The Lost Baroness

by Judith B. Glad

  "Well, if you figure it out, let me know. Now, what are we going to do about getting into the boardinghouse, once Simmons gets back?"

  "The problem's not us getting in," Buff said, as he scratched his head. "How are we going to get Siri in there to identify those kids? There's no way you'd disguise her."

  * * *

  Once the plan had been explained to Siri, she stopped arguing. It would work. It had to.

  She'd been given into the hands of an ancient Chinese woman. Now she sat naked in a dim little room, hardly larger than the pantry at the hotel. After the first few minutes of exquisite discomfiture, she had controlled her embarrassment and now could stand still without cringing and wanting to conceal herself. A hastily fashioned sling held her right arm, but was only temporary.

  "We will bind it close to your body," Soomey told her, "so you appear to have only one arm. But not until we have made you look Chinese." She cocked her head. "How fortunate it is your eyes are not wide, like mine. I do not know how we would conceal their color. Keep them squinted, like this." She demonstrated.

  A thick paste, oily and evil-smelling, was applied to her hair. The old woman said something as she worked it through.

  "She says the color will wash out in a week or two," Soomey assured Siri. "It is too bad, but no Chinese person has hair like silver."

  "As long as it doesn't make my hair all fall out," muttered Siri, as she tried to take shallow breaths so the smell did not sicken her.

  "No, I promise it will not. You will be very pretty, with black hair like mine, and your skin will be dark too. You must tell Buffalo to buy you a red gown."

  Buffalo will buy me nothing more, Siri vowed, but she said nothing.

  Leaving the paste on Siri's hair, the woman began dabbing an inky-looking solution onto her face. She closed her eyes, and did her best to pretend it did not sting. Her left hand was dipped into a basin which from the sting, must have contained the same noxious mixture.

  Again the old woman spoke. "Now you wait," Soomey translated. "The dye will take time to go into your skin."

  "But it will wash out, won't it?"

  "Oh, yes, in one week, or maybe two."

  What could Siri do but sigh? She would paint herself purple if it meant she would have her children back in her arms.

  While she sat and shivered on the small stool, the old woman went away. She returned after a while, carrying an armful of black fabric. When shaken out, it became a long-sleeved shirt, trousers and a padded jacket. From a bag, she pulled several pairs of felt-soled slippers, such as Mrs. Leong wore, as well as some white stockings.

  "I hope she found shoes to fit you. Your feet are very big," Soomey told her, holding up a slipper.

  Since Siri's mother had often said the very same thing, she could hardly take offense.

  At last the old woman declared her skin to be of the right shade. She washed the residue of the dye off with a cloth dampened with some sweet-smelling herb. Then she applied a rough towel to Siri's hair and rubbed briskly. The towel, when she was done, was blackened and filthy. Siri decided she didn't want to know what her hair looked like.

  "Now she will make you a queue," Soomey said. "Of course, to do it right, she would shave your head in front--so." Her finger traced a line across the crown of her head from ear to ear. "But I tell her you would not like your head shaved, so she will give you a hat to wear."

  Siri chewed her lip as the old woman worked a wide-toothed comb through her long hair. What if the black paste would not wash away? How long would it take her hair to grow out if she cut it off? She winced several times as the woman 's callused fingers caught on the damp strands.

  While her hair was being braided, Soomey disappeared. When she came back, she was dressed exactly like Mrs. Leong, in black silk trousers and a long tunic of embroidered silk. She carried a seaman's blue coat and a billed cap.

  "Now we bind your arm." Soomey approached, holding a wide strip of fabric.

  To Siri's unbelieving eye, it looked like embroidered silk. It felt like silk, too. Cool and slick and as light as swansdown. She looked a question at Soomey.

  "Do not be concerned. It is soiled and cannot be sold. And it will be more pleasant to wear than the linen wrapping I wore."

  "You broke your collarbone?"

  "Oh, no! I only bound my breasts. For so long. Almost a year, while I pretended to be a coolie. Boss would not let me be his concubine, so I remained a boy. There. I am finished. Now, you will let me help you into these trousers."

