by Pam Crooks
Kee glanced at one of the men on the dock, a Celestial who waited for Kee’s silent question.
The Celestial nodded.
Kee turned back to Hawthorne.
“Yes.” He reached inside his coat and handed him a thick envelope. The money disappeared into a pocket of the inspector’s uniform jacket.
Hawthorne tossed a covert glance behind him. “Proceed on.”
Kee bowed from the waist but said nothing. Hawthorne pivoted and strode toward a pallet stacked high with rice, his back turned to the activity behind him.
At Kee’s signal, numerous Chinese worked quickly to load the crates onto multi-oared boats. With the customs inspector’s cooperation, the normal procedure of storing the goods in the Customs Warehouse for payment of duties and legal distribution was eliminated.
A fine fellow, that customs inspector. Helpful. And greedy.
Kee handed Liko another envelope.
“See that the ship’s watchmen are paid. They are invaluable to us.”
Liko took the money. The pay-offs were always his favorite part of the job. They made him feel important. In control.
And everyone called him ‘sir.’
“One more thing.”
Liko waited.
Kee glanced at Liko’s swollen nose with disgust.
“Whatever your business with Chandler and his daughter, it must not interfere with mine. Is that understood, Mr. Kwan?”
He stood stiffly. “Yes.”
“We leave for Taku before dawn. Be sure you are ready.”
Liko swallowed. Hours. That’s all that remained before he must return to San Francisco.
And even less than that before he had to reach Carleigh.
Chapter 15
It was almost time.
Carleigh pressed a hand to the wild fluttering in her belly. Upon receiving Gif’s message relayed from Jorge Esteban, they’d rushed across the border to the Tijuana Penitentiary.
She would finally see her mother. After all the endless hours of traveling, the heartache, the fears of not reaching her soon enough, it was time.
Oh, God.
“I don’t know what to call her,” she said. “I don’t know what’s appropriate.”
“Just do what comes natural, Carleigh,” Trig said. He sat at a plain wooden table, the only piece of furniture in the room save for the pair of chairs that went with it. A single lantern cast a dim light. “Things will come easy enough for both of you.”
She sighed. “Do you suppose she’s as nervous as I am?”
“Probably more so. After all, she knew you before you knew her.”
Carleigh began to pace in the tiny quarters. “A part of me wishes this meeting was over. But another part wishes I could stop time right now so I can savor the moment. And then another part wants her right here”--Carleigh halted and pointed to the floor--“where I can see and touch her.” She resumed her pacing. “I feel like a child on Christmas morning.”
“Anyone would.” He smiled.
Carleigh clutched her stomach again as a new round of worries set in. “What if I say something stupid to offend her? Or do something that will make her wonder why she ever wanted to see me at all?”
His brows knitted. “Like what, Carleigh? I can’t think of a single reason why your mother would do any of those things.”
She groaned. “It’s all so frightening.”
“Know what I think?”
She glanced at him. “What?”
“I think she’ll have so much love built up inside her that it will all come near to bursting when she finally sees you. There isn’t a single thing you could do that would offend her.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do.” Trig regarded her with a solemnness that made Carleigh pause. “What about her, Carleigh? Is there anything she could do that might offend you?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s spent a long time in prison. She’s had to bargain her soul to survive. Would you be shocked at anything she might have done?”
Carleigh thought of the prisoners she’d seen at the wharf this afternoon. Their despair. Their hopelessness.
“No, of course not.” She shook her head for emphasis. “Not at all.”
“Belle will need your understanding.”
Carleigh heard the warning in his tone. But before she could ask him to explain further, the scraping sound of the key in the lock sent her whirling toward the door.
The time had come.
The low murmur of voices on the other side slammed her heart against her ribcage. She stood riveted, her eyes on the portal as it opened wider.
Chink. Chink.
Carleigh heard the ankle chains first. She pressed her fingers to her lips in a sudden rush of anguish.
Chink. Chink.
Footsteps, slow and labored, shuffled over the rough concrete. A wooden cane thumped, added to the macabre notes resonating with the shackles.
Chink. Chink.
A shadow fell across the portal. She caught her first glimpse of the hem from a dark gray cloak. And then, at last, a shrouded figure stood in the doorway.
Carleigh’s heart stopped in horror.
The prisoner on the boat.
Dear God.
Hunched over and feeble, aided heavily by the cane, the figure moved slowly into the room. The cloak’s hood hid any hint of the features veiled within; Carleigh couldn’t even be sure if a man or woman huddled beneath the woolen folds.
What was wrong with this pathetic creature? Was she gripped by some horrible disease that had deformed and shriveled her body?
“She will not let anyone near her,” Esteban said, frowning. “She will not eat or drink. I have yet to hear her speak.”
Suddenly, the creature spun toward him.
“Out!”
She snapped the command with a vehemence that made Carleigh jump.
Trig breathed a startled oath.
A slender finger jabbed toward the doorway. “I want to see my daughter in privacy. Out, Jorge.”
For a long moment, the prison director didn’t move. A silent war of wills waged between them. Clearly, her mother knew him from somewhere in her past. She’d used the informality of his given name.
