A Race to Splendor (2 page)

Prologue

16 February 1906

No. 7 Rue de Lille, Paris

By post to:

Miss Julia Morgan, Architect

456 Montgomery Street

San Francisco, California

United States of America

My dear Julia:

I write to you both in sorrow and elation—the sorrow, as you can well imagine, occasioned by the news last month of the passing of my adored grandfather, Charles McQuinty Hunter.

I am sure you have read by now in some vile publication of our most recent family disgrace involving my father and our beloved Bay View. The unhappy news of my grandfather’s death and the loss of our family’s hotel due to my father’s misdeeds arrived in the person of Mother herself, standing at my very door on the Rue de Lille, surrounded by a clutch of massive trunks. Presently, she refuses to return home, despite my own pending departure from Paris for the City by the Bay.

Needless to say, the elation I felt over finishing my architecture degree now hardly seems anything to celebrate.

Even so, I wish you to be the first to know that I have, indeed, passed my final examinations at L’École des Beaux Arts—and, as you did, on the first try!

According to the French, at least, I am now a full-fledged architect “comme Mlle. Julia Morgan”—although I still must pass the California State Licensing Exam and be judged a bona fide American practitioner of the “building arts” in a region long known for its terra infirma.

When I look back at these years of hard work, I am humbled to recall how you bravely forged the way. Of course, like yourself, I have had to withstand the slings and arrows of disgruntled professors and fellow students at L’École who do not wish a female in their midst, but I have survived by smiling sweetly—and silently counting to ten.

I will be forever grateful to you for your benevolence and enduring support dating as far back as my entry into the engineering program at the University of California at Berkeley. Your letters of encouragement to me here in Paris spurred me forward when I seriously thought many times of quitting the entire enterprise.

I am very impressed to learn that you have founded your own practice on Montgomery Street. You once said that you might offer me a drafting table in your San Francisco office, “but only on condition that you earn your certificate.” Well, now that I have officially done so, I lay claim to your proposal to work for you—if the offer still stands.

I will get in touch with you immediately upon my arrival. It would appear that I am very much in need of becoming instantly self-supporting, especially if I am to legally challenge my father’s right to hazard my legacy as he has—and to contest the “new” owner of the Bay View Hotel, James Diaz Thayer, whose complicity in that all-night game of chance has the markings of a man of predatory temperament, utterly without honor.

And so, with an anxious, heavy heart, I now pack my trunk and portmanteau. On Friday, I sail on the City of Paris for New York, and thence by train to California. I yearn to see the fairest city of all—San Francisco—and to once again greet fast friends like you, dear Julia.

I pray this letter arrives home before I do, so you will know I am

Most Sincerely Yours,

Amelia Hunter Bradshaw

Chapter 1

James Diaz Thayer scooped the deck of cards bearing his initials into a pile on top of the late Charlie Hunter’s desk in the bowels of Nob Hill’s celebrated Bay View Hotel.

“You lose again, my friend,” J.D. announced to Henry Bradshaw, the deceased Hunter’s son-in-law. “I not only now own this hotel, but virtually the clothes on your back.”

The losing poker player’s bloodshot eyes bulged below his perspiring brow in an alarming fashion. Bradshaw was so drunk by now, his words were barely intelligible.

“I wan’ a rematch… for the hotel, theesh time.
And
the gamblin’ club. The whole damnable lot!”

J.D. ignored these slurred demands and shifted his gaze to his other business associate, Ezra Kemp, who repeatedly stroked his mutton-chop whiskers from ear to chin, as if the recurring motion might offer solace for his own recent losses to J.D.

Fatigue strained Thayer’s usually rigid self-control and he slapped a fist on his desktop. “Now, get out of here! The both of you! For God sake, we’ve been here all night. I’ve had no sleep and I have a mountain of things to do to get this place ready for the gambling club’s opening next week.”

At that same moment, the office door slammed against the wall and a slender young woman stood ramrod straight at the threshold. Thayer and Kemp jerked their heads in surprise while Henry Bradshaw took one look at the visitor and slumped in his chair.

The intruder gazed directly at the disheveled creature grasping the chair’s arms for support as she addressed all three.

“Gentlemen, if this is a meeting about the future of the Bay View Hotel and that shoddy, disgraceful gambling club you’ve erected next door, you had better include
me
.”

J.D. reckoned the young woman was dressed too conservatively to be a potential barkeep or disgruntled upstairs maid seeking back wages. She was slim and held herself erect as if she’d been born with a book on her head. She had appealing wisps of dark brown hair escaping her upswept hairstyle, and from her well-formed earlobes, black marcasite fobs sparkled fetchingly against her graceful neck. Though hidden beneath a beautifully tailored jacket and a gored skirt brushing the tips of expensive kid boots, he considered her fine figure, which had little need of a corset to render a waist as trim as hers.

