Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  Descending the stairs, Edith halted when she heard raised voices from an open door just off the first floor landing.

  “What were you thinking to bring her here?”

  “I was thinking,” said a rigid growl, clearly from Dutch, “that my partner would be happy to shelter my wife.”

  Obviously the shouting voice belonged to his partner, Marcus Smiley.

  “Wife? Are you telling me you actually married a whore? You can’t be serious. Do you know what I heard people saying about her before I even stepped off the train?” Derision replaced the shout.

  “I’m dead serious, Marcus,” Dutch paused. “She’s no whore. She’s a proper Boston spinster who got lured into one of Cerise Duval’s traps. Edith told me everything.”

  Edith cringed inwardly. She hadn’t exactly told him everything. She’d avoided explaining the terms of the will. He probably wouldn’t have believed her if she’d given the details. Even she had trouble believing Grandfather had signed the document that required his granddaughters to bear children but not to marry in order to inherit. A clerk had made a mistake in transposing the attorney’s notes into the legal document. Now Grandfather was comatose, unable to sign a correction. What the circumstances would be when she and Kiera returned to Boston, Edith didn’t know, but she had to find her sister first.

  The entire business was so incredible that she knew Dutch would think she was joking or, worse, lying. If he did believe her, he’d certainly never give her the annulment he’d promised. He’d think she’d tricked him, and that would be the end of any chance that he might love her back. So by omission, she led Dutch to believe that she and her sisters would be destitute. Which in the strictest sense of the will’s wording was true, because none of them was heartless enough to have a child just to inherit a fortune, no matter how badly they all needed that fortune.

  Footsteps paced, coming to a halt just beyond the door. In her mind’s eye Edith could see Dutch thrusting his hands through his sun-hued locks.

  Smiley laughed derisively. “You of all people should be too smart to fall for such a pack of lies.”

  “Of all people, I would know an innocent when I bed one. I married her and took her virginity. I tell you, she isn’t a whore.” His voice wobbled a little.

  Did he still doubt her? No, it must be something else. If only she could see his face.

  Marcus snorted. “You know how easy it is to fake virginity.”

  “Which is precisely why I know she didn’t, couldn’t fake it.”

  Marcus’s voice came closer. “Even if you’re right, it won’t make any difference. The entire town is saying that you literally stole this woman from Duval’s cathouse. After stealing her, you sheltered the whore in your own home until she burned it down around you. Yet you married her. Are you out of your mind?”

  “Gossip. It’ll die down after Father Conroy performs a church ceremony.”

  “I doubt it. Half of Father Conroy’s committee met me at the depot. They’re outraged and want to tar and feather you. They’re ready to insist you turn her over to them, or they’ll arrest both of you. They also had some wild story about more human cargo on our ships and us being in cahoots with Duval and the Chinaman.”

  “That’s absurd. Everyone knows Cerise and I are enemies. Besides, Father Conroy is the one who insisted Edith and I get married. We wanted to keep the marriage quiet until this business with Duval is over, but he was going to spread the word of our wedding among the vigilantes to prevent just this sort of reaction.”

  “He obviously hasn’t gotten the word to everyone on the committee. The ones I spoke with want to boycott our business. Maybe you’d better tell Father Conroy to talk faster. And forget keeping your marriage quiet. Send an announcement to the papers or we’ll be broke inside of a month, all because you couldn’t keep your trousers buttoned.”

  “The fire has us close to broke as it is. But business aside, I need your support to see this through.”

  “I don’t think I can help.”

  “You can, Marcus. Your reputation is solid, and now that you’re married, you have even more respectability. People will forget the Duval auction. They’ll forget faster if you and Eileen accept Edith as Father Conroy has.”

  “Out of the question. Eileen is a gently raised woman. She shouldn’t know anything about women like your Edith.”

  She’d heard more than enough. Gathering her skirts, Edith descended the last few steps prepared to set Marcus Smiley straight and tell him just what she thought of a man who wouldn’t help his friend and partner. Later she’d clear up Dutch’s mistaken idea that they had to remain married.