  So many questions Siri wanted to ask. Instead she docilely let the two women dress her, as if she was a child's dolly. But someday, she vowed, she would learn why Soomey had disguised herself as a coolie. And where.

  The largest pair of the slippers was only a little too small. "If I don't have to walk far, I will be fine," Siri assured Soomey. But when she tried to walk, she found that one had a great lump in the sole, and she was forced to limp slightly.

  At last Soomey pronounced her well disguised, and they emerged again into the small restaurant. Siri saw someone had brought in a large mirror with an ornate, gilded frame. It was leaning against the wall. She hesitated when Soomey gestured toward it, not sure she wanted to see what had been done to her.

  Reluctantly she approached and looked at her reflection.

  Except for her eyes, she looked foreign. Not particularly Chinese, but alien. To hide the fact that her right arm was strapped to her body, the women had attached a folded towel to her shoulder and back, so she looked misshapen, almost hunchbacked. The wrappings about her torso gave her a bulky appearance, quite unlike her usual slenderness.

  "I would not know you," Soomey said. "We did a good job."

  "You certainly did." Siri was beginning to believe Soomey's crazy scheme might actually work. If they could get into Martine's house at all.

  Soon they were on their way to the oldest part of Portland, where Martine's boarding house was located. The carriage let them off around the corner from the house because, as Soomey said, "No one would believe that two China people would ride here in a carriage, so anyone watching will think they just did not see us walk this way."

  They walked along the alley to a small shack, Soomey said, "This is the cookhouse. So very stupid. The food will be cold before it reaches the table."

  A path led along the side of the house, Siri staying several paces behind Soomey as she had been instructed. The pole on her left shoulder was heavier than she'd expected, and she was glad they had padded a portion of its length. She waited at the foot of the front steps when Soomey walked boldly to the door and rang the bell. Remembering what Soomey had said about her eyes, she kept them aimed at the ground.

  A maid answered the door. She argued with Soomey for several minutes, but Siri could not hear what was said. Eventually she went away, leaving Soomey standing before the closed door. Siri risked looking up at her.

  A nod told Siri the maid had gone to fetch Martine. If it was Martine. Siri, who had not doubted for a moment that this was her mother-in-law, that her children were indeed inside, was suddenly beset with doubt. What if this is all for nothing? How will I ever find Rosel and Rolf?

  The door opened again. The voice that asked Soomey what she wanted was graven on her memory.

  Martine Pedersdotter!

  A few minutes later she was called to follow Soomey inside. As she crossed the threshold, she heard the sound of childish laughter from somewhere in the house.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  At the second floor landing, Silas paused. "You go get Siri. We'll order supper up to our suite and plan our strategy."

  "Right. I'll be back in a bit." Whistling under his breath, Buff went up the next flight two steps at a time. Tarnation, but he'd missed Siri today. They'd been together so much the last while that he seemed somehow incomplete when she wasn't around. He tapped on her door as he passed it, then opened his. "I'm home!" he called.

  Only silence answered him. Moving silently, because i
f she was sleeping, he wanted to kiss her awake, he went through the connecting door.

  Her bed was empty, her room tidy, as the maid must have left it after her departure. Quickly he checked the dresser for a note.

  Nothing.

  He went back to his room and looked for a note there.

  Nothing there either. Well, hell, where is she?

  On a scrap of paper ripped from his notebook, he wrote. I'm in Dewitt's room. Come down. He carried it back into her room. A small dish on her dresser yielded a pin, which he used to impale the note, leaving it square in the middle of her pillow. Be hard for her to miss that.

  Angry, but doing his best to conceal it, he strode back downstairs. It was only half-past five. Too early to worry.

  Silas was just coming out of his door. "Is Soomey up in your room?" he said.

  "No. I figured they were down here." He followed Silas back inside. "Where do you suppose--"

  "They're probably still out shopping. The shops haven't closed yet."

  Somehow Buff was sure that wasn't the explanation. He had the worst feeling... "Yeah, you're probably right. But after all that's happened, I don't like this."

  "I don't either. But there's not a hell of a lot we can do about it. You want a drink?"

