Scandal on Rincon Hill (22 page)

A faint voice from somewhere deep inside my head told me I should protest, but the simple truth was that I didn't want to break away from him. I cannot say how long we remained in this embrace. In truth, time no longer seemed relevant. It shames me to admit it, but I suspect that had he not at last released me, I might never have broken free of my own volition.

As if from a distance, I felt the motion of the carriage stop. I expected the coach door to open, but the driver did not move from his raised seat behind the vehicle.

After the noisy rumble of the wheels on the uneven streets, it was suddenly very quiet. I heard the horse snort once, then we were cocooned in silence. Unable to speak, I could only watch helplessly while Pierce studied my face in the glimmer of moonlight filtering in through the carriage windows.

“You are even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said softly. “I haven't been able to get you out of my mind.”

“Pierce, we shouldn't—I cannot—”

“I know you can't, my dear. And I don't want to do anything to frighten you away.”

Slowly, and very gently, he traced his forefinger down my cheek, and again I felt my breath catch in my throat. As if I'd been rendered strangely paralyzed, I found it impossible to move away as his lips once again pressed against mine.

This kiss was shorter and less intense than the first, as if he really did fear I might become frightened enough to bolt. Then, as if some unseen signal had passed between them, the driver abandoned his perch and opened the carriage door. Pierce stepped out before me, extending a hand to assist me down to the street.

“I'll let you know if I'm able to reach Joe Kreling,” he said, walking me to my door. He rang the bell, then bent down and placed a chaste kiss upon my cheek. “Sleep well, Sarah.”

The door was opened by Edis, but I hardly took notice of him. I stood quite still on the front stoop as Pierce's carriage drove out of sight. In my muddled state, I could not for the life of me remember who Joe Kreling was.

I
did not sleep well that night. However hard I tried to settle my thoughts and drift off into peaceful slumber, images of Pierce kept tumbling about in my head. The few times I did doze off, my dreams were filled with his face and disturbing memories of our embrace.

I blamed myself for what had happened, even more than I blamed him. The mistakes I'd made with Benjamin Forest when I was nineteen could be excused because of my youth and inexperience. Such justifications were no longer valid. I was now a mature woman, aware of my vulnerabilities as well as my strengths.

After hours of fretful tossing and turning, I gave up thoughts of sleep and rose from my bed shortly after dawn. Although Cook tried to tempt my appetite with boiled eggs, bacon, and freshly baked bread, I could only pick at my breakfast. Leaving the poor woman to lament that I no longer appreciated her cooking, I wandered about the house searching for something to do, anything that might take my mind off Pierce.

The moment the morning newspapers arrived, I escaped into the library and nervously scanned them for any mention of my visit to Madam Valentine's parlor house the previous day. Thankfully, my name did not appear in any of the morning editions. Of course,
we did not subscribe to the
Tattler
, I reminded myself, so I might not yet be entirely out of the woods.

When I finished with the newspapers, I went searching for my father, eager to seek his advice about Brielle Bouchard. Unable to locate him anywhere in the house, I sought out Edis, who informed me that he had left early to take care of some pressing business at his office.

By quarter to ten, I had grown so restless that I finally gave up trying to manufacture busywork, and decided to steal a page from Papa's book and go downtown to my own office. On the way, I would pick up a copy of Ozzie Foldger's paper, and make sure that he had not chosen me as Saturday's headline story.

It was a cool, dark morning, and as I walked to the horsecar line I was grateful I'd decided to wear a warm woolen wrap and carry an umbrella. Overhead clouds threatened rain, but so far it was only coming down as a light drizzle. Reaching Sutter Street, I purchased a copy of the
Tattler
, and quickly examined it. When I could find no mention of myself, nor my visit to Madam Valentine's brothel, I felt a tremendous sense of relief. Perhaps seeing Ozzie Foldger outside her parlor house truly had been a figment of my imagination.

When I reached my office, I thought I might find Fanny in her shop downstairs, but her door was locked and the
CLOSED
sign was visible. Peering through the window, I could detect no sign of activity in her small apartment located behind the store.

