Gold Mountain (32 page)

From behind me someone gently grasped my elbow, and I turned to face my host. Ralph Gallagher held out a glass of brandy, unmistakable by its rich caramel color, and lifted the glass of Madeira from my hand.

“You’re a woman for brandy, I think. Try this. It’s Armagnac from the south of France.”

I exchanged glasses and took a sip of the liquor that burned its way down my throat with a sensation entirely agreeable. “Thank you. This is lovely.”

“Not as lovely as you, Miss Hudson. I’m glad you forego the prim pastels of the season. They wouldn’t suit you nearly as much as the scarlet you’re wearing.”

So Ralph Gallagher wanted to play at the game of flirtation again, I thought with interest. Probably because of Jake’s suspicions, my host had taken on a dangerous, almost villainous, look that he hadn’t possessed the night of the summer cotillion. The power of suggestion, I realized, and smiled at Gallagher, all the while speculating wildly about both his personal and his business morals.

I looked down at the skirt of the gown Ruth had so painstakingly recreated from one of her last year’s dresses. Covering its prim ecru underskirt with embroidered crimson silk, removing the sleeves, and draping the bodice with flowing swatches of the same bright silk had given the dress an entirely new and glamorous look. I had debated whether it was quite right for a dinner party, but my sister’s unerring eye for fashion caused her to squelch my doubts immediately. Ruth had been right, of course. The dress flattered my figure and the plain underskirt offered an enticing illusion of skin beneath the fabric while remaining entirely appropriate.

“It’s kind of you to notice,” I responded to Ralph Gallagher. “Honesty forces me to admit, however, that if it weren’t for my sister’s sense of style, I would be completely baffled by society’s code of fashion.”

“No doubt because you are a woman to set trends, Miss Hudson, not follow them.” This time I did not reply to the compliment, just met his glance over my glass and smiled again. Finally, I remarked, “I noticed a stunning portrait of a woman hanging in the hallway when I arrived. To my uninitiated eye, it had the look of a Sargent. And was that a family portrait in the foyer? I thought I recognized you and your wife but not the two boys.”

“My sons, Douglas and Drew, are at school back East. They liked the Sargent painting, too. When they were boys, Drew nicknamed it The Warm Woman. He always had an eye for color.”

“You must miss them.”

“Must I?” He smiled without humor. “Douglas will inherit everything one day and he’s doing well enough, I suppose, when he’s not busy bailing his younger brother out of trouble.”

“Oh, dear. A black sheep?” The expression on Gallagher’s face when he spoke of his sons made him sympathetic, the first time I’d sensed anything even remotely, normally human about him.

“Drew’s something, anyway. I don’t know what. He seems destined to break his mother’s heart.”

“And his father’s?”

A grim smile played around the man’s lips. “My younger son is a charmer and I had hopes for him at one time, but those hopes vanished long ago.”

“You speak as if he’s a lost cause, but he must still be a young man. Maybe he just needs time to grow up. The Chinese have a saying: ‘You won’t help the new plants grow by pulling them up higher.’”

Gallagher thought about the words for a moment before smiling. “A wise people, the Chinese. I didn’t realize.”

“Realize what? That regardless of nationality or native language, humanity shares common loves and common fears? Shame on you, Mr. Gallagher. I wouldn’t have thought you were so pedestrian in your views. The Chinese have feelings just like you. They love their children and want the best for them.” Despite my good intentions, I invested the words with too much emotion and took a quick sip of brandy.

“I finally see the missionary’s fervor, Miss Hudson. I couldn’t quite picture you saving the unenlightened until just now. I’m sure you bring an admirable passion to your work at Miss Cameron’s mission. I know very little about the Chinese people, and I admit I am not all that interested in them, but what those poor girls have had to endure I can only imagine.” With those words, I had the certain feeling that Ralph Gallagher had in a way turned the tables on me and was either teasing or mocking me, I couldn’t be quite sure which.

