Saturday's Child (2 page)

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 stranger 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?

W
hen 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.

Climbing up one of the city's famous hills, Katie tried not to pant in an unladylike fashion. Why couldn't Colin have settled someplace flat? Reaching the top, she paused to catch her breath. She looked back down the hill she'd just climbed. The city spread out, seemingly at her feet. In the distance, she could see the bay. The sun had burned the last of the fog, leaving the waters blue and sparkling.

But not as blue as Quentin Sterling's eyes.

The thought slipped in, unwelcome. Exasperated, she turned away from the magnificence of the view and stepped out briskly. Almost too briskly. As she stepped off the curb to cross the street, a raucous blast of a horn sent her jumping back, nearly losing her balance as she sought the safety of the walkway. The automobile flew by her at a dizzying speed, the driver shrouded in coat, hat and goggles so that it was a wonder he could move at all beneath all those layers.

He didn't bother to glance her way as he sped off down the street, the gleaming ivory of his vehicle catching the sun. Katie watched him out of sight, one hand pressed to her bosom as she tried to still the pounding of her heart.

She'd not liked the new mode of travel even before her parents' death. She liked it even less now. Automobiles were nasty, smelly vehicles, little more than playthings for the rich and not likely to be anything more.

Looking both ways, she hurried across the street. It must be nearly seven o'clock, and Mrs. Ferriweather believed in punctuality the way others believed in the power of prayer.

Katie had never been late. In fact, she made it a point to be the first one to arrive more often than not. And she knew that her efforts had not gone unnoticed, which was exactly what she wanted. Mrs. Ferriweather's assistant was to be wed in the summer. Naturally, she'd be leaving her position then and Katie had hopes that Mrs. Ferriweather might consider her as a replacement for Miss Lewis. Her age would be a strike against her, even though Mrs. Ferriweather thought she was twenty-two.

Still, she'd done her best to prove herself indispensable over the past few months. As an assistant instead of one of the seamstresses, she'd make more money and get the experience she would need if she was ever to open a shop of her own.

When she'd come to San Francisco, she hadn't known anything beyond the fact that her future wasn't on the stage. She'd taken a long, hard look at her skills and put to use the only talent she had besides song and dance.

Mrs. Ferriweather's establishment was much too elegant to be called a dress shop. She catered to only the very finest clientele, turning lengths of silk and soft woolens into sophisticated gowns in the latest fashions. At first, she'd refused to hire Katie, saying she didn't need another seamstress, but Katie had persisted, using every acting skill she'd acquired to make it seem as if Mrs. Ferriweather needed her more than she needed Mrs. Ferriweather. That had gotten her foot in the door and her talent with a needle had gotten her the job.

So, for the past six months, she'd spent ten hours a day, six days a week plying her needle. The pay was better than she might have made elsewhere—nearly thirty-five dollars per month. And if she could take over Miss Lewis's position in the summer... Well, maybe she and Colin could afford to rent a little house somewhere. A real home.

By noon, Katie's back ached. On one side of the room, several sewing machines hummed as the girls worked the treadles back and forth. Sometimes Katie worked at one of the machines but her talent for fine embroidery meant that she spent most of her time working by hand.

Today, she was applying an elaborate design of soutache braid to a pale green jacket. The design had been traced onto the garment but it required hours of careful stitching to tack the braid into place.

"Ladies, I have some wonderful news." Katie looked up as Mrs. Ferriweather stepped into the room, her ample frame fairly quivering with excitement. She waited until all eyes were on her, the hum of the sewing machines halted and every needle stilled.

"We have been asked to provide a seamstress to assist in preparation for one of the season's biggest weddings. Miss Ann Sterling is to wed Mr. Jonathon Drake in less than three weeks. It seems that the seamstress the Sterlings had hired has fallen and broken her wrist. Such a pity," she added dutifully.

Katie heard little beyond the name. Sterling. Was it possible that they were any relation to her Quentin Sterling? Not that he was really hers, of course, but she couldn't help but feel a bit possessive. There were probably several Sterling families in San Francisco, and there was no reason to think that he was a member of this particular one.

"Since we have provided several gowns to Mrs. Sterling and she has been gracious enough to express her satisfaction with our work, she has requested that we provide her with a replacement for Miss Smith. Naturally, it is of utmost importance that our work be of the very highest quality. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that providing even a part of the trousseau for Miss Sterling would be quite a feather in our cap."

She paused, beaming at her workers fondly. Katie hardly dared to breathe. She wanted to be the one chosen to work for the Sterlings. She wanted it more than she'd wanted anything in a long time. It was crazy. It probably wasn't even the same family. Even if it was, it could make no possible difference to her. A man like Quentin Sterling would never look at a girl like Katie McBride.

But knowing it was foolish didn't stop her from wanting it. And when Mrs. Ferriweather's eyes fell on her, Katie was sure her desire must be plain to see.

"It will certainly be a great deal of work, ladies. And long hours. Though much of the work will be done here in the shop, Mrs. Sterling wishes to have a seamstress in residence at her home. She's offered to provide a room where you'll be able to stay if you don't wish to travel home each night."

Was it Katie's imagination or was Mrs. Ferriweather's eye lingering on her? She looked down, smoothing the crease from the fine wool, laying a section of braid in place absently. It was bad luck to want something so much.

"Miss McBride?" Katie jumped at the sound of her name. She'd lost track of her employer's words.

"Yes, ma'am?" She looked up, hoping her expression was calm.

"I believe you live with your brother, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do."

"Would he object to you taking such a position temporarily? It would mean a few additional dollars, of course, to compensate for the extra hours you would be required to spend. Do you think he would allow you to take such an assignment?"

"Yes, ma'am." Despite the breathless feeling that threatened to overcome her, Katie's voice was steady.

Only someone who knew her very well indeed could have guessed at the foolish pounding of her heart. It couldn't possibly be the same family. But if it was?