by Rue Allyn
The coolie returned, lifted the shafts of the vehicle, and trotted forward.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, Edith objected. “Wait. What are you doing?”
“Take lady see Missee Duval.” He began to run.
“But Madame Duval’s house is back there.” She pointed toward the house behind them.
“Missee Duval say lady no come in front door. Bad for good name.”
Edith grabbed her hat as the rickshaw tilted around a corner. The coolie made a dash toward the next alley.
“Bad for Duval’s good name? Of all the nerve. A respectable lady deigns to visit the owner of a bordello, no doubt a fallen woman herself, and the madam claims the visit is bad for her reputation. Lunacy, absolute lunacy.”
Edith grabbed her hat once more as the conveyance tilted around a second corner and bumped down the rutted path. Finally the vehicle stopped, and the coolie was at her side helping her down.
“Not bad for Missee Duval.” He grinned. “Bad for you.”
“Oh.” Embarrassed, she shook out her skirts and followed the coolie to the back door. Edith lifted her hem higher than usual, picking her way around unidentifiable puddles and small piles of refuse. She held her breath against the stench, intensified no doubt by the warmth of the day.
The coolie trudged up the steps to a small landing and knocked on the door.
The moment Edith topped the stairs and stood beside him, he held out his hand.
“You pay now.”
“But I need you to wait.”
“No wait. Pay now. Get other coolie when you leave.”
“I insist … ” He snatched at the purse on her wrist.
She tugged it away. “If you must … ” She extracted a silver dollar and gave it to him.
“You say two dollar I take you Missee Duval house.”
“And bring me back. You have refused to wait for me.”
“You say two dollar.” A mule looked friendly by comparison with the stubborn set of the man’s chin.
“Is there a problem?”
A servant stood just inside the bordello’s now open backdoor. The man’s pristine uniform and well modulated voice would have found approval in the finest Boston homes. Edith shook her head. San Francisco was as strange a place as Mr. Carroll’s Wonderland.
The coolie launched into a long and loud explanation in Chinese accompanied by many gestures, all of which Edith ignored until he turned to leave.
“No! I’ll pay your dollar if you stay.”
The servant lifted his hand to intervene. “No other payment is needed; Madame Duval will provide a vehicle when you depart.”
He stepped away to allow Edith passage.
She hesitated. While Mr. Trahern had not mentioned bordellos — no gentleman would discuss such matters with a lady — his warnings about untrustworthy transportation rang in her memory. However, if she didn’t enter, she had no chance of discovering where Kiera was or why she had been accused of murder. Edith gave a nod, lifted her skirt, and stepped over the lintel into the small foyer.
She stared about, dumbfounded. Sewn into the lining of her warmest cloak and secure in her trunk was a picture from a newspaper article about the goings on in this house. After Grandfather’s accident, she’d looked through his desk in search of money to pay the physician and found the article in a file about Kiera. The photograph had led her to expect plush velvet and gilt trim. This foyer was … ordinary, from the patterned carpet runner to the framed still life drawings to the scent of beeswax and lemon and the gleam of polished woodwork. Ordinary and quiet, not a murmur of debauch was audible. Perhaps the debauch went on upstairs.
“May I take your hat, Miss … ?”
“Oh, um … here.” She raised her veil and unpinned her hat while she tried to remember the story she’d concocted with Mae. “I’m Mrs. Ebenezer Smithfeld, and I wish to speak to Madame Duval on a private matter.”
The servant took her hat, placing it on a hat tree. “Of course, this way ma’am.” He led her down the hall and up a narrow stairway to the second floor.
Here paint covered the walls rather than paneling, but all remained quiet and serene. On their way to the end of the corridor, they passed several closed doors. The servant opened the door there and ushered her into a pretty sitting room done in blue and white. Lace festooned the curtains, the doilies and pillows. Sachets suspended from the curtain rods filled the air with the scent of gardenias. Two slipper chairs flanked a low table; an ornate, ormolu desk occupied one side of the room, and myriad shelves loaded with china figurines decorated the walls.
