by Rue Allyn
Edith bristled, despite the worry that had her palms sweating. “You’ve already stolen every penny I owned.”
“The paltry thousand in the trunk? That barely scratches the surface of what you and your sister owe me.”
“So you admit you know Kiera. What have you done to her?” Determined to get any information that would help find Kiera, Edith set caution aside and stepped further into the room. Somehow she would make Duval tell what she knew.
“I’ve done nothing to your sniveling sister, though I will do plenty once I run her to ground.”
Excellent! Kiera had escaped Duval, but to where?
Beside Duval, the old man murmured something to one of his attendants.
“You’re looking for her?” The hope Edith had felt when opening Kiera’s trunk flared briefly.
Duval folded the fingers of one hand and studied her nails. “She’s a murderess. I’m interested in the reward.”
The urge to shout Kiera’s innocence was strong, but Edith wanted information more. “Where?”
“Oh,” Duval smiled. “Last I heard she was headed east, but I expect news any day that my men have located her and are bringing her back to San Francisco to hang.”
Terror for Kiera bloomed in the face of the madam’s smug tone and casual confidence. Edith forced herself to relax. “Kiera will be proven innocent. Now, if you will excuse me I must leave.”
She turned for the door.
“Stop her,” ordered the old man.
One of the burly men stepped in front of her blocking her way.
“Please step aside.”
“I’m afraid we cannot allow you to leave. We haven’t finished our business.”
Edith turned back to Duval.
The man she was beginning to suspect Dutch knew as the Chinaman kept a blank face.
“What possible business could that be?”
“Your sister stole some photographs when she murdered her employer. Those photographs are worth a great deal of money to me. And, of course, when you decided to back out of our bargain, I lost a good twenty thousand that I would have made off of you.”
“I doubt you owned the photographs, and Kiera couldn’t steal them from her employer because she was self-employed. But then you knew that when you framed her for murder of a man you had killed. As to our agreement, you changed the terms without telling me. So we had no bargain.”
“Enough.” The word from the Chinaman was barely whispered, but it silenced Cerise. He lifted a hand, pointed a long nailed finger at Edith, and spoke in rapid, but equally soft, Chinese to the pair of men on his left.
The pair came at Edith. She tried to dodge, but the men were too quick.
“She is merchandise,” said the Chinaman to Cerise. “One doesn’t speak with the goods, let alone argue with them.”
While one man held Edith in a solid grip, the other secured her hands and feet with rope.
“You can’t do this.”
“You are right,” Duval agreed with her cohort. “Has the purchaser been told when the goods will be delivered?”
“What do you mean, delivered?”
The Chinaman tossed a phrase at his henchmen.
“This is kidnapping. You’ll regret … ”
A gag stopped Edith in mid-protest. In a trice, a large sack that dropped all the way to the floor was placed over her head. She was covered completely.
Her world tilted. A hard shoulder pressed uncomfortably into her belly. An arm anchored her legs. When she squirmed, trying to put her assailant off balance, her bottom was soundly beaten.
A deep feminine laugh trilled. Until this evening, my friend, I’ll meet you aboard … .”
Cerise’s words were lost as the door open and shut. The bell jangled, indicating a new arrival. Footsteps passed by the spot where Edith’s handler stood.
“Am I interrupting?”
The voice was vaguely familiar.
“Ah Judge Trahern,” oozed Cerise. “You’re very prompt. We’ve finished with our earlier business and may now tend to our bargain with you.”
A rapid spate of Chinese followed.
Edith’s handler shifted and moved.
Dutch’s father? What could he be doing here?
“Now, Judge, as to your sons … ”
Edith strained to hear.
She heard the bell jangle again as the door open and shut, cutting off the voices once more. Boots clumped on the boardwalk. She wished she could tell which way they were going, but her upside-down position destroyed her sense of direction. Worse, blood was rushing to her head, making her dizzy and nauseous. If this lasted much longer she would faint, and nothing she could do would stop it or her abduction.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Judge Jeremiah Trahern sauntered into the room as steadily as the hangover from a three-day bender would allow. From the moment the Chinaman issued his ultimatum for Jem to provide the girls or the money, guilt had dogged him over Trey’s imprisonment. His empty stomach churned. He’d gone days without food, unable to eat, haunted also by memories of a murdered girl. Memories that accused him of permitting the murder of his own son.
Dutch had been no help, and Jem wished he could blame his elder son for this problem, just like he’d blamed Dutch for every other piece of bad luck that had come Jem’s way. Try as he might, he couldn’t shift the blame. Trey was being tortured because Jem had given his youngest boy to the Chinaman for a few bottles of rotgut.
Knowing better than to show fear to a pair of jackals like Duval and the Chinaman, Jem leaned against the shop’s counter and studied his fingernails, happy to see that the shakes hadn’t started yet. If they thought he was sober, perhaps he could salvage something from this meeting, trade something for Trey. He just had to figure out what Duval and the Chinaman wanted then provide it.
“Wasn’t aware we had a bargain, Cerise, old girl. But I’ll be happy to assist you and your associate. For the right price, that is.”