Esteban was a powerful man. What if he refused? Punished her for her impudence? Denied them this meeting before it had even begun?
What then?
But before her fears materialized into reality, Esteban inclined his head. Only the slight flare of his nostrils revealed his disdain from her command. “As you wish.” He gestured to Trig. “Come with me.”
“It is my daughter’s decision whether he stays or goes,” Belle snapped.
“I want him to stay,” Carleigh said quickly.
“Very well.” Esteban stepped toward the portal. “A guard will be posted outside. He has been instructed to call me at the first sign of anything that concerns him.” Esteban smiled, a mirthless curving of his lips that matched the chill in his eyes. “So I would not do anything to raise his suspicions. You have one hour.”
He pulled the door closed behind him. The key scraped inside the lock.
They were alone.
But Carleigh couldn’t think of a thing to say. All the social niceties she’d been taught throughout her life evaporated in a poof; the rehearsed conversation she planned for this meeting was gone forever.
Her heart thundered in her breast. She could only stare at her mother, this poor, cloaked being who had given her life. In all her wildest imaginings, she never dreamed she would look like this.
“Come closer, my darling.”
Carleigh slid an uncertain glance toward Trig. Frowning and grim, he met her glance with an encouraging nod. She stopped within a few feet from where Belle stood and detected the faint scent of lavender in the wool.
“Is the man with you to be trusted?” Belle asked barely above a whisper, the intensity of her voice muffled through the cloak’s hood.
“Yes. I would trust him with
my life.”
“Then I will trust him, too.” Belle nodded slowly. “What is his name?”
“Trig Mathison,” Carleigh said.
Again, she nodded. Then, she straightened. The cane clattered to the floor. Her fingers lifted to the clasp on the cloak, the hood fell back, and the garment dropped from her shoulders.
Carleigh sucked in a soft breath.
No pathetic creature huddled in the woolen folds, but instead a vibrant woman, tall, slender and pale with graying dark hair pulled snug against her scalp and held in a snood. The change in her was so drastic, so sudden and unexpected, Carleigh could only stare with jaw agape.
Belle stood at an even match with Carleigh’s height. A drab brown dress, the garb of a female prison inmate, clung to her thin frame, but the prim collar and cuffs were starched and clean. Carleigh could see herself in her mother’s features--the oval chin, the high cheekbones, the pert nose—and the uncanniness of it struck her.
Belle’s intense green gaze, shimmering with a faint sheen of moisture, seemed to swallow her whole.
Carleigh’s glance dragged to the cloak heaped on the floor.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice shaky.
“I don’t expect you to.” A tremulous smile hovered on Belle’s lips. “But I assure you I am in perfect health.”
“But why--?”
“By disguising myself as a sickly old hag, no one bothers me.”
“You said in your letter there wasn’t much time left. I thought you were dying.”
Her gaze clung to Carleigh. “You must forgive me for the prevarication. I was desperate to see you and determined to use any means within my power to do so.” Her chin lifted as Carleigh’s tended to do when defiant. “And lying to your father was definitely within my means.”
“I see.” Papa would not be happy to learn she’d tricked him, Carleigh thought worriedly. Or that her trickery had been so successful. “I’m happy to know you are well, then.”
Belle’s eyes misted over again, but she made no attempt to touch her. “You’re so beautiful. More beautiful than I ever dreamed.”
“Thank you.” Fighting the sting of her own tears, her lashes lowered.
“You’ve grown into a gracious woman. Luann”—Belle swallowed—“I’m forever indebted to her. There is no question she loved you as her own.”
Carleigh’s head came up. “You know her?”
“Yes.”
“But how? When?”
Belle extended a hand toward the table. “Please sit. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
Though questions raged inside Carleigh’s head like a swarm of angry hornets, she complied. Belle dipped into a deep pocket of her skirt and withdrew a thick envelope. With the ankle chains clanking, slowing her steps, she took the chair opposite Carleigh and sat.
She opened the packet and withdrew a child’s drawing of a farm, complete with barn and chickens and cows. Beside one misshapen hen stood a young girl holding the hand of a smiling, red-lipped woman with almond-shaped eyes.
“You had gone for a ride in the country that day,” Belle said softly. “You played with kittens and piglets. You had such a marvelous time you went home and drew a picture for Luann.”
Carleigh’s fingers flew to her mouth in surprise. “I remember.”
Belle pulled out another drawing. “The harbor. I could tell from this one you were growing to love ships. Look at the masts on this clipper. Every detail is perfect.” She shook her head in amazement, in pride, as if she had received the penciled sketch only yesterday.
“Where did you get these?” Carleigh asked hoarsely.
“Pierre took you sailing often, didn’t he? Luann wrote how he taught you all he knew. She told me, too, how much he loved you and that you loved him just as much.”
“Luann wrote you?”
In the dim glow of the lamplight, Belle’s gaze showed no hint of remorse. “Yes. It was a terrible risk for her to contact me. Your father would have thrown her out into the streets if he knew.”
“She never told me.”
“Because I swore her to secrecy. For your sake and her own.”