“Please have a seat. Madame will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” Edith sat. To control her curiosity she worked at removing her gloves and wished for her obscuring veil. As a child she’d frequently had difficulty hiding her feelings. The failure had caused her many a slap and worse from Grandfather. Kiera had been best at hiding things from him. He’d never discovered the photographic equipment that her sister had saved years to buy then learned to use in secret — equipment Kiera had insisted on taking with her when she left. Mae on the other hand was terrible at dissembling and in self defense made herself nearly invisible. While somewhat better than Mae, Edith wasn’t all that good at deception either. However, dissembling and deception were vital to the success of her purpose.
“Ah, Mrs. Ebenezer Smithfeld, I believe.”
Edith jerked her head up and her mind away from her wandering thoughts.
The woman entering the room was more exotic than beautiful. Eyes the color of pennies gleamed in a narrow, high-cheeked, café-au-lait face. Carmined lips bowed in a smile a shade too broad. Tall and lush, she wore a silk evening gown the same color as those lips. She moved with the sway of a ship under full sail, sure of its place and dominance over all it surveyed.
Edith nodded, gulped, and stood. “Are you Madame Duval?”
The woman floated across the room, anchoring herself in the other slipper chair. Behind her came a chambermaid who carried a tea tray.
“Put the tea on the table, Bessie, then leave us. I’ll pour.” She gestured to the table between the slipper chairs. Turning to Edith, the woman spoke in quiet, cultured tones as exotic as her appearance. “Yes, I am Madame Duval, but please sit; I beg you. You may call me Cerise. First names are much friendlier, don’t you think?” She paused, waiting for Edith to give her first name.
“I’m not fond of such informality among strangers, Madame.” The madam needed to know that Edith could hold her own and wouldn’t be manipulated. Also a standoffish attitude might help to preserve her privacy. Alden Shipping and Industries had ventures that were known worldwide. In the United States, only the Vanderbilts eclipsed the Alden fortune. Lord knew what would happen if this woman discovered that Edith was an Alden.
“As you wish, though I hope we won’t be strangers for long.” From a bunch in the bowl at the center of the tea tray, Duval pulled a grape. She placed the fruit against her lips then drew the grape into her mouth with a delicate swipe of her tongue. “I understand you wish to discuss a private matter with me?”
Suddenly warm, Edith accepted a cup of tea, sipping to delay the inevitable. She swallowed the last of the liquid and set the porcelain back on the tray.
Madame Duval’s patient silence proved unnerving.
“I wish to retain your services.” Edith blurted the lie. She had no desire to reveal her true purpose for gaining access to the bordello. No good would come from Madame Duval knowing that Edith was in search of her sister and the truth of what happened here. Her sister could not be guilty of murder. Kiera was the photographer, not the murdered man as the newspaper had claimed. Edith intended to prove it.
Duval raised a delicate brow. “More tea?”
“Yes, please.” Edith turned her head to meet the woman’s gaze. She wore a sympathetic smile, but her glance traveled over Edith, assessing, calculating.
“I … I know my request must be somewhat unusual … ”
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“Not as unusual as you might imagine. However, I want to be completely clear as to what services you desire. If it is me personally you wish to retain, I must tell you that I am very expensive and will be more so than usual since my preference is for men not women.”
Edith sputtered the tea she just sipped.
“Oh dear.” Madame handed Edith a napkin. “I’ve shocked you. Are you certain that you wish to become a client?”
Edith set her cup aside again, mopped at the tea stains, and gathered her courage. Thank heaven the stains would not show on her dark dress. “I am quite certain, but I wish to hire you to find me a male ah, er … ”
“Lover?”
Edith nodded.
“Why?”
