Chapter 5

Phileas Fogg was wondering where Chatsworth was leading him. They were traveling through one of the poorer neighborhoods. Not one of the better places to visit; murder and other kinds of mayhem happened here every day.

The coach in front stopped at a residence. Fogg's driver parked behind the coach.

Fogg stepped out to find Chatsworth waiting for him at the gate leading to a well-kept house. The gate had a sign on a post announcing the residence of Dr. Daniel Tomlinson M.D. Clinic entrance to the side.

Chatsworth stopped Phileas before he reached the gate to go in. "What you learn in this house is to be kept in the strictest confidence. That includes your cousin," he said.

Phileas nodded assent. They passed through the gate.

Phileas stayed back, allowing Chatsworth to knock. A shortish man about Chatsworth's age greeted them. His pallid complexion showed that his work kept him from outdoor activities.

He nodded to his visitors. "Jon, good to see you again."

"How is your patient doing?" Sir Jonathan said.

"She is better. Katrina will talk more today, as I wrote in my message," the doctor replied.

Chatsworth said, "Excellent. If she does not mind, I brought an…an associate of mine to help in this matter. If she is willing, I would like him to be present when we speak."

The doctor gave Fogg an appraising look. "Doctor Daniel Tomlinson, sir."

"Phileas Fogg," Phileas said, accepting the doctor's hand.

Chatsworth said nothing further, and the doctor excused himself after seeing them to the parlor and went to another part of the house to prepare his patient.

"You will stay in the background if she allows you to enter," Sir Jonathan ordered. "You will say nothing outside a proper greeting. You will ask no questions. The lady is recovering from a great shock and is still in a fragile state of mind."

The Doctor reentered the room before more could be said. He showed both men to his patient's room. A guestroom, sparsely but neatly decorated, was acting as the sickroom. There was a desk, a wardrobe, a low bureau, and a bed with a small stand beside it, which held a cheery vase of flowers. The occupant of the bed was a blonde lady in her early thirties. She watched her visitors come in with her hands in her lap, sitting up against pillows. Her hair was neatly braided, with a ribbon holding the ends together. It fell across her right shoulder and down in front of her white gown. She wore a dress jacket over that. Chatsworth went to the bedside, taking the lady's hand in greeting and producing the orange he had bought earlier for a gift.

"Oh, thank you, Jon! How sweet of you to remember." The lady welcomed him with a smile, holding the gift in her hands as if it were something precious.

Chatsworth took a seat next to her on the edge of the bed, leaving the two chairs for Fogg and the doctor.

Phileas stood by, noticing that he was not introduced. He moved his chair to a position where he could see the lady and Chatsworth more clearly. Once they were all settled, the doctor and Chatsworth had attention for nothing but the lady. It became obvious the three had a long-standing relationship. Phileas settled quietly and watched what would happen.

"I understand you are willing to speak more about what happened before you were brought here last week," Chatsworth said gently. "I have already looked into what you told me so far." Sir Jonathan took her hand to give support.

"Then you know how hopeless the situation is," the lady said forlornly. "There was just no…" she stopped short of explained further as tears glistened in her eyes.

"Katrina, why don't you start from when you left the city?" the doctor prompted.

She gave her two friends a look of shy apology and started her story.

"I will have to go back farther," she said. "Mr. Jordan came to me for his payment two weeks earlier. For once he seemed less… well, he asked me if I would do him a favor. Mr. Jordan had an important business meeting, a two-week meeting with associates at his country estate. It seemed very important to him to give a good impression, and he asked me if I would hostess the event as repayment for Robert's debt. He assured me that if I did this one thing for him, he would cancel it all and never bother me again. Of course, I agreed."

The lady then looked at the men, pleading with them to understand. As she continued, she wove it clearly with details, allowing her audience to see into the past. They saw Isaac Jordan's private carriage pick up and deliver Katrina to his country home in the afternoon on a cloudy day. It had been raining, so the roads had not been the best.

Katrina had been sore from bumping about, but was given no time to refresh herself. She was shown immediately into Mr. Jordan's study by a butler who greeted her with an expression bordering on insolence. She didn't react to it. She was sure she looked a sight after the long trip. That, and her vocation, a private nurse, was a servant's position, and not a respected one. She was used to being looked down on by upper staff.

In the study, Katrina was greeted by her host. Isaac Jordan was a tall, handsome man with dark hair and eyes. His face was long and thin, with a dark mustache and a small beard on his chin. He was tanned and strong looking with a thin sly smile that made him look as though he were privately laughing at the world. When she had first met him, he had appeared to her as a fine-looking gentleman. He had paid her a few compliments and had danced with her a few times at parties, but he had not made his inner character known until after her husband's death. Standing in front of his desk in his house, her only thought had been to get this business over with so she would never set eyes on him again.

Katrina was offered a chair by the desk. She stripped off her travel gloves and started the meeting by telling Mr. Jordan of the things she had brought with her and some thoughts she had on entertainment for his house party. He had listened, appearing to be interested, smiling, and nodding and asking a few questions. When she finished, he thanked her for the ideas but said that he had a person who had already handled such details.

"You seem to have mistaken my meaning," Isaac said. "You are not to be the event planner, but a hostess here; mine specifically, or for one of my guests. The choice will be yours. There are other ladies who will also act in the same capacity."

She had not understood. Katrina's puzzled expression seemed to make Mr. Jordan's smile grow.

He walked around to her side of the desk to sit on its edge in front of her. "You hostesses will make sure my guests are comfortable and happy during their stay. You will accompany them around the house and grounds, sit at table with them, and supply them with whatever entertainment they ask," he said with a broader smile. "You will do this for the full two weeks. After which time, I will release you from your debt."

