For the next hour I busied myself going through the remaining work I had appropriated from Robert's desk that morning, sorting it by case into separate stacks. Fortunately, what was left did not seem particularly urgent, and could wait until Monday. Nevertheless I could not help but think that he had received the better part of our bargain. In my eagerness to induce him to accompany me to Madam Valentine's parlor house, I had saddled myself with a full two days' work. Moreover, I had rashly promised to complete the research and write the briefs at no charge!
With a sigh, I put down my pen. Despite the extra work, and my shock at spying a man who looked very much like Ozzie Foldger, I considered our visit to the brothel a success. I had located Brielle Bouchard and satisfied myself as to her well-being. Whether or not I would be able to help her, of course, remained a question I could not as yet answer.
Hopefully, after I'd had an opportunity to speak to my father and Samuel, I would finally be able to lay the matter to rest. One way or the other.
When Robert still had not put in an appearance by six o'clock, I could no longer put off getting ready for the theater. The gown I had chosen for the evening was a deep shade of mauve, and was constructed of soft cashmere and satin merveilleux. Although the back skirt was gathered at the waist, the bodice was tailored and, other than a delicate ruffle of cream lace at the neckline, contained a minimum of flounces. My mother had persuaded me to choose this gown for a dinner party we had attended at Thanksgiving, insisting that the shade contrasted nicely with my raven hair and ivory complexion. Since Mama possesses a keen sense of style which I shall never be able to emulate, I inevitably yielded to her counsel.
After I had pinned my thick mane into a reasonably fashionable arrangement atop my head—finally giving up on the stray curls to either side of my face which stubbornly refused to be tamed—I added a small black felt hat, with the brim raised on the right side, and decorated with several feathers stuck into a band of dark rose velvet encircling the crown. Examining myself in a small looking glass I kept to hand, I decided it was the best I could be expected to achieve under the circumstances, and returned to the front office.
Spying the files of legal documents still stacked on my desk ready to be picked up, I wondered once again what could be keeping Robert. According to my lapel watch, it was after six thirty. What would I do, I worried, if he was still here when Pierce appeared to collect me for the theater? Given Robert's unreasonable dislike for Pierce, compounded by his unfortunate lack of tact when expressing his opinions, there was a very real possibility that he would precipitate an unpleasant scene.
My worst fears were realized, when Robert came bursting into my office—as usual without so much as a knock—barely fifteen minutes before the hour of seven. I had the files ready to turn over to him, but naturally the infuriating man ignored me, sinking instead onto the chair facing my desk and expelling a deep sigh.
“Ah, you've got them ready, then,” he said, finally accepting the papers from my outstretched hand. “I know I'm late, but Shepard hauled the lot of us into his office to discuss a new case the firm has accepted. The old bugger is too miserly to assemble us during normal work hours, but he'd be perfectly content to keep us there until the wee hours of the morning, if the whim struck him.”
“I thought you said he required these briefs by four o'clock?” I asked, annoyed that I had worked so diligently to meet this deadline.
“Oh, aye, but he changed his mind. Says he and his wife have been invited to spend the weekend out of town, and that he won't have a chance to go over them after all.” He looked at me hopefully. “I don't suppose you could manage a nice hot cup of tea? It's close to freezing out there tonight, and in words of the vernacular, I'm completely exfluncticated.”
I eyed him in sharp surprise. “Good heavens, Robert, you've been spending too much time around Eddie.”
“Oh, I don't know. In his own inimitable fashion, the boy occasionally has the knack of hitting the nail precisely on the head.” He stretched out his long legs in obvious relief. “So, do you think you could manage a cup of tea before I'm forced to go back out there and brave the elements?”
“I'm sorry, Robert,” I told him, rising to my feet. “I wish I could, but I simply don't have the time. As it is, I'm late for an appointment. In fact, I was just about to leave.”