What are my reasons? I want Kiera home, safe and secure from all dangers. I want her included in the inheritance, if I can find a way to change that absurd will. Without our inheritance, all three of us might just as well hire on with you. We’ll be destitute — no shelter, food, or resources. I won’t allow that to happen, and I can’t imagine trusting you with information about my vulnerabilities. Just think what you might do if you knew about that humiliating will. The terms essentially give any man who knows about it the means to use our bodies against us and shackle us into degradation worse than any that you could employ, Madame Duval. I have to find my sister, and I have to find a means to change that will and prevent a fate worse than prostitution. I will move heaven and destroy Hades to find Kiera. By comparison, a few hours in a bordello are insignificant.
“I see no reason to explain myself. The matter is private.” Edith drew herself up. She felt shame whenever she thought about her reasons for residing in a bordello — however temporarily. But she wasn’t about to share that sort of information with a procuress.
“Quel dommage. Mr. Smithfeld is, how should I say, in poor health?”
Edith inclined her head as if agreeing. “As I said the matter is private.”
Duval smiled. “Very well. What sort of man are you interested in, and how much are you willing to pay?”
Edith hadn’t thought she would have a choice. How many men would want to perform such a service for pay? “I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“I can assure you that all of the studs in my stable are virile and appealing as well as clean and free of pox. You have but to tell me if you want a man who is short, tall, American, Russian, Chinese, blond or dark, one who will talk with you first or one who will set to business without conversation, as well as any other personal requirements.”
“Oh my,” Edith picked up her tea once more and sipped as she thought. “Virile and appealing are all well and good, but I would like a man with some intelligence, so I suppose some conversation is warranted to discover just how intelligent he is. I definitely want a man of my own race though beyond that I do not care if he is dark or fair. I’d prefer a Southern gentleman or perhaps someone from England.” She wanted to reduce the risk that she might meet the man again once she returned home.
“Hmmm.” Madame Duval lowered her eyelids and sipped her tea then set down her cup. “Would a man with Irish in his background be satisfactory?”
“I suppose, though I would prefer a man with some manners.” She stated her preferences as if they mattered, but Edith had no intention of actually receiving the services she claimed to want. Her only purpose was to gain access to the bordello in order to find clues to Kiera’s whereabouts. The outrageous terms of Grandfather’s current will were not to be considered. She would find a way to change those terms once she found Kiera.
The smile Duval returned was brilliant. She seemed very pleased with something. “Is that all you require?”
“Yes, well, and your discretion of course.”
Madame rolled her eyes. “Oh la, that goes without saying. I’ll need at least twenty-four hours to find the best stud.”
Edith had hoped for more time but could not afford to appear reluctant. “That will be satisfactory.”
“Also, I do not allow my employees to work outside this house. You’ll have to rent a room here.”
The idea of residing in a bordello prompted another bout of nerves that was difficult to quell. She had doubts about Duval’s honesty — the woman was, after all, a brothel owner. Nonetheless Edith forced herself to calm. Money motivated Madame, and Edith could provide that. With careful economy she could pay for lodging and ensure her supposed lover’s silence regarding the fact that he actually provided no services. As for Duval, she was unlikely to displease a paying customer. All that was required was shrewd bargaining. “I already have rooms.”
“Cancel them. Because of the delay in finding the right man, I’ll give you the first night free.”
The woman was almost too accommodating. However, being on the premises would make the search for clues to Kiera’s circumstances much easier, so the offer was tempting. Edith would be able to avoid going out in public and thereby minimize risk to her reputation. When the time came, she could disappear from San Francisco as anonymously as she had arrived. With luck she’d discover Kiera’s whereabouts quickly. No, she didn’t trust Duval farther than the nearest penny, but the offer served Edith’s purposes too well to decline. “I suppose I could have my luggage sent over.”
Duval smiled. “Let us agree on a price first.”
“What do you consider reasonable?”
