by Rue Allyn
“Welcome to Morton Street. If there’s a possible evil in the world, you can find it here.”
“But that’s where … ”
“Right. Maiden Lane is where Cerise Duval has her bordello.”
“You must be mistaken.” Edith sniffed, fearing very much that he was not.
“Yeah, I’m mistaken all right. And I spent my entire life in some ritzy house on the opposite side of the country where they have peculiar accents and call people liars, when those doing the calling don’t know nothin’. Yep, I sure am mistaken.”
Stung, Edith opened her mouth then closed it. He was right. If she’d been duped by Cerise Duval, Edith had no one but herself to blame. She’d known from the start the woman couldn’t be trusted. However, Duval’s trustworthiness hadn’t mattered then, and it didn’t matter now. To find Kiera before Grandfather died, Edith would do the same all over again. Still, admitting her error would have been easier if Trahern weren’t so smugly sarcastic. She retreated into silence until Dutch brought his horse to a halt in the shadows across the street from Duval’s bordello.
“We’re here.”
Edith craned her neck, peering along the muscular arm that pointed toward the building.
A group of men stood outside the door. More approached from down the street. As the newcomers neared, one of them spoke to a man already at the back of the group.
“Say, George, what’s Cerise have goin’ t’night that’s got y’all waitin’ so peaceful like.”
“Heard tell she’s havin’ another auction. There’s so many fellas want in on this one y’ got t’ buy a ticket jes t’ get in.”
“I’ll be damned. Y’ mean Madame Duval’s got her another one o’ them Boston so-ci-al-ite virgins?”
“Nah,” said another man. “I been tryin’ t’ tell George here that the guy who won the biddin’ last night ran off with the gal. Cerise’ is gonna get back her losses by sellin’ the so-ci-al-ite’s fancy Boston duds. Hear tell that Duval’s real mad at that fella. Wouldn’t want to be in his boots, if Cerise gets hold of him.”
“That’s plumb foolish. Y’ can buy women’s clothes at the mercantile. Why pay the prices Duval will charge?”
“She ain’t chargin’, you ox. Cerise is auctioning. And these ain’t ordinary clothes. These are fancy rigs dee-rect from Boston. Women set store by where things come from. Guy brings a gal even one a those garters, she’s gonna be real nice to him.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered. “Real nice.”
Edith gasped twice before she could express her outrage. “Those are my things that woman is planning to sell off. She has no right. I will get my trunk and give that woman a sound talking to.”
Leaning sideways, Edith began to dismount.
With one strong arm Trahern forced her back into place. His large hand covered her mouth and cut off her words. “Will you be quiet? Right doesn’t have anything to do with it. ’Specially with Duval involved.” He removed his hand.
“Of course it does,” Edith hissed. “Only the owner of property can sell that property. The trunk and the contents are mine.”
Dutch bent close to her, speaking quietly. “Sugar, I surely do hate to tell you this, but that stuff you say is yours is all in Cerise Duval’s possession. Your claim is mighty weak, unless you want to march in there and announce to the world that you’re the Boston Virgin. You do that, and you might just get your stuff back. You might also find yourself flat on your back with your legs spread for some dirt-grimed miner. After Cerise Duval auctions you for the second time, that is.”
Edith drew back. Duval was no doubt just as dishonest as Trahern claimed and would probably do exactly as he predicted, but agreeing wouldn’t get the trunk Edith needed. It certainly wouldn’t help find Kiera.
“She wouldn’t.” But her protest lacked conviction.
“If you’re so certain, then go ahead. Hope you make it through that crowd.” He nodded toward the mass of men between Edith and the door then dropped the arm that kept her from sliding to the ground.
“They won’t recognize me,” she objected.
“True, but no respectable woman would go in there.”
Edith followed his gaze and swallowed. “This is entirely your fault,” she said irrationally.
