Yelena smiled very faintly. “I would like to be teacher. But must make English good. Someday maybe I go to school. Be clever, brave woman like you.”
I felt blood rush to my face, pleased and a little embarrassed by such a sincere and heartfelt compliment. “My dear, that would be wonderful. If there is anything I can do to help further your dream, you have only to ask.” I opened my reticule and handed her one of my business cards. “You can reach me at this address.”
The girl’s smile became much brighter, as if she had at last found a new focus for her life. “Thank you, Miss Woolson. I keep card safe. Maybe see you again.”
I took one of her dainty hands and gave it a little squeeze. “I hope so, Yelena. I would like that very much.”
______
Celia had come out of Madame Karpova’s room fairly glowing with happiness, and she insisted on treating us to a hansom cab for our journey home.
Our carriage had barely left the curb, when she could contain herself no longer. “I saw Sophie, Sarah! I’m convinced Madame Karpova was able to bring her to me.” She flushed and looked embarrassed. “I know I sound naïve, and I probably am. But, oh, Sarah, I could actually feel her in my arms.”
Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, no, not again,” she groaned, taking a lace handkerchief from her reticule. “These days, I seem to cry over the least little thing.”
“I would hardly call holding your lost child a small thing, Celia,” I said, putting my arm around her slender shoulders.
“I don’t know how she does it, but Madame Karpova told me things no one else could possibly know. She also insists the new baby will be a boy, and that he’ll be healthy and smart, and have a tiny mole on his back, right below his left arm.” She sniffed and wiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I feel so silly even talking about it.”
“There’s no need to feel foolish, Celia. Since meeting Madame Karpova, I’ve had ample opportunity to wonder about her abilities. The truth is, her predictions are more often right than wrong.”
A small frown line appeared between Celia’s lovely blue eyes. “Do you think she realized Mr. Serkov was using her readings to blackmail people?”
“She says she didn’t know, but . . .” I thought back to my last conversation with Madame Karpova after she was released from jail. When I’d questioned her about Dmitry’s habit of eavesdropping at her readings, she swore she’d forbidden him to do it anymore after they’d made their way to London from Russia. “I can’t help but wonder if a leopard can so easily change its spots.”
“So you believe she condoned his actions and perhaps even aided him to rob people?” she asked, looking shaken by the idea. “Now that I’ve met her, I can’t imagine her doing anything so despicable. She seems so sensitive, and genuine, and caring.”
I gave a soft laugh. “Perhaps she truly is all those things. We’ll never really know, will we?” I thought of Madame Karpova’s hard life in Russia, her struggle to survive, her love and loyalty to the man who had saved her from a fate very probably worse than death. No, I thought, it is not up to me to judge.
“The only thing I can say for certain, Celia, is, whether she’s the real thing or a talented charlatan, Madame Karpova is an amazing woman.”
Iam delighted to report that earnings from my first two cases as an independent attorney have ensured the solvency of my law office for at least another six months. Robert insists that still qualifies as living from hand to mouth, but I consider it a triumph.
As does my downstairs neighbor, Fanny Goodman, who surprised me with a small but most enjoyable victory party in her millinery shop. Robert, my brother Samuel, and, of course, Eddie were invited, as well as half a dozen adjoining shopkeepers. With a mouth-watering display of homemade pies, cakes, brown Betty, peanut brittle, taffy, and fudge, as well as apple cider, hot chocolate, tea, and coffee to drink, the celebration was judged by all to be an unqualified success!
After most of the guests had departed, including my brother Samuel, I was delighted to receive a letter by afternoon post from Pierce Godfrey. Because of my mother’s continued determination to see me settled down with a husband and children, I had asked Pierce to send his letters to my business address, instead of my home. Unfortunately, Robert happened to spy the sender’s name on the envelope as I was hastily placing it, unopened, inside my skirt pocket.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually corresponding with that pirate,” he said with a frown. “Where is he anyway?”
“Hong Kong,” I replied. “And you know very well that he’s a respectable businessman. I told you Pierce was sailing to Hong Kong to open another shipping office, which, by the way, is already showing a profit.”
“Good for him,” he commented dryly. “I hope he stays there.”
I ignored his snide remark. “Actually, he said in his last letter that he planned to be home for the Christmas holidays.” For some reason I could not fathom, Robert had taken a profound dislike to Pierce, whom I’d first met during my involvement in the Russian Hill murders. It seemed all the more inexplicable, given that Pierce invariably treated Robert with the utmost civility. “It will be nice to see him again.”
He made a face. “I can’t wait.”
“Oh, really, Robert. Enough is enough! Just what do you have against Pierce Godfrey?”
“Let me see. Where shall I begin? He’s cocky and brash and pushy—” He stopped, seemingly having run out of words to describe Pierce’s shortcomings.
“Cocky, brash, and pushy,” I repeated. “That describes at least half the male population of San Francisco. In fact, those are the very qualities that enabled our city to grow into such a thriving metropolis. I’m sure he would not take that as a—”
We both turned as the door to Fanny’s shop flew open and my brother Charles burst into the room.
“It’s a boy!” he all but shouted. “He’s big and healthy and beautiful and Celia is tired, but they’re both doing just fine,” he went on without stopping for a breath. “Oh, I almost forgot. Celia wanted me to tell you that the baby has a small mole on his back, just beneath his left arm.” His expression turned quizzical. “Although I have no idea why a mole should be important.”
I smiled at my brother. “Let’s just say that the mole signifies that your new son is going to grow up to be clever and handsome, just like his daddy.”
“You base all that on a mole?” Charles looked first at Robert, who seemed just as confused as he was, then back to me. “Sarah, is this some sort of joke?”
“If it is,” I told him, “it’s a very pleasant one, don’t you agree?”
Taking Robert by the arm, I started toward Fanny’s kitchen, where she and Eddie were seeing to the last of the dirty dishes.
“Let’s help our hostess finish cleaning up, Robert. Then I want to go home and be introduced to my newest nephew.”
Table of Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
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The Cliff House Strangler Page 33
