Chapter 25 Jahleel—Serving the Mistress
JAHLEEL—SERVING THE MISTRESS
Giving a slight tap to the connecting door in my closet, I wait for Katherine to answer.
“Katherine?”
No answer. I knock again. I hear a moan.
“That sounds like an invitation.” I take a deep breath, tug the door, and press into her room.
No candle or sconce holds flame; the room is cast into pitch blackness.
My mind swims back to the river where we spent our forty-day wedding trip. We shut the world out, left everyone the scantest of notes, and ran away to live decadently and unapologetically, barefoot and wild.
She moans again.
“Katherine, are you well? It’s so dark in here I can’t see you.”
“The bet. I failed.”
“Forget the bet in here. This is your room, your territory. If you want me to go, I’ll leave. I just had to hear your voice and know you’re well. But I’d love to see your face.”
A match strikes. A spark of light catches a wick. “My rules. No getting upset.”
Swallowing hard, I brace against the threshold molding. “Your rules. I am your servant.”
The dim light exposes an undesirable, desirable vision. Katherine’s draped in a jet-colored mourning robe. Though it swallows her and follows her curves, it doesn’t hide her face and the bruises. She’s been attacked.
My pulse races. I want to be calm and reasonable, but I’m barely holding onto reason. “Who hurt you? I demand to know!”
The light snuffs. “You saw me. Please don’t be upset.”
“Katherine.” I try to keep my tone under control. I’ve mastered sitting with evil men calling me and my parents all kinds of names. I held my composure while plotting their downfalls. Not one suspected that my blood boiled and I’d have revenge.
But I can’t hide this rage burning me up. “Katherine. I asked who did this? Give me a name. Let me deal with them.”
“Your Grace, I must’ve fallen asleep.”
I nod like I understand her babbles, but I’m enraged. “I can’t be in here, Katia, if I am of no use to you.”
The candle lights again. “Don’t go. Please don’t.”
I’m lulled by her simple command. Standing close to her bedside table, I say, “Talk to me, Katia.”
“You said my rules. I don’t want to talk.”
I glance back to the secret door. “Then what am I to do? With no explanation, I am useless.”
“Sit. Sit next to me.” She flaps her arm like a raven’s wing, patting the bed. “Sit with me and tell me why all my clothes are gone.”
I scratch my head but remain standing. “There’s a bruise to your face and you are concerned about missing gray frocks.”
“They were mine. Bought with my money.”
“But you are to be treated better than a wife. I believe those were your words. So expensive gowns are to be yours.” I gesture toward her robe. “How did they miss this rag?”
Her head droops. “Your mother happened to see my distress. She gave me this to wear.”
“My mother did this to you? Put you in a nun’s habit? I thought you two were getting along.”
“Perhaps she wants you to banish me to a nunnery.”
We both laugh, and it feels good. My chest loosens a little.
Then she wiggles her little finger at me. “My rules, Jahleel. I want you to come to me. Your mother encouraged me to ask for what I want.”
Curious and a little unnerved, I sit beside her. My fingers slip away from my cane to her, stroking the tightness of her freshly washed curls. Her parted tresses expose an oiled scalp that smells of coconut. Even in paper curlers, Katherine’s beauty can never be denied.
Her expression gives nothing away, like I couldn’t possibly remember that she’s ticklish on her stomach, has a small mole on her left breast, freckles down her back, or likes strong hands on her thighs.
Not even going to check if her feet are bare and ready to assist her long legs wrapping about me.
“Jahleel, you don’t look comfortable.”
That adjoining door seems miles away. “I am?”
This woman kneels in front of me. Her hands fist on my lapel. “I don’t feel fit to read to you, unless this is what you want? A nun reading bedtime stories?”
She’s talking about nuns while that bulky robe slips off her shoulder? “Just tell me what I don’t know. That’s what I want.”
My eyes meet hers, dark circles with dots of gold. She turns away, but says, “I was taunted and pelted with rocks while driving my dray. A pebble struck my face. Lost my father’s watch. So horrible. Please don’t be upset. Remember my rules.”
Does one tell a raging bull not to strike? A lion to put down its dinner? “But this is my house. I’m angry. I want to rip someone to pieces. I hate that someone called you names and brought violence to Wilcox Coal.”
“They took Papa’s watch. It will be sold or melted.” She’s trying not to cry.
Yet when I stroke her cheek, she sobs. I think she may drown with hopelessness.
“Tell me to avenge you, Katia. Tell me to try.”
“No. I didn’t want you to know. I feared your reaction. I feared that the evil outside your house would take what we have in here, your health. Let them destroy me.”
Can’t she see I am destroyed? Every time she coddles me and ties my hands behind my back, I feel dead.
“I should let you rest, Lady Hampton.”
“What? You’re upset with me because of the business. It’s mine, all that’s left of my father, a wonderful man. He met your criteria, well off, great sense of humor, and he wanted each of his daughters to be bold.”
“I’m upset but not at the business. I take pride in what you take pride in.”
Her head rises. “Then you’re ashamed of me. Of what I’ve become.”
