Bay City Belle

by Shirley Kennedy

  Belle didn’t want him near her. If he touched her again, she’d run out the door. She backed away. “Would you mind? I’ve been traveling for days and must freshen up.”

  Mama shot a warning gaze at her son. “Don’t be so pushy, Roberto. Give her time to settle in.” She came around the table and took Belle’s arm. “Come along. I’ll see you get settled in and fix you a bath. We have a real bathroom now. It’s got a big copper bathtub and a water closet. Isn’t that nice? No more privy in the backyard.” Talking nonstop, she led Belle upstairs to a large bedroom crowded with heavy mahogany furniture. “This is Roberto’s room. We put your trunk in here, even though tonight you sleep with the children.” She sighed and went on, “I hope you don’t disappoint me like Giana did. I can never have enough grandchildren. I’ll show you the bathroom. It’s down the hall.” She got a sly grin on her face and nudged Belle in the arm. “You’ll have to wait till tomorrow night to sleep in Roberto’s bed.”

  For the next hour, Belle concentrated on ridding herself of the dust and grime from four days of travel. She took a long, languid bath in a big copper bathtub, washed her hair, and dressed in the new rose silk taffeta she’d retrieved from the trunk. Ah, so good to be clean again and looking her best. She was staring into the mirror in Robert’s bedroom, putting the finishing touches on her hair, when he walked in without knocking. Arms outstretched, big smile on his face, he walked toward her. “Come kiss me, Belle.” His booming voice rang with confidence, as if he couldn’t even imagine she wouldn’t find him desirable.

  She threw up her hand. “You have some explaining to do, Robert, Roberto, whatever your name is. I want to know why you lied to me in your advertisement.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “Why should you care? You’re here now, aren’t you? What does it matter?”

  “But I don’t like that you deceived me. Why did you do it?”

  He shrugged as if her question was hardly worth answering. “Blame my bookkeeper, not me. I paid your fare, didn’t I? Tomorrow we get married and everything will be fine.”

  Why couldn’t he see why she was angry? She might as well be hitting her head against a brick wall, but she had to make him understand how very upset she was. “Everything is not fine. You said you were from Virginia, that you graduated from William & Mary College with a degree in law. You did no such thing, did you?”

  He shrugged again. “Maybe my bookkeeper got a little carried away, but it’s not important, is it? I live in San Francisco. I own a restaurant, so what more do you want?”

  “But you led me to believe…” The words stuck in her throat. True, he had lied, but she could see how stubborn he was, and there was no use arguing. Also, he hadn’t mentioned she’d be living with his family, but even bringing it up would be a waste of time. “You weren’t completely honest with me,” she finished lamely.

  “Is that all?” He was laughing again, unbelievably unconcerned. “You’re tired. You need a good night’s sleep. You’ll see things differently in the morning.”

  Maybe she would, but she highly doubted it. One thing she already knew: She might marry this man, but she could never love him. For now she would say nothing more. Not her nature to be rude and ungrateful. She wasn’t raised that way. She had to decide what to do, but later. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right. Now come downstairs. Mama’s fixing dinner and you can help. One thing you’ll learn about this family, we all pitch in.”

  “Does that include gutting fish?”

  “Looks like Tony’s been talking to you. Well, don’t worry your pretty head about that. You won’t have to do it every day, only when a big catch of salmon or herring comes in.”

  * * * *

  Yancy had never seen a place like San Francisco. The air was different, unexpectedly cool and crisp even in the middle of summer. When they started out, the streets were flat, but now the two horses pulling Leighton Canfield’s fine carriage were straining as they ascended a steep hill.

  “We’re almost there.” Canfield lightly flicked the reins. “You’ll get used to these hills. We’re in Pacific Heights now. Other than Nob Hill, it’s the classiest neighborhood in town. Ronald didn’t care much where he lived, but nothing but the best for Bernice. Had to have a house that looked like one of those fancy French chateaux, so that’s what she got. Ronald pretty much gave her everything she asked for. If he didn’t, she…” Canfield frowned in annoyance. “Forgive me, Yancy. I shouldn’t be criticizing any of your family at a time like this.”

  “Quite all right. Actually I’ve never met Bernice or the children.” Or even knew of their existence, he thought wryly. But of course, now that he was here, he’d do what he could to help. His plan remained the same, though. See Mother. Go home.

