When I'm with You (21 page)

Her knees felt decidedly shaky, but she couldn't attempt to brace herself on anything. She squared her shoulders and looked Abigail directly in the eye. “Abigail is mistaken. I have no business being in any of the Sebastianos' rooms. She and Lily have been given them to tidy.”

“Yes, Katie, I'm well aware of that.” The corners of Mrs. Bates's mouth grew tight, a small muscle twitching on the left side. “But, if you would be so kind then, explain to me how this wound up in the Captain's chambers, if you were not in them?”

As she spoke, Mrs. Bates held out her hand, and Katie stared while frigid, frothy horror swept through her like a massive wave. In her palm sat the sapphire, gold and silver butterfly Katie treasured above all her possessions. It must have fallen from its nest when Rafe had scrabbled his fingers through her hair last eve, and in her haste that morning, she'd simply forgotten about it. Without thinking, she did grab the back of the nearest chair for support.

“Is this yours, Katie?” Mrs. Bates asked.

The butterfly sat, so innocent-looking, in the housekeeper's hand and Katie knew that she'd taken too long to answer. If she said ‘no', Mrs. Bates would never believe her. She was trapped. Panic roared through her. She wanted to grab the butterfly and run. Of course, she didn't know where she would run, but any place had to be better than where she stood right then.

She could lie, but what would happen when Mrs. Bates showed the comb to her Ladyship? Lady Sally knew who owned it and would recognize it the moment she saw it.

Abigail's smile widened, grew more smug, and Katie worked to pry her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She nodded slowly. “Yes. It is.”

The housekeeper's lips disappeared into a thin white line. “I see.”

“Mrs. Bates, I—”

“So you were in his room? When? Last evening?”

Katie glanced from Abigail to Mrs. Bates. She was caught and she knew it. She was as good as damned, and the lies were going to stop. “Yes,” she whispered, her mouth dry.

“You will pack your things and take your leave of Marchand Hall immediately.” The sapphire butterfly clattered to the tabletop as Mrs. Bates simply dropped it. “You will not ask for, nor will you receive, any letter of reference from me. And you will leave behind anything you did not have when you arrived here.”

“Mrs. Bates, please—” Katie reached for her arm, “—if I might explain.”

“I don't care to hear why you think you had any right to…to…be anywhere near Captain Sebastiano's room.” Mrs. Bates drew back as if she was afraid Katie would bite her. “Lady Sally is devastated to know her trusted maid and her soon-to-be fiancé were—” Her cheeks glowed brilliant red, and her iron-gray curls bounced beneath the brim of her cap as she shook her head. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bates.” Katie's voice was little more than a whisper, and she couldn't meet Mrs. Bates's eyes. Not that it mattered. She couldn't see much past the hot, fat tears stabbing her own. She fought to keep them at bay. The last thing she wanted was to give Abigail the satisfaction of seeing her weep. She swiped up the butterfly, its left wing bearing a ding from its fall onto the table, and marched from the kitchen, feeling Abigail's triumphant stare burning its way between her shoulder blades.

But her resolve crumbled and she couldn't hold them back any longer as she came face to face with Martha just outside their closed door. Judging by the red blotches staining Martha's cheekbones, she already knew what had happened.

“I am so very sorry, Katie.” Martha scrubbed at her cheeks with the hem of her apron, which only served to make her cheeks redder.

“How did she know? I've never worn it around her.” Katie's throat ached from the strain of holding back her sobs, even as the tears spilled over her lower lashes. If she began to cry in earnest, she'd probably never stop. “And now Mrs. Bates has tossed me out. I don't know where I'm supposed to go, or what I'll even do now.”

Martha opened the door, her free hand on Katie's shoulder. “She brought it to Lady Sally. Lady Edna told me about it. She heard Lady Sally sobbing madly and asked her what was the matter. It seems Abigail found the butterfly by the wardrobe in Captain Sebastiano's chambers and brought it to Lady Sally, thinking it was hers.”

“And of course her Ladyship knew it wasn't, since I'd given it to her to wear. She knew whose it was, and put the butterfly and where it was found together,” Katie finished bitterly. “How could I be so careless? So stupid? I just never thought of it.”