“Neuter me then, Katia. You don’t want me or my emotions. Hear my voice as I try to sound reasonable.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“I will destroy anyone who touches you. I vanquished my father’s enemies. Every hypocrite on the Court of Chancery including Lord Prahmn has been broken. You think I won’t do the same to anyone who hurt you?”
“I’m the enemy, too. And you said I hurt you worse than anyone.”
Unable to deny her words, I stand and even take a step backward to the safety of my room. But I stop. I must hear her out. “You have a way to solve this?”
Katherine remains silent for a moment. “I think I’ll let Mr. Thom’s sons manage the routes for the rest of the week. They’re back. Thom trained them before the boys went to be soldiers. There’s enough bookkeeping to keep me busy. That was the duty my father intended for me.”
In her rambling, I realize she told me the truth about what happened.
I guess that’s progress, but it does nothing to rid me of my fury.
“I will have Steele … Katia, do you need for me to keep pretending that you have everything under control, or can I be honest about how I will find those responsible and destroy them?”
She stares at me. Those eyes, perfect dark miracles.
“I take your silence, Katherine, as a no. You get rest. I need to leave. I can’t pretend that I don’t care about your struggles.”
Her palm reaches out and waves me forward. “Don’t go.”
I lean my cane against her bed table and take her hand and kiss it. “Give me a command. Tell me to exact revenge the way that you wish.”
“Just hold me … Jasha.”
Everything happens quickly. She’s off the bed and into my arms. I fit her close to me, like a missing rib. I ease us back to the bed and draw us against the headboard, then I coax her to rest on me. Then, as gently as I can, I ask, “So who … why were you targeted?”
“Rotten eggs were thrown. Taunts hurled. The gossip over our situation has given rise to Wilcox Coal infamy. People don’t want to do business with a bigamist or a Black Jezebel. That’s what they yelled. I can handle this, Jahleel. It’s not like the Wilcoxes haven’t been hated before.”
My hand fists, but I force it to flatten. Then I try to rid my soul of the anger building as she looks at me. Then fury turns to heat. “Someone threatened you. They hurt you. No one is going to do that to my wife.”
Her frown vanishes. “Former wife.”
I stare at her bruised lip, the bit of shoulder that my palm wishes to claim. “You know what I mean.”
“Listen, Tsar,” she says, her tone spirited. “This is not your fight. Let me handle this.”
I don’t respond but glance at my cane, not her feet which are indeed bare. “I’ll let you rest. We can return … return to our deal tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong? Jahleel?”
“I’m not to be neutered. But you, Katia, want me to act as if I am.”
“I believe I remember you being far from neutered or circumcised.”
Orthodox and Anglicans hold similar stances on this. I lean more against the headboard, but I sit her securely in my lap. Her cheek leans against my shoulder, keeping those enticing eyes away. “Your safety shall not be compromised, Katherine. I insist.”
Her fingers again find my lapel. “Maybe the taunts are punishment. Why shouldn’t I be pelted with eggs?”
“Didn’t I tell you you’re forgiven?”
“You said that because you thought you were dying.”
Can’t she see I’m dying now, dying to be restrained, trying not to kiss her? “Well, I’m good today. I’ll say it again: I forgive you. No more grudges between us.”
Her face turns to me. “Then tell me, how do I forgive myself?”
“Time. Us being nice to each other.”
“There’s not enough time. There will never be.” She bites her lip. “Sorry.”
Death still stands between us, like a smothering mourning shroud.
In her ear, I whisper, “I missed saying goodbye to Anya. I was fighting the courts in London instead of being at her side. I thought I had time. If I had left when notice came, I might’ve seen her one last time. The oldest must encourage the younger. I regret not helping her rally.”
“But you forgave yourself?”
“Nyet. Maybe. Time makes the hurt lessen.”
“Why couldn’t it be something other than time? I’d give you and Lydia my years if I could. I’ll never make up for my lies. I wish I hadn’t gotten scared of the sickness. I wish I hadn’t listened to Tavis or his parents.”
“His parents? The Palmerses were your escorts to St. Petersburg, but they confirmed Tavis’s lies?”
“Yes. They said they knew you. They supported everything Tavis told me about your womanizing and gambling.”
“The same parents now spreading gossip and demanding I write them an apology for letting you marry their son. Unbelievable.”
“They’ve come after you, too?” She shivers. “I’m getting what I deserve … and lost Papa’s watch, too.”
“Katherine, you don’t deserve to be disrespected or to have things hurled at you. You don’t deserve to be hurt at all.”
“Time has told you that, Jahleel, or has pity?”
I wrap my arms around her, my hands threading about her middle as I would’ve done when she was pregnant … if we’d been normal.
Silent tears run down her cheeks. It washes her face cream onto my robe. Somehow, that seems fitting, us in each other’s arms with medicine all around us.
But it doesn’t quench the fire building inside, or the truth that nothing good can come from wanting more from her. We have separate paths. They must remain that way, even if my foul blood is stirred.
Yet it feels good to have her in my arms. Katherine’s not marble, not hard stone. She’s warm and quite human, after all.