  Buff had to resist the urge to toss back the whiskey. He sipped, then set the glass down. "I shouldn't have let her go out with just Soomey. What if--"

  "Relax. If anything had happened, Evan would've got word to us."

  "Evan?"

  "My driver. Actually, he's more than that. A handy man in a tight spot. Only trouble is..." He scratched his chin again, staring off into space.

  "What? What trouble"

  "He thinks the sun rises and sets in Soomey. He'll do just about anything she asks him to."

  "Oh, shit!"

  "Exactly." Silas began to pace the floor, his drink forgotten.

  * * *

  Siri kept her eyes well down when Martine motioned her and Soomey to follow the hallway toward the back of the house. One of the shallow baskets swinging from her shoulder pole bumped the wall.

  "Be careful, there. That's fresh paint."

  "So sorry," Soomey said. "He is very clumsy. Very stupid. But there are not many who will work for a female."

  When they entered the kitchen, Soomey stopped her with a hand on her humped shoulder. "Excuse, please. I tell him where to place samples." She said something in Chinese, and accompanied it with gestures, so Siri knew to set the baskets down beside the big table at one end of the room. Then she stepped back against the wall, careful to be behind Martine. She wanted to look around without worrying that the color of her eyes might be noticed.

  Soomey kept up a running monologue about the samples she was showing Martine. They were lovely. Fine linen napkins, delicate cotton tablecloths embroidered in silk with dragons and flowers. Pillow cases of silk, of linen.

  Martine fingered each piece as it was unfolded. She seemed unaware of Siri, which was what they had hoped for. Siri coughed.

  Soomey looked up and nodded.

  Moving silently, Siri edged toward the doorway. Once she was in the hall, she sped back to the foyer, where broad stairs led to the second floor. Again she heard the childish laughter. Upstairs!

  The cork-soled slippers were silent on the slick wooden treads as she stole up the stairs to the third floor. A wide hall extended the length of the house. She paused at the top, listening. Voices, from the back of the house. Moving as swiftly as she dared, she moved in that direction, pausing outside each door to listen.

  Only two doors remained when she found what she sought. Behind the door against which she leaned, at least two children were playing. She knelt, praying there was no key in the lock.

  There was not! She peered inside, but could only see a little of the room. A ginger cat slept on a rug in the center, but no other living thing was visible. Siri pressed her cheek against the door, wishing she could see around corners.

  Just when she was wondering if she dared open the door, a child ran to the cat. "Wake up, silly Parkaka. You lazy cat!"

  Rosel!

  Siri's head spun. Her vision dimmed. She clung to the doorknob, afraid she would swoon.

  For a moment more, she watched as the little girl tickled the cat. Then common sense reasserted itself and she rose. I will be back, she promised her daughter. I will come for you. You and Rolf.

  Almost running, she made her way back to the kitchen. When she once more stood behind Martine, she realized her heart was pounding. Her skin felt cold, yet she was afire with excitement.

  When Soomey looked up at her, she nodded. Only then did the enormous risk she had taken strike her. Cold sweat soaked the binding about her chest and arm, trickled into her eyes. Her knees shook until she could hardly stand.

  For almost half an hour, she had to lean dumbly against the wall as Martine deliberated over linens for her boudoir.

  She had found her children. Soon they would be with her again.

  * * *

  The carriage waited where it had left them off. "You took long enough" the driver grumbled when he'd jumped from the seat to help them load the baskets. "I was about to go get the boss."

  "I tell you we might be a while," Soomey said. "Oh, Evan, we are successful! Siri's children are there. Now tomorrow--"

  "Missus, I ain't doin' any more about this until I get orders from the boss. If you only knew what I was thinkin' might happen to you..." He slammed the door. The carriage dipped as he swung himself onto the seat, jerked as he set the horses to a trot.

  "He is always like this," Soomey said. "Afterward."

  Siri shivered. The quilted coat was wet through, and the cold was soaking into her. Before she could stop them, her teeth chattered.

  "Oh, you must be frozen." Soomey wrapped her in a carriage robe that she pulled from a compartment under one seat. It did no good. All the way back to the hotel, Siri shook with uncontrollable tremors. Even when Soomey took her in her arms, she continued to shiver.