He gave me a very direct look, seeming to notice for the first time what I was wearing. After he made a careful examination of my gown and hat, I was startled to see his ruddy face turn a slightly deeper shade of red. “Sarah, you, ah, look beauti—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “That is to say, you look quite presentable. Where are you off to, then?”
“Thank you for the compliment,” I said dryly, not sure whether to laugh or lecture him on the proper social graces when admiring a lady. “At least I assume that's what it was meant to be. As a matter of fact, I'm attending the theater with a friend. So, if you will just—”
His reddish-brown eyebrows rose as he regarded me suspiciously. “A friend? And what friend would that be?”
“Really, Robert.” I felt my temper rising. “What possible concern can that be to you?”
Naturally, he ignored my question, studying me instead through considerably narrowed blue-green eyes. “That friend wouldn't happen to be Pierce Godfrey, would it? He's only been back in town for a few days and already he's making a nuisance of himself. First dinner, and now the theater.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks. What a terrible fuss you make out of nothing. Pierce Godfrey and I are good friends and that is all there is to it.”
“Nothing? You call this nothing? The man is no better than a buccaneer, Sarah. He's dangerous, and frankly, I don't trust him. Especially with you.” The minute these words were out of his mouth, Robert's lips clamped together, as if wishing he could take them back.
“Now you're being absurd!” I attempted to control my temper, but the man was irksome beyond endurance. “Pierce Godfrey is invariably polite and agreeable toward you, Robert, yet I have yet to hear you utter one civil word about him.”
His face flushed an even darker red, but he did not reply.
“Not only that,” I went on, “but you will insist on referring to him as a pirate, an appellation which infers that he is dishonest in his business dealings, and for which you possess not a modicum of proof. I simply cannot comprehend such unwarranted behavior, or why you have developed this unreasonable dislike for the man.”
With this, I folded my arms across my chest, sat back down in my chair, and waited for him to respond to these justifiable charges.
“Are you quite finished?” he asked.
I started to make a sardonic reply, then decided I had said enough and held my tongue, contenting myself with giving him a brisk nod of my head.
“All right, then, I'll tell you why I mistrust the man.” He fixed me with steely eyes, all the while moving forward until he was perched on the edge of his seat which, considering his muscular build, caused the chair to creak in protest.
“I understand that, as a woman, your knowledge of the world is limited. If it were not, you would realize that men of the sea are notoriously capricious, especially when it comes to the ladies. Even as a wee lad growing up in Edinburgh I knew that a sailor had as many women as the ports he visited. Believe me, Sarah, Godfrey is no exception. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that his reputation as a lothario is well known throughout the Orient. You are too naïve by half to recognize his true intentions, but I assure you they are anything but honorable.”
I was so taken aback by this froth of utter nonsense, I could scarcely draw breath to speak. As I fumbled to find words severe enough to express my outrage, he was off again, rising from his chair and punctuating each ludicrous accusation by slapping a hand down on my desk.
“He has besotted you, Sarah. It's not your fault, of course, but it's your very innocence that's placing you in such peril. I wish you could see your face when that man—”
His tirad
e was brought to an abrupt halt by a knock on the door. I was so caught up in anger and exasperation that I did not immediately answer, and the knock was repeated.
“Come in,” I finally managed, giving Robert a warning look as I rose from my chair.
The door opened, and Pierce strode into the room. He did not appear surprised to find Robert standing in front of my desk, his broad face glaring at him like a thundercloud. Pierce's composed and doggedly fixed expression led me to believe that he had overheard some of Robert's angry harangue from outside the door.
“Sarah,” Pierce said, smiling as his eyes ran appreciatively over my gown and hat. “You look exquisite, as always.” His smile faded as he turned to Robert, acknowledging his presence with a terse, “Good evening, Campbell.”
“Good evening,” Robert responded with equal curtness.