  “Miss? Mrs. Trahern?”

  Edith jerked back from bursting into the room where Dutch and Marcus argued. She turned. “Yes?”

  A petite woman with a cloud of bright red hair stood before her. “Are you, Edith? The woman who came here with Dutch?”

  “She nodded. “You must be Mrs. Smiley. I want to thank you for giving us shelter last night.”

  A smile formed on the woman’s face. “Call me Eileen. I’m happy to help Dutch. He’s been so good to Marcus.” She looked to where loud voices continued to emerge from the slightly open doorway. “I hate to see them argue.”

  “I was about to go in and stop the argument.”

  Eileen tilted her head in question.

  “They’re arguing about me, and neither of them is right. So I thought I’d set them both straight and restore the peace.”

  The smile softened. “You’re a much braver woman than I. Dutch can be formidable in a temper.”

  Edith smiled back. “Believe me, I know. But I grew up dealing with an angry man, so I can handle Dutch.”

  Eileen’s brows wrinkled with worry. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve had trouble.”

  Edith stepped closer to the other woman and laid a hand on her upper arm. “The trouble is nearly over, and I’ve had help from many good friends.”

  “Good.” The smile returned, rapidly followed by dismay. “Oh, I nearly forgot. This note came for you.”

  Edith took the paper and scanned the contents. The framer would be happy to talk with her but was leaving the city tomorrow for an extended visit with relatives. Could Edith possibly come to his shop today?

  In the next room, the men continued to argue.

  Edith hesitated. She would never remain married, so the argument between Dutch and his friend was needless. Interrupting them would save everyone much heartache. But if she interrupted, she might lose her best chance to find Kiera. That thought forced the decision.

  “I have to go out. Would you be so kind as to tell Dutch I’ll be back in a few hours?”

  “I’ll be happy to relay your message, but perhaps you’d like to wait until he can go with you.”

  Edith looked to the room where the men argued. She didn’t think Dutch would be amenable to chasing to the far side of San Francisco when she refused to stay married to him. She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine, and Dutch will probably need some time to cool off after his, er, discussion with your husband.”

  Eileen nodded. “Very well. I’ll relay your message.”

  “Thank you.” She pressed the married woman’s hand then grabbed her shawl from the peg in the foyer. Scooped one of Dutch’s calling cards from the front table, she hurried out the front door. Clearing up things with Dutch and his friend could wait. The framer, her only lead to Kiera, could not.

  • • •

  Two streets from her destination, Edith paid off the rickshaw driver she’d hired outside of the Smileys’ home. The fire hadn’t reached here, and the rain had turned the dirt roads to mud. The coolie hurried off eager for another fare. She cast an uneasy look at her surroundings and wished she’d paid the man to stay. The hairs at her nape prickled as if she’d been followed, which was ridiculous. The rundown buildings and narrow streets would make anyone uneasy. Still, this wasn’t the Barbary Coast. The address was well outside the bounds of that depraved area. How
ever, even her short adventures into the city with Tsung and Dutch showed her that crime and poverty were not restricted to the Barbary’s hells.

  Across the road, two men sauntered from a saloon, pausing to look her over. Aware of the unwanted attention, Edith set off at a brisk walk, eyeing the shop signs in the dirty windows. She didn’t want to miss the framer’s establishment.

  Her neck prickled once more. A quick look over her shoulder showed that the men had crossed the street and were walking in her direction. Beyond them a shadow dodged swiftly into the dark of an alley.

  She looked forward once more and, reaching the end of the boardwalk, arrived at a sea of muck. Footsteps behind her announced that the men were getting closer. To her left a trail of thin planks set end to end spanned the distance to the next section of boardwalk. She lifted her skirts to keep them out of the sticky ooze. Ignoring the whistle that sounded when she showed her ankles, she scurried as lightly as possible across the planks that sank and twisted with every step.

