The Last Honest Seamstress (4 page)

She rejected as unsuitable any man who seemed interested in her, any man who had asked her out, certainly those who had already proposed. Her choice would have to understand that the marriage was purely business. There was no place for physical intimacy in the partnership she envisioned. She was not willing to risk having a baby and giving up her independence. Fulfilling this requirement necessitated crossing off well over half of those she had listed in her first, rough pass.

She ran her pen through the name of anyone with a reputation of frequenting Seattle's whorehouses, or of womanizing. If nothing else, Drew's behavior had instilled a deeply rooted aversion to scandal. Seattle on the whole was a tolerant town, but she didn't care to link herself openly to disgrace again.

The task could almost have been fun, if the list wasn't shrinking alarmingly. Finding a discreet man lost her another half of her remaining list. She excused one man because he didn't seem any handier with a set of tools than she was, and another because he gave incorrect change when she made a purchase at the store where he worked. He was either flustered by her presence, or unintelligent. In either case, she was unimpressed. What she wanted was an uninterested, intelligent, strong, discreet man skilled with a set of tools. And if he owned his own business, all the better.

She wrote the new requirement in the margin and stared at the remaining names. Stumped, unable to narrow the field further, she drew out a separate sheet of paper and made a list of her precise needs, laughing at herself. As if committing them to paper would create the man she wanted!

She shook her head. Her list rapidly dwindled. Her standards were too high, her requirements almost contradictory. Searching for such a man seemed futile. Did he exist in Seattle? If not in a city so full of men, did he exist anywhere? What she really needed was a man who wouldn't interfere in her life. A man with his own pursuits. A man who was gone most of the time——
 

As the thought hit her, she looked back to her list of men. One name stood out on the page.

Captain Con O'Neill.

She picked up her pen and paused, ready to scratch the name off. How had she missed it? The Captain's name should have gone in the first round of elimination. Too attractive. Even his written name looked bold and handsome on the page. But her pen refused to move. She squinted in thought, bit her lip, and stared at the name.
 

A ship captain, and not of a local barge or ferry, but a coastal freighter. He owned it, and a small wharf in the south end of town. The captain's ship sailed often, had only been in port twice since she had arrived in Seattle in February. Both times he came to her shop to order a new shirt. She squirmed. He had a fine physique. The pen trembled and hovered, but didn't write.

She took a deep breath. Since the pen wasn't budging, she might as well compare him to the attributes she wanted. Business owner. Well respected. Gone most of the time. Not interested in her romantically. Of all the men on the list, she knew with the most certainty that the Captain was not interested in her. He had never made the slightest move. She continued. No rumors of activity with loose women. The only thing against him was his looks. She set the pen down. He always seemed good-humored, and she couldn't fairly describe him as vain, or in any way aware of his magnetism. But he was dangerous, so dangerous all the same. There had to be something unappealing about him.

"Freckles," she said to Olive. "He has freckles. Although to be fair, they are very faint and not on his face at all. But, we hate freckles, don't we girl? We'll just have to concentrate on them, and our goal. Security."
 

She picked up the pen and circled his name before reaching down to stroke the cat. "We've found our man. There's only one problem remaining——we know why we need him, but why does he need us?

Chapter 2

It didn't take much research to discover the Captain owned a large warehouse as well as his wharf. He kept no permanent quarters in Seattle, and he had a hired man who managed the business in his absence. Clearly, he needed a competent businesswoman to oversee his operations. Fayth trusted employees very little. He should have someone whose success was tied to his. And she was just that woman.

Every man needed a home, and a wife added respectability to his status in the community. She would keep a finger on the pulse of the growing city and advise him what goods to bring in, what ventures to pursue. How could he keep track of such things during his long absences? With her help he would be at least twice as successful as he was now.

That left only two tasks: perform a final moral background check on the Captain, and find out when he was next scheduled to arrive in town. The latter only required a quick trip to his overseer's office, the former, a visit to Lou Gramm's parlor house to see Coral.
 

Few of Fayth's acquaintances understood her friendship with the young prostitute, or her sense of responsibility toward her. Despite their skepticism, Fayth was optimistic she could persuade Coral to leave the business, and was willing to suffer scorn herself in the attempt. Someone had to care about the girl.

Lou Gramm's stylish parlor house was located just two blocks up Washington from Fayth's shop, on the corner of Third. From the exterior, it looked quiet and respectable. However, most of the women in the city couldn't walk by it without wincing, while most of the town's leading male citizens found they could not walk past without turning in.
 

Fayth strode up the front walk, steeled to her mission. Fortunately, Lou's business was slow in the early afternoon. Lou's maid Maddie let her in. Fayth had been inside the house more than once, but she never had overcome the shock of viewing its vulgar interior.
 

Lou had painted the walls in bright, garish colors. To ward off the dim moral character of the business conducted within, in Fayth's opinion. Nude statues of women sat on pedestals in prominent view wherever space allowed. Photographs of naked women in provocative poses covered the walls. The whole decor was, in a word, lewd.

Rusty, Lou's bouncer, showed Fayth straight to the back of the house, past the parlor reserved exclusively for the male guests, past the bar where men could pass the time with the libation of their choice, to the small, plain dining room off the kitchen. The
lady boarders
, in the delicate vernacular, many of whom had just risen, were in various stages of eating their first meal of the day, an exhaustive affair of eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, hotcakes, juice. and milk that many a lumberjack would be grateful to finish.
 

As Coral had explained, hers was a strenuous job. It required lithe grace, strength, and a great deal of physical endurance to keep pace with a full night of men. Fayth had halted her partway through her explanation, not wanting to hear more. However, she couldn't help noticing Coral ate more than any woman she had ever known. What must she endure night after night?