  Ronald’s home sat on a ridge with an outstanding view of San Francisco Bay, including the entrance they called the Golden Gate. Small islands jutted from the water here and there. Oakland and the eastern shoreline stretched beyond. Canfield called the house a French chateau. Whatever it was, Ronald must have sunk a fortune into this sprawling two-story structure with its steeply pitched roof and so many towers and pillared balconies Yancy couldn’t even count. Two wagons and several carriages sat in front. From the wagons, both marked “Duggan’s Mortuary,” workers were unloading stacks of chairs, obviously meant for the funeral.

  Leighton Canfield pulled to a stop. “If you don’t mind, I won’t go in. Got to get back to the bank. Go right in. Bernice will be there, and her many friends.”

  There went that look on Canfield’s face again. What was it? Dislike? Disgust? Whatever it was, the banker had made it plain he didn’t care much for Ronald’s wife. “I’ll be fine, and thanks for the ride.” Yancy grabbed his valise—he hadn’t bothered with a trunk—and walked up the fancy stone walkway to the double-wide stained glass door. A frowning, middle-aged woman in a black dress answered when he rang the bell. She took one look and smiled. “You’re Yancy, aren’t you? Thank God you’re here.” She ushered him inside and took his valise. “I’m Mrs. O’Brien, the housekeeper. I’ll put your valise in your room upstairs. Mrs. McLeish, Ronald’s wife, wanted to see you the minute you arrive. She’s in the parlor fixing up for the funeral.”

  “I’d like to see my mother first.”

  The housekeeper sighed. “Of course. She’s not doing well, I’m afraid. I’ll take you up there right now. She has a nurse with her, Miss Willoughby.”

  When he entered his mother’s bedroom, the nurse, a stern-faced woman in her forties, took him aside. “You’re Yancy?” she whispered. He nodded. “Good. I was afraid you wouldn’t get here in time. She’s very weak. Don’t stay too long.”

  The nurse slipped out the door. He walked to the bed to where his mother lay with her eyes closed. How old and frail she looked. Smaller, somehow, and her hair had turned white. She opened her eyes. Her face lit when she saw him. “Yancy, you’ve come.” She lifted her arms to him.

  “Mother.” He went into her arms, buried his head on her shoulder, sniffed the familiar smell of the lilac cologne she always wore, and got tears in his eyes. Had to wait till they were gone before he lifted his head. “I’m so sorry about Ronald.”

  Her eyes moistened, but she didn’t cry. “He was a good man. Always kind and considerate. Maybe a bit too boisterous at times, but you know Ronald. Knew Ronald, I mean. Tell me, did he suffer?”

  “Not a bit.” He sat on the edge of the bed and told her all of it: Ronald’s visit to the lake and the great conversations they’d had, Yancy’s agreeing he would come to San Francisco, the train trip, the robbery. “The bandits were shooting up the car. Everyone was frightened out of their wits, and that included Ronald. He started feeling bad. His stomach hurt. His left arm was numb. Afterward, they said it was his heart. It happened fast, really fast.”

  “How shocked you must have been.”

  “God, yes. I thoug
ht of you and how sick you were, and how his death couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

  “Losing a son—is there ever a good time?”

  He shook his head and couldn’t answer. He took her hand—so wrinkled and fragile—and sat holding it for a time, waiting until he could speak again. “I’m here now, and don’t worry, I’m not leaving until…”

  “I’m as good as dead,” she said, managing a faint smile. “It won’t be long, I’m afraid. The doctor was here this morning. You know about the tumor, I suppose. The pain’s worse, but he gives me a lot of laudanum. I’m fine, but I sleep a lot.”

  He hid his sorrow at her words and gave her a smile. “Tell me what I can do for you. I mean, right now.”

  “You can go see the children, Richard and Beth. They’ve lost their father and they’re devastated.”

  “Of course. Anything else?”

  “Well perhaps, one more thing.”

  Mother had always had a wicked sense of humor. Now she’d got that same mischievous little grin on her face that he remembered so well. “You can go downstairs and toss my daughter-in-law out of this house and into the street, and tell her never come back.”

