Violet Vanquishes a Villain
A Victorian San Francisco Novella
M. Louisa Locke
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright © 2015 by Mary Louisa Locke
All rights reserved.
* * *
Cover design © 2015 Michelle Huffaker
All rights reserved.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Excerpt of Pilfered Promises:
Other Works by Author
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Sunday evening, August 8, 1880
San Francisco
Annie sighed contentedly and leaned against Nate as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. The cab took off at a gentle pace, and she thought she could still hear everyone shouting their good wishes as they pulled away from the boarding house, heading down O’Farrell to Market Street.
“We aren’t too late, are we?” Annie’d been afraid they would never get away from their well-wishers, but Nate’s best man made it clear to everyone that they needed to leave right at seven so they wouldn’t miss the last evening train from San Francisco to San Jose.
“Don’t worry, love.” Nate kissed the top of her head.
Everything had been such a whirlwind since their impromptu decision on Friday to get married immediately. This left them less than two days to let everyone know, get the license, find a justice of the peace to officiate, and pick out the two matching gold wedding bands, not to mention making all the decisions about what flowers to order, what to serve at the wedding dinner, and how many layers the wedding cake should have. Of course it was her faithful servants, Beatrice O’Rourke and Kathleen Hennessey, who did most of the actual work getting the boarding house ready for the ceremony and reception. Annie’s job had been primarily standing for fitting after fitting as Miss Minnie and Miss Millie Moffet, her elderly boarders, worked feverishly to finish her dress in time.
But all the hustle and bustle was worth it to be sitting here in a cab, alone, with Nate, looking forward to her first night as his “lawfully wedded wife.” If only they didn’t have the two-hour train trip to San Jose, plus the buggy ride to his parent’s ranch, and the inescapable social niceties with his family between now and then. Annie sighed again, not quite as contentedly.
“What is it?” Nate whispered with concern.
She snuggled closer. “I’m being silly, but I sort of wish we weren’t taking off to see your parents tonight. It seemed preferable to staying at the boarding house, with everyone…well, you know what I mean…”
Annie felt rather than heard Nate chuckle as he pulled her tighter. She traced the intricate flower pattern of her silk brocade, remembering the look in his eyes when she’d appeared at the top of the boarding house stairs a few hours ago. He’d been waiting below her on the landing, where the ceremony was to take place, and she thought for a moment he was going to forgo the whole ceremony and just carry her off to her…no their…bedroom.
The cab suddenly felt too warm, even though it was one of the usual chilly summer evenings of early August. She smiled, thinking about the summer night just over a year ago when she first rode in a cab with Nate Dawson. She’d only known him a few days, and he was escorting her home from a rather eventful St. Joseph’s Parish Masked Ball. Even then, she’d felt a disconcertingly strong attraction to a man who from the moment they first met alternated between insulting and rescuing her.
The cab swung to the left, revealing Market Street with its lit gas lamps stretching east towards the Bay. The Palace Hotel appeared on their right, the bay windows on all six of its upper floors glowing in the twilight.
“Nate, he’s missed his turn.” Annie pointed as the cab swept past Third Street, which would have taken them directly to the Townsend Street train depot.
“Slight detour,” he murmured in her ear, and the cab made two abrupt turns, first right onto New Montgomery Street and then left through the arch that led to the central courtyard of the Palace Hotel, a building she’d only ever seen from the outside.
“What in heaven’s name…” Annie gasped.
“I didn’t relish spending my wedding night sharing my childhood bed at the ranch with my new bride, so I had Tim book us a suite here. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Oh Nate, not at all, but how extravagant!”
Annie pretended to scold, but the relief that swept through her showed just how worried she’d been that the twin effects of exhaustion and a lack of privacy might…detract…from their first night together.
Nate helped her step down from the cab. Looking around the courtyard, enclosed on all four sides by balconies, she craned her head to take in the grandeur of this—the largest and most elegant hotel west of the Mississippi. The rows of five-globed chandeliers along every balcony created the illusion they were looking up through a swirl of starlight into the softly glowing glass dome that covered the courtyard and the seventh floor promenade.
Taking her hand and tucking it into his elbow, Nate gently led her through the entrance to the lobby, where they were forced to hesitate by a crowd of men in black formal evening clothes and elegantly attired women in jewel-toned gowns who were slowly moving over to a large staircase leading to the second floor. No doubt they were there to attend some banquet for one of the city’s wealthiest residents who lived year round in this hotel.
Annie had belonged to this level of society at one time, first as the daughter of Edward Stewart, successful San Francisco and New York city stock broker, then briefly as the wife of John Fuller, whose family’s fortune gave him entrance into the most exclusive homes in Manhattan. Then the loss of her own fortune and her husband’s suicide relegated her to the role of poor unpaid companion to John’s relatives. A miserable life from which she’d been rescued when she inherited the O’Farrell Street house and turned it into a boarding house, supplementing that income by becoming the exclusive clairvoyant, Madam Sibyl.