“Yeah, that’s why I had my wicked way with you last night and left you at Duval’s place so a dozen other men could have their way with you once I was done. Sure, I did all that just so you would know that your situation is my fault.”
“Well if you had left me there last night, I would still have my clothes.”
“Maybe, but you wouldn’t wear any of ‘em for quite some time,” he replied pleasantly.
Edith shivered and sucked in a calming breath. “Couldn’t you go in and get my things for me?”
“Woman, you heard those men. Cerise isn’t likely to welcome me, unless I bring you back to her on a platter with your virginity magically restored so she can sell it again.”
Edith straightened her spine. “I’ll have you know that my virginity does not need restoring.”
Dutch smiled. “You keep right on saying that. I won’t say another word about it.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
He raised a brow. “How’s it feel, Sugar?”
“Oh, you are a blackguard.”
“So you say.” He got off the horse. “Stay here. I can’t get your trunk for you tonight, but I can stop this auction.”
“Where are you going? What are you planning to do?” But he’d already left. She was alone in the dark with dangerous men nearby, and he wouldn’t even try to get her trunk.
She watched as he swaggered over to the crowd like a drunkard.
“Hey there Pansy Pants,” he called to several of the men. “You gonna look real sweet in them female gee gaws you’re buyin’.”
Jostling others in the crowd, the men leapt for him. Upset at being pushed, the others joined the fray. Dutch disappeared from sight. Soon the fight engulfed the entire group.
He’s picking a fight? Now? He drags me out here, warns me about danger then deserts me to start a brawl? He’ll get himself killed.
Furious and a bit worried, Edith wanted to hit him, but she knew from experience she’d only hurt her hand if she got the chance. She was so angry she didn’t know whether to spit or curse, and she had little experience with either. She couldn’t go into the bordello to retrieve her belongings. She refused to tolerate Trahern’s sneers and sarcasm any longer. She was cold, afraid, and wished she had never left Boston. She could only see one course of action. She slid off the horse and started walking away from the dangerous crowd of men, away from the threat of Cerise Duval, and away from Trahern. She didn’t care where she went or who saw her. If anyone approached her, she would claw his eyeballs out.
Hooves thudded behind her. An arm scooped her up and dropped her on her stomach across a pair of hard thighs.
“Oof.” The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she struggled to take in a breath without swallowing the hair that hung in her face or touching the denim covered thigh less than an inch from her nose. She tried to lift herself upward, but a hand pressed on her back forcing her to remain prone.
“Lie still or you’ll fall off and get hurt.”
Edith fumed in silence. Who did Dutch Trahern think he was, tossing her around like a sack of apples? She was an Alden of Boston. No one laid hands on an Alden in such a manner.
The horse stopped. She was hauled upright and settled sideways across the same muscular thighs that she’d been a nose away from moments ago.
Edith promptly twisted to face Trahern. Shocked, she stared at him. “You don’t have a scratch on you.”
He frowned. “I stopped the auction; didn’t I?”
Edith hardened her gaze, raised her arm, and slapped him soundly, though not quite as forcefully as the previous night.
He couldn’t have looked more stunned if a rug had grown legs and walked down the street.
“How dare you.
You desert me, cause me no end of worry then accost me. You … you … you man!”
His eyelids narrowed, and his lips drew together in a firm line. “If I weren’t trying to save you from your own foolishness, I’d give you just what you’re asking for.”
“The most foolish thing I can do is remain with you,” she spat.
“Think so?” he challenged.
“I know so.” Giving a decisive nod, she folded her arms over her chest.
“Then look across the street then tell me what you think.”
Edith turned her head and immediately shut her eyes. Even that could not close out the scene of torture one brief glance had etched on her memory.
A few short steps from the opening of an alley, a pack of dogs surrounded a small cat. Nearby two men laughed and laid bets on how long the cat would last.
