Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

• • •

  Very late that night, with fog crowding the San Francisco streets, Edith smudged her face with soot from the stove and — dressed once more in clothing borrowed from her friend — joined Tsung in a wobbly rickshaw. Where she’d acquired the vehicle Edith did not know and wasn’t about to ask. She did want to know where they were going and why she’d had to blacken her face and hands.

  “We go Madam Duval place.” Tsung announced as a runner set the rickshaw in motion.

  “What about Dutch’s temper?”

  “Mista Dutch tell me he out long time tonight. He not know, so he not throw temper. Besides, Tsang family help us. We home before dawn.”

  “You’re sure this is safe?”

  Tsung pondered a moment. “No, not certain. But Tsang family strong and many. Also, people at Duval’s place too busy now to worry about lowly Chinese servants.”

  Before Edith could do much of her own worrying, the rickshaw turned down an alley and pulled up in back of a tall house.

  “Duval place.” Tsung climbed out of the rickshaw.

  Edith stared at the building, unrecognizable in the deep mist. She shrank back as she saw movement in the foggy shadows. A few instants passed, and the rickshaw was surrounded by more Chinese than she could count. They’d brought an additional vehicle, probably to carry the trunk, if she could identify it.

  “Missee Edie, meet second and third cousins.”

  Edith nodded, speechless that so many strangers would come to her aid.

  One man held his hand up to her. “You come down now. Choose trunk.”

  She took his help getting to the ground and looked at Tsung. “Choose trunk?”

  The housemaid nodded. “Family already get trunks, but find too many. Not know which yours.”

  “Oh heavens. I don’t know if I can identify it in the dark.”

  One of the Tsangs held up a lantern; its light dimmed by the fog. “We have light to help.”

  Edith smiled. “Then, let’s go choose my trunk.”

  They led her through the back gate of the house to the yard where close to twenty trunks sat waiting her inspection.

  “So many?”

  “Madam Duval bad woman. Steal more than virtue from girls who come to San Francisco.”

  It took all of ten minutes for Edith to walk down the rows of trunks. She stopped before one that looked familiar. Hope flared. The fittings were brass, like hers, but she wouldn’t be certain until she found her nameplate. “Let me have the lantern, please.”

  The light was handed over.

  Edith aimed the beam at the top of the trunk. There, where the Smithfeld nameplate should have been was a rectangle of wood much lighter than the rest of the trunk. Duval probably removed it so she could claim she didn’t know the owner of the trunk and thus couldn’t return it.

  Edith examined the others, but none of them matched hers as closely as the one with the missing nameplate. Her belief grew that the brass fitted steamer was not only hers but that her mission to find Kiera would succeed. She returned to that trunk. “Please take this one.”

  One of the men nodded, and a silent ballet began. The trunk was carried out to the vehicles waiting in the alley. One by one the others were hustled back into the cellar of the house through the open doors.

  • • •

  Across San Francisco in the gloom of the fog and dark, Dutch opened a piece of chocolate as he stood outside an opium den to which he’d traced a man known as Paz. Conroy had sent a note earlier that day identifying the man. Before confronting the contact, Dutch pondered his chosen course. He was weary to the bone. Long hours at work covering for his absent partner. Even longer nights in fruitless searching for Trey and chasing the judge — who was obviously avoiding Dutch — from one rumor to another. Too many restless nights spent dreaming about Edith. She was willing, he knew, to accommodate his sexual needs, but Dutch valued the proprieties. He would not use any woman let alone one he was coming to like very much. Hence, he kept his solitary bed and made do with dreams.

  Still, the woman was like a drug in his blood. He couldn’t afford addiction of any sort, let alone to a woman who claimed to trust him but would not confide in him. She had troubles beyond a missing trunk. In order to get her to talk to him, he’d solve that immediate problem. Doing so required he meet the man waiting for him inside this building.