She laughed.
“I think you forget that you are the one who must pay me,” said the Chinaman.
Jem lifted his eyes and returned the old man’s pointed stare. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then what makes you think that we’d pay you anything for the small errand we want you to perform?” Cerise’s lip curled. She didn’t bother to hide her contempt.
“Dollar’s a dollar. Can’t blame a man for trying to get a few.” He shifted so he leaned on the counter top, one elbow propping his head, the other hand on his hip. He stared out the shop window.
“No, I don’t suppose I can,” responded Cerise. “Nonetheless, there will be no payment for this job. In fact, you will do any and everything that the Chinaman and I wish you to do, free of charge, until you manage to pay your debt for that wagonload of women.”
Years ago, Jem had possessed a temper, but ever since he’d murdered Father Conroy’s sister in a rage that should have been directed at Cerise, Jem had drowned that temper in drink.
In his rage, Jem hadn’t known who the girl was, but that hardly mattered when he’d done the murder in front of witnesses. Cerise had taken the knife from his hands. She’d taken a bloody shirt from Dutch. She’d told both men to leave. She’d take care of the body, and she’d keep the evidence, accusing both of them if they dared to try to link her to this crime or any other.
Dutch had told Cerise he wasn’t coming back, and he’d walked away without a word to Jem. Jeremiah Trahern had never planned to go back either. Because of what she knew, any time he was in San Francisco, Jem would be Duval’s lackey.
Why that anger stirred in him today, he wasn’t certain. He only knew he was tired of the life he lived, sick to death of being boot-licker to people like Duval and the Chinaman, and ashamed that it was his sons who paid and wer
e still paying for their father’s sins. He felt that anger, but he still had no courage to act on it. For that he’d need an entire crate of whisky. “What do you want me to do?”
“You will go to Dutch and tell him that Trey is being held on a hulk in Alameda.”
Jem’s eyes lit and he straightened, turning to face Cerise. Was there a chance he’d be able to rescue Trey himself and maybe atone for some of the pain he’d caused? “You’ve got Trey that far away?”
“Where we have your younger son is of no concern to you until you pay me the money you owe!” For a scrawny old man, the Chinaman’s shout was loud and strong.
Jem flinched. He didn’t like the way the old man sneered at him. Nor did he like the suspicious gleam in Cerise’s gaze.
“You don’t have much time, Judge. We want this job done before dusk. You might wish to know that the Chinaman will have his assassins watching you, just in case you consider ignoring our request.”
“I’m sorry you feel you can’t trust me. Would you like me to report back to you when I’m done?”
“No,” said the Chinaman. “We’ll know if you’ve done the job or not. But do not think to leave town either. Until you’ve paid your debt to me, you are our tool.”
“I understand.” He strode out the door without saying goodbye. As he walked toward the house where Dutch was staying, the twinges of anger turned to disgust as they always did, and Jem wished he had a drink. However, there would be no drinking until he’d performed his lying errand to Dutch. He had no doubt that the information he was to give about Trey was false. He wished he knew why. The farther he walked, the deeper his self-loathing grew. Drink wouldn’t begin to numb the revulsion and regret he felt. No, if he wanted redemption, he wouldn’t find it in a bottle. He’d have to find Trey and get the boy back to Dutch. Even if Dutch didn’t forgive, Jem knew he’d finally be able to live with himself.
• • •
“I tell you all I did was give Edith the note, and instead of coming in to speak with you, she grabbed her shawl and left. She said she’d be back in a few hours.”
Dutch watched Eileen twist her handkerchief as she retold her earlier encounter with Edith. “You gave me her note close to eight hours ago, and dark’s closing in. You must know something else.” Anger thrust him toward his friend’s wife.
Marcus stepped between them.
Eileen cringed, staring out from behind her husband’s shoulder.
“Look, Dutch, I know you’re worried about Edith, but there’s no need to browbeat Eileen. She can’t tell you what she doesn’t know.”
“Then where is Edith?” Dutch moved around Marcus. “I’m sorry if I startled you.” He tried to gentle his tone, but his gut told him something was very wrong. “You must remember something. Did she call a carriage, chair, rickshaw? Did she walk? Did she go left or right?”
Eileen squared her shoulders and firmed her expression, forcing Dutch to back off.
“Enough,” she said. “I didn’t watch her walk out the door. Now instead of haranguing me, perhaps we should start thinking about how to find Edith.”
“We need help,” said Marcus.
“Right,” agreed Dutch. “Do you think Father Conroy would call out the vigilance committee if we asked him?”
“I have to wonder if he believes you two are really married. Given that half the committee still thinks Edith is a whore and if she were dying in the street would trample her.”
“Father Conroy has seen our marriage certificate. There’s no question that he believes we’re married.”
“Then I’ll remind him of that in my note asking for his help. Why don’t you go look through Edith’s things? She may have something in her trunk that would give us a clue as to where she went.”
“Good idea. I’ll be back as soon as I finish.”
• • •
The door of the room Dutch shared with Edith opened, but he continued to stare at the papers in his hands.
