Saturday's Child Page 2

  The fight was short and savage. The ruffians hadn't been prepared for two opponents and Colin's entrance into the battle threw them off balance. He bruised his fist against an unshaven jaw before burying the other fist in a belly grown soft with too much gin. There was a muffled grunt from his opponent, and then a cry of pain from where the other two still faced their intended victim.

  Colin dodged a blow that would have laid him out and planted another solid fist on the man's chin. Glancing around as the ruffian staggered back, he saw that the victim had dispatched one of his opponents and was now facing the second.

  With the odds suddenly evened up, the thugs lost their taste for the game. The two still standing turned and ran, leaving their compatriot stretched out on the hard ground.

  The silence was suddenly as thick as the fog. At first, all Colin could hear was the ragged beating of his own heart. His hands ached and he hoped they wouldn't stiffen up to the point where he couldn't handle a deck of cards.

  "I thank you, sir. Your aid was most well-timed."

  Colin turned toward the husky voice, aware of a niggling sense of familiarity. But in the density of the haze he could not identify the face.

  "It seems they had little stomach for a fight when the odds were not so heavily in their favor," Colin said.

  "Well, it's my good fortune that they weren't more dedicated to their task." He broke off, reaching one hand up to his shoulder and swaying slightly.

  "You're hurt," Colin exclaimed, stepping over the form of the fallen man with no more than a cursory glance. It was enough to tell him that the ruffian lived, which was probably more than he deserved.

  "A matter of a small knife wound. Nothing too serious, I think."

  "You should have it tended to." Colin glanced around the alley and came to a decision. He'd already interfered more than sanity recommended. Now the man was hurt and there was certainly no way to tell just how badly until they got him to a source of light. "Come with me. My sister will tend to you."

  "It's not so bad that it can't wait for attention. I doubt your sister will be overjoyed to have you arrive on her doorstep with a stranger in tow and ask her to tend his wounds."

  Despite the light amusement in his tone, Colin saw him sway again. He bent to pick up the man's hat, dusting it on his leg before handing it to the stranger.

  "Katie won't mind. She'd not forgive me for leaving you here, alone and bleeding, at the mercy of those men should they return."

  "Well, I certainly would not want to be a cause of bringing your sister's wrath down on your head. That would be churlish of me after you came to my aid in such a splendid manner."

  He took the hat Colin proffered and set it on his head before bending to pick up the walking stick that had been wrenched away in the fighting. A quick intake of breath said that the movement had been unwise and he didn't spurn the hand that Colin set under his arm to steady him as he straightened.

  They'd gone only a short distance when Colin became aware that the stranger's unsteadiness was caused as much by alcohol as by any damage done in the fight. He frowned, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. His doubts grew even stronger when they stepped beneath a lantern and he caught a glimpse of the stranger's face. It was the man from the Rearing Stallion, the fair-haired gambler who'd walked away with his pockets full.

  Something told him that he was going to regret bringing this man home. He had a feeling this stranger was not the sort of gentleman he should be introducing to his sister, particularly not at nearly four in the morning. Still, it was too late to change his mind now and there was no denying that the man was hurt.

  Katie started up in bed at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. She'd dozed off still listening for Colin's return and now her heart was pounding with the suddenness of her awakening.

  The footsteps stopped outside the door and she reached up one hand to clutch the neck of her nightdress. Colin would be alone, yet she could hear the mutter of voices. Thieves? But surely thieves would not be so loud, nor would they waste their time on a building such as this, where they could hardly expect to find anything worth their while.

  "Katie?" Her brother's soft voice followed on the sound of a key in the lock and then the creak of the door. "Katie, I've brought a man who's hurt. Will you help?"

  Katie swung her legs off the narrow bed, reaching for the light flannel wrapper she'd laid ready for morning. Buttoning the collar high on her throat, she patted a hand over her hair in a vague attempt to curb its thick waywardness.

