Rue Allyn (12 page)

“Good-good. You sit, have tea.” The Chinese woman rummaged in the cupboard for the tin of Oolong that she favored then sprinkled tea leaves into the porcelain pot. “Lijun and I help you get more than bath water.”

Edith sat. “What do you mean you’ll help me get more than water?”

“You want Mista Dutch be your man. We help.”

“I do not … ”

“No lie to Tsung. You in Missee Duval’s place. Woman only go there to find man. Tsung hear all about it from cousins who do laundry for Missee Duval. Mista Dutch steal you. Mista Dutch must like you.”

“He most certainly does not.”

“He save kittens for you. He kiss you. Tsung smart enough to know Mista Dutch want you, even if Mista Dutch too dumb to know.” She turned to the now steaming kettle and poured water over the leaves in the pot.

“Wanting and liking are not the same thing.”

“Think so? You always cook for man you only like?”

“No.”

You always kiss man you only like?”

“No.”

“Missee, be smarter than Mista Dutch. Admit you want him. Make everything more easy if he only one we need convince.”

“I don’t know. Why are you so eager to push me and Dutch together?”

“Tsung want marry Lijun. No can marry if busy trying to save Mista Dutch life. Man with good wife will have long, safe life. Man with no wife in danger like lost soul.”

“I don’t think he would agree.”
And I don’t want a husband
. However, she wasn’t about to say that to Tsung, who seemed to think the sun rose and set on the sanctity of marriage.

“He not have to agree. Tsung know that life about love. I come here because I want Lijun. Life empty without him.” Her expression softened for a moment; her mouth and eyes went dreamy. Then she pursed her lips and shook a finger at Edith. “Mista Dutch want you. His life empty without you. I help you be together. His life full, same as save life.”

“I may want Dutch as you say, but I’m not so certain that is love.”

“Love come soon. You think about it, Missee. But you think quick. Mista Dutch busy man. You not have much chance to … how say … see doos him.”

Edith opened her mouth to protest then closed her lips on the words. She refused to dignify such an outrageous idea by discussing it. She stared as Tsung poured tea into the cups then brought them to the table.

Seduce Dutch Trahern? The idea! What is Tsung thinking? I do admire a man with principles as strong as his seem to be. Even though he can be pig-headed, he hasn’t shown any true unkindness, yet. In my experience that is a very rare man indeed. I’m unlikely to encounter another such man under circumstances that would allow for any intimacy, regardless of my views on marriage.

Lonely years of spinsterhood stretched before her with only her sisters, their children, and a few cats as comfort. Perhaps she shouldn’t discount this seduction idea so hastily. Didn’t she deserve to taste passion just once in her life? If she never married, when she returned to Boston who would know or care that she’d lain with a man? Hadn’t Madame Duval explained how conception could be prevented and assured her that the method was effective? Perhaps Edith could experience the rapture illustrated in those picture books at the brothel without the danger of fulfilling the absurd terms of Grandfather’s will.

Would Dutch mind? She didn’t think so; he was a man after all, and men supposedly enjoyed such things. Maybe she should follow Tsung’s advice. Just as an experiment. If Dutch didn’t notice then there was no harm done.

That same evening, after Dutch left, saying he went to find his father, Edith sat in the dining room, pondering her days with him and the lack of progress in the search for her sibling. The latest telegram from Mae stated that Grandfather’s health was neither better nor worse, so all urgency remained. Inquiries at framing shops and merchants carrying photographic supplies around the area of Morton Street and the Barbary Coast had turned up nothing regarding Kiera.

Edith looked down at the borrowed attire she wore. How was she supposed to seduce a man when she dressed like a house servant? She was grateful to Tsung Tsang for the loan. In two short days the Chinese woman had become a good friend. However, Edith longed for her own things, and the money and documents from her trunk — especially the copy of the will. When Edith pressed Dutch on the matter he said she shouldn’t worry about it. He would provide for her. She frowned. What if she didn’t want him to provide for her? Grandfather had provided for years and look where that got her. She was afraid to like and trust a man at the same time she was afraid not to.

Tsung came in from the kitchen. “Why Missee Edie so sad?”