I could tell by the pained look on Robert's broad face that he was trying to smile at Pierce, but the effort fell far short of its mark; if anything, it had the unfortunate effect of making the Scot appear as if he were suffering a painful toothache. Neither man proffered his hand to the other, as common courtesy dictated.
“Are you ready, Sarah?” Pierce inquired, his dark eyes in no way mirroring his pleasant demeanor.
“Yes, I am.” I left my desk and started for the back room. “Just let me get my wrap.”
It took me but a moment to fetch my cape and rabbit hair muff. Returning to my office, I allowed Pierce to help me on with my cloak. Standing, arms folded, in front of my desk, Robert silently glowered at us both.
I had reached the end of my patience with this rude, and entirely uncalled-for, behavior; it did not deserve to be acknowledged. Turning my back on my exasperating colleague, I swept through the door Pierce held open for me. As I left, I threw over my shoulder, “Please ensure that the door is properly latched when you leave, Robert.”
Closing the door firmly behind us, Pierce followed me down the stairs and assisted me into his waiting carriage.
The Baldwin Theater was filled to near capacity for the opening night of Shakespeare's comedy, The Merry Wives of Windsor. Comfortably seated in Pierce's proscenium box, we had a clear view of the nearly two thousand patrons seated below us in plush red upholstered seats—which, paradoxically, reminded me of the sofas and chairs featured in Madam Valentine's brothel. The theater boasted velvet hangings, filigree decorations on pillars and walls, as well as rich tapestries and paintings on display in the lobby and adjoining saloons, where theatergoers could refresh themselves during intermissions.
I had borrowed Pierce's opera glasses to examine the theater's furnishings, when I spied a familiar group of people taking their seats in a box across the theater from our own. There was no mistaking the tall, erect figure of Major Zachariah Tremaine, as well as that of his son Reginald and daughter-in-law Faith. The twins, Melody and David, followed behind their parents and grandfather. The last gentleman to enter the box and take a seat was the Reverend Erasmus Mayfield, rector of the Church of Our Savior. He seemed in high spirits, chatting animatedly with the younger Mr. Tremaine as the two men, along with the elder Tremaine, took their places behind the women and young David.
My eyes were immediately drawn to Melody, who was wearing a lovely dusky gold gown, overlaid with cream-colored, open-mesh silk netting at the neckline and around the wrists. Her glorious tawny-brown hair had been pulled back from her face, and was decorated with a few simple combs and matching gold ribbons. Even at a distance, I was once again struck by the girl's innocent beauty and grace, as she allowed her brother to seat her in the center of the box, next to their stepmother on her right.
Faith Tremaine was attired in a dark blue gown, with delicate pale blue lace lining the bodice and the wrists. The cut of her neckline was considerably lower than her stepdaughter's, and the long, slender design of the dress was cleverly cut to make her appear taller than her barely five feet. She was wearing a small evening hat decorated with contrasting feathers, several artificial flowers, and an assortment of brilliant stones, and she was carrying a small reticule which sparkled when it caught the light of the huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“Look, Pierce,” I said in a whisper, lightly touching his arm and handing him the opera glasses. “Do you see the girl in the gold gown? The one who has just taken her seat in that box across the way?”
Training the glasses in the direction I had indicated, he nodded. “Yes, I see her. She's very lovely.”
“That's Melody Tremaine. Her twin brother, David, is sitting to her left, and that's her stepmother, Faith Tremaine, on her right.”
I went on to explain the three men sitting behind them, including the Reverend Mayfield.
“It was the Reverend Mayfield's deacon, Dieter Hume, who was found murdered two nights ago near the Harrison Street Bridge.”
Pierce appeared interested. “Wasn't another man killed near that same bridge earlier in the week?”
“Yes,” I replied softly. “That was Hume's friend Nigel Logan. The two men attended a party in the Reverend Mayfield's honor at the Tremaine house the night of Logan's death.”
He gave a soft whistle. “That seems a bit of a coincidence. The newspapers have made little of that connection. Instead, they make it sound as if a madman is on the loose.”
