"You go too far, sir," she declared. "No man has ever laid a hand on my person before." Valentina had rarely been so angry. How dare Mr. Lawton act so forward with her. "I will never forgive you for taking such liberties."
He seemed to take no exception to her angry words. His amused laughter surprised her. "You have told me what I wanted to know. I had to find out if a man's hands had touched you before, and that was the only way I could be sure." His watery eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. "I would like to teach you meekness. I would like you to become subservient to my will."
Her anger rose by degree. "How dare you think you can touch me in such an intimate way, sir!" She backed toward the door. "Know now that I will bow down to no man, you less than anyone."
Again his laughter surprised her. "I believe you will change your mind. I will wait for your answer for three days. If you decide against marriage to me, I think you will understand if I ask you to find another place for your mother to live . . . unless you can come up with the money."
She would have liked to have slapped the smile from his face. He did not think she could get the money. He expected her to come crawling back to him, asking for more time.
Hurriedly Valentina reached for the doorknob. When her hand wrapped around it, she jerked open the door and dashed outside, breathing in big gulps of fresh air. Shivering with disgust, she made her way back to the cabin. She did not know what she was going to do, but she would never marry that odious man. The touch of his hand had made her sick. She thought of Marquis Vincente and felt her heart ache.
Salamar met her at the door with a questioning look in her eyes. Valentina shook her head dejectedly. "He implied if I didn't come up with the rent money, I could either marry him or we would have to move. What will we do?"
Salamar stared at Valentina for a long time. At last she spoke in a whisper. "I believe you already know what you must do."
Valentina's eyes rounded in surprise. "You mean that I should dance?"
Salamar nodded. "It is the only way. If I could do it, I would. If you do not earn money quickly, you may be forced to marry Mr. Lawton for your mother's sake. I do not want this for you."
Valentina remembered her mother saying just that morning that if she were a dancer, she would be a sensation. Hadn't Salamar always told her that she was an exceptional dancer? But she did not want to be a sensation; she did not want to dance on stage before a mob of leering men. All she wanted was to take care of her mother and see that she got well.
"How can I do it, Salamar? If Mother were to find out, she would be horrified. Mother wouldn't like me to dance on stage. She would never approve of my dancing in the kinds of places they have here in San Francisco where men go to drink and gamble."
"You are right that your mother would disapprove, but I have an idea that I think will work. If it does, no one will ever know your true identity.".
Valentina tiptoed to the bedroom door and stared at her mother, whose face was pale even in sleep. "Tell me what I must do, Salamar," she whispered, turning back to the maid. "I know we are in dire need of money."
The office at the back of the Crystal Palace was cast in shadows. The owner, Tyree Garth, lit a cigar and lazily watched the smoke drift toward the open window. He then turned his attention back to the woman who sat across from his desk. When the woman had entered his office a few moments ago, he had noticed that she was of medium height. Other than that, he could not tell too much about her appearance because she was draped in black and wore a heavy veil. He had recognized the older woman who was with her as the one who had come to him a few days back asking to be employed as a dancer.
"I was told you wanted to see me, ma'am," Tyree said, straining his eyes to see past the black veil. The hand that reached up to pull the shimmering material more tightly across the lower half of the woman's face was small and delicate.
"I would like to work for you, Mr. Garth," a soft, feminine voice with a cultured English accent uttered from somewhere amid the veil.
"No disrespect intended, ma'am, but I have nothing suitable for a woman of your obvious genteel upbringing." He thought the woman was probably homely as sin or she would not have taken the trouble to cover her face. He did not have any objections to her being ugly. With the shortage of women in California, the men who drank and gambled in his establishment were not too particular. They were more concerned with a woman's body than the cut of her face anyway. The women who worked for him had to have a nice form, and this one was obviously shapeless.
Valentina studied the man through her veil. He was tall, broad shouldered, and dressed in a soft grey cutaway suit and yellow vest. His chestnut hair was curly and swept back from his forehead. His eyes were a deep blue and he had a mustache that was neatly trimmed. She found him handsome in a rakish sort of way.
"I can dance, Mr. Garth," Valentina said in a soft voice. "I can dance well."
Every time the woman in black moved, Tyree could hear a tinkling sound that aroused his curiosity. He flicked the ashes from his cigar and shook his head. "I don't have much use for a dancer, ma'am. This is a rough place. Why don't you just run along home now. I hear a woman can make a fair living as a laundress; leastwise, she could before the Chinese started arriving in San Francisco."
Valentina stood up. "I might consider your suggestion, Mr. Garth; but first allow me to dance for you. What have you to lose? If you don't like what I do, I will leave and never bother you again."
Tyree nodded at the older woman who stood near the door, her eyes alert, as if she were on guard. "Why not? I'm feeling in a generous mood today. Step outside and tell the head musician, Hubert Aims, what music you want him to play. The musicians at the Crystal Palace aren't fancy, but they have a good ear for music. I'll be out directly and watch."
Valentina walked to the door. "After I have danced for you, sir, there are some promises you must make before I will agree to work for you."
