“I’ll take it with me when I leave,” he said, making a face. “I suppose the fellow means well, but my God, have you ever seen anything so disgusting?”
There was movement from the doorway and Charles entered carrying his medical bag. “Well, you look a good deal livelier today, Sarah. How do you feel?”
I shot Robert a look, then smiled at my brother. “Other than a sore throat and a dry mouth, I’m fine. It seems I owe you my life.”
“I think, my dear Sarah, you owe your life to the fact that you didn’t finish all the coffee Mrs. French managed to poison. Thankfully, the restaurant was slow to wash their dishes that morning, and we were able to analyze what was left in your cup. Mrs. French gave you enough jimsonweed to kill an elephant.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Oh,” I said rather inadequately.
Charles smiled. “Now, my dear sister, I have a little surprise for you. It seems you have a visitor. A most unusual visitor.”
I was considerably taken aback when Charles ushered Li Ying into my room. The tong lord bowed deeply, then placed a large package at the foot of my bed.
“I am pleased to note your remarkable recovery, Miss Woolson,” he said, favoring me with a warm smile. He turned politely to Robert and executed a slightly less pronounced bow. “Mr. Campbell, it is an honor to see you again.”
“What brings you here, Mr. Li?” Robert asked warily.
To my delight—and to Robert’s consternation—Li burst out laughing. “Please, Mr. Campbell. Unlike the infamous Trojan Horse, I have not come here under false pretenses. The sole purpose of my visit is to pay my humble respects to a brave and exceedingly noble young woman.”
Turning to my brother, he said, “You must be most proud of your sister, Mr. Woolson. She possesses the heart of a lion and the courage of ten dragons.”
“Perhaps she would be better off with a few less dragons, Mr. Li,” Charles answered with a wry smile. “She tends to be a bit foolhardy at times.”
“Ah, but did not the Greek philosopher Plutarch say, ‘If all men were just, there would be no need of courage’? It is gratifying to find someone willing to champion those who would otherwise receive little justice in this world.”
Robert gave a little grunt, but at a look from me, kept silent.
“I must, however, offer you my sincere apologies,” Li went on more soberly. “It is I who inadvertently put your life in danger when I requested you represent Mr. Chin. Please believe me when I say I had no idea it would prove such a perilous undertaking. I shall not soon forget what you have done, Miss Woolson.” He again bowed deeply, then was gone as quickly and silently as ever.
“That man gives me the creeps,” Robert said. “I have the feeling he knows more about me than I know about myself.”
“He probably does,” I said, using my foot to nudge Li’s package closer. “Let’s see what he brought.”
Robert and Charles watched as I opened the box, which was beautifully wrapped in delicate, hand-painted rice paper. When I pulled off the top of the box, I could only stare in shock at what lay inside.
“Well, what is it?” Robert demanded.
With the utmost care I lifted out—one exquisite piece at a time—the magnificent tea service I’d admired on my last visit to Li Yin’s home.
“My God!” Charles exclaimed. “It’s exquisite. The set must be worth a fortune.”
“Its worth can’t be measured in money,” I whispered. Tears filled my eyes as I held one of the diminutive teacups in my hands. “It belonged to Li’s father.”
No one spoke for several moments, all of us dumbstruck at the incalculable value of such a gift.
Robert broke the spell. Examining the various pieces, he said, “There’s something stuck inside the tea kettle.”
He was right; a white envelope lay nearly hidden beneath the delicately curved rim of the vessel. Carefully I pulled it out and cut open the flap.
My breath caught in my throat. Inside the envelope was the thickest stack of money I had ever seen in my life!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sarah Jacqueline Mankin entered the world one week after I was discharged from the hospital. According to Lily, little Jackie was already living up to her late father’s and her godmother’s names, with Jack’s bright, quick blue eyes and my inquisitive, impatient nature. I wasn’t sure I entirely agreed with this assessment, but I was far too besotted with my godchild to care what anyone said.
