Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (3 page)

The fellow smiled. “I do not believe you.”

“You’re right, Yat Hwah. Mr. Trahern would only kill you as a last resort.” Cerise Duval stepped into view around the corner of the crate. She placed her derringer at the Chinese man’s temple. “However, I won’t hesitate. Drop the knife.”

Dutch froze, uncertain what Cerise intended.

“But your interests are mine.” Shock and fear tightened Yat Hwah’s voice. The dagger clattered to the deck.

“Not when you lost most of my merchandise.” She smiled as if discovering a small, unexpected gift. “Besides, if you’re dead you can’t tell the Chinaman that I intended to double-cross him, and I can blame this entire debacle on Mr. Trahern and his brother.”

For a small gun, at close range, the derringer’s report was plenty loud.

Bits of skull and brain spattered from the side of Yat Hwah’s head.

The Chinese woman fell to the deck in a faint.

“Damn. She’s on top of the knife.” Cerise Duval trod on the corpse of her former compatriot and used her foot to shove at the woman.

Dutch leapt forward. He smacked the butt end of his pistol against Duval’s temple. She crumpled to the deck. Though it pained him to hurt a woman, any woman, Duval was too much of a threat. A small part of him rejoiced at, for once, giving the procuress her due. He stared at her still form.
Lucky for me that girl’s on top of the blade, or I’d be dead. Duval taught me everything I know about knife work. Had she touched that dagger, I wouldn’t have had a chance even with a loaded pistol
.

“Jeez, Dutch, what’d you do, kill them both?” Trey was breathing hard.

“Took you long enough to get back here.” Numb, he stared at the gore caused by Cerise Duval.

“I had to chase those two women half way to Nob Hill before I could catch them and calm them down.”

“Are they safe?”

“Smiley’s got nine of them in the wagon ready to head for the mission. The nuns will discover if any of the women have family and reunite them.”

“The tenth one is right there.” Dutch pointed at the tiny Chinese woman who started to stir. “Better get her out of here. I’ll clean up this mess.”

Trey bent to take the woman in his arms.

“No!”

Startled by her shout in English, Dutch and Trey both leapt back.

The dagger gleamed in her hand. She jabbed it in Trey’s direction. “Tsung stay.”

“What now, Dutch?”

“Beats me.” He scratched his forehead. “You can’t stay, Miss. Don’t you want to find your family, or get a job?”

“I stay with Mista Dutch. He make gift of life to me. I take care of Mista Dutch until I give equal gift. Find family later.”

Trey looked at Dutch, then back at the knife-wielding woman. “Oh boy, are you in trouble.”

“Not half as much as I was a minute ago. Take Duval. Get her into a rickshaw and pay the driver to take her to her place in Morton Street then relieve Smiley. He needs to get home to his wife. They’re leaving tomorrow to visit her folks.”

“Right. What will you do?”

“Clean up this mess and try to get the lady with the knife to the wagon. If I don’t succeed by the time you get there, leave without me.”

“No go!” Eyes narrowed and jaw set, the tiny woman still brandished the dagger.

“Suit yourself.” Dutch moved around her. He figured he had time to deal with her, since she claimed she wanted to stay with him. First, he needed to get rid of the dead man and clean the deck before the blood set and gave proof of the crimes committed here tonight.

He hefted the corpse, carried it to the ship’s rail, and dumped the body over the side. He wouldn’t have bothered if he’d thought he could prove that Duval had committed the murder, but as always, she’d been clever. As easily as he could claim the madam had done murder, she could claim she defended the Chinese woman from the dead man and Dutch. Knowing Duval’s connections within the city, he wouldn’t bet a plug nickel that he could prove his claim over hers.

With both Duval and the Chinaman to worry about, he didn’t need San Francisco’s excuse for a justice system investigating him for murder. So the clean up was essential.

He moved away from the rail and went looking for a mop, scrub brush, and bucket. The last place he expected to find them was in possession of the tiny Chinese woman.

She was on her hands and knees scouring the blood and bits of brain from the deck.

“Well, I’ll be a plucked duck.”

“I finish soon. You wait.”

“You speak English pretty well.” He blinked but shouldn’t have been surprised. Many Chinese learned English. They saw it as good business.

She continued to scrub. “Speak good English. For Mista Dutch, I clean good. For Mista Dutch, I wash good. For Mista Dutch, I cook too. Serve Mista Dutch. Take good care Mista Dutch, all time.”

