Rue Allyn (13 page)

“True.” Paz started to pick up the bills, counting as he went.

Dutch left, praying he’d be able to find his way out of the den. He’d no desire to wait on the judge’s convenience. He would track down his slimy father no matter how long it took. Jeremiah Trahern was the only sure lead Dutch had who might be pressured for real information about Trey. This time Jem would spill everything he knew.

• • •

Halfway to dawn, the small rickshaw parade stopped beside the kitchen door of Dutch’s home. Edith and Tsung moved ahead of the men to open the door and clear the way for them to move the trunk inside to the small area where Edith removed the buckets and brooms normally stored there. She thanked Tsung and her relatives. Tsung headed for her room off the back of the kitchen. Edith made her way into the kitchen to light the lamp there when a match flared, and light from an oil lamp bloomed.

“Where have you been?”

Edith froze. Lord she hoped Tsung heard and had the presence of mind to keep her cousins and the trunks out of sight.

Dutch sprawled in one of the two kitchen chairs, a glass of amber liquid on the table by his side. A kitten lay stretched along his thigh, purring with every idle stroke of his hand.

Was he even aware that he allowed himself to pet the feline
?

“I see no reason to account to you for my comings and goings. You certainly do not show me the same courtesy until after the fact.”

“I’m not a guest in this house.”

“Are you really suggesting that you’ve treated me as a guest?”

He frowned, ignoring her accusation. “What in blazes have you done to your face?”

She touched a fingertip to her cheek. Her finger came away black. The soot! She’d completely forgotten. “What does it look like I’ve done?”

“It looks,” he growled. “Like you’ve been in Duval’s cellar trying to get your damned trunk.”

“Thanks to what you’ve told me about Duval, I would never cross that woman’s threshold again.”

With careful deliberation he placed the kitten on the floor. He rose and menaced toward her. “So you had someone else do it for you. Either way is dangerous. I should wring your pretty neck.”

Edith backed toward the door, but her aim was off, and she ended pressed up against the wall beside the entry. “That would be murder.”

His smile gleamed harsh in the dim lamplight. “I’m in a mood to murder tonight.”

He stopped before her, his body a scant breath away.

“Y … you wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tempt me. Now what were you up to?”

“Mista Dutch. Why you home? What you do to Missee? You drinking?” Tsung emerged into the kitchen. She wore an embroidered cotton robe, her face was clean, and her usually neat braid was untidy, as if she’d just risen from her bed.

“Tsung?” Dutch turned to look at his housemaid.

Edith sidled out of reach.

“What you do to Missee Edie?” Tsung placed a protective arm around Edith’s shoulders. “What you throw temper about now?”

Dutch scrubbed at his face with one hand, stepped back to the table, lifted his drink, and tossed the last of the liquid down his throat. “I’ve done nothing to Missee Edie, and I am not throwing my temper.”

The cat twined unnoticed about his ankles.

“You bad liar, Mista Dutch. Missee, you go upstairs, go sleep now.

Edith shook her head. “I think I’d better stay. But you go on to bed.” She cast a wary glance at Dutch. “I’ll be fine.”

Tsung narrowed her gaze at Dutch. “You sure, Missee?”

“Yes, I’m certain.” Something was wrong with Dutch, and much as his flash fire temper frightened her, she didn’t want to see him hurt physically or emotionally. “I want to help,” she whispered at Tsung.

He sat heavily, placed his elbows on the table, and dropped his head to his hands. “I don’t need any help.”

Obviously she hadn’t spoken quietly enough.

“Okay, but Tsung sleep one ear open. Mista Dutch throw temper again, you call.”

“I won’t throw my temper.” He lifted the kitten into Tsung’s arms where it calmly began to bathe. “Go away. And take that animal with you.”

Crooning to the kitten, Tsung departed.

Edith turned to the sink where she scrubbed the soot from her face then filled the tea kettle before placing it atop the stove.

She waited until the tea was steeping then set it and two mugs on the table. She sat across from Dutch. “Yes, I did go to get my trunk tonight. I blackened my face to be less noticeable in the dark, and I had help from more than two dozen of Tsung’s cousins. I was completely safe. We got the trunk, and no one was hurt or discovered.”

