by Marvin Kaye
He made an apologetic grimace. "Well, you see, there are very few wealthy
young women alone in San Francisco. And you were not expected." Again he
gestured to express his concern.
"No doubt," she said, and halted in front of a large door of polished oak.
While the secretary rapped, Madelaine examined her brooch watch, thinking she
would be fortunate to be out of the bank much before noon.
"Come in," came the crisp order from a sharp, husky voice.
The secretary made a slight bow to Madelaine, then stepped into the office,
discreetly closing the door behind him, only to emerge a few minutes later, all
smiles and half bows, to open the door wide for her in order to usher her into the
oak-paneled office of the senior officer of the bank.
The man who rose behind the orderly desk surprised Madelaine a little; he was
younger than she expected—no more than his mid-thirties—sharp-featured, wiry
and tall, with bright-red hair and steel-colored eyes, and a pinched look about his
mouth as if he were in constant discomfort. His dark suit was neat as a uniform,
and he greeted her with fastidious correctness. "William T. Sherman, senior
officer of Lucas and Taylor in San Francisco, at your service, Madame de
Montalia."
She took his hand at once. "A pleasure, Mr. Sherman," she said, liking his
decisive manner. "I hope you will be willing to help me establish an account here."
His face did not change, but a glint appeared in his eyes. "Certainly." He
signaled to the secretary. "Jenkins, leave us to it. And don't close the door."
Madelaine saw that the secretary was flustered. "But I thought—" he said.
"I will handle the opening of this account. Given the size of this woman's
resources, such an account would need my authorization in any case." He came
around the end of the desk not only to bring a chair for Madelaine, but to hurry
Jenkins out of his office. He carried the Queen Anne chair to a place directly
across the desk from his, and held it for Madelaine. "Madame?"
As she sat down, Madelaine smiled up at Sherman. "Thank you," she said and
noticed a quick frown flicker across his face.
Taking his place behind the desk once more, Sherman spread out two of the
letters in her packet of documents on the wide expanse of leather-edged blotter. "I
see you deposited ninety-five thousand pounds sterling in the Saint Louis office of
this bank in 1848. The most recent accounting, from a year ago, shows your
balance only slightly reduced." He regarded her with curiosity. "That is a
considerable fortune, Madame. And odd, that it should be in pounds sterling, not
francs."
"I inherited most of it," she said, not quite truthfully, for in the last century she
had been able to increase her wealth far beyond what her father had amassed.
"And I have lived in London for more than ten years before I came here. Much of
my money is in England." She made no mention of funds she had in France, Italy,
and Switzerland.
"And you have not squandered it, it would seem. Very prudent. Unusual, you
will permit me to say, in a young woman." He looked at her with increasing
interest. "What do you want me to do for you? How much were you planning to
transfer to this bank? In dollars?"
"I would think that twenty-five thousand would be sufficient," she said. "In
dollars."
He coughed once. "Yes; I should think so. More than sufficient. Unless you
are determined to cut a dash in society, you will find the sum ample. That's five
times my annual salary." He confided this with a chuckle and a scowl. "Very well,
Madame," he went on affably. "I will put the transaction in order. In the meantime,
you will be free to draw upon funds up to… shall we say, five thousand dollars?"
Madelaine nodded. "That would be quite satisfactory, since you are able to
contrive to live on it for a year, though prices here are much higher than I
anticipated. Still, I should be able to practice good economy."
"You certainly have until now, given the state of your account." He cocked his
head, a speculative light in his eyes, his long fingers moving restlessly as if
searching for a pencil or a cigar. "Unless these funds have only recently been
passed to your control? In that case, I would recommend you seek an able
advisor, to guide you in the matters of investment management—"
"Mr. Sherman—" she interrupted, only to be cut off.
"Forgive me. None of my business. But I can't help but wonder how it comes
about that you want twenty-five thousand now and have spent less than half of that
in the last seven years?" He braced his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, his
chin propped on his joined hands.
"My studies did not require it," she answered, determined not to be affronted
by his directness.
"Ah. You were at school," he said, his expression lightening. He slapped his
hands on the blotter and sat back, his question answered to his satisfaction.
"Something of the sort," she responded, in a manner she thought was almost
worthy of Saint-Germain.
San Francisco, 23 May, 1855
Mrs. Mullinton has given me the address of an excellent
dressmaker, and the first of my new clothes should be delivered
tomorrow. There are six other ensembles on order, to be delivered in
three weeks. Once I have settled in, I will need to order more… I
suppose it is worth getting back into corsets for the pleasure of
wearing silk again.