Because I’d promised Jake Pandora I’d be circumspect in my words, I swallowed my initial response and said gently, “Perhaps if you had daughters instead of sons, you would have a greater understanding of their circumstances. With so little knowledge of the Chinese people, I fear the girls may not seem much more than a commodity to you, but I assure you that before they came to the mission they were indeed “poor girls.” The idea of their being taken advantage of by men who ought to know better is repugnant. I’ve always believed that men who lack both intelligence and integrity pose a serious threat to society. Besides being boring and vain, of course. What their poor wives have to endure I can only imagine.” I mimicked his words and his tone on purpose, and he caught the message.

Gallagher smiled slightly and murmured, “You may remember I once told you that I know when I’m being mocked.”

“Oh, I remember,” I retorted in a similar low voice, then a bit more loudly added, “and I wouldn’t dream of mocking anyone, least of all my host.” I should have let the conversation end there, but I didn’t, and I have no excuse except the brandy’s intoxicating effect. Placing my empty glass on the tray of a passing servant, I turned back and looked directly into Ralph Gallagher’s eyes. “You should take a greater interest in the Chinese, sir. In fact, I would guess you’d find great profit in Gold Mountain interest.”

His eyes widened at that, and he grabbed my wrist firmly with one hand. “Are you speaking in riddles now, Miss Hudson?” I heard surprise and anger and an unexpected touch of what seemed like fear in his voice.

I shook my hand free of his grasp. “I haven’t the temperament for riddles. I’m much too impatient and blunt.”

“I mean this kindly, Miss Hudson, and more sincerely than you know, but you should be more circumspect in your speech and more careful. You should really be more careful.” With the mockery gone, Ralph Gallagher seemed as honest and as human as I’d ever heard him, and because of that more likeable. Without putting specific words or meaning to it, he had moved the conversation to a more serious level, and I thought I detected true emotion in his voice.

“I’ll try to be more careful in the future,” I answered quietly. “I was only making conversation. If I’ve said something unsuitable, please forgive me. I’ve spent the greater part of my life out of ordinary society and can be inept in my speech. I have a passion for the girls at Miss Cameron’s mission, though, a passion to keep them happy and safe.”

Gallagher stepped to my side to walk past me and as he did so, he paused long enough to whisper against my ear, “I can tell that, Miss Hudson, but as a man I can only say that your passion is wasted on children. Please remember what I’ve told you. Not everyone finds you as charming as I do. Just be careful.” He stepped farther to the side, called someone’s name, and moved away in a manner that indicated he wanted to distance himself from me as quickly as possible. The purposeful intention of his action sent a shiver down my back as nothing else could have. Was someone watching us and listening to our conversation? I looked around with what I hoped was a casual disinterest. The beautiful, bright room was crowded with people, all reflected in the gilt mirrors on the walls. Conversation and laughter flowed as generously as the refreshments. A fancy crowd of fancy people and no one, as far as I could tell, paying me the least bit of attention. And yet Gallagher’s
be careful
had echoed Jake Pandora’s advice exactly and had held an edge that I couldn’t ignore. Jake might be right about Gallagher’s connection with illicit activities, but if Ralph Gallagher was involved in smuggling children into California, he was certainly not alone in the venture. Others were involved, too, and unless I was very mistaken, at least some of those others were among the well-bred guests who stood in conversation all around me.

Irene Gallagher and I exchanged few words during the evening, but as a servant dropped my cape around my shoulders in preparation for departure, she approached me and said, “I hope you enjoyed the evening, Miss Hudson.”

“I did, very much, thank you. Your home is beautiful and your hospitality gracious. Ruth just went in search of you to relay our appreciation for the evening.”

“My husband told me I embarrassed you the night of the cotillion and said I must be on better behavior tonight.” Her words seemed forced, her tone brittle.

“Your husband was mistaken,” I lied. “You did nothing of the sort.”

“Perhaps you had the opportunity to share your opinion with Ralph when you were in such deep conversation with him earlier, such impassioned conversation. He admires you a great deal, you know.” Her calculated words startled me, overt in a meaning that could not be misunderstood.

“He’s very kind, as are you.” Over her shoulder, I saw Ruth and raised my voice to say, “Here’s our hostess, Ruth. I know you wanted to say good night.”