That Katrina understood. He was back to being the arrogant lecher she abhorred. She stood immediately at and ordered him to bring the carriage back so she could return home. "How dare you, sir? You knew full well I would never agree to such a thing."

"Oh, but you did," Mr. Jordan countered. "And I intend to hold you to it. Your tiny payments to me are growing wearisome. I wish to have your debt to me paid in full and promptly. Since you do not have the income to do so in coin, and you have refused to be my mistress, you can choose either me or one of my guests to work it off. If not, I will take the matter to court and have you thrown in debtor's prison. I do not care how you manage it. You can close your eyes and pretend anything you want, but you will stay and do as you are bid. So, which will it be?"

Katrina stood there, feeling the trap snap on her. He would make her a whore? He had been after just that for nearly two years. She was forced to put up with his vile insinuations and requests because of the astronomical debt her Robert had created with his research at this man's backing. Katrina had seen only one out and tried it.

Resigning herself, she lowered her head in submission. "Very well, there is no need to involve the courts. I will do as you ask, but not with you," Katrina said before he could make any inferences. "Where am I to stay?"

He grinned down at her triumphantly and pulled a bell. The butler answered it almost instantly. "Show Mrs. McTavish to her room," he ordered.

Katrina was led to a wing off the right side of the house. None of the richness or luxuries of her surroundings registered at that point. This place was her prison for two weeks, a gilded cage, nothing more.

The room proved as luxurious and pleasant a place as the rest of the house, with a sitting area and tall windows. The sunlight was waning outside. Its streaming light bathed the room with a golden glow.

"A gilded golden cage…" Katrina shuddered.

The butler left.

She opened the nearest window to let in some air and then took a long deep breath to help dispel her unease and the deep shaking she felt within her. She sat down to consider what she would do next. A moment into her thoughts, a knock sounded at the door. It opened to two servants carrying her trunk. They had another trunk in tow. The extra trunk's owner walked into the room as the servants left.

Katrina stood facing the new occupant. She had not expected this so quickly. She had not been prepared. She wanted to make a plea for understanding and help in getting away. The man appeared near twice her age. He looked healthy and well dressed, by all accounts a gentleman. He had smiled to her warmly and walked to her, offering a hand in greeting. Katrina held out her hand in return and introduced herself before begging his help. She didn't get her full name out.

The gentleman's greeting turned into a sharp tug at her wrist rather than a gentle lifting of her hand. He pulled her close in one arm and kissed her hard on the mouth, twisting her arm behind her back. Katrina struggled out of his hold, backing against the bureau next to the window. She had tried again to speak, but he showed no intention of listening to her. He had only one thing in mind, which he explained when her dress jacket sleeve tore at the shoulder.

He pushed her hard against the bureau. Things were jostled, fell over as she struggled. At one point, he lifted her up to sit on the edge piece. One thing that fell in the struggle was caught between her and the wall at her back. Frantically, Katrina grabbed for it. It felt solid. She smashed it over the man's head as he forced her skirts up. A bud vase, it was heavy crystal. It shattered, leaving glistening shards in his hair and on his coat as he slumped forward, dragging her off the bureau and onto the floor with him.

When she had freed herself from under his limp, heavy form, Katrina had gone straight for the window, jumping out and down six feet to the ground. She came up immediately running, despite one of her shoes breaking in the fall. She headed straight for a wooded area off to the right of the house and kept running until she ran out of woods and found her way to a road.

Standing by the road, out of breath, Katrina only then realized she no longer had her reticule. She had no money to get a ride back into the city. There was no going back for it. She returned to the edge of the wood so she would not be seen and worked her way toward London.

It had been a miserable long walk. The ground was muddy. Her shoes were not meant for hiking and as one was broken, she had a hard time setting her gait. She felt the rubbing and growing pain long before she reached the edge of the city. By the time she reached her neighborhood, she was chilled to the bone and in agony. Her skirts weighed down with rain and mud increased her misery.

It was late by the time she reached her boarding house. Too late for a decent woman to be walking the streets. She resolutely stared forward, not making eye contact with any of the men who called out to her.

All the way home, Katrina considered her options. In the end, she knew were none. She still owed an enormous debt. The fact Jordan had tried to take it out of her body would not go very far in court. It would do her no good to complain. She was a widow, and a paid private nurse. Nursing was not a respectable occupation, despite what Miss Barton was trying to accomplish. It would be her word against a wealthy gentleman of high social and business standing.

Five hours after her escape, Katrina reached Mrs. Johnson's boarding house. She took the stairs on the side rather than going in through the front door in her present condition. Her feet hurt her so much, Katrina leaned heavily on the rail for help, barely made it.

In the sanctuary of her room, she went straight to her nurse's bag. Two bottles of sedatives Dr. Tomlinson had supplied her with were what she wanted. Katrina had decided on the way home that the laudanum would not be the way to go. An over abundance would just make her sick. The pills would take the pain from her feet and make her sleep before killing her. All she wanted was for the pain to go away–all her pain.

As she was swallowing the second handful of pills, her landlady knocked at the door, calling for her.

Katrina didn't answer.

She had just shaken out the third palm full and had been struggling to swallow the second when Mrs. Johnson used her key to enter the room.

Mrs. Johnson wanted to ask why her boarder had returned so early from her trip when she saw the third handful heading for the nurse's mouth. The landlady had at first questioned the scene, but taking it all in, she could not justify it. Mrs. McTavish, who was normally neat as a pin, was a mess. Tears flowed like rivers down her face while she ate medical supplies like so much candy.

She cried out to Mrs. McTavish and rushed her, knocking the pills out of her hands. The two women struggled over the bottle of pills remaining. It ended when the landlady's son entered the room and tackled Katrina from behind. On his mother's prompting, the boy dragged her out of the house and into his mother's buggy, racing to Dr. Tomlinson's house.