However, as Madam Sibyl’s clients, the men and women so glitteringly arrayed before her might come to her for business or domestic advice, but they would never see her as their equal. Her marriage to Nathaniel Dawson, an up-and-coming young San Francisco lawyer, could change all that. There’d even been a time in their courtship when he made the mistake of suggesting that a return to high society should be an incentive for her to marry him.
But Annie didn’t want to pay the price that returning to her former “station” in life would cost, which would be economic dependence on her husband. And Nate, one man in a million, wasn’t asking her to pay that price. But she was vain enough to be glad that her wedding ensemble––an ivory and blue silk brocade polonaise and blue-striped silk underskirt––was fine enough to permit her entrance into the highest level of society, including the Palace Hotel.
Annie glanced over at Nate, noticing that the slight backward tilt of his top hat and tailored evening clothes accentuated his lean height and that the blaze of gas-light made his dark brown eyes glitter. He frowned at the two men who were blocki
ng their entrance into the lobby, giving him what she called his “bird of prey” look––the natural result of his beaked nose and high cheekbones.
She thought he was the handsomest man she’d ever met.
Suddenly impatient to have him to herself, she gestured to the liveried porter carrying their bags to push through the crowd and swept imperiously behind him into the lobby to start her new life, no longer as Annie Fuller, but as Annie Dawson.
Nate stood in front of the fireplace, seeing the candle-lit bedroom reflected in the ornate mirror over the mantel. The suite was all he’d imagined. Both this room and the parlor had fifteen-foot high ceilings, elegant silk wallpaper, thick Persian carpets, and polished mahogany furniture.
But the main reason he’d decided to spend the money on the most expensive hotel in the city was the four-poster bed that dominated the room behind him. The largest bed he’d ever seen, it required a small stool to reach the soft thick mattress, which was covered with silk linens and piled high with multiple pillows.
For nearly a year, he’d dreamed of that bed and having the woman who was splashing away in the adjoining bathroom lying beside him. Tonight his dreams were going to come true. But he was nervous.
So nervous he’d nicked himself shaving at the washstand tucked discretely in the corner of the bedroom. Although one of the apparent effects of having a Shawnee ancestor on his maternal side was that he didn’t have a lot of facial hair, he’d noticed that Annie was more enthusiastic about kissing him when he was clean shaven. Most of his life, he’d envied his younger brother Billy, whose luxuriant blond mustache and sideburns were clearly inherited from his father’s side of the family, until one evening when Annie rubbed her cheek against his and murmured how she thought men who sported facial hair were silly and affected.
Touching the spot of blood on his jaw, he savored that memory until a thought asserted itself…was it all men’s facial hair she disliked? Or was this one more example of Annie disliking anything she associated with her first husband?
Her first husband.
There it was…the source of his nervousness. Not that he worried Annie was harboring any feelings for John Fuller—except negative ones. By all accounts, the man had been a bounder and a fool who ruined her financially and nearly broke her spirit. But inevitably there would be comparisons. What if he failed to meet her expectations that he would be different…better…at marital relations than her deceased husband had been?
It wasn’t as if Nate was experienced in such matters. Of course he understood the basic physiology of the act, and he’d spent his college and university years listening closely to other men brag about their special techniques that were supposed to drive women wild. But as for practical experience…well…that was entirely different.
And Annie did have experience…with another man…and Nate assumed that at some point she’d thought she loved Fuller, and what if…
A knock on the door to the parlor interrupted this distressing thought, and Nate shrugged on the long, dark navy robe he’d bought weeks ago, knowing the old ratty one he’d had since law school wouldn’t do once he moved into Annie’s boarding house after marriage. Her maid, Kathleen, would have been scandalized beyond anything. He’d even splurged on a couple of new nightshirts, although he rather hoped Annie wouldn’t laugh at him the way his little sister did the few times she’d caught him in his night things. Laura’d led him to understand that his long legs were a surefire source of mirth to the opposite sex.
He opened the door to the parlor and let in the chambermaid who was delivering a tea service. She was the same handsome woman who’d told them to call her Colette when she opened the door of the suite to them earlier. She’d efficiently unpacked their trunks, drew a bath for Annie, and determined what they were planning on wearing in the morning before spiriting these clothes away to be pressed.
When Nate asked Annie what she wanted from room service, she replied with a smile, “Just hot tea. I was too excited to eat any of the sumptuous buffet that Beatrice prepared for the wedding dinner, except for a slice of that lovely cake. But if you look in the wicker basket on the table, I think you will find she packed us a picnic of some of our favorites.”