He hunkered beside the woman. “You don’t understand. I want to make sure you don’t have to serve anyone. You can work for a living.”

She stopped scrubbing, raised the lantern, and studied the area where the corpse had fallen, then she nodded. “Clean, now. No blood. No brains.”

Dutch lifted the bucket and sluiced the remaining water across the newly scrubbed deck. “Thank you.”

“No, Tsung thank you. You give gift of miserable life. Only fair Tsung give equal gift. I stay with you until I do that.”

Dutch studied the tiny woman. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now we need to leave.”

“Yes, leave here. No leave Mista Dutch. Tsung stay.”

Suddenly weary, Dutch didn’t argue. He extracted a paper wrapped square of chocolate from his coat pocket and popped the treat into his mouth. First Mrs. Smithfeld, then Cerise, and now Tsung Tsang. Why was he suddenly plagued by obstinate women?

CHAPTER THREE

San Francisco, two days later

Staring through her veil at the elegant house that fronted Morton Street, Edith sat in an odd looking chair perched between two huge wheels. The coolie who operated the rickshaw stood patiently between the two shafts that extended from the axle and were used to pull the chair along streets too narrow and steep for a carriage.

“You are certain that this is Madame Duval’s establishment?” Edith wasn’t sure what she imagined a brothel would look like, but this house, which could have graced the most stylish districts of Boston, wasn’t it. From carefully curtained windows to the well manicured flowers bordering the broad walkway leading to the front stairs and entry, the place appeared far too respectable.

“Yes, yes,” the coolie looked around. “This Missee Duval place.”

Edith searched her surroundings. She saw nothing save a ragged boy rolling a hoop and the closed doors of other houses, but still she hesitated. What was she waiting for? Nothing would change unless she entered that house and carried out her plan. Without that, her middle sister Kiera would remain a fugitive. To save her sister, Edith had risked the journey to San Francisco. At the back of her mind was the faint hope that with all three sisters united in their demand for change, Grandfather would modify the will. If Grandfather died without waking from the coma caused by a carriage accident and before Kiera returned home, his absurd will would become reality, leaving all three sisters destitute. Edith could not back out now. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “Please see if Madame Duval is at home to visitors.”

The coolie stared at her, uncomprehending.

“I want to talk to Madame Duval,” Edith enunciated. “Go ask if she’s home.”

A broad grin broke out on the coolie’s face. “Yes, yes, Lady. I get Missee Duval.”

He walked to the door, knocked then held a short conversation with the servant who appeared in the open doorway.

Lifting her veil, Edith mopped her brow with her handkerchief. She’d arrived in San Francisco and survived a harrowing experience at the depot thanks to the charming Mr. Trahern. For the past few nights she huddled in the chill of her rooming house with her flimsy door bolted as the landlady advised. “Frisco ain’t like back east,” the woman had said around the tobacco she chewed. “Woman’s gotta look out for herself.”

Which was precisely what Edith planned on doing: looking out for herself and her sisters. Yesterday’s trip to the constable’s offices proved that she would discover nothing more from the authorities regarding Kiera or the accusations of murder attached to her name. A visit the day before to the newspaper offices produced little that Edith didn’t already know from the news articles and letters she found in Grandfather’s desk. His callous plans to seal a business arrangement by marrying Kiera to an associate known to beat women had driven Kiera from the only home she’d ever known. That Grandfather had known where Kiera was, the alias she used, and never told Edith or Mae infuriated them both.

Even worse he’d ordered the detectives hired to follow Kiera not to interfere in anyway, not even when the madam of a bordello accused Kiera of murder. He’d left her defenseless, the unforgiving old wretch. With Mae’s consent, Edith had taken the opportunity offered by the coma he suffered and gone in search of their missing sister.

Edith would not allow Grandfather to do more harm now that he might die. She would find Kiera, clear her name, and bring her home. Together they would find a way to change or circumvent the will and include Kiera as one of the heirs. First, however, Edith must get inside Madame Duval’s house — the last place Kiera had been seen and the site of the murder.

The coolie returned, lifted the shafts of the vehicle, and trotted forward.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Edith objected. “Wait. What are you doing?”

“Take lady see Missee Duval.” He began to run.

“But Madame Duval’s house is back there.” She pointed toward the house behind them.