  On solid boardwalk once more, she turned. The men were halfway across the plank trail.

  “You waitin’ fer us, Honey Pot?” asked one of the men. The other leered.

  She bent, sank her gloved hands into the mud to get a solid grip on the end of the nearest plank.

  “What you doin’?”

  The board weighed very little, but tearing it from the grasp of the ooze proved more of a challenge than Edith expected.

  Fear lent her strength. She heaved the board upward and tossed the end toward the middle of the street at a right angle to its original path.

  “Now that ain’t very friendly.”

  She turned and ran, checking the signs on the doors and trying to strip off her mucky gloves as she went. At the end of the boardwalk she found the framer’s shop. She whisked around the corner and through the shop’s door.

  Heart thundering, she leaned against the door and watched the street from the adjacent window.

  The two men came running around the corner and stopped abruptly.

  “Where’d she go?”

  “Bitch! I see her again, she’ll be sorry.”

  Shouting and muddy to the knees, they walked past the window and out of her view. She expelled a sigh of relief, leaned her forehead against the window, and finished stripping off her gloves. Setting them aside she reached into her handbag for Dutch’s calling card. She’d brought it just in case the framer had left early, so she could leave a message.

  “Ah, I see you accepted our invitation, Mrs. Smithfeld, or should I say Miss Alden or perhaps Mrs. Trahern?”

  Edith straightened and turned away from the window. In the dim light of the room stood the elegant form of Cerise Duval. Beside her sat a thin, bent, old Chinese gentleman in a wheeled chair. Four burly men flanked them, two on either side of the couple.

  “Madame Duval!” The calling card dropped from Edith’s hand. “Aren’t you rather far from Morton Street?” Edith tried to appear calm while her heart raced for a second time.

  “I’m here because of you. You and your sister have caused me no end of trouble and money, Miss Alden. My associate and I agree that it’s past time that you started to pay.”

  Edith spared a glance for Duval’s associate.

  The old man studied her through narrowed eyes, as if he were purchasing a vase or painting. Grandfather had often worn a similar expression when considering a business proposition.

  Edith bristled, despite the worry that had her palms sweating. “You’ve already stolen every penny I owned.”

  “The paltry thousand in the trunk? That barely scratches the surface of what you and your sister owe me.”

  “So you admit you know Kiera. What have you done to her?” Determined to get any information that would help find Kiera, Edith set caution aside and stepped further into the room. Somehow she would make Duval tell what she knew.

  “I’ve done nothing to your sniveling sister, though I will do plenty once I run her to ground.”

  Excellent! Kiera had escaped Duval, but to where?

  Beside Duval, the old man murmured something to one of his attendants.

  “You’re looking for her?” The hope Edith had felt when opening Kiera’s trunk flared briefly.

  Duval folded the fingers of one hand and studied her nails. “She’s a murderess. I’m interested in the reward.”

  The urge to shout Kiera’s innocence was strong, but Edith wanted information more. “Where?”

  “Oh,” Duval smiled. “Last I heard she was headed east, but I expect news any day that my men have located her and are bringing her back to San Francisco to hang.”

  Terror for Kiera bloomed in the face of the madam’s smug tone and casual confidence. Edith forced herself to relax. “Kiera will be proven innocent. Now, if you will excuse me I must leave.”

  She turned for the door.

  “Stop her,” ordered the old man.

  One of the burly men stepped in front of her blocking her way.

  “Please step aside.”

  “I’m afraid we cannot allow you to leave. We haven’t finished our business.”

  Edith turned back to Duval.

  The man she was beginning to suspect Dutch knew as the Chinaman kept a blank face.

  “What possible business could that be?”

  “Your sister stole some photographs when she murdered her employer. Those photographs are worth a great deal of money to me. And, of course, when you decided to back out of our bargain, I lost a good twenty thousand that I would have made off of you.”

  “I doubt you owned the photographs, and Kiera couldn’t steal them from her employer because she was self-employed. But then you knew that when you framed her for murder of a man you had killed. As to our agreement, you changed the terms without telling me. So we had no bargain.”