There is a private concert tomorrow afternoon that Mrs. Mullinton
wishes to attend and has asked me to accompany her to. Now that she
knows I have money and social position, she is determined to make
the most of both of them, convinced I will add to her consequence in
the town. If I am to remain here for three or four months, I will need
to enlarge my acquaintances or risk speculation and gossip, which
would do me no good at all… Perhaps I will find someone who is to
my liking, whom I please, who is willing to be very, very discreet. In a
place like this, lapses are not easily forgotten by anyone…
My chests are at the Jas. Banner Warehouse near where
Columbus and Montgomery Streets converge. I must make
arrangements to retrieve them soon, not only because I am low on my
native earth, but because the costs for storing the chests are
outrageous. I had rather keep them in the safe at Lucas and Turner
for such sums…
The house on Jackson Street was a fine, ambitious pile, made of local
redwood timber and newly painted a deep-green color, unlike many of its paler
neighbors, with the trim of yellow to contrast the white-lace curtains in most of the
windows. It faced the street squarely with an Italianate portico of Corinthian
columns; it was set back from the roadway and approached by a half-moon drive.
When Mrs. Mullinton alighted from the rented carriage, she fussed with her
bonnet before stepping aside for her guest to join her.
Madelaine de Montalia had donned her new dress, an afternoon frock suitable
for early suppers and garden parties, and as such, unexceptionable for this
concert. It was a soft shade of lavender, with bared shoulders framed by a doub
le
row of niched silk. The bodice was fitted and came to a point in the front over a
skirt of three tiers of ruched silk spread over moderate crinolines. For jewelry, she
wore a necklace of pearls and amethysts; her coffee-colored hair was gathered in a
knot with two long locks allowed to escape and fall on her shoulders. An
embroidered shawl was draped over her arms, and in one hand she held a beaded
reticule. As she descended from the carriage, Madelaine silently cursed her
enveloping skirts.
A Mexican servant, whose angular features revealed a significant admixture of
Indian blood, ushered them into the house and explained in heavily accented
English that the host and hostess were in the ballroom to receive their guests, while
bowing in the direction they should go.
"We are not the first, are we?" Mrs. Mullinton asked, afraid that she had
committed an intolerable gaffe.
"Oh, no. There are others here already," the servant assured the two women
with a respectful lowering of his eyes.
"Thank goodness," Mrs. Mullinton said in an undervoice to Madelaine as they
went along the corridor to the rear of the house. "It would not do to have it said
we came early."
"Whyever not?" asked Madelaine, who had become more punctual as she grew
older.
"My dear Madame," said Mrs. Mullinton in shock, "for women to arrive while
only the host and hostess are present smacks of impropriety, particularly since
you are new in town." Her long, plain face took on an expression of consternation
as she considered this outrage.
"Then it would be better to arrive late?" asked Madelaine, trying to determine
what Mrs. Mullinton sought to achieve.
"Heavens, no, for then it would seem that we did not appreciate the invitation,"
said Mrs. Mullinton. "I am very pleased that we have made our arrival so well."
She raised her voice as she stepped into the ballroom antechamber. "You may
find our entertainment sadly dull, Madame, after the excitement of London."
"Possibly," said Madelaine. "But as I have not seen London for eight years, I
think what you offer here will suit me very well." She smiled at the couple
approaching them—he of medium height and bristling grey hair; she a very pretty
woman with a deep bosom and fair hair, in a fashionable dull-red afternoon dress
that did not entirely become her; she was at least a decade her husband's junior.
"Mrs. Mullinton," said their hostess. "How nice of you to join us." She took
Mrs. Mullinton's hand and kissed the air near her right cheek. "This must be your
new guest." She turned to Madelaine. "I am Fanny Kent."
"And I am Madelaine de Montalia," she said, curtsying slightly to her hostess
before taking her hand, though they made no other move toward each other.
"My husband, the Captain," added Fanny, indicating her partner. "My dear,
you know Mrs. Mullinton. And this is Madelaine de Montalia."
Horace Kent bowed over Madelaine's hand. "Enchanted, Madame," he
declared, and then shook Mrs. Mullinton's hand in a nominally polite way.
The four other couples in the room were presented, and by that time another
pair of guests had arrived, and Madelaine gave herself over to the task of learning
the names of the people in the room, hoping she would not confuse any of them
as their numbers steadily increased.
"I have already had the pleasure," said the latest arrival, some twenty minutes
later. Sherman bowed slightly to Madelaine.
"Yes," said Madelaine, taking refuge in a familiar face. "I met Mr. Sherman on
my second day in the city."
"At the bank, I suppose," said the man accompanying him, another foreigner,
with a Russian accent. He beamed at Madelaine and continued in French. "It is an
honor to meet such a distinguished lady traveling so far from home. We are two
strangers on these shores, are we not?"
Sherman looked from one to the other. "Madame, let me present Baron
deStoeckl. Baron, Madame de Montalia."
