Katherine blinked.
It did not seem to change the general layout of the room. And why would it, she scolded herself. Your eyes have never deceived you before – there is, without doubt, a man collapsed on your floor.
The sound of his falling had echoed to such a degree she had been sure Madam Nancy would hurtle up the stairs to enquire about the noise, but there was no such rush. Katherine stood in silence and in solitude as she stared at the man.
He was handsome. His complexion was probably a little grayer than normal, and there was a line of sweat across his forehead that was undoubtedly connected to his swoon, but there was no denying he was a dashing gentleman. Long hair, trimmed beard, strong jawline, and – from what she could tell of the disheveled pile of masculinity – tall.
Katherine took a step gingerly towards him. A floorboard creaked and she hesitated, but he made no movement. She had never had a customer collapse before her; Molly-Ann had mentioned particularly elderly men were not always strong enough to continue, but they usually gave up and paid her.
This was different.
This man did not appear to be tired, but ill. There was a pallor in his face Katherine did not like, and the angle of his shoulder looked most uncomfortable.
She wavered for one moment, and then her natural instincts took over. In one swift movement, she closed the door and then reached over to grab the ewer and basin from the dressing table. Dropping to the floor beside him, she pulled at his limbs gently to pull him flat on his back, with no more awkward angles. Then she dipped the sponge into the filled basin, squeezed it out, allowing the droplets of water to fall back into the ewer, and softly dabbed at his forehead, removing the sweat from his brow.
Katherine tried not to pay too close attention to the man who was mere minutes ago attempting to purchase her body without a second thought. Such were men, she reminded herself. Such were all men whom she had known for the last three years, and this one was no different.
Although, as she wiped his hands, trying to cool him from the unnatural sweltering she could feel on his skin, there had been a moment as he had opened the door. Just a moment. He had looked at her with such a fierce intensity that, had he remained conscious, she would have been forced to ask him why.
His breathing, shallow and rapid, seemed to deepen and become more regular as the minutes passed, Katherine’s gentle hands washing away the grime of the street and the sweat of his body.
And to think this was her life now. Instead of the marital bed she had expected, there was nothing but the whore’s bed, ready to accept any man for the asking of it – or not man at all, if he had not stomach enough to reach it. Shame flooded through her thoughts once more.
And then heavy steps startled her into looking at the clock hanging over her doorway. It had been almost thirty minutes – thirty minutes! She had barely noticed the time go, but Madam Nancy was evidently keeping a close watch on her most popular woman. She wanted this man out, and perhaps, another man in.
Katherine’s heart started to race. How was she to explain this: an unconscious man lying on her floor? Of course, and a bitter smile appeared slowly, it would have been a much more difficult task for a lady with a reputation. As she had none . . .
The door slammed open, ricocheting off the wall and causing a little of the plaster above the door to crack.
“Is he still here?” Madam Nancy spat.
Kneeling on the floor, Katherine nodded serenely. “My gentle sir preferred to . . . visit me on the floor, and after such a romp, I must admit, I felt tired myself. A short slumber, and he shall be on his way again.”
Madam Nancy curled up her nose. “A short slumber?”
Katherine raised a delicate, elegant finger to her lips and silently ‘shushed’ her Madam.
An eyebrow was raised, but she seemed to allow it. After all, Katherine knew there were many gentlemen who attended Madam Nancy’s ladies who had much stranger requests.
“Mind that he is gone in an hour or two,” muttered Madam Nancy as she left the room, managing to close the door without slamming it.
Katherine let out the breath she had not realized she was holding. This was getting ridiculous – how had this man, who had not said one word to her, reverted her to her old self, before she had taken on this life? She knew what she had to do, what was best for her, and she couldn’t ignore it for a second more.
Katherine swallowed, but the last three years had hardened her soft edges quicker than she could have believed. Her fingers moved through his pockets quickly. The four dollars with which he was planning to pay for her slipped into her reticule in a moment, as did the other seven dollars she found elsewhere.
But unusually for a gentleman of his bearing – if his clothes were accurate indicators – he had few items actually on his person. In fact, other than the money, there was merely one last thing. A letter.
Feeling almost as guilty for reading a gentleman’s private correspondence, she drew out the two pages of thin paper which were inside, and read.
Thomas,
My apologies for the delay in replying to your letter. I have had much on my mind of late, and no time has been afforded me for such things as writing to my brother. Forgive me.
