Christie (25 page)

"Margaret, I'll thank you to keep out of this!"
raged Philip. "I'll handle the little whore! And let us refrain from calling her a child any longer. Children don't have
babies!
Now, missy, you are going to tell me who he is, do you hear? Out with it!"

Her only response was a high-pitched whine. This was followed by a loud smacking sound which caused the whine to explode into a wailing scream.

"Tell me, damn you! Or the next time it will be my riding crop and not the back of my hand!" Philip shouted, his own voice reaching hysterical proportions.

"It—it was B-B-Beau Richardson, Daddy," blubbered Melissa. "Please don't hit me again. It might hurt my—my baby!"

"Your bastard, you mean!" screamed Philip. "Now, who is this Richardson? I don't recognize the name."

"He was one of the young men at Christie's ball," explained a shaky-voiced Aunt Margaret.

"Ah, yes! The one she chased all evening. The one who brought her champagne to drink when all the other—
decent
—young women were taking punch," said her husband, his voice lower now, but no less threatening. "Well, young Mr. Richardson is about to find his casual little tumble in the hay to prove very costly. . . . Yes, very costly, indeed."

Christie winced at the "tumble in the hay" expression, wondering if she dared move and chance being heard, for she definitely wanted to retreat to her room. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop and she was embarrassed and shaken by what she had overheard.

"What—what are you going to do, Daddy?" sobbed Melissa.

"I'm going-to try to keep the world from finding out about the scandal you've threatened us with, you whoring little viper. I'll not allow you, or anyone else, to besmirch the good name I've so carefully raised and built into respectability over the years. Your Beau Richardson is going to marry you and
give
a name to his child or face the end of a dueling pistol. And this time I won't be aiming merely to maim! Melissa, pull yourself together and have Violet pack some things. You and I are traveling to Fredericksburg— today!"

Quickly Christie turned and tiptoed back toward her room as Philip's voice neared the closed door. Reaching the haven of her chamber just as she heard Philip storming down the hall, she leaned against Lula and fainted.

Christie bent her head over the wash basin and retched for the third time. Then she raised her head and gratefully accepted the cool, wet cloth Lula handed her.

"I can't understand it. The breakfast tasted delicious." She groaned. "Why should it upset my stomach so?"

Lula was leading her carefully to the delicate tester bed which stood in the center of the room.

"Lie down here, chile. Ah'm goin' t' count. Hmm. Mus' be 'bout two months. You haven't had no flow since ah met you, and—"

"I haven't had
any
flow—oh my God! What am I saying? What are
you
saying? Lula, please, you can't be telling me I'm—"

"Your baby oughta be born in March, if ah

counted right," said Lula, smiling at her.

"No! Lula, you've got to be mistaken! I've missed a month before. Two years ago, when my old pony died and I was so upset I—"

"Ain't no—
Isn't any
upset in the world gonna take away your flow and make your waistbands a little tighter, too," smiled Lula. "No, Christie. Ah've had a baby in mah belly too many times not to tell the signs. You're with child." She continued to smile widely at Christie as she spoke.

"Lu, what's there to be so glad about? The irony of it! This coming hard on the heels of Melissa's news. Ohhh," she groaned, running for the basin again.

When she had finished bringing up the last of her food, she turned to Lula, looking pale and weak.

"Lula, stop smiling that way!"

"But babies is—
are
—happy news, Christie!"

"Not when they have no fathers, they aren't! And make no mistake on this, Lula. My child, when it's born, will be more nameless than Melissa's. She'll probably have a husband by then; mine is beyond recalling, even if I wanted to call him back—which I don't—can't. And now, with Uncle Philip in this rage over Melissa, I can hardly remain here in my own condition, and Father's arriving in a few days— Oh, dear God! Father! I cannot face him with this! Lula, you've got to help me get away!"

"But where we gonna go, child?"

"I don't know yet, exactly." Wildly, she looked about her. "I don't have more than we and Jasper can carry with Thunder's help—but money, I've got to have money to—the money from Father—perhaps Uncle Philip's cashed it by now. . . . Only, how am I
going to get it without anyone finding out about it?"

"You know where it is?" questioned Lula.

"Yes, but—"

"Is it locked up somewhere?"

Christie nodded.

"Then we'll get it," said Lula, suddenly looking very crafty. "And don't you go askin' me how ah'm so sure. Just wait till your uncle leaves with Miss Melissa. We'll get it."

It was well past ten o'clock when Christie and Lula stole carefully into Philip's study. The entire household was asleep, Aunt Margaret having ordered everyone to retire early with her. She had announced the need for complete rest and quiet following the ordeal of the morning and Philip and Melissa's hasty departure for Virginia in the afternoon.

"I didn't realize it would be so dark in here without a taper," whispered Christie. "Where's that tinder-box?"

"Right here," said Lula, working to strike a spark. At last she succeeded, and they lit the candle in the holder Christie carried.

"Over here," whispered Christie, indicating Philip's secretary desk near one wall.

Then she went to open the glass-paned doors of the upper portion, only to find them locked.

"Where's that hairpin?" asked Lula.

When Christie had produced it, Lula made short work of the lock's meager resistance, and soon went to work on opening the valuables box.

"This one gonna take a bit of doing," muttered

Lula, but just as she spoke, they heard a "click" and the box was open.

"Lu, you're a wonder!" exclaimed Christie. "Sometime remind me to take some important kinds of lessons from
you!"

Then she peered into the box and her face became somber. "Oh, Lu! It's what I was afraid of—the bank draft's still here, uncashed, and made out to Uncle Philip. And look, there's no other cash in here; Uncle Philip must have taken whatever he had on hand with him. When you travel—"

"What is it? What did you find?"

