Josiah's Treasure

by Nancy Herriman

  Pen and ink were requested and arrived with Sinclair’s toast. Slathering butter across the perfect brown surface, he indicated with a pointed elbow where Daniel should sign the affidavit.

  “Everything is set, Mr. Cady,” said Sinclair, pointing out another spot requiring a signature. “We have all we need for next Monday’s hearing. I trust you are ready to get this business completed.”

  Daniel nodded wordlessly and indicated to the hovering waiter that he was finished with the pen and inkstand.

  Sinclair peered at Daniel, a worried crease marring his face. He drew a hand down his thick mustache. “Mr. Cady, you look a bit glum. Have you changed your mind about contesting the will?”

  “No, Sinclair, I haven’t.”

  Relief smoothed away the crease, pleased that he’d still be receiving his remuneration for presenting Daniel’s case. “Good.”

  The waiter returned with the rest of their food, and Sinclair set to slicing his cutlet. “The real estate agent has contacted me. He expects the house to fetch close to fifteen thousand. More if the house remains fully furnished. Better than I anticipated, but then real estate in Nob Hill is highly desirable.”

  “How . . .” Should he say “wonderful”? Grandfather Hunt would. “Sounds fine, Sinclair. This all sounds fine.”

  “Only ‘fine’?” Sinclair stuffed the piece of meat in his mouth and spoke around it. “I hope you weren’t expecting more.”

  “Like you said, I just want to be finished with this business. My sisters are begging me to return home soon, and I’m looking forward to being with them again.”

  “A noble cause, Cady.” Sinclair pointed at him with his fork. “You should be proud that you’ve gone to this effort to secure their futures. Why, it’s only what any decent man should do for his young, orphaned sisters.”

  Daniel stared at the creamy surface of his oatmeal, speckled with brown sugar. Proud. He should feel proud.

  Instead of queasy.

  “Miss Lane tells me they were but a block from the House when Miss Cavendish took an unexpected turn.” Mrs. Hill was too skilled at concealing her true emotions to twist her hands together in her lap. Sarah swallowed and felt nervous enough for the both of them. “Hester slipped and fell and couldn’t keep up with her and lost Miss Cavendish to view. She scrambled to her feet and ran all the way back, fearing an encounter with the man chasing them.” She shook her head. “I am sorry, Miss Whittier. I certainly never expected that he would find her. We might have to relocate the House, if it’s become common knowledge where we are.”

  “Is Hester all right?” Sarah asked.

  “Very upset but otherwise unharmed.” Mrs. Hill shifted on the parlor settee to better face Sarah. “I trust you don’t have any idea where Miss Cavendish might be.”

  If she managed to elude Frank, that was. Words too fearful to say aloud.

  “She hasn’t come here and she wouldn’t go to the shop again, I think. If she didn’t find her way back to the Benevolent House . . .” Sarah left the thought unsaid. Anne could be anywhere and in any condition. And Sarah had failed her, one of her girls, though Anne would not care for the label. Had failed her as surely as Minnie’s father failed her, and Cora’s family let her down. Like Edouard had failed Sarah.

  Rosamund Hill’s gaze was keen. “You are not to blame for what has happened.”

  I want to believe that. “I’ll go to the police and report this. She was my employee and, as far as I can tell, I’m the only person remotely responsible for her. Anne never spoke of family. For all I know, they’re all gone or had washed their hands of her.”

  In a flash, Sarah was standing in a dusty Los Angeles street, the hot pinks of dead bougainvillea flowers swirling around her feet, the thick front door of her aunt and uncle’s house closed tight against her humiliation. After Edouard, after her horrible mistake, she had tried to reconcile with them. They would not have her.

  Unaware of Sarah’s painful recollection, Mrs. Hill patted Sarah’s hand and stood. “Do you want me to go to the police with you?”

  Sarah wanted to smile to let Rosamund know how much she appreciated the offer. It wouldn’t form on her mouth. “You should probably return to the House, in case Anne shows up.”

  “Stella and some of the women staying there could tend to her.”

  Sarah stood as well. “If Anne’s anything like me, she’ll only want to have you.”

