“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I only want to talk. I have a proposal for you.”
“I should scream this house down.”
“Nobody would hear you. Your father’s so drunk I doubt he’ll wake before noon, and the servants are all gone or asleep. Wouldyou like to sit down?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.”
He drifted around the room, touching things. Katherine circled back to the door. She tried the handle, tugging, but of coursethe lock wouldn’t give. She scanned the room for a weapon, saw nothing, felt foolish for not sleeping with one to hand. Hewas over by the dressing table now. He dangled her rosary disdainfully then dropped it back down in the dish.
“I wouldn’t have thought you particularly pious, a woman in your state.”
“What do you want?”
“I already told you, I have a proposal to make.”
“And I told you at dinner: I’m not interested in your proposals.”
Charles smiled bitterly, placed his lantern on the dressing table, came toward her around the foot of the bed. He folded hisarms. He was taller than she’d realized; broader. He tilted his head, appraising her. She clutched her robe tighter, pressedherself against the door.
“This one’s a little different. Your situation . . . changes things. But first I have a question: the father, it’s not a nigger,is it?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Then we are in business. I see no sign of the baby yet, meaning you are not so far along. Assuming we are married immediately, and the marriage consummated, I am willing to pass off the child as my own, provided he—or she—has no claim whatsoever on this estate. Therefore, you shall sign over all rights in the property to me, give me the station entirely, and I shall bequeath it among our other children however I see fit. I intend creating a dynasty here, of which your bastard must play no part. In return, he will live here, receive an education, be raised in the usual way, and you will keep your dignity intact. We can enjoy a very fine life together, Katherine. You might even come to care for me one day. I’m not as bad a man as you seem to think.”
“No,” she said coldly. “I suspect you are much worse.”
“Rich, coming from a whore. You know, your father has already agreed to it. Begged me to take the child on. That’s how littlehe thinks of you. I could have named any price.”
She drew herself tall, defiant. “I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.”
“I bet you will.”
“I deserve at least to sleep on it. Please, I’d like you to leave.”
He didn’t seem to be listening. Brazenly he stared at her chest. He moistened his lips and said, “Or perhaps we had best justget on with it, before I get cold feet.”
Katherine bolted for the dressing room. He lunged, caught her arm, yanked her back with such force that she fell. He picked her up so easily. Shocking, his strength. He threw her on the bed and was upon her: tearing her robe open, pinning her with his weight. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the floor and slobbered into her neck. He grabbed her breast through her nightdress, pinched it so hard her eyes filled. She screamed and he put his hand over her mouth, the skin soft, a smell of liquor and cigars. She felt so utterly helpless. Nothing she could do. His other hand was between her legs and he began whispering in her ear, calling her a whore, a harlot, telling her she wanted it, this was all she was good for. He would fuck the bastard out of her, he said, opening his trousers, at which Katherine dug her teeth into the flesh of his palm. He reared up and slapped her so hard she briefly lost sense of where she was, only to be brought back by the ripping of her underclothes, and the feel of him trying to force his way in. Wildly she fought him, bucking and clawing and hitting with all she had. He caught her hands but she slipped one free and raked her nails down his face, her thumb landing in the eye socket, so soft and warm and weak. She pushed. Easily it went in. Her nail, then the first knuckle, then the second to the hilt, the eyeball distending grossly, Sinclair screaming out in pain. He flung himself backward, clutching his face; Katherine scrambled off the bed. “I’m blind! I’m blind! You fucking bitch!” he was shouting, as with trembling hands she rooted in his jacket pocket for the key. She found it and was at the door when Sinclair thudded to the floor, mewling like a dying pig. She got the key in the lock finally. Her hands were shaking so hard. Out into the corridor, and as she pulled the door closed she caught a final glimpse of him writhing on the rug. She locked the door behind her, and ran.
Chapter 13
Billy McBride
Billy passed the coach on the hillside, rumbling its way down. He slowed as they crossed and saw Charles Sinclair slumpedin the carriage, a bloodied white dressing over one eye. He didn’t notice Billy. His head rolled side to side. Billy spurredBuck and hurried up to the house, where he found Wilson Drummond talking to Dr. Shanklin at the bottom of the front steps.Their conversation stalled when they saw him, and Billy dismounted at a run, asking, “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
“None of your business,” Drummond snapped. “Clear off.”
“An accident, Billy,” Dr. Shanklin offered. “Dealt with. No harm done.”
Filthy and bloodstained, Billy stood before these suited men like something feral that had wandered from the bush. “What accident?Is Katherine hurt?”
“She’s fine,” Drummond said. “But whatever this is will have to wait.”
“Where is she? Inside?”
“She’s sleeping,” Shanklin said. “I