“I know, and those stories are frightening a great many people, especially those who live in the Rincon Hill neighborhood. It has crossed my mind to wonder if Reginald Tremaine has exerted some influence to keep the Tremaine name out of this awful business, although at the time the police seemed to consider the Reverend Mayfield a possible suspect.”
Pierce looked surprised. “A church rector? Why would he do such a thing? And to his own deacon?”
“Why, indeed? It's food for thought, isn't it?”
“How do you know the Tremaines?” asked Pierce, once again training the glasses at the box across from us.
“They live less than two blocks from our house,” I explained. “Although I'm not well acquainted with the family, I occasionally see them at church—the Reverend Mayfield's church, actually.”
I went on to describe the birthday party my sister-in-law Celia held for Faith Tremaine at our house, adding that the surprise of the evening came when young Melody sang for us after dinner.
“She's remarkably gifted,” I told him. “The girl is so shy she hardly uttered a word throughout dinner. It was only when she sat down at the piano and began singing that she truly came to life. You should have seen the glow on her face, Pierce. It was as if she had escaped into a world of her own. The rest of us no longer appeared to exist.”
“If she is as gifted as you say, she should consider a career on the stage,” he said, continuing to study the girl through the glasses.
“I agree. Unfortunately, her father and stepmother seem set against it.”
“She's still very young,” Pierce said, laying aside his opera glasses. “Perhaps when she turns eighteen she can decide for herself what she wants to do with her life.”
“I doubt that her stepmother will allow that to happen. Faith Tremaine seems determined to marry her off as quickly as possible.”
“What about her brother?” he asked. “Does he also express an interest in the theater?”
I laughed. “Hardly. That boy has the mind of a true scientist. I gather he has his heart set on becoming a biologist, or perhaps a botanist. He already shows a remarkable understanding of the natural sciences.”
“Surely his father and stepmother can find no fault with his choice of a career.”
“On the contrary, Reginald Tremaine seems disappointed that his eldest son shows no desire to follow him into the men's retail business.” I took a moment to describe the Men's Emporium, then went on to tell him about the two children he'd fathered with his second wife, Faith. “Fortunately, his younger son, Reggie, seems happy to take over the store when his father retires.”
Before Pierce could comment on this, the houselights dimmed a
nd I, too, fell silent. A tremor of excitement ran through the audience as the curtain rose to reveal an imaginatively designed stage, set off to good advantage by clever lighting. Then Justice Shallow, his cousin Slender, and Sir Hugh Evans stepped onto the stage and the play began. The three were colorfully costumed, as befitted their roles, and as soon as the three began to speak their opening lines, all thoughts of the Tremaines were swept from my mind.
The play ran a full three hours, and it was nearing midnight when Pierce and I ordered a late dinner at a nearby restaurant. I admit that I was weary after such a long day, and ordered a light supper of soup and sole, baked in a delicate white sauce. The first part of our meal was taken up with lively talk of the play, then the conversation returned to our earlier discussion of the Tremaine family.
“How does the Tremaine girl feel about marrying so young?” Pierce asked.
I paused in taking a sip of wine to consider his question. “It's hard to say. As I told you, she barely spoke more than a dozen words all evening. However, based on her stepmother's laments about how Melody balks at entertaining young men, or attending social events, I'd say she would far prefer to pursue her music than settle down with a husband and children. At least for now. I'll never forget the expression of pure joy on her face when she began to sing.”
“Is she really as good as you say?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” I said with enthusiasm. “I don't claim to be a music critic, of course, but I have heard voices far less splendid than hers on the stage. It's more than just her voice, though, it's her innocence and beauty, the mood she somehow manages to create. I hardly know how to describe it. All I can say is that it's truly magical. That's why I find it so unfair that her parents refuse to share her with the rest of San Francisco, or the world, for that matter.”
Scandal On Rincon Hill Page 16