Irene Gallagher turned around to face my sister, who was followed by Martin and Mr. Gallagher deep in conversation. Martin came forward to stand next to his wife and add to Ruth’s murmured courtesies. For a moment Ralph Gallagher stood a dark and solitary figure in the background. His eyes were on me gravely, intently, with an emotion far different from admiration. I thought his serious look held a reminder of the warning he had voiced earlier in the evening. Gallagher nodded a good-night to me, dipping his head slowly in what seemed almost like a regal bow before he turned back to his guests. His wife, who had missed none of that exchange and was determined to put the worst construction on her husband’s mute attention to me, saw us to the door. Ruth repeated her thank you and took Martin’s arm before stepping outside. I followed them and turned to speak a final word to Irene Gallagher.

“You have nothing to be concerned about where I’m concerned,” I told her, hoping she would hear my real message. “Nothing at all.” Without giving her time to respond, I quickly slid past the servant holding open the door and hurried to catch up with Ruth and Martin.

The following week I returned to the final days of my routine at 920. Yuen Qui, whose interpreter’s assignment I had taken on as she recuperated from an illness, had received permission from the doctor to return to the mission and her regular duties.

I heard the news with a wrench of dismay that must have been reflected on my face because Donaldina put an arm around my shoulders and said, “But that doesn’t mean you must stop your visits or your work here, Dinah. There will always be a place for you at 920. Your classroom skills teaching English are the best I’ve seen, and the girls are fond of you. We all want you to stay part of our family.”

“It won’t be the same,” I said with childlike petulance and then had to grin at myself. “Listen to me. I sound like a spoiled princess. I’m truly happy to hear Yuen Qui is back to good health and, of course, I’ll continue with morning English lessons and anything else you can find for me to do. I can’t argue with the timing, now that I think of it, because the baby isn’t all that far away and for Ruth’s sake I really should stay closer to home for the next few weeks.” I stopped to search for the right words and finally concluded less than satisfactorily with, “Thank you, Dolly, for giving me the privilege of partnering with you, even for a short while. I don’t believe I will ever know anything more worthwhile than my experiences here at 920. I’ll never forget it.”

“Save those fine words for my wake someday, Dinah,” Miss Cameron responded dryly. “Having worked with you, I can guarantee that your life holds the potential for a great many more experiences of excitement and value. You are not a woman to sit idly and let adventure pass you by.” She smiled. “Now wasn’t your English class supposed to start ten minutes ago?”

I glanced at the hall clock, gave a little gasp at the time, and hurried toward the classroom, but behind me I’m sure I heard Miss Cameron say in a low voice, “We will not forget you either, Dinah. Depend on it.”

I left 920 late that afternoon, crossed two streets, and was just about to cross another to reach a small alley I often used as a shortcut when someone called, “Missy! Missy!”

The only other people in my general vicinity were men, and they were all hurrying to whatever destination beckoned. Home, most likely, and supper, so I knew the caller must be trying to get my attention. Despite Jake Pandora’s warnings and Ralph Gallagher’s grave words, the idea that I might be in danger was never quite credible. Somehow it was hard to imagine that anyone would give me a second thought or consider me a threat. I knew that Suey Wah had no memory of the men involved in smuggling her into the state, and because that was the case, how could I possess knowledge that would be dangerous to anyone? The natural conclusion that I couldn’t and didn’t seemed so obvious that even with my unwise and provocative comment to Gallagher, I couldn’t believe that anyone would think otherwise. I’ve taken time to think all this through because even today I am fairly dumbfounded by my own naiveté. I saw no threat, only a Chinese man standing by an ordinary cab that waited at the foot of the alley.

“Missy!” he called again and began to wave a piece of paper. “I have word for you about the girl you seek.” I hurried across the empty street to where the man stood.

“About a girl named Mae Tao?” I asked eagerly. He nodded and handed the paper to me. I snatched the folded note out of his hand and opened it, but when I saw that the paper was blank, I lifted my head to say, “But there’s nothing—” and after that I don’t remember anything.