Even in the dim ring of light afforded them by the solitary candle, Christie knew it was a magnificent piece, perhaps the most splendid piece of jewelry she'd ever held, or seen this close. Withdrawing the bracelet slowly from the box, she laid it carefully on the desk, and even in the candlelight, its many-faceted stones sparkled and glittered royally. Set into the heavy gold filigree band were five large emeralds, perfectly matched, and surrounding each stone was a ring of diamonds, also fairly good-sized and also perfectly matched. The heavy clasp was studded by a much larger diamond, and on the back, Christie noticed as she turned it over, there was an inscription of some kind, but in the dim light she couldn't make it out.

"Must be worth a mighty sum," breathed Lula.

"A veritable fortune," said Christie. "Lord, I wish it weren't such a handsome piece. If it were a lesser one, I might feel comfortable taking it in place of the bank draft."

"What you mean, if it were a lesser one?
"
snapped
Lula. "Child, you don't have no choice
!
This hunk of finery's your ticket out of here!" "Oh, no, Lu! I couldn't. I'm no thief!" "Borrow it, then. All ah know is, if we don't have some money, or something that's Worth money, we might just as well go back upstairs and wart until your daddy comes for you!"

A stricken look crossed Christie's features. Then, hesitating only briefly, she picked up the bracelet and, finding her own garments without any hiding places, thrust it into Lula's pocket. Then, locating an inkwell and a quill, she hastily scratched a note on some paper she found in a drawer.

Dear Uncle Philip,

For reasons I cannot explain now, I am in dire need of going away by myself for a while. Forgive me for taking the bracelet to fund my journey. I promise to repay every penny of its worth as soon as I am able. I am not a thief, only a desperate girl. Please try to understand and tell Father not to worry.

Fondly, Christianna

Then, after replacing the relocked box and locking up the desk again, they snuffed out the candle and crept silently back to Christie's chamber where a frightened-looking Jasper awaited them.

"Is Thunder ready?" Christie asked him.

"All saddled and ready to go," answered the boy.

"Good work." Christie smiled. "Lu, are you sure the innkeeper's holding that room for us?"

"Up until midnight," replied Lula. "He wasn't about to, at first, but soon as ah held out all that money, he came around."

Christie frowned as she remembered another deception she'd been forced to make. The money for their stay at the inn near the wharf had come from Aunt Margaret on the pretext that Christie needed new riding boots to go with the riding habit her aunt had insisted she have. It had been easy to come by, given Margaret's distraught state this afternoon; Christie had only pointed out that the mahogany color of her old ones would not go as well with plum as a shiny black might, and the money was hers. Now as she stood in her room remembering this, she wondered how long it would take her to become a practiced liar, and she took a deep breath in an attempt to shake away her present trend of thought. "Desperate straits require desperate measures," Barnaby Rutledge had once said, and placing one hand softly over her belly, she thought of the babe she carried. Garrett's child! She felt a curious pull of joy mixed with anguish as she thought of the cause of her own "desperate straits."

Then, with a quick shrug of her shoulders, she looked at Lula, who had been gathering her bags and stood waiting for her.

"Well, let's be off," she said. "Thunder grows impatient when he has to wait."

Chapter Eighteen

It was shortly after eleven o'clock, if one could believe the crier, as the three figures, two afoot, one riding, made their way stealthily down a narrow alley on the eastern end of town, near the waterfront.

"Mind you don't fall off that horse, son," whispered Christie, as the steed's hoof struck a loose stone and sent it scattering ahead of them. The sound of the rolling stone echoed loudly between the near buildings and Christie thought it might have been a clap of thunder for the din it caused.

Suddenly, ahead of her, Lula stopped short.

"Mighty loud for a hunk of rock—sounds more like footsteps coming this way—"

In the darkness behind them, Christie glimpsed two large shadows approaching, and she screamed in terror, a high-pitched warning scream that sent Thunder rearing in fear.

"Get the horse!" growled a rough voice. "He'll fetch a handsome price. I got me a nice little nigra wench!"

"Jasper," screamed Lula, as Christie felt a rough pair of hands at her own shoulders, thrusting her against a wall. "Jasper, ride! Go, boy! Fetch somebody—"

Her words were cut rudely off as her captor's arm swung viciously and caught her on the side of her head, but not before she saw Jasper hunch tightly over Thunder's withers and urge his mount safely out of range of the second man's grasp.

"The boy, Luke! He got away!" yelled the attacker. ' A string of curses came from the man who was now wrestling Lula to the ground. "Well, git yourself the blonde doxie, Tom! This one's mine!"

Christie had been standing, frozen with terror, against the wall where the one called Tom had shoved her, prior to his abortive attempt to stop Thunder, and now, as she saw the other assailant meant her, she turned to flee, but the second man was too quick for her.

In seconds she felt herself grasped cruelly by the hair and dragged thus back to where a vainly struggling Lula lay pinned to the ground with her skirts raised above her waist.

"Oh, God, no!" screamed Christie, but her own captor clamped a large, calloused hand over her mouth while with the other arm he imprisoned her arms and forced her down on her knees.

"One more sound outa you and you'll feel this," he warned, showing her the long, shiny blade of a dagger he held in his hand at her side. "Understand?"

Mutely, she nodded, becoming sick to her stomach at the scene she was being forced to watch being played out before her.

The other man also held a knife, and he kept it at Lula's throat as he used his other hand to unfasten his breeches.

"Spread those black legs, dearie," he ordered, his breath coming out in long pants now, and when
Lula didn't comply immediately, he took his knee
and savagely forced it between her legs.