“Missee Duval say lady no come in front door. Bad for good name.”

Edith grabbed her hat as the rickshaw tilted around a corner. The coolie made a dash toward the next alley.

“Bad for Duval’s good name? Of all the nerve. A respectable lady deigns to visit the owner of a bordello, no doubt a fallen woman herself, and the madam claims the visit is bad for her reputation. Lunacy, absolute lunacy.”

Edith grabbed her hat once more as the conveyance tilted around a second corner and bumped down the rutted path. Finally the vehicle stopped, and the coolie was at her side helping her down.

“Not bad for Missee Duval.” He grinned. “Bad for you.”

“Oh.” Embarrassed, she shook out her skirts and followed the coolie to the back door. Edith lifted her hem higher than usual, picking her way around unidentifiable puddles and small piles of refuse. She held her breath against the stench, intensified no doubt by the warmth of the day.

The coolie trudged up the steps to a small landing and knocked on the door.

The moment Edith topped the stairs and stood beside him, he held out his hand.

“You pay now.”

“But I need you to wait.”

“No wait. Pay now. Get other coolie when you leave.”

“I insist … ” He snatched at the purse on her wrist.

She tugged it away. “If you must … ” She extracted a silver dollar and gave it to him.

“You say two dollar I take you Missee Duval house.”

“And bring me back. You have refused to wait for me.”

“You say two dollar.” A mule looked friendly by comparison with the stubborn set of the man’s chin.

“Is there a problem?”

A servant stood just inside the bordello’s now open backdoor. The man’s pristine uniform and well modulated voice would have found approval in the finest Boston homes. Edith shook her head. San Francisco was as strange a place as Mr. Carroll’s Wonderland.

The coolie launched into a long and loud explanation in Chinese accompanied by many gestures, all of which Edith ignored until he turned to leave.

“No! I’ll pay your dollar if you stay.”

The servant lifted his hand to intervene. “No other payment is needed; Madame Duval will provide a vehicle when you depart.”

He stepped away to allow Edith passage.

She hesitated. While Mr. Trahern had not mentioned bordellos — no gentleman would discuss such matters with a lady — his warnings about untrustworthy transportation rang in her memory. However, if she didn’t enter, she had no chance of discovering where Kiera was or why she had been accused of murder. Edith gave a nod, lifted her skirt, and stepped over the lintel into the small foyer.

She stared about, dumbfounded. Sewn into the lining of her warmest cloak and secure in her trunk was a picture from a newspaper article about the goings on in this house. After Grandfather’s accident, she’d looked through his desk in search of money to pay the physician and found the article in a file about Kiera. The photograph had led her to expect plush velvet and gilt trim. This foyer was … ordinary, from the patterned carpet runner to the framed still life drawings to the scent of beeswax and lemon and the gleam of polished woodwork. Ordinary and quiet, not a murmur of debauch was audible. Perhaps the debauch went on upstairs.

“May I take your hat, Miss … ?”

“Oh, um … here.” She raised her veil and unpinned her hat while she tried to remember the story she’d concocted with Mae. “I’m Mrs. Ebenezer Smithfeld, and I wish to speak to Madame Duval on a private matter.”

The servant took her hat, placing it on a hat tree. “Of course, this way ma’am.” He led her down the hall and up a narrow stairway to the second floor.

Here paint covered the walls rather than paneling, but all remained quiet and serene. On their way to the end of the corridor, they passed several closed doors. The servant opened the door there and ushered her into a pretty sitting room done in blue and white. Lace festooned the curtains, the doilies and pillows. Sachets suspended from the curtain rods filled the air with the scent of gardenias. Two slipper chairs flanked a low table; an ornate, ormolu desk occupied one side of the room, and myriad shelves loaded with china figurines decorated the walls.

“Please have a seat. Madame will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you.” Edith sat. To control her curiosity she worked at removing her gloves and wished for her obscuring veil. As a child she’d frequently had difficulty hiding her feelings. The failure had caused her many a slap and worse from Grandfather. Kiera had been best at hiding things from him. He’d never discovered the photographic equipment that her sister had saved years to buy then learned to use in secret — equipment Kiera had insisted on taking with her when she left. Mae on the other hand was terrible at dissembling and in self defense made herself nearly invisible. While somewhat better than Mae, Edith wasn’t all that good at deception either. However, dissembling and deception were vital to the success of her purpose.