Scandal on Rincon Hill (44 page)

Riding home in Pierce's carriage, the lad seriously reconsidered his ambition to become a crime reporter like Mr. Samuel, in favor of a life on the sea.

“I reckon you got the beatenest job a body could have, Mr. Godfrey,” the boy declared, the fire of adventure blazing brightly
in his eyes. “A feller could go like greased lightning on a ship like that.”

“He could indeed, Eddie,” Pierce said, covering a smile. He gave me a significant look. “I've been trying for some time to talk a friend of mine into just such a life.”

“Well, if he don't hanker to join you, then he ain't worth shucks,” the boy pronounced, appearing incredulous that any sane man might reject such a grand offer.

“My thoughts exactly,” Pierce agreed, but he wasn't speaking to Eddie. His eyes remained fixed on me.

T
o Mama's delight, I saw Pierce once or twice between Christmas and New Year's. We dined together on New Year's Eve, and then took in a play recently opened at the Baldwin Theater. The play was undoubtedly entertaining, but to be honest I saw little of it. Pierce's presence in the next seat was too distracting. I had worn the exquisite silver earrings he had given me for Christmas, and he used them as an excuse to kiss me behind each ear. I did my utmost not to reveal how this caused my pulse to race, but judging from his expression I do not believe I was entirely successful.

“I have enjoyed our time together immensely, Sarah,” he said, as his carriage pulled up in front of my house. “I'm leaving for Hong Kong in a couple of days. From there, who knows?” His voice grew very soft. “My offer still stands, my dear. I would love to have you by my side. It would be an amazing adventure.”

“You make it sound so wonderful,” I replied, and it was nothing less than the truth. Part of me longed to join Pierce on the deck of his ship, bound for lands I had only read about in books. He made it appear so real I could almost smell the sea air and feel the ocean winds in my hair. I thought back to the week before when Eddie and I had spent such a delightful day on the schooner, and wondered what it would be like to sail aboard such a ship to China, Japan, or India.

“At least this time you're considering it,” he said, when I didn't immediately answer.

“How can I not? As Eddie said, anyone who wouldn't jump at the chance isn't worth shucks. But—”

“But what? Just think, my darling, we'd be free to explore all the wonders of the world.”

For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it might be like to lead the life of an adventurer. There would be no one to satisfy but ourselves, no arbitrary strictures of society to adhere to, just the blessed freedom to go wherever we pleased and do whatever suited us.

Then again, freedom always came at a price, I reminded myself. How would I feel after ten or twenty years spent enjoying a life of such self-indulgence, without ever accomplishing the dreams I had vowed to achieve? And how long would it take before I tired of the weeks, even months, I'd be forced to spend aboard a ship? Could my affection for Pierce survive such unremitting intimacy? And what about his feelings toward me? When all was said and done, would familiarity breed love or contempt?

“I don't like that expression on your face,” Pierce said. “You look entirely too solemn.”

“I can't do it, my dear,” I said with true regret. “I don't doubt that it would be great fun for a while, but then I would surely begin to miss my work. I've dedicated my entire adult life to the law. I'd feel incomplete without it, like only half a person.”

“Are you so certain about that?” He placed his hands on my shoulders, gently turning me in my seat until he could look into my eyes. “Marry me, Sarah. Marry me and we'll sail to Hong Kong for our honeymoon. Then you can decide how you feel about such a life.”

“What will we do if I decide that it isn't for me? As your wife, it will be my duty to follow you whether it's what I desire or not.”

“In that case I could stay here in San Francisco and run the company. Leonard could attend to our affairs in the Orient.”

“That's very good of you to offer, Pierce, but then we would both be unhappy, you for giving up the life you love, and me for forcing you to do so.” I sighed. “No, it's better this way. We can
remain good friends and still be free to follow our own paths in life.”

He studied my face as if he were memorizing my features. “The reasons I fell in love with you are the very ones that are keeping us apart. You're beautiful, intelligent, dedicated, all the qualities I most admire in a woman.” He sighed. “You're one of a kind, my darling.”

There was a catch in my throat as I whispered, “I don't know what to say, Pierce. You must know how much I admire you.”

