But those to whom she made her supplication did not grant her prayers, and the night and its agony passed from her very slowly.
Chapter Seventy-five
"JUST received some interesting pieces last night. All from the same party. The necklace has to beat all." The man stood respectfully in front of the enormous gleaming desk. He pulled a dark, square-shaped, green velvet case from a coarsely wrapped package, placing the case before the other man. The case was soiled rather than worn, and the prospective buyer surveyed the stains and matted velvet with obvious distaste.
"I thought it best to bring it in its original box," the pawnbroker added apologetically. He was a pale, tall man with a considerable paunch to contrast with his otherwise slim build. He appeared not to be very strong, but this appearance was deceptive, for he had considerable strength. He both used and required strength to deal with some tougher customers in his business on the fringes of San Francisco's Barbary Coast.
As if certain he would be contaminated, Peter Melville did not pick up the velvet container. He only lifted the lid carefully. At first his eyes widened, then narrowed, his face turning very hard. "How did you acquire this, Kilby?" he demanded quietly, but obviously expecting a complete answer.
Benton Kilby had dealt with this man before, and from his own experience and from the man's reputation, he knew a brief but precise answer would be the only one accepted. As a rule, Kilby protected his sources, but not in this instance. "A couple of men brought me some good stuff last night. Didn't think you'd be interested in the rest, but, as you can see, this piece is exceptional," he said, gesturing nervously to the glittering green stones. "That's how I came to think of you first, sir."
Melville nodded. "What of the other jewelry?"
"Still have most of it―though it's good enough to change hands quick."
"I want to see all you have of this collection," he said firmly.
"Yes, sir."
"Leave the collar with me―to consider. I'll sign for it, if you have a receipt."
"That's not necessary," Kilby said, pleased to have gained this man's interest. He knew he was right in coming.
"Can you get in touch with the men who sold this to you?"
"Yes. I've not paid them yet. Wasn't sure I'd get what I wanted, according to what the sellers said they'd accept, They're not desperate to sell―as yet. If you're in no hurry, Mr. Melville, we can wait them out."
"I'm in no particular hurry," he said, standing up to conclude the interview, "but I want to see the other jewels as soon as you can arrange to bring them. I know someone who will be very interested in seeing both this necklace, and whatever else you have."
When he finished speaking, a servant appeared to show the pawnbroker out, giving Kilby no time to question Melville's remarks.
Kilby returned to his shop immediately, quickly gathering the pieces of Louisa's jewelry he still possessed. All of it was beautiful, yet, he'd thought, none but the emeralds were exceptional enough to capture Melville's attention. He shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps he was wrong. Yet Melville seemed to be interested in more than the jewelry, and Kilby wondered what intrigue the two trail-worn men, who'd appeared at his shop late last night, were involved in.
Kilby expected Melville to be interested in buying the necklace, if anyone in the area was, but it never occurred to him the man's interest would go beyond that.
He polished and wrapped each shining piece of jewelry in velvet, and placed the small collection in another pouch. He closed his shop again, hurrying back to Melville's impressive stone house a few miles across the frantic, often corrupt, constantly expanding metropolis. The city, if it rightfully could be called that, was only now really beginning to take on the appearance of something other than a coarse frontier town. The influx of men to this gateway to the gold and other mining fields had given San Francisco the general appearance of a very temporary city of drifters, its residents coming and going rapidly, not encouraging the construction of permanent or sturdy buildings.
But here and there, durable or noteworthy structures were found, and Peter Melville resided in one of the more impressive homes dotting the landscape. Outside his gates the road might turn to a quagmire of mud and filth when rain inundated the coast, but behind the lacy grille of his wrought-iron fence, the grounds were green and immaculate, and in a few years the young trees on the property would be imposing and graceful. This dwelling, sitting pretentiously on a rise of land at the edge of the city, would for a long while capture the attention of onlookers.