Coral sat at the far end of the long dining-room table, wearing a robe that fell open carelessly and revealed an elaborate negligee. She spotted Fayth and called out a warm greeting as she set down her fork and pulled her robe together . The rest of the prostitutes ignored her and continued eating. They were used to her, and as long as she left them alone, willing to tolerate her presence.

"Fayth!" Coral's eyes lit up. "What brings you here today?"
 

Her pleasure made Fayth's discomfort almost tolerable. She rounded the table and pulled up an empty chair next to Coral. "I came to ask a favor. And to see you, of course."

"Name it. Need a fitting? My opinion of your latest design?" Coral had an eye for fashion. In a town where most women were occupied with the ordinary and taxing affairs of day-to-day living, Coral's interest was refreshing.

"Neither. I haven't been designing lately." If only she were. "I've come for information."

"What
kind
of information?" Coral's tone became suddenly cautious. Because of the clientele the girls kept and the intimate nature of their profession, they knew many secrets and as much about the politics and comings and goings around town as anybody. The girls had a code of confidentiality to which they strictly adhered. Indiscretion would cost them their livelihood in the privileged parlor house and force them to ply their trade in the despised cribs.

Fayth smiled to reassure her. "Nothing that violates your code of ethics, I assure you." She paused, choosing her words with care. "I'd like to know whether a certain man patronizes Lou's. Or, to your knowledge, any of the ladies in the Tenderloin."

Coral cocked her head and studied her as if examining her motives. "Why do you want to know? You aren't spying for a suspicious wife, are you? We aren't allowed to kiss and tell."

Fayth shook her head. "No, of course not. I'd never dream of asking you to betray a confidence. I want the information for myself only." She took a deep breath and plunged on. "I'm thinking of taking a husband."
 

Coral's eyebrows shot up. She laughed and clapped, delighted. "Oh, Fayth! You've met someone? That's wonderful. It's about time you settled down."

Sweet, romantic Coral
would
believe Fayth had finally met a man to her liking.
 

Lila, a brash henna-enhanced brunette seated on Coral's right, spoke out. "Hear that, girls? Miss Sheridan is going to take a man and doesn't want to share!"
 

Several of the women laughed with Lila.
 

"How will a prude like her satisfy a man's appetite? He'll end up here with us." Lila winked and pretended to stroke a man. "And when he does, I'll be the first to show him a real woman's technique!"

"Shut up, Lila." Coral glared at her.
 

Fayth ignored Lila. What did she care what Lila thought?

The vile creature laughed and went back to her conversation.

Coral rose from the table and motioned for Fayth to follow her. She led her back to the entryway. "You'll have to excuse Lila. She's mean in the morning. Who's your man?"

"Captain Con O'Neill."

Coral squinted, looking thoughtful.

"Tall, auburn hair, bearded?" Fayth looked at Coral hopefully. Oh, but that description hardly did him justice.

"No," Coral said, "I know who you mean. His bookkeeper comes in once a week. He jokes about the Captain not joining him. I can't be sure the Captain doesn't go elsewhere, but if his bookkeeper comes here, I can't imagine he'd go to a house of lesser stature.

"Thank goodness you've finally picked a decent man, Fayth. I've been worried about you." Coral shook her head. "Rusty would toss out most of the men you've been seen with lately. At last you're moving up to
our
class of man."

Even among prostitutes a hierarchy existed, along with a sense of pride in the establishment where they worked, and the class of clientele they attracted. Fayth bit back a response. She hoped she was picking a class of man who didn't patronize whorehouses
at all
. "You'd let me know if he ever did?"

Coral touched her gently on the arm. "You know I would. In a heartbeat."

For two days, Fayth was too busy to find out when the Captain was due back in town. But she hadn't given up on her plan. She telegraphed her family lawyer, Mr. Benchley in Baltimore, requesting legal advice regarding how to protect her business in the event she married.
 

Mr. Benchley telegraphed back that he had no expertise in the laws governing Washington Territory, and therefore could be of little help. Further, he advised caution. A young woman of her standing was vulnerable, easy prey for the scoundrels out West.

She crumpled his response without bothering to read the rest of his ridiculous admonitions, dropped it on her desk, and headed for the Captain's offices.
 

Dust nipped at her heels as she approached the wharves. The city was abnormally dry for the time of year. Small dust devils whirlpooled in the streets, stirring up dirt and debris, only to end their short lives colliding with building corners. She strolled along enjoying the June sunshine, thinking. When she pushed aside thoughts of the Captain's handsome smile and appraising hazel eyes, she didn't feel nervous about approaching him. After all, this was business, not personal. And if the Captain should turn down her offer, his frequent absences would give her time to recover from any embarrassment.

The Captain's office was built on the end of a long, well-maintained pier. She saw his sign immediately: O'Neill's Shipping. It was sturdy and well made, and spoke of a prosperous business. If all went as she hoped, she would be Fayth O'Neill. An odd thought, but another thing in his favor——her name sounded good with his. She headed straight through the office door without pausing to look out over the sparkling waters of the Sound, or notice the ships moored at the wharf. A small bell rang over her head as she opened the door. A man in the front office called out to her without looking up from his books. "What can I do for you?"
 

"I'm looking for Captain O'Neill."

It was worth the walk to the waterfront to see the expression on his face as he heard her voice and looked up.

"Oh, pardon me, ma'am." He stood awkwardly, as if not used to a lady's presence. He was tall and gangly with angular features too sharp to be pleasing to the eye. A small nameplate on his desk read Silas Tetch. She heard other masculine voices, muffled through a closed door, coming from what she assumed was a back office.