“Is that all?” His lips thin and his jaw tight, the words escaped low and harsh.

Edith swallowed tea. She could claim she’d told him everything. She might even get away with it. After all, how likely was it that he’d ever know more about her than she’d already told him? But her growing fondness for him made her hesitate over the omission. The glimmer of hope she’d felt when she found her trunk had grown to a roaring torrent that would burst any dam she erected. She’d already told him about her sister. But once she re-opened the subject of Kiera, the inheritance might arise as a topic. If he knew about the inheritance, would he try to get his hands on Grandfather’s money either through seduction or forced marriage? From what little she knew of him, and she’d only known him two days, Dutch was too noble to act the cur. However, if word got out, others might. It would be best if he didn’t learn any more. Nonetheless, she’d stick to the truth as much as possible.

“No, there’s more.”

“I had a feeling.” He grasped her hand before she could fill her mouth with more tea. “We’ve talked of your sister before and the problems she had with Cerise Duval. But you left a lot unsaid.”

“True.” She looked at his hand circling her wrist.

He let go. “Tell me all of it.”

Now was the time. Her chance to tell Dutch everything about her family, about herself. Could she risk telling him that her search for Kiera was linked to the need to present a united front to Grandfather in hope of preserving their inheritance, or was clearing her sister’s name sufficient?

“Some of the story isn’t mine to tell. However, I’ll tell you what I can.”

Dutch glowered but remained silent.

He was upset. That much Edith could discern, but he’d been upset before she returned to the house tonight. “Our grandfather is a cruel man of strict and uncompromising standards. His opinion of women in general is that they are instruments of the devil with no brains, intended only to propagate the species and tempt men to sin. He was very bitter that his son, our father, died without a male heir.”

“Is your grandfather rich?”

Edith ignored the question, choosing her words carefully. “Grandfather promised Kiera in marriage to a business colleague as a way to cement a business deal.

“You mentioned that. It’s not unusual.”

“No, but this man, the colleague, was known to beat his wives. He’d already buried three. Kiera was afraid, and I would not see her placed in such danger. We plotted her escape, and I helped.” Busy watching Dutch for his reactions, Edith allowed her tea to cool. What she saw worried her because the more she talked the less emotion he showed, even though he never took his eyes off her.

“So instead of a deadly marriage, she ended up in Cerise Duval’s tender care.”

“Do you blame me? I couldn’t know what Kiera would encounter once she left Boston. All I knew was that she hoped to open a photographer’s shop to sell portraits and such. She’s a great photographer. She didn’t have much money though. I tried to persuade her to go to our cousins in Maine, but she insisted that was too close. No, for her, going to San Francisco under the alias she used to sell her pictures was the best solution. I could not convince her otherwise even though we both understood she risked everything. She never would have left if I didn’t agree it was best. I’ve questioned my decision a thousand times in the past three years, but I always arrive at the conclusion that even a small chance of survival is better than a slow, painful, and certain death.”

Edith stood and refilled the teapot, adding a few more leaves to steep. Bringing the pot back to the table, she sat and waited.

Dutch lifted his head. His expression gave nothing away, not a single clue as to what he thought about the dangers she allowed Kiera to face. “I don’t blame you. If anything I blame your grandfather for placing you and Kiera in a situation where you felt forced to take such risks.”

Relief that he understood washed through her. “Thank you.”

“I just have one more question. Why not tell me this when we spoke earlier?”

“Aside from the fact that you asked?”

One corner of his mouth kicked upward. “Yeah, aside from that.”

“Because I could tell that my adventure tonight isn’t what’s really bothering you.” She took a sip of tea. “I figured that if I clear up any question about my activities, perhaps you’d share your troubles with me.”

“What good would that do?”

“I might be able to help.”

Dutch snorted then drank his tea.

“Hear me out,” she continued. “Even if I can’t
do
anything to help, sometimes simply sharing your troubles lightens the load.” Clearing the air had helped her feel better. She didn’t like deception, though to protect her sisters from their grandfather she’d lied and deceived enough for two lifetimes. And she would again. She’d do whatever was necessary to provide for and keep her sisters safe.