When he arrived again, Kilby was advised to wait. A yellow-skinned servant showed him to a small dark library on the north side of the house, where it seemed he waited a very long while. Kilby grew restless. He fidgeted, not liking to be kept waiting but aware it would do him no service to be impatient or discourteous to his host.
After about an hour, another servant came for him;' ushering him into the room where he'd been interviewed by Melville earlier the same day. Another man whom Kilby did not recognize was present, but from his looks, it was obvious he was Melville's social equal. With nothing more than a gesture of acknowledgment, Melville asked to see what he'd brought.
"This gentleman and I," Melville began by way of introduction, "would like to see what else you have. All that you'll show us is from the same source, am I correct?"
"Yes, sir," Kilby replied, opening the pouch and carefully, almost nervously withdrawing its contents, unwrapping and laying the first item before the two men. The newcomer, standing to one side of Melville's chair, made Benton Kilby very uneasy. Though he had the unmistakable appearance of a man of wealth and breeding, there was something very disturbing about the coldness in his eyes and face. There was a tension in the man's body that warned Kilby to be accurate and cautious in his dealings with him.
Before the first glittering jewels rested on Melville's desk for more than an instant, the stranger lifted the drop diamond earrings for his closer inspection, his face turning darker and even more menacing.
He spoke before Kilby could unwrap another small bundle for scrutiny. "What did the men who sold these look like?" the man demanded, his eyes seeming to pierce Kilby with their intensity.
Kilby's mouth was dry as he gave a very general description of Ben Patrick and Jack Herbert.
"How did they come by the jewels? Where is the woman these belong to?" Aaron demanded, moving to Kilby, reaching for the man's lapels, the strength in his hands apparent, the fury in him contained with obvious effort.
"I've no idea―that is, I've no idea where the woman is―exactly. The men said they'd brought a 'high-class bitch' into town, and she wanted to raise a little money. I gathered she's a whore. They said they worked for her." Beads of sweat stood out on his face, and he licked his lips with a nervous motion of his tongue.
Aaron looked as if he'd explode. ''These jewels belong to my wife whom I sent off in the company of the men you've identified. Her destination was San Diego, not San Francisco. She's no whore!"
Kilby winced at the force of the man's words, at his barely controlled need to lash out. "I―I―don't say she is! That's just what I understood. They must've lied."
"Relax a little, Marshall," Melville cautioned, rising to separate the men, if necessary. "Kilby, you said you'd not paid the men for the jewels," he said when Aaron released the pawnbroker. "How can you get in touch with them?"
"I've paid for all but the collar―we couldn't agree on a price―they're to come to my shop next week."
"I can't wait a week!" Aaron said angrily, turning to Melville, hardly able, in his concern for Louisa, to preserve his role as Marshall. He tried to smooth the edges of his desire to react violently, tried to show control where there was little ability to be even rational. He presumed the worst, or ransom would have been demanded in Monterey for Louisa's safe return, and Aaron's need to know for certain was nearly overpowering.
Peter Melville spoke calmly to Aaron. "I understand," he said, thinking he comprehended the man'
s intolerable and agonizing situation. Then he turned to Kilby again. "Have you any notion where these men might be?"
"None at all―not with their pockets as full as they were when they left my place. Without the windfall, they'd've spent time goin' from one dive to another. But with some sprucin' up, and some new clothes they could partake anywhere―as you well know."
"Yes, they could be anywhere," Melville sighed , "Kilby, if you have any thoughts between now and next week; if these men tum up before the appointed hour, let me know immediately." Then he gestured to the pouch of gems on his desk. "I'll take these for safekeeping. A little insurance from you, shall we say?" he said, ringing for a servant.
Kilby nodded compliance. "You'll hear from me directly," Melville added, and the man was ushered immediately from the room.
Melville gestured for Aaron to be seated, then went to a crystal-laden sideboard where he poured two generous drinks, handing one to the younger man.