I hope Nacogdoches is suiting you well. I have heard nothing from you since the autumn, so I assume that naught has gone amiss.
Since your departure, a young woman of the name Miss Elizabeth Morrison has purchased Sweet Grove from the Scott family - and I know what you are thinking, and feeling. I felt it too, but she has permitted Abigail and me to stay here, rent free, and for that we should thank the Lord.
You mentioned loneliness in your letter. I sympathize; you know Abigail and how quiet she is, and the source of joy that I had once hoped would come from our latest arrival had not occurred. I find that there is much I would ask you, brother, for your advice was always precious to me, and now I suffer from a lack of it.
Too much has passed between us, Tommy, for our lives to be separate. It is time that you came home. Fear not: all mistakes have been forgiven.
Send a few lines, Thomas, and once again, I apologize for my delayed response. We are brothers. We should not dwell such separate lives - especially now our other brother, God protect him, has abandoned the family.
I remain, ever, your brother
Jonathan Bryant
There was a loud drum beating outside her window, and for a moment Katherine thought it was a warning the Indians were coming again; but no such drum sounded. It was the beating of her own heart resounding in her ears.
. . . a young woman of the name Miss Elizabeth Morrison has purchased Sweet Grove from the Scott family . . .
But that was – that was her sister! Miss Elizabeth Morrison. It was sweet torture to read those words; she had barely even spoken them since she had left her family without a care in the world.
Elizabeth. There was her name, in black ink on white paper, and it said she had bought Sweet Grove! Katherine thought wildly, but no such place entered her memory, for it could be land, or village, or house, or castle for all she knew! But Elizabeth had bought it, the letter was clear on this point.
To think she had money now. Katherine swallowed. There was no mention of this Miss Elizabeth Morrison with grandparents. Perhaps she was free. Perhaps they both were.
A groan disturbed her wild frantic thoughts, and she stared down at the gentleman who was starting to stir.
The man. Thomas, was it? One glance at the letter confirmed it. This Thomas Bryant knew Sweet Grove, perhaps had lived there before if his brother dwelt there now. And he was calling his brother back to him. Would not her sister have done the same, if she had known she was here? What did the letter say: It is time that you came home. Fear not: all mistakes have been forgiven.
It may not have been addressed to her, but Katherine felt the call as deeply in her soul as if it had been delivered to her directly. She had a chance; a chance to return back to the life she wanted. A chance to see her sister again!
And all she needed was the man slowly returning to consciousness, lying on the floor by her feet.
Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt – and why was light painful and oppressive?
Thomas raised a trembling hand to his head, groaning as he felt the bruise across one temple marking the side of his face that had hit the floor.
“Good morning, sir.”
The words made it to his ears, but they did not seem to make sense. Who was talking? And talking in such a crystal clear, soft, gentle . . .
Two eyes appeared above him, and there was a face surrounding them, and it was beautiful.
“Are you feeling quite rested?”
And then Thomas’ thoughts and memories rushed back to him, and he saw himself staring at the fine-looking woman to whom he was going to lose himself to, for the first time, and then he remembered falling, and then . . . nothing.
The face said something far off, and then disappeared in a rustle of silk. It returned in less than a minute with a glass of water, and Thomas drank it gratefully, leaning forward with the help of a surprisingly strong arm behind his shoulders.
He sat up and was pleased to find the room was no longer spinning. The woman was kneeling, her expensive gown covered in splashes of water, and an inquisitive look staring at him.
Now, and only now, did he feel strong enough to speak. “Thank you, Miss . . .”
“Morrison.”
Thomas swallowed. “Miss Morrison.” Goodness, but she was beautiful. The closer he got, the more defined and exquisite her features were, and he could feel his tongue losing the ability to wrap itself around words as he stared at her.
“Are – are you feeling better?” She was kneeling beside him with a look of concern – but Thomas knew she could not actually care for him.
He pushed himself up gingerly by his elbows, and though there were mild complaints from his head, nothing else seemed to be injured – except his pride, perhaps. Collapsing before a young woman such as she? What was wrong with him?
The woman had not moved and was kneeling beside him, and a hand reached out to push his hair back from his forehead. Her palm rested on his face for a moment. “You feel rather feverish,” her voice spoke with care. “Would you care to . . . I think it would be better if you were to rest on the bed. Just for a moment. Then – well, you will have to leave.”
A red flush colored her cheeks, and it was matched by one of his own. Of course he would have to go; she’d have another customer within minutes if Madam Nancy was anything to go by.