Carleigh’s head spun. How could Luann keep such a thing from her? How dare she?
“Don’t be upset with her,” Belle admonished gently. “She has done nothing wrong. She only wanted to protect you. As I did.”
“She lied to me. Just like Papa.” Nausea churned in her stomach. Papa’s betrayal had been devastating. Luann’s was doubly so. Carleigh stilled. “Pierre, too?”
Belle hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”
“They were friends of yours. You knew them from the time I was born, didn’t you?”
“I would have entrusted your care to no one else.”
Bitterness rose like bile in her throat. “They served you well, then. They helped me forget I had no mother.”
“My sweet Carleigh. You’ve always had one.”
“You left me.”
“I had no choice.”
“I always believed you were dead.”
“I insisted that it be so.”
“Why? Why? How could you leave me?” Like a match to dry tinder, hurt flickered, flared and roared hot through her. “How could any mother leave her baby? What possible reason--?”
“I was a prostitute, Carleigh.”
Carleigh gasped and jerked back as if she’d been slapped.
“I’m sorry. If I could spare you the humiliation of this, I would.”
Carleigh reeled from the revelation. Her mother was a whore. A painted cat. A nymph du pave.
The terminology proper society had whispered and twittered about the lowest class of woman raced into her head.
She was the daughter of one.
“At the time you were born, I was a high-priced madam with my own Parlor House. I was worthy enough to pleasure your father in bed, but not worthy enough to raise the child we made together.”
“I don’t believe you. Papa wouldn’t be so cruel.”
“It’s true, Carleigh.” Trig’s voice reached her through the pain. The devastation from all she was hearing.
She swung about.
Belle’s eyes sharpened over him.
“He told me as much,” Trig said and hunkered next to Carleigh’s chair. He took her hand into his, held it tight. “The night he hired me to bring you back home.”
“You’re working for Reginald?” Belle’s skin paled in the lamplight. Carleigh sensed her fear that Trig would expose her, despite the trust Carleigh placed in him.
“Only because he forced me into it,” Trig said. “I’d just as soon see the man rot in hell than breathe the same air with him.”
“Papa is blackmailing him.” In the hushed confines of the cell, Carleigh’s tone sounded dull, resigned.
Miserable.
She had long since understood and accepted Trig’s contempt for her father, but with Belle’s revelations, the door her father shrewdly kept closed now opened wider, and she began to see the truth in the kind of man he was.
What other secrets did he keep? Who else had he manipulated? What other lives had he ruined?
And why?
“I see.” Belle’s worried gaze left Carleigh to touch on Trig. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Chandler knows he’ll pay the price if he breaks the terms of our bargain.” Trig rose. Deep in thought, he swept back one side of his jacket and hooked a thumb in his hip pocket. He strode the length of the cell, then turned back to Belle. “How did he manage to banish you to Mexico?”
“He threatened to sell me into white slavery if I didn’t give him complete custody of Carleigh.”
Carleigh thought of the young Chinese girls she’d seen on the Great Republic this afternoon, of the degradation and despair they would endure, of how many would turn to suicide rather than go on living the horrors. She remembered Luann’s tears and compassion whenever she spoke of it; Carleigh knew, too, the Chinese females were not the only vi
ctims, that white women suffered the same fate.
“Perhaps he was only bluffing.” Carleigh’s breath quickened. She rebelled against the thought of Papa’s involvement in something so terrible against the woman who had given him a child. “Perhaps he would have changed his mind. Or—or a compromise could have been reached between you.”
“No.” Sudden anger flashed from the green depths of her mother’s eyes. “He was capable of it, then, just as he is now.”
“How can you accuse him of that?”
As suddenly as it appeared, the anger faded. “A man often talks while he’s in the dark and in a woman’s arms. A few glasses of whiskey will loosen his tongue even further. I knew more about Reginald than he realized.”
“He wouldn’t have done it.” Carleigh clung to the image of the father she’d always known, a man who showered her with kisses and hugs and granted her every wish. “He wouldn’t.”
“A hefty sum of money in a greedy pimp’s palm would keep him loyal a long time, Carleigh.” Trig came up behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders. “Belle could have been transported and sold to any state in the country.”
Carleigh pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. Papa was capable of the bribery. She’d seen it herself in their travels, in the way he always managed to procure the best of rooms or the quickest service.
To manipulate people to get what he wanted.
“Go on, Belle,” Trig said in a low voice.
“I had no choice but to agree. What kind of life could I give you, Carleigh, under the circumstances he threatened me with? I knew it was only a matter of time before he took you from me. At least in Mexico, I could live freely. He had no jurisdiction there. So I made a few demands of my own.”
“Such as?” Trig asked.
“That he hired someone I trusted to care for my baby.”
“Luann,” Carleigh whispered.
“Yes. I had recently taken her in. I knew her gentle nature, that she was good and kind. Reginald never guessed she was one of my girls. If he had, he never would have agreed.”
Luann? A prostitute, too?
Like Papa, Carleigh never had an inkling. Not once. Not when Luann had been one of the most devoted and upright women she’d ever known.
“What of Pierre?” she asked.