  She brushed aside the curtain that separated her bed from the rest of the room, blinking in the sudden light as Colin lit the lamp. Colin turned from the table, an explanation on his tongue, but Katie hardly heard him. She was staring at the stranger who stood near the door.

  He was tall, taller even than Colin. His shoulders were broad, filling out the formal black jacket in a way that must have made his tailor happy. His hair was a shade that seemed not quite gold and not quite brown but was somewhere between the two. His features were strong, too strong to be considered handsome perhaps, but compelling all the same.

  But it was his eyes that threatened to steal her breath away. They were blue, but more than blue. They were deep in color, not like a summer sky but more like a sapphire she'd seen once.

  Katie flushed as those eyes swept over her thinly clad figure. The look was appreciative without being lascivious, and when his eyes met hers, there was a spark in them that told her he liked what he'd seen. Katie was ashamed to find that her heart beat a little faster at the thought.

  "I'm sorry to intrude on you in this boorish manner, ma'am. I'm afraid your brother overestimates the extent of my injury." He swept a battered silk hat from his head and bent low in a bow. The elegance of the gesture was marred by the fact that he had to clutch at the edge of the table to keep from losing his balance. Colin, just turning away from adjusting the wick on the lamp, caught at his arm, lending him support.

  Katie's eyes found the dark stain on the sleeve of his jacket and she hurried forward.

  "Help the gentleman to a seat, Colin, and let me take a look at that arm."

  Colin eased the stranger to a chair, then stepped back and watched as Katie knelt in front of him. His doubts about bringing the man here were even stronger now that it was too late. He didn't like the way the man looked at his sister and he didn't like the way Katie had looked at him in that first moment.

  The man was a gambler and a drinker—and who knew what else? And setting all that aside, there was no doubting that he came from a class far above their reach. Everything about the man spoke of money, something the McBrides had never had much of. They could have nothing in common with a man who wore such fine clothes and gambled with such a fine lack of regard for winning or losing. And it wouldn't do for Katie to be setting her sights so high.

  Colin ran his hand through his dark hair, feeling weariness sweep over him. It wasn't only the lateness of the hour, it was the burden of responsibility he felt. He was all that Katie had now. It was up to him to see that she had a good life ahead of her.

  "Colin, get me some water in a bowl and bring my sewing basket." As she tugged experimentally at the blood-soaked sleeve, she told her patient, "I'm afraid removing your coat is going to be more than a bit painful, sir."

  "Cut it away."

  "Oh, no, I don't think that will be necessary. I'm sure it can be saved. A bit of mending and it will be good as new."

  "It's not worth worrying about," he said casually. "Just cut the sleeve loose. I'm in no mood to try and pull it off."

  "But that will ruin it and it's such a fine fabric."

  "I have others and I'm afraid the fabric of my skin is a bit more important to me at the moment. A sharp knife will solve the problem in an instant."

  Colin set down the sewing basket and a basin of water next to Katie, stepping back without a word. Reluctantly, Katie picked up her scissors, still hesitant about ruining a garment as fine as the one the strange
r wore.

  "I assure you it's not going to leave me without clothing," he said quietly.

  She met his eyes, finding a certain understanding there, as if he knew that clothing was a precious commodity in her world. Her pale skin flushed pink at the thought that this man saw her poverty and perhaps pitied her for it.

  With a quick movement, she split the sleeve up the side, exposing the white silk of his shirt. She didn't even mention that the shirt too could be repaired but disposed of it as efficiently as she had the jacket. Her movements gentled as she eased the fabric away from the deep slash in the upper arm.

  Studying the wound, Katie tried not to notice the muscles that rippled under the golden skin she'd bared, more muscles than seemed right for a man who wore silk hats and expensively tailored evening clothes.

  "It should have a stitch or two to make sure that it heals properly. If you'll trust me to do the job, I'll see to it."

  She was sponging the blood from around the wound as she spoke, her light touch contrasting with the determined briskness of her words. When the stranger didn't say anything, she reluctantly shifted her eyes to his face. He was looking at her hair, which spilled in fiery disarray across her shoulders.