Martha gave her a tight, warm hug. “I wish there was something I could do. Perhaps if I spoke to Mrs. Bates? Or I have a cousin in service for the Marshall family over in St. George Parish. Perhaps they will take you on and give you a job on my word.”

“No.” Katie pulled free. “Thank you, but it will do no good. I slept with Lady Sally's suitor. Even if Mrs. Bates was willing to overlook it—which we both know she won't—I can't imagine her Ladyship would be keen on my remaining in service here. I know I wouldn't, if I was in her slippers. And I don't think I'll find much work once word spreads that I seduced the intended of the lady of the house. Never mind not having any reference.” She shook her head, her voice cracking. “No, I think it's best if I go home. Back to Jamaica.”

As she spoke, she pulled her battered valise from beneath her bed and began packing what little she was going to take with her. Everything swam before her as tears flooded her eyes. She'd come to think of Marchand Hall as her home, and was heartsick over leaving under such circumstances. It had been wonderful while it lasted.

“What will you do there?” Martha asked, perching on the edge of Katie's bed. Her former bed, that is.

Katie sniffed, closed her valise and dabbed at her eyes with one cuff. “I'm not really certain. I've some money saved, enough for passage back to Jamaica, at least. And there are plenty of taverns in need of help. I know people there. Good people. I'll be just fine while I wait for Rafe to return for me.”

She looked up to see Martha now crying as well. Her eyes were red and shiny, and her nose ran. She swiped her apron across her face and then sniffed loudly. “I'm going to miss you so much, Katie. You're my dearest friend in the world. In my life, even. How am I going to survive here without you to talk to? Oh—” fury crept into her voice, “—I'd like to give Abigail a piece of my mind, that…that…oh!”

“You'll be fine. You have Robert, and before long you'll have children who will take up so much of your time. And don't forget, you'll have maids of your own to hire.” She managed a weak smile. “And you can send me letters from time to time. I hope you will. Stay with me if you ever come for a holiday. You and Robert would like Jamaica.”

Martha let out a watery laugh. “I'm going to come visit you, Katie. You've my word on that. I've been wanting to see Jamaica, since you've painted such wonderful pictures of it for me.” She wrapped her arms around Katie again and hugged her tight. “I'll send Captain Sebastiano to Kingston for you when he returns. I promise.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Katie whispered, her voice breaking to make speaking in a louder tone impossible. “I'm going to miss you, Martha.”

“I'll miss you as well, Katie.”

“You need to go now.” Abigail's voice was cold and smug as she appeared in the doorway, and Katie and Martha glared at her. “Harlot.”

“I hope you're happy with yourself,” Katie said. “I hope that it's all worth it in the end.”

Abigail didn't look the slightest bit abashed. She shrugged, puffed full of self-righteousness. “You're a whore, Katie. You were one in Jamaica, and you're one here. It was only a matter of time before the truth came out, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Katie held her stare. Abigail's taunts had no effect on her now. She felt no shame, no revulsion. She was just…numb. “You know nothing about me.”

“Of course I do. Marcus told me all about you. I've known for weeks now. I was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to share what I know.”

“Marcus? The footman?”

Abigail nodded, and a sick feeling surged through Katie once more as she continued, “He said you were a cheap whore, but a good one. I'm not surprised if you don't remember him. I'm sure there were plenty of Marcuses in Kingston. But tell me, does Captain Sebastiano know about you? Does he know you're a whore as well?”

Katie could only stare at her as she scrambled to recall whether or not Marcus had ever crossed her threshold, but she drew a blank. Hot shame, worse than any she'd ever felt, poured into her.

How on earth could Rafe even
think
about coming back for her? She wasn't worth it. Nothing about her was worth much more than the dirt beneath her heels.

“You shut your mouth, Abigail,” Martha growled, stepping between them. “You haven't any idea what you are talking about.”

“I won't. And I do. I saw the awful, ugly butterfly thing and thought it belonged to Lady Sally, but when I asked her, imagine my surprise when she said it was yours, Katie.” Abigail sniffed and shook her head. “Once a whore, always a whore, I suppose, but I'll wager the Captain didn't part with one gold piece, did he? He had you for nothing. So you aren't even a very smart whore, are you?”