  Dutch disliked opium dens almost as much as he despised brothels. Both types of establishments preyed on the weak, creating worlds of misery. Paz had chosen this den when Dutch had finally gotten him to agree to a meeting. So once again, chocolate melting in his mouth, Dutch crossed the threshold of a place he’d rather not be.

  He descended the stairs, moving as quickly as possible through the maze of cribs where opium eaters of all ages and races fed their craving for the drug. The worst were the children, reaching out, begging for money or valuables that they could trade for more opium. One particularly insistent boy grabbed for him. Dutch dodged, and the child fell to the ground.

  Pleading eyes looked up.

  He had money with him. He could give some to this child; but then others would come, and form a mob. People had been killed by such mobs. He shook his head. He needed the cash to pay Paz.

  Begging, the boy raised his open hand.

  Dutch continued backing away. Guilt ate at him. Save this child, urged his conscience. What would he do with the boy? The child would not thank him. The kid would long for opium, steal him blind, and end up right back here or in some other den. Dutch shook his head again.

  The boy’s hand formed into a fist, and the pleading eyes turned hard. The kid pushed to his feet and rushed Dutch.

  Appalled and fascinated, he stopped moving at the intersection of two narrow hallways. That’s what opium did to the mind. Its victims would fight impossible battles to get more.

  As the boy leapt for him, another hand grabbed Dutch’s arm, jerking him into the passage on his left.

  “So, Mister Trahern, you do not like children?” whispered a voice he assumed to be Paz. The man tugged Dutch deeper into the dim recesses of the den.

  “What I think of children is irrelevant. Do you have the trunk?”

  Paz showed his teeth, and his black eyes glittered. “You did not imagine that I would bring it with me?”

  “If you want to get paid … ”

  Paz raised a palm. “Do not worry, Mr. Trahern. The trunk is being delivered to your home as we speak. However, you know the speed of the Chinese runners as well as I. If you do not pay me, I will have the trunk returned to Madame Duval with my compliments.”

  “How do I know you won’t do that anyway?”

  The teeth gleamed again. “You don’t. Any more than I know for certain that you won’t knife me instead of paying me. Your knife skills are well known among my friends. I would not cross you lightly.”

  “Fair enough. Do you have proof that you have the right trunk?”

  “Here is the name plate.” Paz held up a rectangle of dull silvery metal. “I will give it to you as you give me the money.”

  “Half the money. There’s still the matter of the information you promised.”

  “All right.” He extended the nameplate in his palm.

  Dutch removed a wad of bills from his inner coat pocket and made the exchange. “Now, where’s Judge Trahern gone to ground?”

  “Ah, I cannot betray his location.”

  “Then we’re finished.” Dutch made to leave.

  “No, we are not.” Paz drew a knife. “I said your knife skills were well known. I did not say that mine are better.”

  Before he could threaten Dutch with the blade, Dutch drew his own weapon and held the pistol at the man’s temple. “Your brains will be all over these walls before you can so much as prick me.”

  “Judge Trahern says he will find you.”

  Dutch nodded. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Drop the knife.”

  The fellow complied.

  Dutch kicked the knife as far
back into the darkness as possible. “Sit down.”

  Paz sat. “What about my money?”

  “Here.” Dutch backed toward the entrance. One handed, he threw several bills at the man. They floated in all directions. “That should keep you busy long enough for me to feel easy leaving you at my back.”

  “Do not be too sure.”

  Dutch shook his head. “You won’t bother with me. I’m faster than you are, and you won’t like the odds.”

  “True.” Paz started to pick up the bills, counting as he went.

  Dutch left, praying he’d be able to find his way out of the den. He’d no desire to wait on the judge’s convenience. He would track down his slimy father no matter how long it took. Jeremiah Trahern was the only sure lead Dutch had who might be pressured for real information about Trey. This time Jem would spill everything he knew.

  • • •

  Halfway to dawn, the small rickshaw parade stopped beside the kitchen door of Dutch’s home. Edith and Tsung moved ahead of the men to open the door and clear the way for them to move the trunk inside to the small area where Edith removed the buckets and brooms normally stored there. She thanked Tsung and her relatives. Tsung headed for her room off the back of the kitchen. Edith made her way into the kitchen to light the lamp there when a match flared, and light from an oil lamp bloomed.