  Mrs. Hill nodded. “Take care, Miss Whittier, and let me know as soon as there’s news. I will keep safe the few possessions she brought with her to the House until she’s back among us again.”

  Mrs. McGinnis showed her out. When she turned back to Sarah, her face was heavy with worry. “Och, Miss Sarah, what now?”

  “I go to the police. Though I doubt they’ll care about an unmarried woman with a dubious background, missing in the warren of San Francisco streets. I just wish Anne had accepted my offer of money when she’d had the chance and fled to somewhere far away.”

  “Nae point in wishing back what canna be undone.” The housekeeper’s tone brooked no argument. “Besides, Anne would never take what you canna well afford to give.”

  Money. She was sick to death of brooding over it. “My few pennies mean nothing to me, if they could have bought her safety.”

  Mrs. McGinnis touched Sarah’s arm. “The Lord will protect her.”

  Like Mother and Jess and Caleb? Sarah’s heart ached for all the losses she’d endured, all the unanswered prayers. Would she lose Anne too, who had counted on Sarah? I tried. I tried to help.

  Sarah’s breath was shaky when she drew it in. Brushing past Mrs. McGinnis, she strode into the entry hall and collected her black mantelet from the stand. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Perhaps while you’re praying for Anne, you can pray that Officer Hanson is willing to help search for her, though I expect there’s not much he can do.”

  Not much any of us can do.

  Twenty-One

  Officer Hanson yawned into his thick-knuckled fist and reached for a second gulp of coffee. He must have had a long day yesterday, and the look he gave Sarah suggested to her he wasn’t keen to have another one.

  “You must help me find her,” she said, leaning forward on the hard-backed chair set at an angle to the officer’s desk, her stays jabbing into her ribs. “Anne Cavendish is in danger for her life.”

  Conversation droned in the airless central office of the North End Police Station like the tired hum of an old steam generator. The room, which smelled of cigarettes and sweaty wool uniforms, stole her breath. Down a hallway, an office door banged and boots stomped across a floor. An alarm bell clanged on the wall opposite where she sat. Officer Hanson glanced at it, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and shouted for someone to see to the emergency.

  “So you say this woman is in danger for her life,” he said, once the commotion died down, and drained his cup.

  “She definitely is, and you must help me find her.” He looked as disinterested, however, as she had anticipated. What was another woman, a girl from the streets and filthy back alleyways, to him?

  “We’re pretty busy here, Miss Whittier.” He waved one of his fists to encompass the office. “Not a lot of men available to go on a wild-goose chase when there are serious crimes to solve.”

  “This could be a serious crime if it’s not prevented, Officer Hanson.”

  “Suppose so.” He sat back and sucked in a long breath that stretched his blue coat across his barrel chest. “Does she know Bill Cobb, by any chance?”

  “What?” Sarah knitted her brow. “Who?”

  “The man we arrested for attempting to rob you.” He looked at her as though she must be dull-witted to have forgotten.

  “What would Anne have to do with him?”

  “Well, now, that’s what I’m asking you.” He peered at her until Sarah started to squirm, sympathizing with the others who’d sat in that hard chair before she had. Officer Hanson made a good interrogator. “Has she run of
f because she was the one who heard about the treasure rumor and told him? Clued him in about your comings and goings? Maybe she’s feeling guilty. What do you say to that?”

  She understood why Officer Hanson had asked the question. Somehow, this Cobb fellow had picked the evening Mrs. McGinnis was out and Sarah was supposed to be at the Linforths’ for supper.

  “She isn’t involved with Bill Cobb. Anne has never mentioned his name to any of the girls or to me. She doesn’t know him at all. The man she lives with is called Frank. He’s the one we believe is responsible for her disappearance. He was spotted stalking her near the Benevolent House where she had been staying.” Sarah tightened her fingers around the straps of her reticule resting in her lap. “He’s violent and has beaten her before. I’ve seen the bruises myself.” The plum shading to yellow on her pale skin. Sarah was the one who felt guilty. For not doing more, sooner.