Tyree threw back his head and laughed. "You may or may not be able to dance, but you're not short on spunk. I'll see this dance and then you can leave and never bother me again. Is that a promise?"
"I promise, but I have very little doubt that you will ask me to stay. As I said, I am very good." The statement was not made in a bragging manner; rather it carried the earnest ring of the truth.
Tyree was becoming more intrigued by the moment. He walked to the door and waited for the two women to precede him. When they entered the massive barroom, it was empty but for the young boy who was sweeping the floor and the three musicians who played for the Crystal Palace. The leader, Hubert Aims, who was running his fingers over the piano, looked up with interest when they entered.
Tyree propped his elbow on the bar and motioned Hubert over to him. "This woman wants to dance for us, Hubert. Play something pretty for her."
"All right, boss," Hubert said, holding up his hands to catch the attention of the other two men. "What would you like us to play for you, ma'am?" he called out.
"Do you know Traveling Gypsy'?" Valentina asked.
"Yes, of course," Hubert answered, seating himself at the piano.
"I would like you to play it softly to begin with; keep the tempo slow, then gradually build up faster. When I give you the signal, I would then like you to play the rest of the melody at twice the tempo. I believe you will understand what I mean when I start dancing."
Hubert Aims was a man in his early sixties. Music had always been his life. At one time he had conducted an orchestra in Boston, Massachusetts. Too much drinking had shattered a promising career. He had sailed for California hoping to find himself again, which he had. At one time his talent had been heralded as promising. Now he played for rough men who cared nothing for fine music. He led three other musicians in bawdy songs for the amusement of the customers.
He had lived too long to be surprised by anything—even the woman draped in black. "I'm not sure I understand what you want, ma'am, but I'll catch on."
"You will be able to follow
me," Valentina said. "Please begin now." Salamar had insisted on accompanying Valentina and that left her mother alone. Valentina just wanted to get this whole degrading ordeal over with so she could return home as soon as possible.
Hubert looked at his boss, Tyree Garth, who shrugged his shoulders. Running his hands over the keys of the piano, the pianist instructed the other members to join in.
The young boy who was sweeping the floor leaned on his broom and watched the woman in black ascend the steps. When she was at center stage, the older woman seated herself on the steps, as if to discourage anyone from trying to approach too near.
Tyree almost choked on his cigar when the black drape fell away and landed at the dainty feet of a woman with the most sweetly curved body he had ever seen. She was wearing a bright red gypsy skirt with yards and yards of some kind of filmy material. Her young breasts were thrust against an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse. She was barefoot, with bangles about her ankles and wrists. Her identity was still concealed behind a veil, which covered the lower half of her face. Her hair was covered with a golden mesh net to which bangles were attached that hung across her forehead.
Hubert took his cue from the girl. She raised her arms and clicked the finger cymbals, causing a loud, rhythmic, ringing sound.
When she began to dance, she became grace and beauty. Everyone was mesmerized as she turned and whirled in time with the music. As the music shifted in tempo, she began moving her hips, tauntingly, enticingly.
Tyree had been watching her so intently that he let out a loud oath as his cigar became a stump and burned his fingertips. His eyes were glued to the stage as he watched the most beautiful dance he had ever witnessed. As Valentina whirled around the stage, he felt joy in his heart. She was creating a lighthearted Gypsy feeling. She was the eternal woman; she was Venus come to earth to bless men with her loveliness.
As the tempo increased to a maddening pitch, the dancer dropped to the floor and bowed her head. For the space of several moments there wasn't a sound in the place. Then suddenly Hubert jumped to his feet and started clapping his hands vigorously. Soon he was joined by the other musicians. The cleaning boy was clapping and crying at the same time. He had never seen such a thing of beauty in all his sixteen years.
Tyree smiled to himself and called out, "You got the job, ma'am."
Valentina came to the edge of the stage, picked up her black drape, and pulled it back over her head.
"Not yet, Mr. Garth. As I told you before, I have some stipulations you must meet before I will work for you."
"I would advise you to take her at any price," Hubert advised. "I'll bet there isn't another dancer to rival her in this country, if indeed the whole world. She's talented; she's wonderful; she can put the Crystal Palace on top. Now we can introduce San Francisco to a little culture. We can have good music."
"Come with me," Tyree called out, making his way to his office. "If I don't hire you, I have a feeling Hubert will walk out on me."
As Tyree sat on the edge of the desk, he tried again without success to see the dancer's face. "What are your conditions, ma'am?" he asked, smiling.
"They are few and simple. I want the steps removed that lead up to the stage. I will want a dressing room large enough to practice my dancing in. Also there must be a back door leading to the dressing room so I can come and go as I wish."
"Agreed."
"I will always wear a veil. No one will know my true identity. You are not to try to find out who I am or where I live. In fact, if I am to dance for you, you must promise to protect my identity."
"Agreed."
"I will dance for only an hour a night and never on the Sabbath."
"I see no problem with that."
Valentina hesitated. "... I want to be paid a hundred dollars a week."
A slow smile spread over Tyree's face. "I was prepared to pay you a hundred and fifty."
"Not at first. Wait and see if I am worth more. The time may come when I must demand more money."