Back arched, teeth bared, the cat hissed and made threatening swipes with its front claws. The dogs growled and closed in. The cat leapt at the closest canine. The dog howled and twisted trying to dislodge the cat. The other curs lunged, tearing at both cat and dog.
Edith opened her eyes and wrung her hands. She had to do something to stop the slaughter.
A deafening gunshot blast made her jerk backward.
Dogs and men fled.
Edith twisted, looking for the source of the shot. Her search ended a foot or so in front of her right shoulder. Trahern’s pistol smoked at the end of his raised arm.
Relief flushed through Edith, though her head swam. She swallowed on the nausea that churned upward from her stomach. “Thank you.” She managed to choke out before her dinner rose, forcing her to turn her head.
Holstering his weapon, Dutch held her, managing to keep the horse steady until the last spasm faded and she leaned against him, gasping for breath.
“Here.”
Edith lifted her eyes to find a canteen in his large hand. She took the container and filled her mouth. She rinsed and spat the residue of sickness into the dirt then drank.
“Feel better?”
“That poor creature.”
“That poor creature could have been you.”
“Surely not. Those dogs would never have attacked a human.”
“Men or dogs, a pack’s only purpose is to kill. They don’t give a damn what kind of prey.”
Edith shivered, remembering the hunted feeling that overcame her whenever Grandfather had been in a temper. That feeling and worry for her sister had driven her to San Francisco and most unwisely to imagine she could handle Cerise Duval and suffer no harm.
Before her lay further evidence that her confidence was too easily misplaced. Could she trust her opinion of Trahern? Did she have any choice? For the time being she would take the shelter he offered until she could decide her best course.
Edith straightened away from him and began to dismount.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
“That cat may still be alive.”
“If it isn’t dead now, it will be soon.”
“Nonetheless, I will not leave without knowing for certain.”
“This is a really bad idea. That pack, or worse, could come back at any moment.”
“Then you will just have to frighten them off again.” She could not stand idly by, knowing a creature suffered and she had the ability to help. Crossing the road, she knelt by the cat to look for signs of life.
Feline eyes opened. The bloody sides heaved and tried to draw in air.
Edith sat and reached for the animal. It hissed, making a feeble attempt to scratch. She evaded the claws and drew the weakening animal into her lap.
“You poor creature.” She stroked a hand over the cat’s head and down its back. Her palm came away sticky with blood.
Boots clattered on the boardwalk behind her. She jerked her head around to see Dutch.
“We can’t stay here.”
“I know,” she whispered, focusing once again on the cat that shuddered against her. “But I can’t move this cat like it is, and I don’t know what to do.”
The feline uttered a pitiful mewl, shuddered once more then lay still.
“Now you don’t have to do anything.”
“Shouldn’t we bury it?”
“Not here. And I’m not dragging a dead cat with us through San Francisco.”
“Please.” The mewling haunted her. She’d never had a pet nor seen a creature die.
Trahern’s mouth twisted. “I’m a damned fool.” He took off his coat and, wrapping it around the dead cat, lifted the corpse into one arm then extended his hand to help Edith stand. “Come on.”
“Just one more minute.” She turned and strode to the alleyway.
“Now what?”
Edith disappeared into the alley.
“Don’t go in there.” But his boot steps followed fast on the words.
Edith was lifting debris away from a small crate. “Just as I thought. Kittens.”
“No!”
She heard him retreat a step as he uttered the word.
“But they’re motherless.” She bent and picked up the squirming mass that turned out to be three kittens.
“I’m not giving a passel of worthless rat-eaters a place in my home.”
“Why not?” Edith bundled the kittens into her voluminous shirt.
“Because I don’t want to.”
“Where’s your Christian charity, Mr. Trahern?”
“I have plenty of Christian charity,” he muttered. “I took you in, didn’t I? I’m gonna bury a dead stray, but I draw the line at kittens.”
“Then I’ll find someone else to care for them.”
“They’ll be dead by the time you get back here.”