  “What?” He sat back, at a loss for words. Mother was the most peaceful woman in the world. Never talked any sort of violence.

  She patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I didn’t mean it literally. I think the reason I’ve hung on so long is because I had to tell you. She’s a horrible woman. If only for the children’s sake, you’ve got to do something about Bernice. I’ve known some selfish people in my time, but her? Grasping and greedy. She made Ronald’s life a misery.”

  “He never said, but I gathered he wasn’t happy with her.”

  “Ronald had his head in the clouds. He never knew the half of it. She never loved him. What I hated the most was how she made fun of him behind his back. For some unfathomable reason, he kept trying to make her love him. He was always showering her with presents, but the more he gave her, the more she despised him. Now he’s gone, and Bernice gets everything.” She had to stop and catch her breath. “So unfair.”

  “Mother, you need to rest,” he said.

  “No, I need to finish this. You know me. I’ve never been one to pass judgment on others, but I hate that woman. I hate what she did to Ronald, and now it’s the children who will suffer.”

  “She neglects them?”

  “She hardly knows they’re in the house. They’ve suffered a terrible loss, especially Richard. He adored his father. I’ve tried to console them both as best I could, but what can a sick old woman do?”

  He was trying to come up with a suitable answer when she spoke again. “And not only that, she drinks too much, and she has a lover on the side.”

  For a time, words failed him. “You surprise me. I’ve never heard you talk this frankly before.”

  “I never had a daughter-in-law like Bernice before.” She clutched his hand. “I know you want to go home, back to that cabin of yours and your beautiful life, but you can’t go yet.”

  He would not argue. “I can see that.”

  “You’ve got to do something.”

  But what? “I’ll do what I can, Mother, but I’m not sure—”

  “You’ll think of something. You always do.”

  Chapter 10

  Belle liked Robert’s family. Even Giana had lost her sullenness and become friendlier. Everyone did their best to make her feel at home, and for a while she almost did. When she mentioned she wanted to let her family know she’d arrived safely, they hastened to provide her with pen, paper, and even a stamp. Dinner was delicious. The Romanos ate well, what with Mama’s special chicken cacciatore and spumoni ice cream for dessert. Afterward, Mama washed the dishes while Belle dried, and Rosa and Giana cleaned the kitchen and dining room. They laughed and chatted, Belle feeling like part of the family and having a good time. Wisely she refrained from mentioning she’d never dried a dish before. Or hardly ever stepped into the kitchen. The servants had done all that.

  The problem was she’d been born and raised in a family far different than this one. The Ainsworths loved one another but showed their affection in a more restrained manner, not nearly as boisterous as the Romanos. Maybe she could manage, but living with a noisy family this size would take a lot of getting used to. She’d always assumed that when she married, she’d be in charge of her own household, in her own house, with her own garden. She’d never have that here unless Robert decided he wanted a home of his own, but would he? He seemed so contented with the way things were that she highly doubted he’d ever want to leave. That meant the only privacy they’d ever have would be their bedroom.

  One good thing if she stayed: She’d surely have children, and wasn’t that what she’d yearned for?

  But then…

  How many times had she dreamed of her wedding night when she’d know the bliss of being in the arms of the man she loved? Like Yancy. Yes, she’d feel that way about Yancy. But Robert? How could she share her bed with a man she didn’t even like? Feel his hands all over her, groping her wherever he wanted, doing whatever he pleased. Ugh! And he’d want to do it all the time, she had the feeling. He’d be her husband, and she’d have to do what he said for the whole rest of her life. Oh, God, how could she do it?

  But then…

  What if she backed out of the wedding and returned to Savannah? Would that be so hard? Bless Bridger’s heart for giving her that two hundred dollars. She could repay Robert for what he spent for the train fare and have enough left for her fare home. She would hate to disappoint Robert’s family after they’d been so nice to her, especially Mama, but there were times when hurt feelings couldn’t be avoided. That would be the easy part. The hard part would be when she got home and faced her friends and family. Only Bridger would understand. As for the rest, she’d have to come crawling back. How many times had Victoria told her not to go before she grudgingly gave her approval? Doubtless her sister would never stop reminding her. Worst of all would be her humiliation when she walked into her first meeting of the Georgia Ladies of the Confederacy, heard the snickers and I-told-you-sos, looked into the scornful eyes of Mrs. Beauregard Bedford Stuart.