"May I know your name?" he asked.
"Let's just say that I am called Jordanna."
"All right, Jordanna. Is there anything else you wish to say?”
"Yes." Again she was hesitant. ". . . May I have the first week's salary in advance?"
Tyree's laughter filled the room as he pulled out a metal box, unlocked it, and counted out the money. "I have a feeling that if I'm not careful, you'll be running the Crystal Palace before long."
Soft laughter touched his ears. "I don't wish to run your saloon, Mr. Garth. I only wish to use it as a means to an end."
He watched her leave, followed by her strange foreign-looking maid. "I'll be damned," he said, lighting another cigar. "I'll be damned."
It was late in the evening when the knock came on the front door. When Salamar opened it, Prudence Lawton entered. Looking about her, she took in every change that had been made in the cabin.
"Good evening, Miss Lawton," Valentina said politely. "May I offer you refreshments?"
"No, I just came to do you a good turn," the older woman said, lifting the curtains at the window and examining the material while Valentina waited for her to continue. "This place isn't half bad the way you have it fixed up."
"Thank you," Valentina replied demurely.
"Well, seeing that the hour is late, I'll come right to the point. Are you looking for employment?"
Valentina managed not to show her surprise at the blunt question. "Indeed I am, although I am finding I am not qualified for many things."
"Can you read?"
"Yes, of course."
Prudence reached into her drawstring bag, withdrew a slip of paper, and pressed it into Valentina's hand. "This is the address of Mrs. Windom. She is a widow. Her husband was a sea captain who lost his life coming around Cape Horn last year. The poor woman is suffering from some kind of stroke and can't speak. She requires someone to stay with her in the afternoons and read to her. I heard about her through Maddy Dillan at the fish market."
"I thank you very much, Miss Lawton. I shall go and see Mrs. Windom first thing in the morning."
Prudence nodded in approval. "I'm always willing to do my Christian duty. The poor woman likes to be read to, but there aren't many women who can read in San Francisco."
Valentina was surprised that Prudence Lawton would bother to help her. She knew the woman did not like her very well. "I suppose that's true, Miss Lawton. Thank you for thinking of me."
"Think nothing of it. I just want to be a good Christian. I'll be going now."
Valentina accompanied Miss Lawton to the door and thanked her again for her kindness. After the woman had gone, Valentina shook her head in amazement. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if I were to get this job? If it paid enough, I wouldn't have to dance at the Crystal Palace."
Salamar said nothing. Removing the foot warmer from the fire, she wrapped it in a heavy cloth and carried it into Evonne Barrett's bedroom.
Marquis had been having dinner with the Estradas. After the meal, as if it had been planned, Isabel's parents had excused themselves and left their two daughters at the table to entertain their guest.
Across the table from Marquis, Isabel laughed and tossed her hair, trying to entice him. He felt her foot touch his boot and then slide up his leg. Toying with his wine glass, he did not even look up. When her foot moved up to rest on his thigh, his eyes flickered and locked with hers.
Isabel had expected her bold movements to cause passion to ignite in him, but it had not. She could tell he felt nothing by the dullness in his eyes. The look he gave her was one of bored indifference, and Isabel could not endure indifference—especially not from the man she was to marry. She jerked back her foot and glared at him.
"I am sure that if my hair were golden you would notice me, Marquis Vincente!" she hissed. As if a serpent were poisoning her mind, she felt hatred building deep within her. "Would you want to bed me if my eyes were the strange silver color of the English woman's?"
Through
lowered lashes, he flicked an imaginary crumb from the table. No, he thought, in your case it wouldn't help. Aloud he said, "Are you not concerned that your sister can overhear your conversation?"
Isabel glanced at Eleanor, who was pretending not to hear. Seething inside, she realized she had just been spurned. Marquis was not attracted to her at all. "She cannot have you, you know," she said, lowering her voice.
His lips curled into a smile, though coldness laced his words. "Who cannot have me?"
"You know I speak of the English whore."
For the first time there was life in the depths of Marquis's eyes as anger turned them to slow-burning fire. The hand that grasped the wine glass tightened; the knuckles whitened. "Tread easy, Isabel. Do not say something you will regret."
"My God!" she declared, jumping to her feet. "I will not endure your defending that bitch to me. Am I not the woman you are going to marry? You have treated me as if I had some dread disease ever since we first met."
Marquis rose slowly to his feet, looking at her with an unreadable expression. "I believe it is time I took my leave. If you would not mind, please pay my respects to your mother and father." Walking across the room, he stopped at the door. "I am going to pretend tonight did not happen, Isabel. I suggest you do the same." With a slight smile to Eleanor, he quickly moved out the door and down the hallway.
Isabel stared after him in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. "How dare he!" she raged, her voice rising in volume. "How dare he treat me with such contempt! I will never allow Marquis Vincente to forget this night."
* * *
Marquis swung his leg over the saddle and, turning his mount, he cantered toward home. It would have angered Isabel still more had she known how easily Marquis had dismissed her from his mind. His thoughts had returned immediately to the golden-haired goddess who haunted him day and night.
Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) Page 12