“Dutch, we’ve been waiting for you,” said Marcus.
Betrayal and confusion burned Dutch’s gut and his head pounded. He looked up from the papers he held.
Instantaneous concern tightened Marcus’s expression. “What is it, old friend?”
“Edith isn’t a prostitute. At least not any kind I’ve dealt with before.”
“So she’s respectable. You told me that. Why do you look so unhappy?”
Dutch handed the papers to Marcus.
“She’s a dang sight more than respectable. But she’s also poor as dirt unless she or one of her sisters has a child in the two years following her grandfather’s death. I happen to know the old man was at death’s door when Edith left Boston. He may already have passed on.”
“What are you talking about?” Marcus unfolded the papers.
“Just read her grandfather’s will. She’s been trying to get me to bed her since the moment we met in the bordello. She was probably there because any man would do.”
“This is absurd. Do you know what this will says?”
“Yeah, I do. In order to inherit a fortune, she needs a child but not a husband. She told me more than once that she didn’t want to marry.”
“Then why did she marry you?”
“Father Conroy insisted.” Dutch didn’t bother to mention that it was Edith’s lie that had aggravated the trouble with Father Conroy. “Edith agreed, if I would promise to annul the marriage when she left San Francisco. She probably thought I’d break down and bed her if we were married. She used me for sex just like Duval.”
Marcus put his hand on Dutch’s shoulder but remained silent for a long time.
There was nothing to be said. No way to deny the truth or make it any less ugly. Dutch knew he should be angry, but the temper that hid his emotional wounds remained absent. He felt numb. Edith’ betrayal hurt, but living without her would hurt more — more than the thousand injuries from his father or the humiliation of servicing Cerise Duval. He shook his head in wonder at himself. He was a sad excuse for a man if he couldn’t hate Edith for using him. The problem was he understood too well her need to protect and provide for her sisters. Too bad she wasn’t willing to let him share that burden, because he wouldn’t hesitate to see her safe and happy.
“Do you intend to go through with the annulment?” Marcus’s quiet question intruded.
Dutch shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll be a very rich man.”
“I’ll have sold my body and soul for money. When I escaped from Duval, I swore I’d never allow myself to be bought and sold again. I don’t want Edith’s money.”
“Then don’t use it. Put it in trust for your children, but you’d be a damn fool to deny yourself the benefits that marriage to Edith Alden of Boston can bring you.”
“Such as?”
“You’ve told me how beautiful and intelligent she is. Those are very desirable traits in a wife. Her family has connections to the best families and smartest financiers in the country. Alden Shipping and Industries is known worldwide. Add respectability and the woman is nearly perfect. Her money and standing just complete the package. You must want it, especially given how hard you’ve worked to achieve those things on your own.”
“Putting aside the issue of selling myself, I still don’t think I can stay married to her. She knows what I’ve made of myself and why. She doesn’t trust me enough to confide in me about this will. Once she learns that I know about it, she won’t believe I want her for herself.”
From where he sat, Dutch looked to Marcus and saw understanding dawn in his friend’s eyes.
Marcus nodded.
Grateful that he didn’t have to explain more, Dutch looked away. Everything he wanted in the world was wrapped up in one package — Edith. However, he’d give it all up — hell
he’d even go back to life in the cathouses — if it meant he could keep Edith as his wife.
“Have you told her you love her?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Well she can’t believe you love her if you don’t tell her.”
“How can I risk having her tromp all over my heart? How can I risk continued marriage to a woman who only wants me for sex, and who won’t believe I want her not her fortune?”
“Loving Eileen taught me that you have to take the risk and trust that Edith will treasure your feelings and return them.”
Dutch rolled his eyes. “Edith isn’t Eileen.”
“Amen.” Marcus smiled. “But you still have to let the woman know you love her. Without that you don’t have even glimmer of hope.”
“I have to find her first. Did you send the note to Conroy?”
“Right here.” Marcus patted his chest then withdrew a folded paper from his coat’s inner pocket. “I thought you’d want to add a word or two.”
“Thanks.” Dutch moved to the desk, spread the paper flat, found a pen, and dipped the nib into the inkwell. As he bent to write, the door to the room flew open.
“Mista Dutch, Mista Dutch. Missee kidnapped. Chinaman and Duval woman take Missee to boat at docks in South Bay. You come now. Save Missee like you save Tsung.”
“Which boat?”
“Tsung not know. Lijun and second cousin follow men who have Missee Edith. Lijun stay, watch, send second cousin to get Tsung. I come get you. Meet Lijun at dock.”
“All right.” Dutch scrawled a short message at the bottom of Smiley’s note to Conroy.
Tsung grabbed at his arm. “No time write; Missee in bad trouble.”
“Here.” He handed the note to Marcus. “I know she’s in trouble, and I’m coming now. Just let me get my pistol.”
“Good-good, but hurry fast, please.”
Marcus left the room. His footsteps thundered on the stairs. “Eileen!”
Dutch opened one of the saddle bags that now held all of his personal belongings. Finding his revolver took precious but necessary seconds. Then he was behind Tsung and running for the stairs.