“I am sorry to take so much of your time,” he said hurriedly, rising to his feet, “and I will – ”
The world danced, and the lights returned, and his feet seemed to be water, and –
And a hand grasped his arm and pulled him backwards towards a comforting and reassuringly stable bed. The lights went out, and the woman’s face appeared before his.
“Perhaps rest a while,” it said quietly, and a brief smile flashed across it. “Let me get you more water.”
The rustle of her skirts as she moved was something to focus on, and Thomas watched her across the room. She was beautiful – and kind, too. From the little he knew of her… profession, kindness was not a requirement.
“What is your name?” he found himself asking.
She had returned with a glass of water, and placing it in his hand, said softly, “Katherine Morrison.”
Thomas swallowed most of the water gratefully. “Thank you, Miss Morrison.”
She smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes, and moving slowly, she sat in a chair by the wall opposite him, within reaching distance. “That is my pleasure, Mr Bryant.”
It took a moment for Thomas to realize what was wrong in her sentence. Then his brows furrowed, and he stared at her. “How . . . how do you . . .”
She smiled, and it seemed a nervous one. “I beg your pardon, sir, but when you collapsed I attempted to discover who you were – and I found this.”
Miss Morrison pulled out something from the folds of her gown, and he saw his brother’s letter before him.
Understanding rushed through him, and he nodded. “I understand – thank you, Miss Morrison.” He reached out for the letter.
It was not returned to him. “I must tell you that,” and here Miss Morrison swallowed, “that I read the letter.”
Thomas put his other hand to his temple. It was pounding but the insistency was dissipating. “I understand. You were attempting to discover who I was. I am not offended.”
His right hand was still outstretched to receive the letter and yet she showed no sign of wanting to return it.
Those large eyes met his, and he started. She was fearful of something. Of him?
She swallowed again and did not break her gaze from his as she said, “I need you to take me to Sweet Grove.”
There was a moment of silence as the words seemed to ring in the air between them.
And then Thomas laughed. “Sweet Grove? You must be joking – why on earth would you want to go there?”
Her fingers were smoothing out the letter, and an unconscious smile spread over her lips as her gaze raked over one particular part.
“I have my reasons,” she said in an undertone. “I have family there, if you must know, and I wish to be reunited with them as soon as possible.”
“Family?” Thomas blinked. “There are only Bryants there at Sweet Grove now. There have only been Bryants for – ”
“Since your departure, a young woman of the name Miss Elizabeth Morrison has purchased Sweet Grove from the Scott family.” She spoke calmly and without added volume, for the sweetness of her voice carried it clearly enough.
He stared at her in amazement. “Do you mean to say – do you mean to tell me Miss Elizabeth Morrison is a relation of yours?”
She nodded, and real joy seemed to enter her as nothing had before. Thomas gasped audibly under his breath; she become a completely different person.
“What are the chances?” he murmured. “Your sister at Sweet Grove . . .”
“I wish to see her as soon as possible,” she said quietly. “And I want you to take me there.”
“Take you there?” It was too much to ask. Especially for a woman this beautiful, it was too much to ask; the cloud he had left under, that night when he left home -- run away from home was more like it -- and he had not heard from a single member of his family until the letter three months ago, and yet the shame of his departure had prevented him from replying to it. Did she know – could she even comprehend what it would take for him to go back there?
“Tis a dangerous road,” Thomas said, trying to hide his confusion. “A long one and a dangerous one; I have heard tales of the Comanches picking off travelers on the road, and there are no inns or coaching houses along part of it.”
Katherine swallowed. “That is why I need your protection.”
He rose and moved around the room, desperately trying to think. Then he burst out, “You ask a lot from me, you know!”
She said nothing, but stared at him. How could she know, how could she possibly know? The cost of returning . . . to seeing Jonathan again . . . what were the chances he had been truly forgiven?
“And what will you give me in return?” he said coarsely, staring at her, throat dry from panic and desperation. “In return for your safe passage to Sweet Grove, and to your sister?”
“In . . . in return?” Katherine blinked at him and twisted her fingers together. The thirteen dollars hidden behind the looking glass at the dressing table was everything she had in the world, and it would surely not tempt such a man as this.
And then the answer, dull and dark but ringing true came to her, and she swallowed. “What do I have to offer you?”
Mr Bryant nodded.
She smiled simply. “Myself.”