As I stood with Robert in the church the day of her christening, holding our godchild between us, I was filled with a remarkable feeling of peace. The infant, who had been loudly protesting all the folderol, suddenly stopped crying to study her godparents with bright-eyed curiosity and then, wonder of wonders, a little smile. Robert says this is fanciful, that a four-week-old baby is incapable of recognizing anyone and certainly is too immature to smile. But I know what I saw—and I am not given to whimsy. I recalled the words of the old nursery rhyme—Thursday’s child has far to go. Well, little Sarah Jacqueline Mankin had been born on a Thursday, and I’ve no doubt whatsoever that she is destined to go very far indeed!
It pleases me to report that her mother has come a considerable distance herself. Emily Harbetter confided to me that, in time, she was sure Lily would become a skilled and dedicated nurse.
“She has intelligence and a cheery nature,” the head nurse pronounced. “Most importantly, she possesses an innate love for people. A little love goes a long way when you’re trying to help someone heal.”
I remembered Lily’s kind ministrations when I was in the hospital. “Speaking from my own experience,” I told Nurse Harbetter, “I heartily concur.”
After exhaustive soul-searching, I decided that I, too, was ready to spread my wings and fly. The day after little Jackie’s christening, I crossed Kearney Street, took the familiar rising room to the sixth floor, and opened the solid oak doors of Shepard, Shepard, McNaughton and Hall for the last time. I had chosen a morning when Robert would be out of the office. He was not pleased with my decision to leave; in fact, he had done everything possible to change my mind. I held firm to my resolution. In my heart I knew it was time to set off on my own.
Stopping first at my office, I packed what few personal items I had collected over the past nine months, then looked around, surprised to feel a twinge of nostalgia. I had expected to experience nothing but relief in putting Shepard’s firm behind me. But this had been my first office in my first legal practice; even I couldn’t pretend this counted for nothing.
One thing I would not miss was the abominable Caligraph machine, still perched, like the instrument of torture it was, on the side of my desk. I paused to wonder who had taken over its care and feeding since I’d been in the hospital, then had to smile. It was true. Ever since the typebar machine had invaded my sanctuary, I’d regarded it as a living, hateful adversary I’d have to tame, or die myself in the attempt. With some humor I could finally admit that, although I hadn’t actually expired from the effort, the machine had never been in slightest danger of being tamed!
At eleven o’clock precisely, I entered Joseph Shepard’s office. Although I had won my first court case—a murder trial, at that—I did not expect a gracious greeting from my employer. Nor was I disappointed. In Shepard’s opinion, I had once again shamed the firm beyond redemption. Chin’s trial, with its dramatic and frenzied climax—involving as it did the cream of San Francisco society—had made the front page of every newspaper in the state, perhaps even the nation. Suffice it to say, Joseph Shepard’s manner toward me that morning fell considerably short of enthusiastic.
“You have done it again, Miss Woolson,” he growled. “You have made not only yourself, but my firm, a subject of derision and scorn.”
“May I remind you, sir, that we won our case?” I commented, realizing even as I said it the effort would be futile.
“If that is your idea of a successful conclusion,” he retorted, “I pray I will not be around to see you fail
.”
“This must be your lucky day then, Mr. Shepard, because your prayer has been answered.” I removed a signed sheet from my briefcase and placed it before him. “I have come to tender my resignation.”
It was difficult not to laugh aloud at his expression. It was as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether to jump for joy or have me examined for mental incompetence.
He regarded me with suspicion. “No attorney in his right mind would voluntarily leave the most prestigious law firm in San Francisco. Especially a female. You realize there isn’t another legal office in this city that will have you.” A new thought came to him. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally come to your senses and are prepared to assume a woman’s rightful role as wife and mother?”
“You may set your mind at ease, Mr. Shepard, I have come to no such conclusion. On the contrary, I have decided to establish my own practice.”