Nor did she appear wanting in confidence. In fact, her self-assured demeanor indicated that she had dealt with difficult men before and wasn’t in the slightest intimidated by them.

“And just who might you be?” J.D. asked, intrigued by this sudden and rather welcomed interruption.

“A-Amelia…” stuttered Henry Bradshaw, slumping lower after an unsuccessful attempt to heave himself out of his chair. “Your train… the ferry… I-I’m sorry, daughter,” he slurred. “Business prevented me—”

“Ah, yes, business.” She advanced into the room a few feet. “Mr. Thayer has the right idea, though.” Her glance in his direction bordered on contemptuous. “There’ll be no more rounds of poker because, as of this minute, gambling is strictly prohibited at the Bay View. I also demand you immediately cease additional construction of that ill-built edifice out there, and that you, Mr. Thayer, remove yourself and that concubine of yours from the Hunter family suite upstairs.”

So their fiery visitor had met Ling Lee on her way down to the basement office, thought J.D.

Amelia’s voice wavered only slightly as she continued her tirade.

“There will be no gambling or other illicit activities at this hotel,” she declared. “This was my grandfather’s
home
, as well as his business—and it is now mine.
I intend to take full possession of it.
Now.
”

Her sweeping gaze indicated all three men were being addressed. “If you have any questions about the ownership and operation of this hotel, you can take them up with my grandfather’s lawyer. He assures me that my father had no right to wager my newly inherited legacy while I was studying in France, and therefore the transference of this property to Mr. Thayer by virtue of a poker game was entirely illegal.”

Aha
, J.D. thought. So the daughter has returned from Paris, even as the mother had fled to the same city. Well, he could deal with this. He’d even half expected it, given what he’d already learned about a woman he’d known when he was in knee britches and she but a child, but hadn’t seen in years.

So this is the celebrated Amelia Hunter Bradshaw, newly minted architect.

J.D. summoned a welcoming smile. “Please, Miss Bradshaw, do come in.”

“Yes, indeed,” Kemp said, hastily gesturing for her to be seated. “Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea?”

Ignoring the offer, she snapped, “And you, I presume, are Ezra Kemp.”

“I am,” Kemp said, eyeing her warily.

She hadn’t asked J.D.’s name, so he assumed she remembered they’d once attended elementary school together and that, for a time, their mothers had been social friends. However, Miss Bradshaw was currently ignoring him completely, which allowed for enough time to conclude she’d grown into a comely enough creature—if one’s tastes ran to attractive, lecturing schoolmarms.

“Well, Mr. Kemp, rather than tea, I’d ask
you
—and Mr. Thayer—to remove yourselves from the premises, forthwith.”

Before Kemp could express his consternation, J.D. intervened. “As difficult as this may be for you to accept, Miss Bradshaw, the fact is, I
own
the Bay View now, fair and square. Our club—which Mr. Kemp, here, and I financed and annexed to the hotel—is due to open in a week.”

She threw him an imperious glance. “I gather that is your
claim
, Mr. Thayer. However, you’ve built it illegally on
my
property, and thus the opening will be canceled. That new building appears to have been thrown together in a week,” she added with disdain. “Trust me, sir, it will
never
be used as a gaming parlor.”

“Miss Bradshaw,” J.D. said with the politesse
of a man who understood the rules of society, even if he didn’t obey them, “please do sit down and let us discuss this.”

“No, thank you, I prefer standing.”

“Well, now. At least tell us why you believe you have the authority to issue orders regarding the Bay View Hotel.”

J.D. was amused as well as annoyed. She had sass, all right. Her complexion was stained with color now, and her hands were planted firmly on slender hips clothed by the latest Paris fashion. He had never met an attractive woman for whom flattery was not catnip and therefore he softened his tone.

“According to the newspaper, I understand congratulations are in order on your earning your degree in architecture. Quite an unusual and praiseworthy accomplishment for a young woman, I’d say.”

Bradshaw’s daughter ignored the compliment and took her time removing her soft kid gloves. J.D. suspected that she was stalling to formulate her next line of attack. She clutched her handbag and lifted her square chin, one feature of her physiognomy not nearly as feminine as her perfect skin and lovely bosom. For the first time she gave him her complete attention.

“I am fully authorized to put an end to the unfair advantage you three took of my grandfather during his last illness, and that especially applies to
you
, Mr. Thayer.”

J.D. snapped to attention, scuttling any contemplation of Amelia Hunter Bradshaw as easily biddable.

“
Authorized?
By whom?”

Her accusations were serious and could produce unhappy consequences if they traveled beyond the four walls of her grandfather’s former office.