Disappointed, I realized how much I had been looking forward to sharing a cup of coffee and a nice chat with my neighbor. Instead, I trudged up the stairs and unlocked my office door. Once inside, I removed my wrap and hat, then sat down at my desk to face the remainder of the work I had removed from Robert's desk the previous morning. I hoped that being busy would help take my mind off Pierce, as well as my worry over Brielle Bouchard.

Unfortunately, this was a hopeless endeavor. I spent the next hour dutifully applying myself to Robert's paperwork, but it was not nearly interesting enough to distract my mind from more pressing matters. When I could bear it no longer, I decided that I might
as well attend to some last-minute Christmas shopping I had been putting off. This was hardly my favorite activity, but at least I would be out and about, and completing a task too long procrastinated. Moreover, anything was better than writing a brief for a man suing his neighbor for refusing to pay his half of a shared fence!

As I set off at a brisk pace down Sutter Street, I looked up to see that the dark clouds overhead had grown heavier since I'd left my house. They now appeared to hang over the city like a giant black umbrella. we'd had more than the normal amount of rain this fall, and we could probably expect to receive a good deal more throughout the winter months—which typically constitute our rainiest season. I hoped it would hold off until I had completed my errands.

Pulling my wrap more tightly around my shoulders, I hastened my step. My destination was Gabel's Fine Shirts on Market Street, where I would collect the dress shirts I had ordered to be made for Samuel and Charles. After that, I planned to walk farther down Market Street to Sanborn and Vail's Picture Shop, where I hoped to find a suitable picture frame for my sister-in-law Celia.

Emerging from Gabel's some twenty minutes later, and carrying two very satisfactory dress shirts neatly folded into a parcel, I was surprised to happen upon Melody and David Tremaine. The boy was juggling several awkward-sized boxes, while the girl carried two large brown parcels tied with string.

David inclined his head politely, while his sister exclaimed, “Miss Woolson, how delightful to see you. Are you Christmas shopping?”

I smiled and nodded. “As are you by the look of all your packages. How are you, Miss Tremaine, Mr. Tremaine?”

“Melody, please,” the girl protested. “And I'm sure my brother would prefer to be called ‘David.’ I am well, thank you, although I fear that David may be developing one of his sick headaches. He suffers from them periodically, and they are quite painful.” She smiled at her brother, who did not look well pleased that she had revealed his ailment. Realizing she had spoken out of turn, the girl hurried on, “And you are correct, Miss Woolson. We made an early
start of it this morning, and have just written paid to our holiday shopping. Thank heavens!”

She smiled, and I was once again struck by her delicate beauty. Even a rather large hat could not disguise those glorious auburnbrown curls, and her lovely blue eyes.

“And none too soon,” she added, looking up at the ominous sky. “It looks as if it is about to rain at any moment.”

No sooner had she spoken these words, than the first drops of rain fell onto our faces. A moment later, it was pouring.

“Here,” I said, guiding them into a nearby restaurant I sometimes frequented. “This seems a good place to get out of the storm.”

Melody nodded an enthusiastic agreement. “That's an excellent idea. Food sometimes helps David's headaches, especially if he eats before they become too severe.”

We took seats at a table by a front window, and lowered our parcels onto the floor at our feet. There was a fire crackling in the restaurant's hearth, and the café was warm and filled with delicious aromas. Altogether, I thought it provided a cozy refuge from the rain, which beat down upon the window in heavy rivulets, making it difficult to see the street, or anything else outside.

A waiter took our orders, and soon we grew comfortable enough to remove our outer wraps and hang them on a coat tree standing to the side of the door.

Melody smiled and gave a little shiver of pleasure. “This really is delightful. I love rainy days, as long as I am snug and dry inside. I am truly glad we met you, Miss Woolson.”

“As am I,” I said, returning her smile.

“It's been just terrible since Mr. Logan and Deacon Hume were killed.” Melody gave a little shudder. “Our father fusses so about locking the windows and doors, even during the day, and he forbids anyone in the house to go out after dark.”

“You can hardly blame him,” I said. “My mother is so nervous, she's taken to examining visitors' calling cards as thoroughly as if they were all potential assassins.”