“Admire, but not love.” His voice was soft and held an edge of sadness. “There's a world of difference between those two small words.”

His hands cupped my face and suddenly his lips were on mine, gently at first, then with more urgency. As if driven by a will of their own, my lips responded with an intensity that shocked me, as did other unexpected sensations stirring my body. This involuntary response caused me a moment's panic, and I pushed against his chest with my hands. Reluctantly, he broke off the embrace, leaving me breathless and confused.

“Pierce, please, I—”

Once again his lips touched mine, this time with a tenderness that left me weak. “You say you admire me, but I think your lips care rather more for me than that.”

When I once again tried to speak, he said, “No, darling, don't say anything. We'll see how your lips feel about me when I return from my next voyage. I'm beginning to think that admiration isn't such a bad place to start, after all.”

W
e invited Robert to join us for our New Year's Day dinner. As usual, he was a bit uncomfortable in my father's presence, obviously unable to forget that Horace Woolson was a superior court judge for the county of San Francisco. As the meal progressed, however, my colleague began to relax, and toward the end he was actually enjoying Papa's company.

There was a new painting hanging in our dining room, a late seventeenth-century ink and colors on silk of a beautiful peony. It was a gift from Li Ying, delivered to our house on Christmas Day. The peony, he explained, was regarded by the Chinese as being a symbol of feminine beauty, which he insisted—to my embarrassment—I possessed in abundance.

The remainder of the note expressed his gratitude for my securing the release of his two young countrymen, and forbade me to return the retainer I received upon my visit to his home. The end of the missive read:

Once again you place too small a value on your dedication to champion all races, creeds, and genders with equal courage and resolve. This is a rare quality, indeed, and much to be prized. I am yet again in your debt
.

I look forward with much anticipation to our next visit
.

As was his custom, there was no signature or return address affixed to the letter.

Mama had the painting hung above the dining room buffet, where the stunning antique Chinese tea service Li had given me following the Russian Hill affair was displayed. Papa had remarked that if I continued to represent Li Ying and his countrymen, we might one day be able to dedicate an entire room to Chinese artifacts!

After a fine dinner of mulligatawny soup, fried codfish, Papa's favorite fried oysters, roast lamb, roast turkey, vegetables, fruit, cheese, and a wide selection of desserts, we sat about the table, satiated and content.

“Shall we take coffee in the parlor?” Mama inquired, pleased to be surrounded by her entire family.

There were nine of us, including Robert, sitting around the table: Mama, Papa, Samuel, Charles, Celia, and myself. Even my eldest brother, Frederick, and his wife, Henrietta, were in attendance.

“In a moment, my dear,” replied my father. He turned to his youngest son. “Well, Mr. Fearless, I see that you've signed up to take your bar examinations next month.”

“I have indeed, Father,” Samuel replied with a smile, then stopped short, belatedly registering what Papa had just said. He tried to arrange his features into the innocent façade he was so good at assuming, but this time he failed miserably. “Mr. Fearless? Why—why ever would you call me that?”

Papa looked at him with steely eyes. “I'm sorry if I got it wrong, Ian. I thought that was the name you use in journalistic circles.”

Everyone but Robert and I stared at Samuel in disbelief.

“Samuel,” Mama exclaimed in distress. “Why didn't you tell us?”

“I thought you worked as a paralegal,” Frederick said. “And who is Ian Fearless?”

“Evidently, your brother Samuel writes true crime stories under that pseudonym,” Papa explained, his eyes never leaving his youngest son's face. “I hear that they appear frequently in a number of San Francisco newspapers.”

“Good heavens,” said my brother Charles. “I've read a few of Fearless's articles, and found them rather good. So they were written by you, Samuel? Well, I'll be dashed!”

Henrietta was regarding Samuel as if he had suddenly transformed into a two-headed serpent. “This is really too much! It is bad enough we are forced to put up with Sarah's antics, but a reporter in the family? No, that is going too far. It is not to be tolerated.”

“I rather think we've been unknowingly tolerating it for the past five years, Henrietta,” Papa informed his daughter-in-law. “What do you have to say for yourself, Samuel?”