“You have what?” His beady eyes appeared in danger of popping off his pudgy face. “Is this some kind of joke? Your own practice? Such an idea is—is patently impossible! No one will consult with a woman. You’ll have no clients!”
I regarded him serenely.“I believe that is my problem, Mr. Shepard, not yours. Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching into my briefcase, I brought out an envelope. “Here is the firm’s portion of Mr. Chin’s final payment. Since you did not see fit to assist me financially during his defense, I have deducted expenses incurred during the trial. I’ve included a detailed account of these costs.”
His mouth opened in astonishment as he peered inside the envelope. But when he again looked up to me, I saw his wariness had returned.
“You are new to the legal profession, Miss Woolson. Please understand that you must leave behind any clients you may have served during your months with us.”
He referred, of course, to one of the firm’s most effluent clients, a young widow I had successfully represented in connection with the Nob Hill murders.
“I shall make no attempt to contact any of my prior clients,” I told him. “On the other hand, if they should seek my services on their own account, I will, at my discretion, decide whether or not I care to represent them.”
“You can’t do that. It’s unethical. It’s dishonest. I’ll have you disbarred!”
He began that irritating noise at the back of his nose. Realizing that, blessedly, I would never be forced to listen to one of his childish fits of pique again, I smiled.
“That is a preposterous threat, and you know it. As long as I do nothing to persuade my former clients to leave your firm, you have no say over whom I represent.”
I gathered up my briefcase. “Despite our disagreements, Mr. Shepard, I’ve decided not to hold your petty, mean-spirited and prejudiced opinions against you. I shall endeavor, therefore, to keep my true feelings about your firm to myself.”
With an amazingly light heart, I wished him a good day, closed the door on his outraged sputtering and departed Shepard, Shepard, McNaughton and Hall for the last time.
Perce Godfrey paid a surprise visit to my house that evening. He had visited me in the hospital, but this was the first time I’d seen him since my release. As was frequently his habit, he wore a frock coat that perfectly matched his midnight-blue eyes, while his dark tan trousers emphasized a narrow waist and long, powerful limbs. His chiseled features and long black hair—pulled back into a horsetail at his nape—once again put me in mind of a pirate standing at the helm of his ship, setting off on a voyage of adventure and ill-gotten riches.
As it turned out, this guess was uncannily close to the truth. As we sat on the back parlor sofa enjoying cups of brandy-laced coffee—the lights of the city twinkling below us like so many fireflies—he informed me he would be leaving the following day to set up a shipping office in Hong Kong. His brother, Leonard, planned to hire someone to take over the San Francisco operation, at least while Pierce was in the Orient.
“I know your low opinion of me, Sarah,” he said, flashing that irresistible smile of his. “But I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye and thanking you for all you’ve done for my company.”
His eyes softened, and his entire persona seemed to alter with that one small change. Suddenly his gaze was far too intimate for my liking. To my annoyance, he seemed to read my thoughts.
“Is my being here making you nervous, Sarah?” His dark blue eyes were twinkling now, as if at some private joke. I decided I didn’t like them any better this way than when they were overly familiar.
“Is there something on your mind, Pierce?” I asked, shifting my weight to put more distance between us.
“There’s always something on my mind when I’m around you, Sarah,” he said, his tone sending unwelcome shivers down my spine. “More often than not, those thoughts have nothing whatsoever to do with business.”
I tried to move even farther away from him but found my back pressed against the sofa arm. This did nothing to lessen my uneasiness. “Pierce, if there’s something you want to say, for heaven’s sake say it.”
With no warning he took my hand, smiling when I jumped in surprise. “All right, Sarah, right to the point, then. I’ve come here tonight to ask you to marry me.”
My mouth fell open and I was too shocked to close it.
“I can’t guarantee you the safety and stability you’re accustomed to,” he went on. “On the other hand, I can promise that our life will be a great adventure.”
“You can’t be serious,” I finally managed. “I’m far too outspoken and opinionated—we’d be fighting all the time.”