  “Violent, is he? In that case, she’s probably . . . ah, yes, well.” He cleared his throat, looked away from Sarah, and fussed with searching for a pencil and pad of paper in the top drawer of his desk. “Tell me more about this Frank fellow.”

  Sarah did, told him all she knew, which wasn’t much. A spare description gleaned from Minnie, who had met him. Where he and Anne lived in Tar Flat.

  As she spoke, Officer Hanson nodded. More out of politeness, Sarah thought, than from enthusiasm. “I’ll ask my chief to request that one of the men working that district go and question him. Don’t think he’ll have much to say, if he’s even there. Tight-lipped, these sort are.”

  “And what about searching for Anne?” she pressed.

  The policeman scratched a raw patch on his chin where he’d done a bad job shaving. “I can have a notice of a missing woman placed in the papers. Can you supply a description?”

  Sarah told him that too. Anne was distinctively tall and lean. She would be easier to spot than most women. “I’m concerned that Frank will see the notice and realize we’re searching for her. That might put her in greater danger.”

  “You think a fellow like him reads the paper, Miss Whittier?”

  “I have no idea! I just don’t want her hurt.”

  Officer Hanson snorted, ripped off the piece of paper with his notes, and pocketed it. “If he’s gotten hold of Miss Cavendish and is set on hurting her, miss, the harm’s already been done.”

  Sarah clenched her hands. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Two thick eyebrows lifted. “Pray?”

  “I’m not very good at that.”

  He looked pityingly at her. A different alarm bell rang and he stood. “Busy day. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He didn’t wait for Sarah’s answer before he strode off, leaving her to stare after him, the clamor of the office drowning out the sound of his footfalls.

  “Miss Sarah isna here, Mr. Cady.” Mrs. McGinnis wiped her hands down her apron and eyed Daniel. “Should be here soon, though. She went to the shop this morn but said she’d be back right after luncheon to hear if there’s any news about Anne. Nae that I expect much. The police have most certainly been less than useful, if you ask me, and none so kind to her yesterday.”

  Daniel wasn’t surprised. San Francisco wasn’t some small town in Arizona, where a missing woman might be more noteworthy.

  “I saw the item about Miss Cavendish in the newspaper,” Daniel explained. The article had been brief, almost buried beneath the announcements of political galas and a sarcastic commentary on the women’s suffrage movement, a lurid article describing a recent spate of murders in Chinatown, and a tongue-in-cheek account of how ladies might best catch suitable husbands. But there, on the second page of the Daily Alta, which he’d been reading over lunch, he’d spotted it.

  “I want to help find her,” he said. Anne Cavendish must have finally suffered more than some bruises at the hands of her man. It was the only explanation for her disappearance that made sense.

  The tiny wrinkles crisscrossing the housekeeper’s forehead deepened. “Och, Mr. Cady, I canna see how you’re going to help find that poor girl. But I don’t mind telling you that Miss Sarah’s half out of her mind with worry. Everyone is. Miss Charlotte was here yesterday evening, wanting to look too. Miss Sarah sent her home, because what else can we do but wait and pray?”

  “I can’t sit around and do nothing.” He had to help, if only to show himself he wasn’t the fiend Sarah and her girls believed him to be, even if come Monday at the probate hearing, they’d all be proven right.

  The housekeeper nodded her approval of his statement and opened the door wide. “You can come in and wait for Miss Sarah in the parlor, if you’d like.”

  Beyond her, Daniel noticed the collection of packing crates and boxes assembled in the parlor, and in the hallway, a bright rectangle on the wallpaper where a watercolor of a farm used to hang. Sarah was preparing to leave the house. The sight brought him up short. Not at all proud, Sinclair.

  Daniel took a step back. “I’ll just wait out here on the porch. I don’t mind the porch. It’s rather comfortable and the weather’s good.”

  A tiny smile tweaked the housekeeper’s lips. “As you see, the wicker chair’s still sitting where you left it, Mr. Cady. The thought keeps slipping my mind to return it to the garden where it belongs.”

  “I did notice. Thank you.”