“I need my trunk.” She wasn’t about to worry Tsung with her fears.

“Trunk at Madame Duval’s place. You no go there. Mista Dutch … .”

Edith held up her hands. “I know,
Mista Dutch throw temper
.”

Tsung nodded.

“I’m sorry, but I have to have that trunk. It holds important papers and my clothes.”

“Missee have clothes.” Tsung pointed at the outfit Edith wore.

She looked down at herself. “And they are very nice clothes, but they aren’t mine.”

“Ah, Tsung understand. You proud, no like to owe Tsung.”

Edith sighed. The housemaid’s deduction was only part of the truth. “I’m afraid so. I’m also worried that Duval will sell it before I can get it back. She’s already tried once.” Tsung patted her arm. “Not to worry. Lijun and Tsung help Missee get trunk.”

“How? Are you certain Lijun is willing?”

The housemaid blushed but gave a big smile. “Tsung make sure Lijun willing.”

“Tsung, are you letting him take advantage of you?”

“No, no. Tsung take advantage of Lijun. Make him glad to marry.”

“Well if you’re certain … ”

“Tsung very certain. Lijun help, but first I send for family, then we make plan.”

• • •

Very late that night, with fog crowding the San Francisco streets, Edith smudged her face with soot from the stove and — dressed once more in clothing borrowed from her friend — joined Tsung in a wobbly rickshaw. Where she’d acquired the vehicle Edith did not know and wasn’t about to ask. She did want to know where they were going and why she’d had to blacken her face and hands.

“We go Madam Duval place.” Tsung announced as a runner set the rickshaw in motion.

“What about Dutch’s temper?”

“Mista Dutch tell me he out long time tonight. He not know, so he not throw temper. Besides, Tsang family help us. We home before dawn.”

“You’re sure this is safe?”

Tsung pondered a moment. “No, not certain. But Tsang family strong and many. Also, people at Duval’s place too busy now to worry about lowly Chinese servants.”

Before Edith could do much of her own worrying, the rickshaw turned down an alley and pulled up in back of a tall house.

“Duval place.” Tsung climbed out of the rickshaw.

Edith stared at the building, unrecognizable in the deep mist. She shrank back as she saw movement in the foggy shadows. A few instants passed, and the rickshaw was surrounded by more Chinese than she could count. They’d brought an additional vehicle, probably to carry the trunk, if she could identify it.

“Missee Edie, meet second and third cousins.”

Edith nodded, speechless that so many strangers would come to her aid.

One man held his hand up to her. “You come down now. Choose trunk.”

She took his help getting to the ground and looked at Tsung. “Choose trunk?”

The housemaid nodded. “Family already get trunks, but find too many. Not know which yours.”

“Oh heavens. I don’t know if I can identify it in the dark.”

One of the Tsangs held up a lantern; its light dimmed by the fog. “We have light to help.”

Edith smiled. “Then, let’s go choose my trunk.”

They led her through the back gate of the house to the yard where close to twenty trunks sat waiting her inspection.

“So many?”

“Madam Duval bad woman. Steal more than virtue from girls who come to San Francisco.”

It took all of ten minutes for Edith to walk down the rows of trunks. She stopped before one that looked familiar. Hope flared. The fittings were brass, like hers, but she wouldn’t be certain until she found her nameplate. “Let me have the lantern, please.”

The light was handed over.

Edith aimed the beam at the top of the trunk. There, where the Smithfeld nameplate should have been was a rectangle of wood much lighter than the rest of the trunk. Duval probably removed it so she could claim she didn’t know the owner of the trunk and thus couldn’t return it.

Edith examined the others, but none of them matched hers as closely as the one with the missing nameplate. Her belief grew that the brass fitted steamer was not only hers but that her mission to find Kiera would succeed. She returned to that trunk. “Please take this one.”

One of the men nodded, and a silent ballet began. The trunk was carried out to the vehicles waiting in the alley. One by one the others were hustled back into the cellar of the house through the open doors.