“Good,” he said, not in the least put off by this possibility. “We’ll never be bored.”
“Pierce, think about it. We both want different things from life. You love the sea and I love the law. I’ll admit I’ve grown fond of you, but it just wouldn’t work.”
He looked at me for a long moment, and I was afraid my words had hurt him. Being new to this proposal business, I’d gone about it all wrong. Belatedly, I realized I should have been more sensitive in my response.
To my consternation, he began to chuckle, and I was furious to see the twinkle back in his eyes.
Jumping off the sofa, I exclaimed, “What are you playing at, Pierce? If you meant that proposal as some kind of joke, it wasn’t funny.”
To my surprise, he reached for my hand and pulled me back down beside him. He whispered in my ear, “I meant every word I said, Sarah. I can’t think of another woman I’d rather have as my wife. I’m only laughing because I was so sure that’s what you’d say. You’re so refreshingly straightforward. That’s one of the things I love most about you.”
His eyes never left mine as he slowly leaned over and kissed me on the lips. To my surprise, I found myself kissing him back. It was a heady, surprisingly enjoyable sensation. I admit I felt rather sorry when it came to an end.
Smiling, Pierce poured another healthy dollop of brandy into our cups, then held his up for a toast.
“To you, Sarah Woolson, and your brilliant career as an attorney. May you have countless more victories to celebrate.”
I clinked my cup on his. “And to our continued friendship, Pierce Godfrey. No matter where your life of adventure leads you.”
Robert kindly helped me move into my new office. It had taken me nearly a month, but I’d finally found two rooms that, although smaller than I would have wished, would serve the purpose. They were located above a lady’s millinery shop on Sutter and Montgomery streets, an excellent part of town for a new attorney to set up private practice. Best of all, thanks to Li Ying’s generous gift, I was able to afford the rent, at least for the first six months. If I had not attracted a modest clientele by then, well, I would cross that bridge when I came to it.
Actually, I’d won my first case before I’d even opened the door to my new office. Shortly after I was released from the hospital, I filed suit against Judge Barlow on behalf of Lily Mankin and the families of the other victims who had lost their lives in the sweatshop fire.
&n
bsp; It came as no great surprise when Judge Barlow showed no desire to air his dirty linen in public. He was already under considerable fire from the press, not to mention the judicial system. Eager to salvage what little he could of his tarnished reputation, he sold off all his sweatshops and begged to settle our lawsuit out of court. My clients received a generous recompense for the loss of their loved ones. It was hardly a fortune, but it would pay the rent, put food on the table and ensure an adequate education for those children who wished to pursue their learning.
Lily Mankin now had sufficient funds to move out of the hospital and into a flat of her own, but in the end she chose to remain where she was. Not only did her three older children love their new home, but Lily was assured of continuous child care, enabling her to pursue her training as a nurse.
While Robert applauded my win over Judge Barlow, the victory had not been enough to persuade the attorney to leave Shepard’s firm and become my law partner. Stubbornly, he insisted he had no desire to keep me company in poverty and starvation.
“It’s not that I doubt your ability,” he assured me, slightly out of breath from rearranging my new (well, new to me, at least, since all my office furniture was secondhand) cherry wood file cabinet for the third time. “I just don’t think this city is ready for a female lawyer. You live at home with your parents, so if you fail you’ll still have a roof over your head. I don’t have that luxury.” He stood back and ran an arm over his forehead. “I hope you’re satisfied with that cabinet where it is now, Sarah, because I’m not moving it again.”
Eddie, who was also assisting in my move into my new office, looked at the Scot in surprise. “Why’dja wanna say a thing like that, Mr. Campbell? Miss Woolson could never fail. She can do anythin’ she sets her mind to.”
The young cabbie was perched on the edge of the heavy, almost matching cherry wood desk, which had, to Robert’s immense relief, required only two location changes before meeting with my approval.
The Russian Hill Murders Page 25