Katie gasped as Martha drew back her fist and threw a punch that connected with Abigail's nose. Blood erupted to spatter all three of them, and Abigail hit the floor like a sack of flour, wailing and screaming.

But she didn't remain there. She jumped up to grab Katie around the waist. Unfortunately for her, Katie wasn't so easily had, and, within a minute, she had Abigail facedown on the floor, one foot planted triumphantly at the small of her back. “And that's for
your
bloody punch, you bitch.”

The uproar brought Mrs. Bates running into the room. “What the devil is going on here?”

Katie lifted her foot and Abigail sat up, blood smeared over her face. Mrs. Bates turned her horrified stare to them. “There is no fighting in Marchand Hall! Now you, Katie, need to clear out at once. Do not make me fetch the Earl and have Mr. Jamison bodily toss you into the street.”

“I'm going now, Mrs. Bates.” Katie glanced at Martha, who stared at her hand as if she couldn't believe it was her fault Abigail blubbered away in a bloody heap on the floor.

Clutching her valise, Katie brushed by Abigail and marched down the corridor with her head held as high as she could manage. She ignored the curious stares of the footmen—although she would have loved to punch Marcus the same way Martha had punched Abigail—the pitying look from Mr. Jamison, and the looks of sorrow from Mrs. North and Lucy as she stepped out into the sunshine and the kitchen door banged shut behind her.

* * * * *

Katie's room at the Bay Breeze Tavern was small and dingy, and without Martha's company, very lonely. It was also expensive. Never mind that it was over a taproom and Katie had had to fend off three drunken sailors who thought it great fun to paw at her as she'd crossed the smoke-choked room to get to the stairs.

As she lay on the narrow, uncomfortable cot, staring up into the darkness, a sense of hopelessness pervaded her like an illness. The linens were rough and smelled of mustiness, sea air, and other less savory things she didn't care to think about. Come the morning, she'd make her way to St. George's, where she'd hopefully secure passage on a Jamaica-bound ship.

Tonight, she had only the darkness and the smelly sheets for company, not to mention a heavy heart and crushed spirits. Was it really only the night before she had been in Rafe's arms, convinced she'd finally found happiness? In the span of one day, her entire life had reverted to the same miserable state it had been in a year earlier. Only this time, she had no one to blame but herself.

Somehow, she managed to drift off, despite the rowdiness below and the stink in the sheets. When she woke, it was to a bright morning that lifted her mood, if only a little. With her valise in hand, she made her way the harbor, where the sight of so many different ships brought her spirits higher still.

At the offices of the Royal Colony Shipping Company, she paused. If there were no ships going to Jamaica, she wasn't sure what she would do. She couldn't stay in Bermuda. Service positions were scarce. Without a reference, finding one would be impossible. Martha's suggestion wouldn't work out. Which left her with one option.

No. I'd rather die than go back to that.

Taking a deep breath, she clutched her valise tighter and went inside. When she inquired about passage, and was told how much it would cost to travel from Bermuda to Jamaica, she winced.

“Of course, there are…
other
ways of paying for passage,” the man behind the counter said with a bit of a leer.

“Will gold suffice?” she asked mildly. And with that, she booked herself onto the
Island Queen
, scheduled to depart by half past six that evening, when the tide changed. It had cost her extra to ensure no one would be sharing her quarters, but she didn't mind. The time alone would give her the chance to clear her mind and right her bearings by the time they reached Jamaica.

* * * * *

At sunset, she went topside to watch the lines being cast off. From what she saw on deck, there weren't many passengers on the
Island Queen
. Several families, two women she thought might be sisters, and an old woman were the only other people, aside from the crew. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks as the lines were cast, the wind filled the sails and they slowly crept from their berth.

Unexpected tears filled her eyes as they sailed farther from the island. She couldn't see Marchand Hall, but she could see Martha in her mind. She missed her friends—all of them, even Mrs. Bates. She didn't fault the housekeeper for sacking her so abruptly. She'd had no choice. What Katie had done was far too grievous to be ignored, especially for a righteous woman such as Mrs. Bates, and especially considering how far Katie had fallen from grace with the intended fiancé of the daughter of the house. It was an unforgivable offense.