  “Enough.” The word from the Chinaman was barely whispered, but it silenced Cerise. He lifted a hand, pointed a long nailed finger at Edith, and spoke in rapid, but equally soft, Chinese to the pair of men on his left.

  The pair came at Edith. She tried to dodge, but the men were too quick.

  “She is merchandise,” said the Chinaman to Cerise. “One doesn’t speak with the goods, let alone argue with them.”

  While one man held Edith in a solid grip, the other secured her hands and feet with rope.

  “You can’t do this.”

  “You are right,” Duval agreed with her cohort. “Has the purchaser been told when the goods will be delivered?”

  “What do you mean, delivered?”

  The Chinaman tossed a phrase at his henchmen.

  “This is kidnapping. You’ll regret … ”

  A gag stopped Edith in mid-protest. In a trice, a large sack that dropped all the way to the floor was placed over her head. She was covered completely.

  Her world tilted. A hard shoulder pressed uncomfortably into her belly. An arm anchored her legs. When she squirmed, trying to put her assailant off balance, her bottom was soundly beaten.

  A deep feminine laugh trilled. Until this evening, my friend, I’ll meet you aboard … .”

  Cerise’s words were lost as the door open and shut. The bell jangled, indicating a new arrival. Footsteps passed by the spot where Edith’s handler stood.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  The voice was vaguely familiar.

  “Ah Judge Trahern,” oozed Cerise. “You’re very prompt. We’ve finished with our earlier business and may now tend to our bargain with you.”

  A rapid spate of Chinese followed.

  Edith’s handler shifted and moved.

  Dutch’s father? What could he be doing here?

  “Now, Judge, as to your sons … ”

  Edith strained to hear.

  She heard the bell jangle again as the door open and shut, cutting off the voices once more. Boots clumped on the boardwalk. She wished she could tell which way they were going, but her upside-down position destroyed her sense of direction. Worse, blood was rushing to h
er head, making her dizzy and nauseous. If this lasted much longer she would faint, and nothing she could do would stop it or her abduction.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Judge Jeremiah Trahern sauntered into the room as steadily as the hangover from a three-day bender would allow. From the moment the Chinaman issued his ultimatum for Jem to provide the girls or the money, guilt had dogged him over Trey’s imprisonment. His empty stomach churned. He’d gone days without food, unable to eat, haunted also by memories of a murdered girl. Memories that accused him of permitting the murder of his own son.

  Dutch had been no help, and Jem wished he could blame his elder son for this problem, just like he’d blamed Dutch for every other piece of bad luck that had come Jem’s way. Try as he might, he couldn’t shift the blame. Trey was being tortured because Jem had given his youngest boy to the Chinaman for a few bottles of rotgut.

  Knowing better than to show fear to a pair of jackals like Duval and the Chinaman, Jem leaned against the shop’s counter and studied his fingernails, happy to see that the shakes hadn’t started yet. If they thought he was sober, perhaps he could salvage something from this meeting, trade something for Trey. He just had to figure out what Duval and the Chinaman wanted then provide it.

  “Wasn’t aware we had a bargain, Cerise, old girl. But I’ll be happy to assist you and your associate. For the right price, that is.”

  She laughed.

  “I think you forget that you are the one who must pay me,” said the Chinaman.

  Jem lifted his eyes and returned the old man’s pointed stare. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Then what makes you think that we’d pay you anything for the small errand we want you to perform?” Cerise’s lip curled. She didn’t bother to hide her contempt.

  “Dollar’s a dollar. Can’t blame a man for trying to get a few.” He shifted so he leaned on the counter top, one elbow propping his head, the other hand on his hip. He stared out the shop window.

  “No, I don’t suppose I can,” responded Cerise. “Nonetheless, there will be no payment for this job. In fact, you will do any and everything that the Chinaman and I wish you to do, free of charge, until you manage to pay your debt for that wagonload of women.”