  “Do you want lemonade? It’s fresh made.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Just mind that Mr. Malagisi next door.” She inclined her head to her left. “He’s awful curious over what’s afoot around here.”

  Daniel took a seat, the wicker creaking and yielding beneath his weight, removed his hat, and stretched out his legs. The neighbor—Mr. Malagisi—was tending the rosebushes in his terraced front yard. Between snips of his pruning clippers, he shot Daniel surreptitious glances from beneath his broad-brimmed straw hat. Daniel stared straight ahead.

  He didn’t have to wait long before he caught sight of Sarah coming down the road from the cable car stop. She was clutching a copy of one of the city newspapers and attempting to read it while walking. She made it halfway up the stairs before noticing either Mr. Malagisi’s called-out greeting or Daniel sitting on the porch.

  Daniel nodded down at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Whittier.”

  “Mr. Cady!” Her cheeks flared, as they always seemed to do.

  He stood. “I hope you don’t mind . . .”

  “Would you cease showing up at my house if I did?” Sarah folded the newspaper closed, securing it beneath her arm alongside her reticule, securing her composure as well. Already, her color was back to normal. “Wouldn’t Mrs. McGinnis let you inside?”

  “She said you’d be home soon.”

  “I suspect you’re not here to enjoy the view from my porch, Mr. Cady,” Sarah said calmly, climbing the rest of the stairs to join him. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, revealing how little she’d slept. “Especially without Ah Mong to keep you company.”

  “I read the notice in the paper about Anne Cavendish. What happened?”

  She pulled in a long breath and brushed fingers over the brooch pinned at her waist. He’d seen her do that before, caressing the small oval painted with yellow roses like a talisman.

  “Anne tried to leave Frank, and she had actually found refuge at a home for women who need that sort of help.” She paused for another breath. “He found her, though. Yesterday morning. She took off running, and no one has heard from her since. A policeman was here before breakfast to let me know that they’ve searched for Frank, but the house in Tar Flat is empty and looks like it has been for a day or so. It seems they’re both gone.”

  “How can I help?”

  “You did enough when you went to Tar Flat with me.” And she’d surprised him with a hasty kiss afterward. Her gaze danced away for a moment, as if she were remembering too. “I can’t ask you to do anything else. Besides, I don’t know where she is or even where to start to look. And don’t think I didn’t try to figure that out. I
wasted a lot of time last night poring over an old street map Josiah kept in his office, trying to guess where Anne might be hiding among all the roads. So many choices, so many places, one worse than the next, and all assuming Anne has chosen where to go. If Frank has abducted her, they could be anywhere.”

  Suddenly, she wobbled, collapsing like a marionette released from its suspending strings onto the porch step before he could grab her.

  “Sarah!” He dropped to his knees at her side, her skirts and bustle almost tripping him. Irritated, he swept them aside. “Let me fetch Mrs. McGinnis.”

  “Please, don’t. I’ll be fine. I’m just a little tired.” She smiled gamely at him. There was pain behind that smile, though. “I’m letting myself think the worst about Anne. I need to hold on to hope. Don’t you think?”

  She was asking him for reassurance that life might turn out fairly?

  “I could hire a cart and search the streets for her,” he suggested as he helped her to her feet.

  “You and Lottie think an awful lot alike, at times.” She was watching him as if judging the sincerity behind the offer. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but—”

  “Sarah,” he interrupted. “There’s not much I can do for you and keep my promises to Lily and Marguerite. But I can do this.”

  “You don’t know your way around San Francisco,” she protested.

  He clasped her hand and looked into her warm brown eyes. “Then come with me.”

  The cart horse’s head hung wearily, dragging on the reins looped around Daniel’s fingers. Sarah was just as tired as the animal and her back hurt from bouncing over San Francisco roads—most of them badly paved and a few, in the parts of town where they’d gone, narrow and gloomy and dangerous. She didn’t expect better down by the wharves and warehouses.

  Daniel caught her contemplating him and smiled briefly as he sat up tall to stretch out the kinks that must be bothering him too. She wanted to return the smile, but what did either of them have to smile about? Anne Cavendish was nowhere to be found.