  “Where have you been?”

  Edith froze. Lord she hoped Tsung heard and had the presence of mind to keep her cousins and the trunks out of sight.

  Dutch sprawled in one of the two kitchen chairs, a glass of amber liquid on the table by his side. A kitten lay stretched along his thigh, purring with every idle stroke of his hand.

  Was he even aware that he allowed himself to pet the feline?

  “I see no reason to account to you for my comings and goings. You certainly do not show me the same courtesy until after the fact.”

  “I’m not a guest in this house.”

  “Are you really suggesting that you’ve treated me as a guest?”

  He frowned, ignoring her accusation. “What in blazes have you done to your face?”

  She touched a fingertip to her cheek. Her finger came away black. The soot! She’d completely forgotten. “What does it look like I’ve done?”

  “It looks,” he growled. “Like you’ve been in Duval’s cellar trying to get your damned trunk.”

  “Thanks to what you’ve told me about Duval, I would never cross that woman’s threshold again.”

  With careful deliberation he placed the kitten on the floor. He rose and menaced toward her. “So you had someone else do it for you. Either way is dangerous. I should wring your pretty neck.”

  Edith backed toward the door, but her aim was off, and she ended pressed up against the wall beside the entry. “That would be murder.”

  His smile gleamed harsh in the dim lamplight. “I’m in a mood to murder tonight.”

  He stopped before her, his body a scant breath away.

  “Y … you wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t tempt me. Now what were you up to?”

  “Mista Dutch. Why you home? What you do to Missee? You drinking?” Tsung emerged into the kitchen. She wore an embroidered cotton robe, her face was clean, and her usually neat braid was untidy, as if she’d just risen from her bed.

  “Tsung?” Dutch turned to look at his housemaid.

  Edith sidled out of reach.

  “What you do to Missee Edie?” Tsung placed a protective arm around Edith’s shoulders. “What you throw temper about now?”

  Dutch scrubbed at his face with one hand, stepped back to the table, lifted his drink, and tossed the last of the liquid down his throat. “I’ve done nothing to Missee Edie, and I am not throwing my temper.”

  The cat twined unnoticed about his ankles.

  “You bad liar, Mista Dutch. Missee, you go upstairs, go sleep now.

  Edith shook her head. “I think I’d better stay. But you go on to bed.” She cast a wary glance at Dutch. “I’ll be fine.”

  Tsung narrowed her gaze at Dutch. “You sure, Missee?”

  “Yes, I’m certain.” Something was wrong with Dutch, and much as his flash fire temper frightened her, she didn’t want to see him hurt physically or emotionally. “I want to help,” she whispered at Tsung.

  He sat heavily, placed his elbows on the table, and dropped his head to his hands. “I don’t need any help.”

  Obviously she hadn’t spoken quietly enough.

  “Okay, but Tsung sleep one ear open. Mista Dutch throw temper again, you call.”

  “I won’t throw my temper.” He lifted the kitten into Tsung’s arms where it calmly began to bathe. “Go away. And take that animal with you.”

  Crooning to the kitten, Tsung departed.

  Edith turned to the sink where she scrubbed the soot from her face then filled the tea kettle before placing it atop the stove.

  She waited until the tea was steeping then set it and two mugs on the table. She sat across from Dutch. “Yes, I did go to get my trunk tonight. I blackened my face to be less noticeable in the dark, and I had help from more than two dozen of Tsung’s cousins. I was completely safe. We got the trunk, and no one was hurt or discovered.”

  “Is that all?” His lips thin and his jaw tight, the words escaped low and harsh.