"My mind is spinning," Aaron groaned truthfully. Melville smiled grimly. "Let's not assume the worst. It's possible she's even in the city. White slavery is a common practice. I imagine those two didn't fall to notice her beauty―she'd fetch an excellent sum."
Aaron put his drink down and leaned his elbows on the desk, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to think clearly. At first, all he could see was Louisa's lovely face, and remember the misery he'd so often seen in her eyes long years ago. He was certain her mind, if not her body, would never survive an encounter such as the one Melville suggested. She would never survive the assaults of countless men lined up for her favors. Perhaps, he thought, all he needed to do now was inquire after a beautiful madwoman in the streets, and he could not conceal his grief, even from himself.
Chapter Seventy-six
MELVILLE summoned Emil Joseph and before Aaron left the house a plan was set in motion. Aaron did not intend to let another moment go by before beginning his search for Ben and Jack, their faces looming like gargoyles in his mind's eye. If it was the last thing he did, he would find them. If necessary, he would abandon his assignment. His former shipmate and partner, Mason Jennings, as well as his crew could hang, but, he swore, he would find Louisa's abductors.
While waiting for Joseph, Peter Melville studied Aaron, wondering at the younger man's metamorphosis. Clearly Marshall Hudson had a capacity for violence he'd not suspected. "Perhaps we all do," he muttered to himself. In spite of an obvious dalliance with the winning Mrs. Hill, it was evident Louisa had penetrated Marshall's soul deeply enough to turn an ordinarily gentle man into one of venom; one probably capable of murder, if Melville read the man accurately. He filed this insight away for future reference.
Almost immediately after Louisa departed Crane's Nest, Aaron had traveled from Monterey to San Francisco with Marguerite. She'd planned to come, having twice invited Louisa to accompany her. "The Colonel," as she was fond of calling him, stayed at his post in Monterey, and she needed an escort for traveling. Marshall and Franklin Carson were at the same time summoned by Peter Melville. "How wonderful," she purred. "You're a far more desirable companion than Louisa!"
The situation also suited Aaron's purposes to perfection. He would be able to immerse himself in the plot which became more and more to his liking as plans for a fortress at Santa Catalina Island took shape. And, he hoped, it would afford him ample opportunity to immerse himself in forgetfulness with Marguerite. What better way to erase the memory of one woman than by indulging himself with another. And he set about that portion of his assignment with lusty determination.
And while he exhausted himself, insisting the pleasure of it was sufficient, he wondered how long and what else it would take to rid himself of visions and sensations that, as yet, hadn't diminished. "Damn you, Louisa!" he cursed in the emptiness and loneliness of his bed in San Francisco. It wasn't enough just to go through the motions, but at the moment pride would have seen him go to his death insisting one woman was as good as another.
Yet with the news Melville gave him after summoning him abruptly from lunch with Marguerite, Aaron wondered if his assumption about women was accurate. The words he heard struck him nearly blind with rage and sorrow. When he saw and touched Louisa's emeralds for himself, his emotions exploded, and he seemed to go mad inside himself. For some indefinite time that afternoon, he felt himself adrift. None of the possibilities looming before him were tolerable, and at the edge of his consciousness was a nagging memory of another young woman who had loved him, and whom he had loved, as well.
As he dressed in rough, common apparel to scour San Francisco's muddy streets, Aaron armed himself with both a gun and knife. No one in his right mind would venture into the dens into which he would be going without weapons, nor face the men he hoped to find without some source of protection. He had rehearsed this act only a few years ago, he recalled, yet it almost seemed centuries had passed since he had walked in a torrential London rain to avenge Juliet. Now his memory of her ate at his heart. She had only been a child, secretly carrying one of her own, and she had died brutally, because of her love for him. His loving her had in no way shielded her, and Aaron feared the same for Louisa. He now strongly suspected that she too carried his child―still carried his child, he hoped against hope.