  "Your hair is the most beautiful color I've ever seen, though I'm sure you think it forward of me to mention it."

  Katie's cheeks flushed. "I do think it forward of you," she said bluntly. "Will you be wanting me to tend to your arm or not?"

  He shifted his gaze from her hair to her face, not sparing even a glance for the gash in his arm. "Yes, please."

  He said if softly, sweetly, like a child requesting a treat before supper. Hastily, Katie bent her head over her sewing box, not looking up again until she had a threaded needle in hand.

  "You must hold still while I set the stitches. Tis likely to hurt a bit," she warned him as she motioned to Colin to shift the light closer. Lifting the chimney off, she held the needle over the flame.

  "I shall be steady as a rock. If I may be completely honest, I do believe I have imbibed enough liquor this past night to prevent any but the greatest of pains from bothering me. Please, do not concern yourself."

  Though Katie didn't doubt that he'd had enough liquor to numb his senses, she nibbled on her lower lip as she drew the edges of the wound together and set the first stitch. It wasn't the first time she'd applied her skills with a needle to the mending of a human being. Small injuries were common enough in the theater but money was not. So theater people were inclined to do for themselves rather than call a doctor.

  True to his word, the stranger didn't flinch, though he sucked in his breath sharply a time or two. Katie didn't dare look at his face as she carefully stitched the wound closed.

  No one said a word until she'd set the last stitch and clipped the thread. She sat back on her heels, studying the work a moment before nodding her head.

  "With a little care, you should do. 'Twould be best if you tried not to do any heavy lifting with that arm for a week or two, just long enough to give the flesh time to knit solid."

  The man turned his head to look at his arm, the neat row of stitches slashing across the tanned skin.

  "You've done a fine job. And I thank you for it."

  "It would be better thanks if you'd stay out of dark alleys where trouble is likely to seek a man out."

  "You're quite right. If it hadn't been for your brother, I've no doubt that I'd have been beyond the need for patching. I thank you both." He frowned suddenly, watching as Katie put away her needle and scissors. "I don't even know who I'm thanking."

  Katie rose, shaking out the skirts of her wrapper and stepping back as the stranger stood up. Odd, how he seemed to dominate the room.

  "I'm Colin McBride and this is my sister, Katie." Colin made the introduction reluctantly. He didn't lay claim to the second sight his father had always sworn to have but he had a strong feeling that bringing this stranger here had been a mistake.

  "Quentin Sterling at your service." The stranger bowed low. Katie dipped a small curtsy, feeling a bit ridiculous in her wrapper and nightgown, her hair all willy-nilly on her shoulders.

  "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said politely.

  "I think your good manners outweigh your honesty, ma'am." The twinkle in his eyes took any insult from the words. "This is hardly the way I'd choose to meet such a charming and beautiful young lady."

  Colin stiffened beside her. "I'll walk out with you. I'm sure we'll be able to find a hack."

  Quentin's eyes met his, understanding in their depths. "You're quite right. I've taken up much more of your time than I've any right to."

  He reached to pick up his hat, bowing again to Katie. "I thank you, ma'am, for your kindness and your skill with a needle."

  Colin opened the door, leaving no time for Katie's response, if she'd had one. Quentin Sterling's eyes met hers for one long moment before he turned away, stepping through the door her brother held open.

  Katie stood staring at the blank panel, one hand pressed to her bosom, feeling slightly breathless. After a moment, she shook her head and turned back to the cubbyhole that sheltered her bed. She had a feeling Colin was going to want to discuss their visitor with her, but she didn't want to talk about him.

  She wasn't a foolish young girl. She knew as well as Colin did that she'd never see Mr. Quentin Sterling again, but would it hurt so very much to dream a little of what it might be like to have a man like that fall in love with her?

  Chapter 2

  When the church bell struck five, Katie dragged her eyes open, focusing sleepily on the cracked and peeling ceiling. If she closed her eyes again, she could sleep a few more minutes and perhaps she could take the trolley to work this morning. Surely it wouldn't be such a terrible extravagance just this once.