  Edith swallowed tea. She could claim she’d told him everything. She might even get away with it. After all, how likely was it that he’d ever know more about her than she’d already told him? But her growing fondness for him made her hesitate over the omission. The glimmer of hope she’d felt when she found her trunk had grown to a roaring torrent that would burst any dam she erected. She’d already told him about her sister. But once she re-opened the subject of Kiera, the inheritance might arise as a topic. If he knew about the inheritance, would he try to get his hands on Grandfather’s money either through seduction or forced marriage? From what little she knew of him, and she’d only known him two days, Dutch was too noble to act the cur. However, if word got out, others might. It would be best if he didn’t learn any more. Nonetheless, she’d stick to the truth as much as possible.

  “No, there’s more.”

  “I had a feeling.” He grasped her hand before she could fill her mouth with more tea. “We’ve talked of your sister before and the problems she had with Cerise Duval. But you left a lot unsaid.”

  “True.” She looked at his hand circling her wrist.

  He let go. “Tell me all of it.”

  Now was the time. Her chance to tell Dutch everything about her family, about herself. Could she risk telling him that her search for Kiera was linked to the need to present a united front to Grandfather in hope of preserving their inheritance, or was clearing her sister’s name sufficient?

  “Some of the story isn’t mine to tell. However, I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Dutch glowered but remained silent.

  He was upset. That much Edith could discern, but he’d been upset before she returned to the house tonight. “Our grandfather is a cruel man of strict and uncompromising standards. His opinion of women in general is that they are instruments of the devil with no brains, intended only to propagate the species and tempt men to sin. He was very bitter that his son, our father, died without a male heir.”

  “Is your grandfather rich?”

  Edith ignored the question, choosing her words carefully. “Grandfather promised Kiera in marriage to a business colleague as a way to cement a business deal.

  “You mentioned that. It’s not unusual.”

  “No, but this man, the colleague, was known to beat his wives. He’d already buried three. Kiera was afraid, and I would not see her placed in such danger. We plotted her escape, and I helped.” Busy watching Dutch for his reactions, Edith allowed her tea to cool. What she saw worried her because the more she talked the less emotion he showed, even though he never took his eyes off her.

  “So instead of a deadly marriage, she ended up in Cerise Duval’s tender care.�
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  “Do you blame me? I couldn’t know what Kiera would encounter once she left Boston. All I knew was that she hoped to open a photographer’s shop to sell portraits and such. She’s a great photographer. She didn’t have much money though. I tried to persuade her to go to our cousins in Maine, but she insisted that was too close. No, for her, going to San Francisco under the alias she used to sell her pictures was the best solution. I could not convince her otherwise even though we both understood she risked everything. She never would have left if I didn’t agree it was best. I’ve questioned my decision a thousand times in the past three years, but I always arrive at the conclusion that even a small chance of survival is better than a slow, painful, and certain death.”

  Edith stood and refilled the teapot, adding a few more leaves to steep. Bringing the pot back to the table, she sat and waited.

  Dutch lifted his head. His expression gave nothing away, not a single clue as to what he thought about the dangers she allowed Kiera to face. “I don’t blame you. If anything I blame your grandfather for placing you and Kiera in a situation where you felt forced to take such risks.”

  Relief that he understood washed through her. “Thank you.”

  “I just have one more question. Why not tell me this when we spoke earlier?”

  “Aside from the fact that you asked?”

  One corner of his mouth kicked upward. “Yeah, aside from that.”

  “Because I could tell that my adventure tonight isn’t what’s really bothering you.” She took a sip of tea. “I figured that if I clear up any question about my activities, perhaps you’d share your troubles with me.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “I might be able to help.”

  Dutch snorted then drank his tea.

  “Hear me out,” she continued. “Even if I can’t do anything to help, sometimes simply sharing your troubles lightens the load.” Clearing the air had helped her feel better. She didn’t like deception, though to protect her sisters from their grandfather she’d lied and deceived enough for two lifetimes. And she would again. She’d do whatever was necessary to provide for and keep her sisters safe.

  Dutch set his mug on the table then ran both hands through his hair. “How did someone as naïve and idealistic as you end up in Duval’s bordello?”