Finally, in addition to the weapons he secured against his body, Aaron slipped a heavy gold chain over his head. Minutes before, while sifting through the jewel pouch Benton Kilby left behind, Aaron came across his mementoes. They lay incongruously among Louisa's brilliant stones, and he'd removed the simple chain and its pendants from the rest of the glittering collection. He pressed the still cold metal against his chest, against his heart. This time, he swore, he would not part with them. They would have to be taken from his corpse.
Peter Melville had summoned two other men, and, with Aaron and Emil Joseph, they spread out to cover the city's more notorious places of business and pleasure. If it had been within his ability, Franklin Carson would have joined the party, for word of Louisa's probable abduction grieved him deeply. But, with Melville, he would wait in the stone house until midnight when everyone would reassemble to share information.
It was not by chance that the roughest section of San Francisco claimed the name Barbary Coast, for every vice imaginable, every sort of low humanity could be discovered within the district. And there was little honor among the thieves who congregated there. They plundered and murdered among their own kind nearly as often as they did their eager customers.
Aaron and Joseph started their hunting among the more "respectable" houses, an experience they both might have enjoyed in different circumstances. At several places, they were authorized to give Melville's name as a means of introduction and, perhaps, to insure that more truthful information was obtained. No one confessed knowing or hearing of anyone of Louisa's description nor had anyone seen Ben Patrick or Jack-Herbert.
At the "Patrician Hotel for Young Women" Aaron met an old friend he was in no position to recognize. He wondered if coarsely garbed and bearded as he was tonight, he was sufficiently disguised to remain Marshall Hudson for her. Lilly, now Elena, gave no indication she had ever set eyes on him before he entered her establishment in San Francisco that evening, and after the first tense moments passed unremarkably, Aaron reminded himself, almost cheerfully, it wasn't only members of his sex who could forget a face.
But Elena didn't hesitate to recognize his prominent name from New Orleans, nor did she deny being well acquainted with Peter Melville. She promised to put her sources to work within the community to locate both Louisa and the men Aaron searched for.
It was very late at night when the two men arrived at Elena's hotel, and while they relaxed briefly over strong, well-aged Scotch, Aaron noted trade was brisk, though the prices were high. He recognized some of her customers from more polite gatherings. This establishment, like Lilly's in New Orleans, was splendidly garish, her girls all pleasing to the eye in one way or another. He even thought he recalled one or two now very
experienced women.
It seemed like a long time ago when he had frequented Lilly's place, and others like it. Now, oddly, he thought, he didn't yearn much for the freedom of his earlier life. As he sat quietly detached from the hustle in Elena's parlor, tired and on the brink of bereavement, he wished he'd been more forthright with Louisa. He wished he'd withheld less of himself in their affair, for concealing his true feelings, conflicting though they were, had not insured Louisa's safety, nor, he suspected, would it protect him in any way. Had he only told her how much he loved her, had she known it was only fear keeping him from revealing the extremes of his passion for her. How could knowledge have done her any greater harm than ignorance?
For an instant it seemed to him grief would sweep him away; and he steeled himself against it. He must find those men; he must find Louisa. He must tell her those things he should have said months ago. If he had only been less arrogant about his right to do whatever he felt necessary to accomplish his goals, if he'd simply told Louisa the truth about how he happened to give Marguerite the necklace―perhaps, then, Louisa would have understood―if not forgiven him―perhaps, then, she would never have left him and would now be safe.
Aaron felt his eyes haze over, and the weight of his sorrow. He took a deep breath, and slammed his glass down on Elena's stiffly starched linen-covered table. "Shit on hindsight!" he said under his breath, rising from the table to go again into the streets, Emil's diverted attention swiftly brought back to his obviously distressed companion. "We've rested long enough," Aaron said less vehemently than his more private remark.
It was best not to think at all, he concluded. It was best to do what he had done before―search with purpose, without questioning or regret, listening only to his instincts, doing what he had to without mercy or second thought. He would find Herbert and Patrick if it took his last effort to do so; he would find Louisa, if it killed him.
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