"Delighted, Baron," said Madelaine, and went on, "I had thought that everyone
in California except for the Indians were here as strangers, and far from home."
"Touché, Madame." As the Baron kissed her hand, he said, still in French, "I
hope you will excuse my friend's curt manner. There is no changing him."
"And remember," said Sherman in rough-accented French, "he understands
what you say." With that, he gave Madelaine a polite nod and passed on to greet
General Hitchcock, who had just entered the ballroom.
"He misses the army, or so it seems to my eyes," said the Baron to Madelaine.
"If you will excuse me?"
She gestured her consent, and a moment later had her attention claimed by her
hostess, who wished her to meet Joseph Folsom. "He is one of the most
influential men in the city," Fanny confided. "You will be glad to know him."
Madelaine allowed herself to be led away; she saw Mrs. Mullinton deep in
conversation with an elderly lady in lavish half-mourning, and thought it best not to
interrupt her.
It was almost an hour later, after the string quartet had beguiled them with
Mozart and a medley of transcribed themes from Norma, that Madelaine once
again found herself in Sherman's company. He had just come from the bustle
around the punch bowl bearing a single cup when he saw her standing by the
window, looking out into the fading day. He strolled to her side, and remarked,
"The fog comes in that way throughout the summer."
She turned to him, a bit startled, and said, "So Mrs. Mullinton has warned me,
and advised that I carry a wrap no matter how warm the day." She went on,
"What do you think of these musicians?"
"More to the point, Madame, what do you think of them? Undoubtedly you
have more experience of these things than I do." He sipped from his cup and then
said, before she could answer his first question. "I would fetch you something,
but that would cause idle tongues to wag. With my wife away, I cannot risk giving
any cause for gossip that would distress her."
"Certainly not," said Madelaine, regarding Sherman with some surprise. "On
occasions such as this—"
"You will forgive me, Madame, for saying that you do not know these sniping
cats who have nothing better to do with their conversation than to blacken the
reputations of those around them." He bowed slightly and was about to turn away
when he looked down at her. "You may find it difficult to move about in society,
single as you are. If you were not so beautiful a young woman, Madame, and so
vivacious, there would be little to fear, but—" And with that, he was gone.
As Madelaine and Mrs. Mullinton were taking their leave of the Kents at the end
of the concert, Fanny Kent drew Madelaine aside, with signs of apprehension
about her. She made herself come to the point at once. "I could not but notice that
you and Mr. Sherman spoke earlier."
Madelaine knew well enough not to laugh. "Yes, some minor matters about
when I could sign certain papers at the bank. Mr. Sherman wished to know when I
would be available to tend to them. I gather they will be ready earlier than I had
been told."
Fanny looked reassured, her rosy cheek
s flaming with embarrassment. "Oh,
Madame. I am so sorry. I have mistaken the… But as you have just come here,
and have not yet learned… I was afraid you were wanting to fix your interest…
oh, good gracious."
"Dear Mrs. Kent," Madelaine said pleasantly enough but with grim purpose, "I
am aware that Mr. Sherman is a married man."
"Yes, he is," said Fanny Kent flatly. "With three hopeful children."
"I have no intention of making his life awkward for him. What a goose I should
be to do such a foolish thing. Great Heaven, Mrs. Kent, he is my banker. I rely
upon him to look after my financial welfare while I am in San Francisco." She
smiled easily. "And because he is, I will have to speak with him upon occasion,
and call at his office to take care of transactions that married women leave to their
husbands to perform, but which I must attend to for myself. I hope that people
understand the reasons are those of business; I have no motives beyond that."
"Of course, of course," said Fanny hastily.
"It would be most inconvenient to have to contend with malicious speculation
over such minor but necessary encounters." This time her smile had purpose to it.
Now Fanny let out a long sigh, one hand to her opulent bosom. "It is very sad
that Mrs. Sherman has had to be away from him just now," she said. "The run on
the bank left him exhausted, and his asthma, you know, has been particularly bad.
To care for those two children as well—" She put her hand to her cheek. "Not that
you have any reason to be concerned. I'm sure the worst is behind him. He
managed the crisis of the run quite successfully, and now Lucas and Turner is
likely to stand as long as the city. It would be a terrible thing if scandal should fix
to his name after he has won through so great a trial."
Madelaine blinked as she listened, and realized that Sherman had been right to
warn her about gossip.
San Francisco, 29 May, 1855
I must look for a house. I need someplace where I can lay down
my native earth and restore myself through its strength, and I do not
want to pay Mrs. Mullinton another $75 for my apartments, pleasant
though they are. A few of the other women here are starting to
question how I live, especially my refusal to dine with them, and I
must make an effort to stop their speculations as soon as possible. If I