My brother's face had turned a sickly puce color. “How did you find out?” he asked Papa, his tone none too steady.

“A better question might be why I didn't find out about it sooner,” Papa replied. “Apparently, I am one of the last people in the city to learn that my youngest son has a secret identity. When were you planning on telling me the truth, son? Before or after I succeeded
in making a complete fool of myself in front of Arthur Cunningham?”

I had never seen Samuel look so mortified. “I . . . that is, I planned on telling you after the holidays.”

“Does that mean you've come to your senses, then, and will enter Cunningham's firm after you've passed your bar exams?” Papa demanded. “You
did
sign up to take them, didn't you, Samuel? Or is that yet another of your lies?”

“No, Father, I did sign up to take them in February,” Samuel told him. “I've been, ah, studying a good deal to get ready.”

“I imagine you have, if you haven't opened a law book in over five years,” Papa told him. Frederick started to say something, but Papa motioned him to hold his tongue. “This is between Samuel and me, although I thought the rest of the family had a right to know. Since I'm sure you must already be aware of the situation, Mr. Campbell—as well as you, Sarah—I saw no reason not to address the matter openly.”

Robert nodded, but wisely kept silent. I thought my mother, Charles, and Celia looked intrigued by this revelation, while Frederick and Henrietta appeared scandalized.

“All right, son,” Papa went on. “Let's get down to brass tacks. If you've been working as a crime reporter for five years, you must find something to like about the job—although I cannot imagine what it could be. Are you going to squander your education and spend your life appealing to prurient public curiosity? Or will you take the position with Cunningham and Brill?”

Samuel looked uncertain, an expression that seemed oddly out of place on his face, given his usual self-confidence.

“Papa, he's a talented reporter,” I said after an awkward silence. “Moreover, it's a job he loves. He's only kept it a secret because of your low opinion of journalists.”

“A very sound opinion, too,” put in Frederick. “I cannot believe you've been writing this drivel since you graduated from law school.”

To my surprise, Robert cleared his throat and said, “It's hardly drivel, Senator Woolson. Sarah is right, Samuel is an accomplished writer.”

Frederick regarded my colleague with ill-disguised derision. “I hardly think it is your place to comment, Mr. Campbell. As my father said, it is a family matter.”

Robert's face reddened. When he spoke I noticed his Scottish burr had become considerably more pronounced. “I appreciate that, Senator. However, I cannot sit here tamely holding my tongue while Samuel is disrespected. I agree with many of your father's concerns about popular journalism, but believe me, your brother is far and away the most accomplished and respected reporter in this city. Not only that, but I consider him to be a good friend.” As if suddenly aware that he had everyone's attention—and that, moreover, he was verbally dueling with a state senator—Robert sputtered into uncomfortable silence.

Samuel gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Robert. I'm not sure I deserve such praise, but I'm indebted to you for saying it.”

“I agree, Father,” said Charles. “Samuel's stories are first-rate.”

Celia kissed her husband's cheek and smiled at Samuel. “I haven't read them myself, but I'm sure they're quite excellent.”

Frederick looked as if he were about to burst. “Of all the preposterous—”

“Frederick, please,” Papa interrupted, then turned back to Samuel. “It seems you have a number of staunch supporters, son. But I want to hear the decision from you. What is it to be? How do you intend to earn your livelihood—the law, or journalism?”

Samuel looked from me to Robert, then to Charles and Celia. Even Mama was smiling at him, clearly ready to accept whatever path he chose.

“I want to continue working as a journalist, Father. I don't think I could bear sitting in a stuffy office all day dealing with people's legal problems. Being a reporter is exciting and fulfilling. I can't imagine doing anything else with my life.”

Papa did not immediately respond, but sat studying his son as if
truly seeing him for the first time. After several long moments, he sighed. “I'll not force you to do something you would hate just to please me,” he said quietly. “I admit that I'm disappointed, and I still hope you'll change your mind, but in the end it's your choice. But writing for a newspaper—” He could not hide his displeasure.

“He's also writing a book, Papa,” I put in, knowing that he would find this a more acceptable endeavor than journalism. “Samuel is writing a book about crime in San Francisco since the Gold Rush days.”