“I have been informed that I am Charles Hunter’s sole heir, and as such, the Bay View is under my control. This hotel and its assets were
never
my father’s property to hazard in a poker match. Surely you’ve had a look at my grandfather’s updated will and testament?”

Charlie Hunter had signed a new will?

J.D. marveled at how cool and collected she sounded. Yet, how angry. Amelia caught his glance and held it.

“Therefore, Mr. Thayer, the outcome of any boyish games that took place in my absence is meaningless, and whatever business matters you may have conducted here are null and void.”

But J.D wasn’t really listening. The daughter was now the late Charlie Hunter’s
sole
heir? What about the mother—his partner Henry Bradshaw’s wife? She had been holy hell to deal with too, with her hysterics and fainting fits, but fortunately for all concerned, she’d simply taken flight while they’d completed their transactions.

Ezra Kemp’s startled reaction mirrored J.D.’s own. They both glared at Amelia’s father, who stared at his boot tips as if he were about to be ill. Amelia noticed their shifted attention and pointed a well-manicured finger at her father.

“My grandfather never did—and never would—put a known drunkard in charge of the Bay View, and
all
of you know that,” Amelia said sharply. “Apparently, when he saw what was happening after his first stroke, he was well enough, thank the Lord, to call in his lawyer, change his will to make me his sole heir, and had it witnessed and notarized, as well.”

“Amelia!” Bradshaw exclaimed. “How dare you! I want you to cease this—”

Amelia didn’t even take a breath, let alone acknowledge her father’s admonishments. “Frankly, I think you so-called partners of Father’s knew my grandfather’s last wishes very well, but proceeded with this scheme nevertheless.”

“Well, well, Henry,” J.D. said quietly. He drew a narrowing glance on Bradshaw Sr. “Did you know about this new will your daughter says Charlie Hunter drew up?”

Ignoring the question, Henry pounded the desk with his fist. “Everybody knows that after Charlie got sick, I was perfectly within my legal rights as his son-in-law to take charge of this place! His second stroke made him a babbling idiot!”

“No one ever put
you
in charge of anything, Father,” Amelia cut in.

J.D. was frankly caught off guard by this news of Charlie Hunter’s revised will. Bradshaw had assured him his wife was the heir, and therefore her property was legally her husband’s to manage and control, even if it meant wagering it in an all-night poker match six weeks ago and gambling away the rest of his assets last night.

“What you must understand, Miss Bradshaw,” J.D. said in as calm a tone as he could muster, “is that our lawyers have told us that heads-of-households have legal authority over wives and—it is also assumed—over unmarried female relatives to decide all financial matters as they see fit. I’m afraid substituting you for your mother as heir to Charles Hunter’s estate makes no substantive change, as it might if the new heir were an emancipated son or grandson. Therefore your father, as your and your mother’s guardian, has operated squarely within the law—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Amelia Bradshaw whirled in place and unleashed her pent-up wrath.

“This is a
perversion
of the law and it’s utter nonsense—and you know it, Mr. Thayer. I am thirty years old and in no need of a guardian! And there is one more thing you may not know about. Very soon, this hotel property will be
outside
the purview of my parents’ marriage—and therefore your assertions just now will be moot.”

J.D. had riled her, and for some reason he didn’t find as much satisfaction in the deed as he would have thought. For the briefest moment, he considered his own mother’s legal predicaments and then pushed such contemplations aside.

Meanwhile, Amelia’s father had been emboldened by J.D.’s show of support.

“Lord knows Victoria couldn’t run this place, Amelia,” Henry Bradshaw protested to his daughter. “Who
else
was there to take over the reins with you being gone? Charlie changing his will from your ma to you means nothing. I’m the head of this family now and the steward of this place!” Only his garbled speech came out “Ah’m su’ward o’ thesh playsh,” which considerably lessened its impact.

“That’s right, Miss Bradshaw,” echoed Ezra Kemp. “Before I invested a dime, I checked with
my
attorney. The law is mighty clear on husbands’ and fathers’ rights over their womenfolk.”

After all, thought J.D., possession was nine tenths of the law, and their lawyers had said that if they picked the right judge, there was little likelihood the radical 1872 California Civil Code provision—giving wives the power to manage their separate property—would be enforced. A bit worrisome, however, was that the revised law said little about the separate or inherited property of unmarried females past the age of twenty-one whose fathers were habitually blind drunk.

Then, J.D. felt his stomach unclench a few degrees. With Victoria and Amelia Bradshaw abroad while Charles Hunter lay paralyzed in Room 12, any judge would surely find that Henry, as Hunter’s son-in-law and only male relative, was legitimately in charge of operations at the Bay View Hotel. Therefore J.D.’s prize, won from Bradshaw just before Charlie Hunter went to His Maker, would likely remain intact.