  But then…

  The wedding was tomorrow. If she was going to make up her mind, it had better be soon.

  * * * *

  Yancy sat by his mother’s side until she dozed off. Mrs. O’Brien poked her head in. “Everything all right?”

  “She’s asleep,” Yancy said. “Where’s her nurse?”

  “Miss Willoughby has gone home.” The housekeeper glanced behind her, stepped inside, and shut the door. “Up to yesterday, your mother had a full-time nurse. Mr. McLeish insisted upon it, but as of this morning she’s working days only. Now I’m supposed to take care of your mother at night, which I’m happy and willing to do, of course, but she also let one of the maids go, so I’ve got my hands full.

  “She?”

  “Mrs. Ronald McLeish, Bernice. That’s who.” Mrs. O’Brien’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Needs to cut costs, she says. I’ll do what I can for your mother, though. She’s a lovely woman, and I love her dearly. Everyone does.”

  “Is Bernice still downstairs?”

  “Yes, she is, still busy setting up for the funeral, which will be quite elaborate, from what I understand.”

  He should have talked to Ronald’s wife by now. She must be in a state of shock, anxious to hear the details of her husband’s death. He didn’t look forward to telling her, especially since he’d just gone through the painful details with Mother, but it had to be done. “She must be anxious to hear what happened. I’ll go downstairs right now.”

  Mrs. O’Brien’s mouth tightened. “I believe she can last a few more minutes. Why don’t I show you to your room first? After your journey, you must be tired. You could rest up. The maid could draw you a bath.”

&nb
sp; “Good idea, thanks.”

  And it was a good idea, Yancy thought, as he looked around a room larger than his whole cabin, with fancy French-looking furniture, a carpet so thick his boots sank into it, and a stone fireplace that looked like it had never been used. Yeah, old Ronald had done well for himself, but maybe not in all areas. Leighton Canfield had clearly let it be known he didn’t think much of Bernice, and so had Mother and Mrs. O’Brien. What was going on? He’d have to see for himself because he always formed his own opinions. Never went by what other people said. Best to meet Bernice McLeish with an open mind.

  The deliverymen from the funeral parlor had left by the time he came downstairs. Mrs. O’Brien met him in the foyer and pointed toward closed double doors. “They’re all in there. I’ve informed Mrs. McLeish you have arrived.”

  The sounds of laughter met his ears as he opened the doors and walked into what was ordinarily a drawing room but was now set up for a funeral with big bouquets of flowers everywhere, rows of empty chairs, black crepe bows and streamers hanging from the chandeliers, draped on the walls and pretty much everywhere they could be put. The casket had arrived. It sat at the front, open. Hands across his chest, Ronald lay inside. A small group of men and women sat relaxed and at ease in front of the casket, each with a wineglass in hand. A young woman, somewhere in her thirties, saw him and fairly leaped from her chair. “Yancy, at last you’re here! I’m Bernice, your sister-in-law.” She set her wine glass down and rushed to embrace him. Before he could hardly move, she’d hugged him, kissed him on both cheeks, clasped his arms, and held them out wide. “You’re all Ronald ever talked about. For years I’ve been dying to meet you.” She turned to her friends. “He’s here! Ronald’s brother, Captain Yancy McLeish who fought four years in the Union Army. Our hero!”

  He kept an agreeable look on his face while Bernice’s guests broke into applause and came to greet him and shake his hand. He hated being the center of attention, but he was in for it now, and no escape. Bernice stood by his side all the while, her hand on his arm as if she owned him. She didn’t look like what he’d expected. The way Ronald had described her, he’d assumed she wasn’t much to look at, but he was wrong. Bernice was a beautiful woman with a nicely curved figure, fine-featured face, and thick auburn hair piled atop her head in a big mass of curls. She wore a black satin dress with a bustle in the back, decorated with black satin bows. Her hand still clasping his arm, she gazed up at him, searching his face intently. “Look, everyone, you can tell he’s Ronald’s brother. He has the same eyes and mouth but taller and a whole lot thinner.” Someone tittered and she looked amused. “This is my husband before he fell in love with the chocolate cream pie at the Palace Hotel.”