  "It is often so," Soomey told her when she tried to explain, but couldn't make the words form themselves on her tongue. "Only after it is over do we understand the danger." She continued to hold Siri until the driver opened the carriage door.

  "We're here," he said. "Want me to go get the boss?"

  "No. You will carry Siri to our suite. Boss may not be there."

  Siri couldn't even protest when they wrapped her from top to bottom in the robe, and the driver carried her into the hotel.

  * * *

  The Lolochuck had struggled upriver, fighting wind and current. She docked in Portland shortly after eleven at night, six hours behind schedule. Jaeger overheard one of the ship's crew telling another passenger that more than once the captain had considered pulling to shore to wait out the storm.

  What a benighted land! What else could go wrong?

  "The sooner I am done with this affair, the sooner I can return to civilization," he muttered as he walked up the cobbled street towards the small hotel he'd been told was most likely to have rooms at this hour.

  Early tomorrow he would begin his search for Lachlan and the woman. They would be at a better hotel, he believed. Lachlan was not a frugal man, and he was one who liked comfort. Jaeger had never understood why he had lodged at the Pacific Western Hotel rather than the Occident. It had been out of character, and Jaeger disliked it when his prey made unexpected moves.

  Once he was in his room, a shabby, chill place on the second floor, he relaxed on the bed and made his plans. He was through with subtlety. When he found Lachlan and the woman, he would watch for an opportunity. When it presented itself, he would kill her, perhaps using the handgun he had found in the whore's room last night.

  It was a fine gun, with a carved walnut handle and silver chasing on the barrel. A beautiful machine designed to kill.

  Jaeger knew his preference for a good sharp knife was old-fashioned. He fingered the cylinder, turning it with a soft click. Was this the bulle
t that would rid him forever of Lachlan? The man who, despite his provincial manners and lack of refinement had managed to outwit him more than once.

  Yes, tomorrow or the next day, he would be rid of Buffalo Lachlan. And then he would go back to Denmark and report to the would-be Baron Mogensen that he was indeed the only heir to his father's fortune and title.

  * * *

  Both men jumped to their feet when a key rattled in the lock. Silas strode across the room and jerked open the door.

  A big fellow stood there with a blanket-wrapped figure in his arms. Beside him stood Soomey, dressed in an overlarge pea jacket and a disreputable billed cap. "Good evening, Boss. I am happy to see you here. Wait until I tell you of our adventure."

  To Buff's amusement, Silas moved docilely aside and let Soomey and the big man enter. But when he set his burden on the sofa and the blanket fell away, he stopped smiling. "Siri! What the hell--"

  "Be silent, Buffalo. She is very cold. First we must put her in a hot bath. Then I will tell you of our adventure." She knelt beside Siri and tucked the blanket around her. "Only a little while. Then you will be warm. Boss, I think she would like some whiskey."

  Recognizing the sense of what Soomey said, Buff lit the water heater. While they waited for the water to heat, he stood behind the sofa with his hands lying lightly on Siri's shoulders. The shivers that shook her slender frame worried him. More than a simple chill was causing them.

  While he bit back all the questions and curses that hovered on his tongue, Soomey and Silas were across the room, engaged in a real knock-down, drag-out argument. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he knew Silas was giving her hell.

  "Oh, you stupid Boss!" she yelled. "While you men discuss what is best to do, we do it. Now you be silent too. I will tell you all when Siri is able to tell her part."

  Reckoning that the water should be hot enough by now, Buff scooped Siri off the sofa. She struggled weakly. "Be still. I'll take care of you."

  And he did. He held her with one arm while unwrapping her cocoon with the other. Then he sat her on one knee while he stripped the damp coat and coarse cotton shirt from her body. When he saw how she'd been given the ugly hunchback appearance, he smiled grimly, appreciating the ingenious disguise while getting madder every minute. Instead of unwrapping the binding that held the hump on her shoulder and her arm against her body, he pulled the knife from his boot and cut them off of her. Her angry protest only made him snarl, "Shut up!"