The madam named a figure more than double all of Edith’s discretionary funds. She had no idea what a fair price was for a hired stud and renting a room in a bordello, but she did know something about haggling. Many a time she’d had to dicker for a reduced price to avoid exhausting the entire pittance Grandfather allowed for household necessities. She shook her head, set down her tea, and gathered her gloves. “I believe I must take my business elsewhere.”
“I named a fair price. You won’t find better at any reputable house.”
As if a bordello could be considered reputable. “A price is only fair if the customer can afford to pay.”
The madam pursed her lips. “True. What can you afford?”
Edith named a figure one-eighth of the amount Duval had given.
“You bargain well. Double that and we have a deal.”
Edith smiled. This small success buoyed her confidence that she would find Kiera and bring her home.
“Done.”
“Excellent, now about the room rental.”
“Oh no, that figure included the room.”
“Don’t be stingy, Mrs. Smithfeld. I am giving you an extremely good discount on the standard fee for stud services. Why, the discount alone would pay your rent for the month.”
“I doubt I’ll need the place for more than a few days. I’m paying one dollar a day now. I’ll give you the same.”
“Ha, ha, ha. Do you have meals, cleaning, and laundry services at your current lodgings?”
“No.”
“I treat my clients royally, Mrs. Smithfeld, but I expect them to pay for it. I won’t take less than ten dollars a day paid in advance.”
Edith did some swift calculations. If she stayed less than a week, there would be enough money for her return train fare, but precious little for buying a man’s silence. She must keep her stay short. The longer she remained here, the greater the risks to both her and Kiera. Also she must return home before Grandfather passed on. “Ten dollars per day. The first day paid in advance.” She extended her hand.
Madame Duval shook on the deal. “Excellent. I’ll ring for Bessie to show you to your room. Instruct her where to send for your luggage. I’ll also have her provide you with a few things that you may use for your own entertainment. Among them are a Japanese picture book called a kerisu and a hand-copied text titled the Kama Sutra, a fascinating book about sexual congress translated into English by the author for me personally. I highly recommend both. If you have questions about any of the items or the books, you may ask Bessie or request to see me. I suggest that you not roam the hallways. Doing so might lead to unpleasant
encounters or expose your identity to those less discreet than they should be.”
“I appreciate the advice. Perhaps we could talk now. I wish to consult your expertise regarding seduction and preventing pregnancy.”
Madame Duval’s expression reminded Edith of her grandfather when he’d completed a lucrative business deal, but the look disappeared when the madam smiled and refilled the tea cups. “I’ll be happy to advise you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Cerise Duval leaned back in her chair and sipped at her tea as the door closed on the nominal Mrs. Ebenezer Smithfeld. Something bothered Cerise about the woman more than the absurd story of an inadequate spouse. If that woman was married to anyone, Cerise would eat her garters for lunch. She had the niggling impression that she’d met Mrs. Smithfeld before. Cerise had met a great number of innocents in the years she’d made her fortune by peddling flesh. That kind of familiarity was her bread and butter. She’d risk her entire reputation as San Francisco’s most powerful woman that Mrs. Smithfeld was a virgin out to ruin herself. The question was how to make the most profit from her. Cerise considered for a while, developing her plans. Course decided, she moved to her desk and wrote two short notes then rang the bell for Bessie.
The maid appeared in a few moments. “Yes, Madame?”
“Did you provide our guest with all the usual items?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And did you include the customary stimulants to her food and drink?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Excellent. Take the tea tray away and have these two notes delivered immediately to the Chinaman and Judge Jeremiah Trahern in that order. The messenger should wait for the Chinaman’s reply then escort the Judge back here. Once you’ve seen to that send my secretary in. We have work to do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she said she would, Cerise had blamed the loss of the Arrowhead’s human cargo and the death of the Chinese aide on the Trahern brothers. Thus, her tenuous partnership with the Chinaman remained intact. Through his network of informants the Tong boss would discover the information she needed. Within the week, two at the most, she would know everything there was to know about Mrs. Ebenezer Smithfeld.