Dutch set his mug on the table then ran both hands through his hair. “How did someone as naïve and idealistic as you end up in Duval’s bordello?”

She studied him over the rim of her mug. “I’m not half as naïve as when I first came to San Francisco.”

Dutch issued another snort of disbelief. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if you get your ideals smashed.”

“I suspect my ideals are stronger than you’ve guessed.”

Another of the kittens wandered into the kitchen and leapt into Dutch’s lap. Without even looking, he scratched its chin. A quiet rumble filled the space between him and Edith.

“Since we’re trading confessions, what’s bothering me is that none of the leads I’ve followed to find Trey have panned out. It seems that my no good, rotten, lying, cheating father is the only one, besides Duval and the Chinaman, who knows anything about Trey’s disappearance. I’ve got a good guess that the Chinaman and Duval have spread word that anyone talking to me will suffer very painful consequences.”

“Why would they do that?”

Dutch looked down at his hands and picked at a fingernail. “The reasons have a lot to do with ancient history. When I was very young, about six or seven — Trey was just a baby — my father, who wasn’t a judge at the time, lost everything in a poker game. To pay his debts and get more money to play with, he sent my mother to work for Duval.”

Shock was the only word that could define the bone deep chill that struck Edith. “Your father made his wife sell herself, so he could gamble?”

“Pretty much.” As Dutch spoke his voice became flat, toneless, and he kept his gaze focused on his hands. “He started drinking heavily around that time, too.”

“At first my mother refused, but when Trey got sick because we had no food, she gave in. Mother was very proud, from an old Spanish family who disowned her when she married against their wishes. She was totally dependent on my father, and when he failed to provide for us, she had nothing left to sell but her body.

“Soon after she started working for Duval, the judge abandoned us. The vigilance committee — the one before Father Conroy’s — ran him out of town. He could have come back, but he didn’t for close to ten years.”

“That’s horrible. Why wouldn’t anyone help you? Where was the Christian charity of this committee?”

Dutch shrugged his shoulders. “It gets worse.”

“How is that possible?” Edith had gone from shock to anger and fear. Anger that anyone would leave a woman in a situation like Mrs. Trahern’s. Fear that she and her sisters could find themselves in a like state if — once she found Kiera — Grandfather’s will could not be changed.

“Mother died when I was ten. By then I’d stopped believing that the judge would come back, so it was up to me to take care of Trey. Cerise Duval offered to pay me.”

“I find it difficult to believe that Madame Duval would do such a kindness as to support two orphans.”

“It wasn’t a kindness. I had to work for my pay, and the pay was never more than enough to use for food and basic necessities.”

“What work did you do?”

His hands stilled, and Dutch finally raised his head. The empty expression in his eyes gave new meaning to the word bleak.

“The same kind of work my mother did.”

“You … you sold yourself?”

“Yes. I stole, lied, and conned for Duval, too. Anything she wanted, I did, so that Trey wouldn’t have to.”

“But you were ten, a child, and an innocent.”

“Not for long. Trey was four. Duval was already eyeing him. Even at ten, I could see that she’d drag him into her net as soon as she could.”

Edith’s heart pounded. “What did you do?

“I kept Trey out of sight, mostly by sending him to the mission, which is how I met Father Conroy, but that’s a different story.”

“And that worked? Duval has tentacles throughout San Francisco — surely she knew where Trey was?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that for six years I kept Trey safe because I was Duval’s plaything.”

“What happened when you were sixteen?”

His gaze dropped back to his hands. His shoulders slumped.

“Dutch?”

He mumbled some words.

“Did you say you fell in love?”

He nodded.

Edith studied him. Love was supposed to be a joyful thing. But nothing about Dutch spoke of joy. His demeanor, his expression, the desolation in his eyes all bespoke nearly unbearable sorrow and guilt.

She reached for his hand and found it icy cold. It lay loose in her grasp. “Tell me. Please,” she whispered, reluctant to stir his black mood into something worse.

“I met a girl that Duval had kidnapped and was planning to sell, just like she did you. This girl wasn’t like the others who’d come through Duval’s house. She was sweet and innocent, and she didn’t deserve to be there.