a snack. I hardly got a bite of dinner and you didn't get any. Besides, you could use a drink.”

  Chapter 6

  “My dear,” the Bishop approached Katerina slowly. Tears were sliding down her temple into the ebony colored upholstery, “do you swear to me it was your father, and not your young man, who hurt you so badly?”

  She looked askance at him.

  “Sometimes abusive men can coerce women into lying, but if you marry him, the abuse will continue.”

  “No.” She steeled herself, using the last of her faltering strength to force the words out. “Marriage is the only way to stop it. Christopher didn't do this to me. Father did. I've only known Christopher two weeks.”

  “I see,” the bishop replied, understanding dawning on his friendly, wrinkled face, “and those scars are much older, aren't they?”

  “Some are ten years old,” she elaborated, straining to get her words past her numb lips.

  “I'm very sorry for all you've had to endure.” And he sounded sorry too.

  “Thank you.” Her eyelid was twitching, so she closed her eyes.

  “Do you need me to summon anyone to treat your injuries?” the bishop asked, his voice not quite steady.

  Katerina shook her head. “They're not as bad as they look,” she replied. “I don't need anything but sleep.”

  “Very well. Rest my dear.” He turned to leave the room, but his progress was arrested as she spoke softly, voicing the question that had been lingering in the back of her mind since Christopher proposed this mad plan.

  “Is it wrong of me to ask this of him?”

  The bishop turned and regarded her without speaking for a long moment. Though his expression remained grim, something of hope seemed to flare in his blue eyes. “It's good of you to think of it. He's your only hope though.”

  “Yes. I wish I had something to offer in return.” Raw despair clenched her heart.

  “You will someday, when you're better.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly.

  “Will my heart ever heal?” she asked in a weak, faltering voice.

  “If you want it to, if you pray and try with all your might to trust, to let go of the past, you can grieve for a season, and then begin to improve. I've seen it.” He seemed to consider for a moment. “Have you ever been loved?” he asked at last.

  “Before my mother's death, she loved me.” For a moment, Katerina could have sworn that warm, soothing arms were wrapped around her.

  “Then there's hope,” the bishop said with a sad smile. “Remember her love. It will show you the way.”

  That makes sense, but I'll have to consider it later. I'm at the end of my strength. “Yes.”

  “And it really wasn't Mr. Bennett who hurt you?” he asked again.

  “No. It really wasn't,” she replied.

  “All right. You rest then. I need to talk to him, and to my nephew. I think, in the morning, you'll be free of this danger for good.”

  “Thank you, Reverend.” Glad she no longer needed to remain conscious, Katerina finally passed out.

  * * *

  The Reverend William Cary wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and left her to rest, following his nephew and Christopher to the kitchen. There, he found James slurping a bowl of soup at the rough-hewn table. Christopher was leaning uncomfortably against the wall between the cook stove and doorway, looking gloomily into a glass of brandy. Hearing the approaching footsteps, they both looked up.

  “Well?”

  “Calm yourself, son,” he told Christopher gently. “I'll issue the license. I'll perform the wedding in the morning. Are you sure you want to do this? She'll be years recovering, if she ever does.”

  “And if she dies because I did nothing? What then?” he asked fiercely.

  “It's a terrible burden,” the bishop replied, his expression grim. “I know exactly how terrible, but we can't save everyone. Laws must be changed first.”

  “That will take years,” Christopher reminded him. “So, in the meanwhile, I can save this woman. Will you let me?”

  “Uncle,” James interjected, looking up from his bowl, “listen, I know this girl. I danced with her. I had no idea…
I thought she was just shy. Christopher saw right through it. I think there's something… special between them. Maybe he was always meant to be her savior.”

  “Perhaps,” Reverend Cary conceded. “He certainly wants to be very badly.”

  “Is she all right?” Christopher demanded, ignoring the conversation, intent on his fiancée.

  “She's sleeping now. I've left her to it. I'm sure she needs the rest. I've said I'll do it and I will. Here, get something to eat.” He offered a bowl.

  Christopher waved it away. “I'm too upset to eat.”

  “Yes, I imagine,” the bishop replied, ladling himself a serving. He took a seat and regarded Christopher before adding, “You're heroic to try and help.”

  * * *

  The comment stuck Christopher as wrong, setting the pit of his stomach roiling in disgust. Hero, ha. A real hero would have done something before this happened. “I'm nothing of the sort. That's not what this is about.”

  Reverend Cary rose from the table and crossed the room to clap Christopher on the shoulder. “I know. I hope this fierce attraction and protectiveness turns into a deep and mutual love someday.”

  Christopher met his eyes, sure his anguish was far too visible for comfort. “I have to believe it.”

  The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly. “Yes. Well if you're not going to eat, put the brandy down. It will do you no good to be hung over for your wedding. Why don't you try to rest a little? I have a guest room made up.”

  Christopher sighed deeply. “Very well.”

  He rose and headed back through the house. He had been here often enough, with Cary, and knew his way. First, he returned to the parlor, where, as the Bishop had said, Katerina lay asleep on the sofa. He knelt in front of her.

  “I wish I had helped you sooner,” he told her as she slept, “but I swear I'll never let him hurt you again.” Then he kissed her lips tenderly. Her eyelids fluttered open. Warm brown eyes met his, and she smiled.

  “Rest, love,” he told her, “tomorrow is your wedding day.”