“Then you leave. I’ll stay. These kittens need a defender,” she challenged. “If you won’t provide them with a safe haven, I’ll defend them here in the street.”
His jaw dropped. “Do you have a death wish? Didn’t you see what those dogs did? Those men would do worse.”
“You must do as you see fit, Mr. Trahern, and so must I. I absolve you of all responsibility.”
Trahern growled.
At the sound so similar to the dogs, Edith started.
“God save me from soft-hearted women.” He put his bundled coat down and reached for Edith.
She stared at him, open mouthed. “What are you doing?”
“What I should have done ten minutes ago.” He lifted her, kittens and all, and carried her back to the horse.
“But you’re leaving the cat.”
“I can’t manage you, the cat, the kittens, and the horse.” He deposited her on the saddle then mounted behind, setting the beast into motion.
Edith had all she could do to hold her loose, borrowed blouse closed over the kittens, preventing them from falling under the horse’s hooves.
Perhaps Dutch Trahern could be trusted. Not a word passed between them until he helped her dismount in front of his house.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Trahern stared down at her for a long time then pivoted on his heel. “Tsung!” he shouted, heading for the door. “Get your Chinese butt out here and help.”
A smiling Tsung appeared before the words left Trahern’s lips. “Ah, you bring Missee home. Good-good.”
Trahern pivoted again, walked back to the horse and mounted. “I don’t want to see a single one of those kittens when I get back.”
“Kittens?” intoned Tsung. Her smile grew broader.
“Where are you going?” Edith felt curiously bereft.
“To get my coat. It’s the only one I have.”
“Oh.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll retire before I get back.”
Edith swallowed and nodded.
He kneed his mount into a canter, raising a cloud of dust as he rode off.
She stared after him. What a curious mixture of fury and kindness was Dutch Trahern.
CHAPTER NINE
Edith stoked the coals in the kitc
hen stove’s firebox the next morning. She closed the metal door and reached for the skillet that hung from a hook on the stove’s side rail. She left the pan to heat and stepped to the table where a large onion rested on a chopping block. Taking a sharp knife in hand, she set to dicing the onion.
She loved the early morning quiet, when street sounds were distant and birds sang a cheerful counterpoint to the small clicks, bangs, and sizzles created in the kitchen. She’d learned to cook out of self-defense, for her grandfather never came to the kitchens in the Alden mansion, and if he could not find her, he could not beat out his anger on her.
This morning she even dared whistle a small tune. There was no harsh grandfather to darken her day. She was making breakfast for a man who, while he seemed to have a temper like Carlton Alden IV, also seemed to have much more control over that temper. Dutch Trahern had not struck her once, and she knew he’d felt powerful motivation to do so.
She whistled more, tapping her foot in time to the tune, and concentrated on slicing the knife carefully through the onions that already made her eyes water.
“Edith?”
Startled, her hands jerked. The blade drew a thin red line across the long knuckle of her opposing thumb. “Ow!” Still gripping the knife, she stuck the wounded digit in her mouth and looked up.
The knife clattered to the floor.
Trahern stood in the doorway, a dark rag in one hand. Patches of blood and muck covered him from head to toe.
Her small pain forgotten, Edith dropped her hand to her side and rushed forward. “You’re hurt.”
He brought a hand up, holding her at arm’s length. “No, but you are.”
His palm slid down her arm, leaving a trail of dirt on her sleeve. He picked up her injured hand and examined the thumb. “It’s not too deep. Should be okay if you get it washed and bandaged right away.”
He lifted his gaze to her face. She stared at him. She knew she should pull away. She should check him for injuries. So much blood on his clothing, surely he must be hurt. She should get soap and water. She should cook breakfast. She could do none of those things.
What was passing between them she did not understand, but she could no more break away from his gaze than she could breathe under water. Indeed, she felt as if the breath had been knocked from her. She sucked in a deep lungful of air. As she exhaled, she shook herself from the odd trance.