He’d briefly thought about pouring a stiff drink for himself from the cabinet the chambermaid had pointed out before leaving. While he’d never seen Annie imbibe even wine with a meal, she never objected when he took advantage of the whiskey she kept in the small parlor for Madam Sibyl’s male clients. But Mrs. Stein once mentioned that John Fuller was a drunkard, among other things. There it was again…the ghost of her dead husband hovering over their wedding night. Suddenly dry-mouthed with anxiety, he hastily poured himself a cup of tea and downed it with one gulp, burning his tongue.
“I am sorry I took so long. I hope the tea hasn’t gone cold. Are we finally alone?”
Nate turned to see Annie standing at the door between the bedroom and parlor, looking slightly damp around the edges. Her reddish gold hair was tied loosely in a knot at the top or her head, with a few wet tendrils curling around her adorable face, her cheeks and lips pink from the heat of the bath. The pale blue robe of thin silk she wore may have covered her from chin to bare toes, but the way it clung to her soft curves left very little to his imagination. Only the small ruffle of lace at the neckline and wrists revealed that there would indeed be a nightgown under the robe when he pulled the sash open…
“Nate, don’t just stand there looking like a small boy with his nose pressed against the window of a candy store. Come here and kiss me…”
Nate heard Annie’s low soft laughter as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to that four-poster bed of his dreams, the tea and his fears completely forgotten.
Chapter 2
Monday morning, August 9, 1880
San Jose
The soft rhythmic swaying of the train on the tracks was putting Annie right to sleep. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt such a languorous sense of well-being. She leaned back and closed her eyes as images from the past twenty-four hours followed one after another like the slides of a magic lantern show. Nate frowning slightly as he slipped the gold band on her finger, Beatrice flushed with pride as everyone exclaimed over the creamy frosting on the five-layered cake she’d made for the wedding, the look on Patrick McGee’s face when Kathleen caught the wedding bouquet, and Nate’s sister, Laura, waving from the front porch as the hansom cab drew away from the O’Farrell Street boarding house. Then more and more images of Nate. His face, a ghostly white above his dark robe, filled with trepidation and longing, the firelight on his bare skin, delineating each muscle of the arm that held him above her on the bed as he slowly unbuttoned her nightdress, the look of mingled shock and triumph in his eyes at the moment of consummation.
Later, his impish grin as he teased her for devouring the second beef sandwich when they got up at midnight and raided Beatrice’s picnic basket, the lock of his black hair that kept slipping down over his forehead as he told her the story of how Tim, his best man, had spent his own wedding night sharing a bed with two of his new brothers-in-law while his bride attended her sister’s lying-in, and, best of all, the way his mouth opened in complete surprise when she came and sat on his lap, and he discovered that the pleasures of his own wedding night were not yet over.
And finally, the vision of him lying in bed next to her this morning, as she watched him sleep and memorized every angle and plane of his face, the shape of his ear, and the way his impossibly long eyelashes rested against his cheeks, until those eyelashes parted and he turned over and smiled, reaching out to touch her face and sending a bolt of lightening through to her very core.
Annie shivered at this memory and reached out to take Nate’s hand, rather glad they were both gloved, because who knew what it would do to her if flesh met flesh? He smiled and, as if he could hear her thoughts, he looked furtively around at the other passengers and then swiftly pulled the edge of her glove down and kissed her bare wrist, causing
her to gasp.
“Annie, love, are you all right? You aren’t feeling any discomfort…I mean, last night I wasn’t too…”
Annie squeezed his hand and said quickly, “I am fine, Nate. It is just that the chambermaid, Collette, laced me a good deal tighter than Kathleen ever does. And I confess I may have eaten a tad more of that sumptuous breakfast than I should have.”
Nate smiled with relief and said teasingly, “I just hope you have room for my mother’s dinner. She believes that I was being starved by the cook at my old boarding house, so she always makes twice as much food when I come to visit.”
“I noticed that at Christmas. But I also noticed you didn’t have any trouble asking for seconds. I just hope she doesn’t expect me to make any of the meals. Not that I don’t mind helping out in the kitchen, but at Christmas, Violet seemed to think I would want to actually bake something. I mean, I can make a decent loaf of bread and do plain cooking, but that’s about all.”
“Mother wouldn’t dream of asking you to prepare anything. She barely lets my sister Laura in the kitchen. I think this was just Violet trying to prove how indispensable she’s become to my mother.”
Violet was the wife of Nate’s younger brother, Billy, and Annie knew that Nate had taken quite a dislike to her last fall when he spent a month on the ranch helping with the annual cattle round-up. He thought Billy could have done better for himself and resented the way the young woman tended to monopolize his mother’s time during one of his rare visits home. Nate’s sister Laura loathed her sister-in-law, saying that Violet was narrow-minded and that she was responsible for her mother’s lack of enthusiasm about Laura’s decision to attend the University of California. This was one of the reasons Laura rejected Nate and Annie’s suggestion that she try to get a few days off from her typesetting job so she could accompany them to the ranch to visit her parents.
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