“It is particularly frightening when you know the victims,”
agreed Melody solemnly. “I have never before been acquainted with anyone who was murdered. And now, suddenly, I know two.”

“Was Mr. Logan a frequent visitor to your home?” I inquired, curious to learn more about the young botanist.

“Only for the past year or so,” she answered. “We were introduced to him by Deacon Hume.” She smiled at her brother. “David was always after Father to invite Mr. Logan to dinner, so that they might discuss disgusting bugs and snakes and such. They could talk by the hour.”

“As your church deacon, Mr. Hume's death must have come as a dreadful shock,” I said.

“Yes, it was horrible.” She hesitated, then went on, “It shames me to admit it, but I was not particularly fond of Deacon Hume. Mr. Logan was quite another story. He was a delightfully pleasant gentleman.”

“I understand Mr. Logan was well regarded at the university,” I said.

“He was brilliant,” David declared, speaking for the first time. Then, as if self-conscious that both his sister and I had turned to look at him, he lowered his head and went on more quietly, “I learned a great deal from him.”

Melody's eyes suddenly flooded with tears. “I still can't believe they're both gone. So suddenly—and so violently. It's a ghastly nightmare!”

Dismayed to see our luncheon taking such a disturbing turn, I endeavored to change the subject. “Did you enjoy the play last night, Melody? I happened to see you and your family as you took your seats.”

“Oh, were you at the Baldwin Theater?” she asked in surprise.

“I was. Unfortunately, my escort and I were seated some distance from your box, so I couldn't greet you personally. I thought it was quite a good production of
The Merry Wives of Windsor
.”

Melody's lovely eyes sparkled. “I thought it was excellent! And wasn't Miss Nelson wonderful? I do so love attending the theater.”

She hesitated, and her face lost some of its glow. “I just wish
Father and Mother Faith would allow us to go more often. They seem determined that we should be exposed to nothing but the classics. Just once, I long to see a Gilbert and Sullivan light opera at the Tivoli, or watch Emelie Melville and the great Fanny Davenport.”

I hardly knew how to respond to this. In my opinion, Melody Tremaine's tastes in the theater were beyond reproach. I could think of no reason why her parents would deny her these simple pleasures. Yet I was reluctant to provoke additional tension between the girl and her family, especially her stepmother, by voicing my agreement. I compromised by turning my attention to her brother. “I trust you, too, enjoyed last night's performance, David?”

“Yes, it was quite entertaining, Miss Woolson,” the boy answered, his voice so soft that I had to strain to hear him above the sounds of the storm, as well as the conversations going on around us.

“David is a bit shy,” explained Melody, looking at her brother with fond exasperation. “Unless, of course, the topic involves the most dreadful creatures of nature.”

“I believe you said you hoped one day to become a scientist,” I inquired. “A biologist, is that correct?”

The boy nodded. “I would like nothing better than to attend university and obtain my degree in biology. Unfortunately . . .” His handsome face grew somber and his voice trailed off. Turning his head, he stared out the window at the pounding rain.

“Father is against it,” explained Melody. “It's no secret that he had his heart set on David's taking over the business one day.”

“You mean the Men's Emporium?”

“Yes, the store he started when we moved here from Sacramento. Father's been better about it of late, ever since our younger brother Reggie expressed an interest in following in his footsteps.”

“He's ten, is he not?” I asked.

“Eleven,” corrected Melody. “And our little sister, Carolyn, is nine. I've been around enough children to know that they can be little terrors at that age, but Reggie and Carrie are quite sweet.”

“I've let my father down,” put in David unexpectedly.

I looked at him, a bit taken aback by this abrupt statement.

“You mean because you lack interest in his store?”

“He cannot understand why I wish to become a scientist. He claims that is no way for a gentleman to earn his livelihood.”

I regarded him sympathetically. “Yes, I remember him saying as much the night your family dined with us.”

“Father feels the same way about my singing,” lamented Melody. “He claims that if he ever saw me performing on a public stage, he would die of mortification.”

“That's unfortunate,” I said with true regret. “You have a marvelous voice, a rare gift.”