Katharine

A Story by jaegersmith

She is beautiful in the grey morning light, but it doesn't do her justice. Dear, sweet Katharine, with perpetual smiling face, looked up at him and he wondered if it was just fear he saw in her eyes.

She looked positively darling in the early light of the grey London morning. Skin, peaches and cream, flushed rosy with fever, and he tsked in disapproval as he brushed blonde hair away from her face. The skylight didn't do her justice, he thought, knotting his silk tie around his neck. But he couldn't take any chances; he didn't want anyone else to see her.

"Goodbye, love," he whispered to her as he left, shutting the door firmly behind him, locking it with a twist of the silver key hanging around his neck, pulling it to make sure it was secure. On his way out the door, Emilia, his new maid, stopped him.

"That lady must be very special, Mr. Rivers, to make you forget your briefcase and miss breakfast," she said, smiling slyly.

He laughed, brushed it off. "Oh, Emilia, she is. She's one of a kind."

"You should bring her around sometime. The house could use a lady's laughter and cheer," Emilia told him. She is pretty, with dimples in her cheeks and straight black hair. Her smile was infectious, and her hazel eyes crinkled at the corners as she grinned at him.

"We'll see," he promised, smiling back at her.

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Business was excellent as usual. He had a croissant, drank a cup of coffee - black, no sugar - as he designed yet another brilliant marketing ploy targeting the rich and famous bankers of London. He smiled at his pretty new intern, insisting she call him Neil.

Several people stopped by his office, popping in for a little chat and a few compliments about how precise he was, how thoroughly and subtly he presented the company motto: "Your trust means everything to us."

Everyone said he was trustworthy, definitely the man they would trust with their money, their homes, their wives and children. Neil Rivers, an excellent man with an excellent image. He could make anyone smile.

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On the subway on the way home, he hummed a little ditty to himself as he read The Times. "Lots of depressing stuff," he commented to no one in particular. "Lots of wars and environmental crises and disappearances."

The lady next to him briefly nodded before turning back to her novel and loosening the collar of her white button-down. He wondered if she was reading something nasty, wondered what she would look like half-naked in his bed, her curly brown hair falling about her face, her mouth falling slack with desire -

But he couldn't think about that. He loved Katharine, and he would be faithful. He had promised her he would.

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"Emilia," he asked at dinner, "would you please ask Justine to fix an extra plate of food? There's been a stray dog coming to the library porch and begging."

Emilia nodded. "But of course, Mr. Rivers. Will the meat trimmings be fine?"

"That would be excellent."

She nodded again and disappeared into the kitchen while he sat at the dining table, chewing his medium-rare steak and staring at the lovely portrait of Katharine that had arrived two weeks ago. She looked gorgeous in it - she usually did - but the portrait didn't seem to bring light to her golden hair or a blush to her fair skin.

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"Please, Emilia," he said after dinner, "I am not to be disturbed. If any urgent or distressing calls come in, please forward them to the phone in the library."

"Very well, Mr. Rivers."

"Thank you, love." She smiled; she liked it when the older gentleman wasn't so formal with her.

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He carefully shut the door behind him, and her eyes lit up.

He sighed, a smile hovering around the corners of his mouth as he set the plate of leftover potatoes and meat in front of her.

"Oh, Katharine," he said, sitting down beside her, "you should really eat something. I'm worried about your health."

She ate ravenously and he clapped in delight.

"That's a good girl," he crooned, running his hands through her hair. "Oh, look, your picture was in The Times today. It appears they mislabeled the caption, though. You're not missing. You're right here with me."

She nodded vigorously, as if to say 'Of course.'

"Well, I'm certainly glad you agree."

She butted his shoulder with her head. He smiled. "How is your fever, darling? Broken? That's excellent, but we really must be more careful. You have such a fragile immune system."

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Business was excellent the next day.

The new intern greets him like an old friend. He sits on the subway and makes more comments about natural disasters. When he gets home, he tells Emilia not to bother him and he shows lovely, lovely Katharine her picture in the newspaper again.

Mr. Rivers is always careful.

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Emilia worries about the dog Mr. Rivers talks about. There are cars and bikes and cruel children who throw rocks at poor defenseless animals, and she wants to make sure the dog is alright.

That night, Mr. Rivers does not smile at her, does not call her "love." Says he is disgusted by the corrupt morals of the bankers he works with. He does not ask for food for the dog but stomps down to his library anyway.

She follows him after a little while, carefully holding the plate of food. It is pork chops tonight.

Mr. Rivers is not in the library, so she sits down in a comfortable chair, sets the food on a nearby table, and waits for the dog.

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That night Mr. Rivers is not careful. He gets angry with Katharine for not answering his questions. He does not notice Emilia sleeping in his favorite armchair by the fireplace. He does not give the door a reassuring tug to make sure it is closed.

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When Emilia wakes up it is just past six in the morning, according to the softly glowing LED numbers on the mantelpiece clock. She stretches, yawns. Wonders where the dog is, is horrified when she realizes the stray will be waiting outside the door, whimpering, hanging its head and wondering why its savior is not there to feed it.

She picks up the food, cold now, and rushes to the porch door.

The plate clatters to the floor and she claps a hand to her mouth as the door swings open toward her. She wishes she didn't recognize the girl in the corner, bundled up in blankets and lying in a sticky puddle of her own blood. Wishes she didn't recognize her classmate, Audrey Williams, who recommended her to Mr. Rivers, who was supposed to be in Cambodia helping orphan children, smiling back with a Glasgow grin.

She hears a disappointed tsking behind her.

Whips around to see Mr. Rivers, knotting his silk tie around his neck.

"Dear me, Katharine, I thought I told you not to go poking about in my library. It's nasty business, books and numbers."

She doesn't have a chance to scream.

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He informs job agencies that he is looking for a new maid. He tells them that Emilia quit, went to pursue a fashion design opportunity in Shanghai. Very daring, very ambitious.

Everyone loves Mr. Rivers, is dying to be his new maid.

He chooses one at random. Shelly Bartlett, her name is. A feisty redhead with a smattering of freckles. He likes her already.

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Shelly asks him at dinner the first night who the lady in the very large painting in the dining hall is. The very pretty lady with the straight black hair and dimples, the pretty lady whose hazel eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled.

He smiles nostalgically.

"Oh, that's Katharine, my late wife. She bled out, you see. Miscarriage, very tragic."

Shelly just nods solemnly, sympathetically, and pats his arm in reassurance.

He wipes his mouth, stands up, and tells Shelly to ask Justine to fix a plate of food for the dog.