• • •

Across San Francisco in the gloom of the fog and dark, Dutch opened a piece of chocolate as he stood outside an opium den to which he’d traced a man known as Paz. Conroy had sent a note earlier that day identifying the man. Before confronting the contact, Dutch pondered his chosen course. He was weary to the bone. Long hours at work covering for his absent partner. Even longer nights in fruitless searching for Trey and chasing the judge — who was obviously avoiding Dutch — from one rumor to another. Too many restless nights spent dreaming about Edith. She was willing, he knew, to accommodate his sexual needs, but Dutch valued the proprieties. He would not use any woman let alone one he was coming to like very much. Hence, he kept his solitary bed and made do with dreams.

Still, the woman was like a drug in his blood. He couldn’t afford addiction of any sort, let alone to a woman who claimed to trust him but would not confide in him. She had troubles beyond a missing trunk. In order to get her to talk to him, he’d solve that immediate problem. Doing so required he meet the man waiting for him inside this building.

Dutch disliked opium dens almost as much as he despised brothels. Both types of establishments preyed on the weak, creating worlds of misery. Paz had chosen this den when Dutch had finally gotten him to agree to a meeting. So once again, chocolate melting in his mouth, Dutch crossed the threshold of a place he’d rather not be.

He descended the stairs, moving as quickly as possible through the maze of cribs where opium eaters of all ages and races fed their craving for the drug. The worst were the children, reaching out, begging for money or valuables that they could trade for more opium. One particularly insistent boy grabbed for him. Dutch dodged, and the child fell to the ground.

Pleading eyes looked up.

He had money with him. He could give some to this child; but then others would come, and form a mob. People had been killed by such mobs. He shook his head. He needed the cash to pay Paz.

Begging, the boy raised his open hand.

Dutch continued backing away. Guilt ate at him. Save this child, urged his conscience. What would he do with the boy? The child would not thank him. The kid would long for opium, steal him blind, and end up right back here or in some other den. Dutch shook his head again.

The boy’s hand formed into a fist, and the pleading eyes turned hard. The kid pushed to his feet and rushed Dutch.

Appalled and fascinated, he stopped moving at the intersection of two narrow hallways. That’s what opium did to the mind. Its victims would fight impossible battles to get more.

As the boy leapt for him, another hand grabbed Dutch’s arm, jerking him into the passage on his left.

“So, Mister Trahern, you do not like children?” whispered a voice he assumed to be Paz. The man tugged Dutch deeper into the dim recesses of the den.

“What I think of children is irrelevant. Do you have the trunk?”

Paz showed his teeth, and his black eyes glittered. “You did not imagine that I would bring it with me?”

“If you want to get paid … ”

Paz raised a palm. “Do not worry, Mr. Trahern. The trunk is being delivered to your home as we speak. However, you know the speed of the Chinese runners as well as I. If you do not pay me, I will have the trunk returned to Madame Duval with my compliments.”

“How do I know you won’t do that anyway?”

The teeth gleamed again. “You don’t. Any more than I know for certain that you won’t knife me instead of paying me. Your knife skills are well known among my friends. I would not cross you lightly.”

“Fair enough. Do you have proof that you have the right trunk?”

“Here is the name plate.” Paz held up a rectangle of dull silvery metal. “I will give it to you as you give me the money.”

“Half the money. There’s still the matter of the information you promised.”

“All right.” He extended the nameplate in his palm.

Dutch removed a wad of bills from his inner coat pocket and made the exchange. “Now, where’s Judge Trahern gone to ground?”

“Ah, I cannot betray his location.”

“Then we’re finished.” Dutch made to leave.

“No, we are not.” Paz drew a knife. “I said your knife skills were well known. I did not say that mine are better.”

Before he could threaten Dutch with the blade, Dutch drew his own weapon and held the pistol at the man’s temple. “Your brains will be all over these walls before you can so much as prick me.”

“Judge Trahern says he will find you.”

Dutch nodded. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Drop the knife.”

The fellow complied.

Dutch kicked the knife as far back into the darkness as possible. “Sit down.”

Paz sat. “What about my money?”

“Here.” Dutch backed toward the entrance. One handed, he threw several bills at the man. They floated in all directions. “That should keep you busy long enough for me to feel easy leaving you at my back.”

“Do not be too sure.”

Dutch shook his head. “You won’t bother with me. I’m faster than you are, and you won’t like the odds.”