  With a groan, she forced herself upright. If she took a trolley this morning, she'd surely want to do the same tomorrow and the day after that. Bad habits were easily begun but harder to stop. And the pennies were better saved for the future.

  She swung her legs off the bed and stretched her arms over her head to work the kinks out of her back. Ignoring the temptation to fall back onto the thin mattress for just one more minute of sleep, Katie stood up, reaching for her wrapper. If she hurried, she might be able to use the bathroom down the hall before the other tenants stirred. Slipping her feet into a pair of satin slippers—mementoes of a successful run at a fine Boston theater—she eased through the curtain that surrounded her bed, tiptoeing through the living area.

  Colin slept on a pallet made of a thick folded quilt. A blanket was drawn up over his shoulders, blocking out the morning chill. Katie lifted the towel she'd laid ready the night before and slipped out the door.

  There was no one in the bathroom, a rare occurrence with nearly fifteen families sharing the meager facilities. Mindful that it wouldn't be long before there were others queuing up in the hall, she hurried through her ablutions.

  Drying her face on the rough towel, Katie suddenly remembered the one time they'd stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria. That had been during her brief, never-to-be-forgotten employment on the hallowed boards of Broadway. Her parents had celebrated with the same enthusiastic joy with which they embraced every other aspect of life. They'd taken a room at the elegant hotel, putting on airs that the Vanderbilts themselves would have envied. The towels there had been of the finest, softest linen, gently soothing the moisture from the skin instead of removing it by brute force.

  Katie shook her head, dismissing the old memories. That had been another time and place. She folded the towel neatly and tightened the tie of her wrapper before stepping out into the hallway. There was a small queue of people waiting their turn at the facilities and she nodded pleasantly to one or two.

  She eased back into the apartment as quietly as possible though Colin would, like as not, sleep through a cavalry charge. He'd turned in his sleep and now faced the room. Katie hesitated a moment, noting the lines drawn too deeply about his mouth.
He looked older than his twenty-five years. Not even sleep could erase the worry from his face.

  She was frowning as she slipped behind the curtain that surrounded her bed. She'd have given anything right then to have inherited a bit more of her parents' optimism, their belief that something better always waited around the next curve in the road.

  She stepped into a plain gray dress and drew it up over her shoulders, settling it in place before slipping the buttons through the buttonholes. She'd have much preferred to be wearing one of the new shirtwaists that were gaining such popularity. To have a skirt separate from the bodice seemed a wonderful thing but Mrs. Ferriweather thought them an abomination—much too mannish and certainly not something one of "her girls" would ever wear.

  She dragged a brush through her hair with ruthless force before gathering the thick mass into a knot. Holding it against the back of her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the cracked mirror that hung beside the bed. Your hair is the most beautiful color I've ever seen.

  The voice in her head was deep, with a whiskey rasp to it. She'd been trying very hard not to think of the injured stranger, not to remember the blue of his eyes or the broad shoulders that had filled his dinner jacket to such perfection. Quentin Sterling. The name bespoke quality, even if his manner and the cut of his clothes hadn't already done so.

  Shaking her head, she pushed pins into her hair to secure the thick knot at the back of her head. She was a fool to be letting a man like that into her dreams. No one knew better than she that nothing could come of it.

  Pushing Mr. Quentin Sterling out of her thoughts, she checked her reflection one last time, making sure that she looked neat as a pin. Even if she was only to be bent over her sewing all day, Mrs. Ferriweather expected all her girls to be tidy.

  Slipping through the outer room on tiptoes, she let herself out and hurried down the hallway. Though the church bells were proclaiming only half past the hour, she'd have a brisk walk to get to the shop on time.

  Tattered threads of fog drifted through the streets. Glancing at the gray sky, Katie tugged her wrap closer about her shoulders. It didn't look as if there'd be much sun today. Not that it would matter much to her, since she wasn't likely to get out again until near dark.