She mulled over what Luther had said, and it made sense. She never thought she’d be taking advice from a fifteen-year-old, but he was wise far beyond his years, and she’d be foolish not to listen. Yancy. She had thought she’d be too humiliated to go to him, but that was before she truly realized how dangerous the streets were and how she’d never survive unless she reached out for help. She opened her handbag, found Ronald’s card, and read off the address on Franklin Street. “It’s in a district called Pacific Heights, I believe. Is it far?”
“Not so very. Only a mile or two. You could walk it.”
Chapter 13
The funeral was over. Yancy had honored his brother as best he could. He’d given one of the eulogies at the service. He’d accompanied Bernice and Richard to the Yerba Buena cemetery in a fancy carriage with a black-suited driver, first in the long procession following the elaborate, glassed-in hearse. He’d stood by the grave. Watched his brother’s remains lowered into the ground. Listened as the minister said the final prayer. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
The crowd began to disperse. Leighton Canfield came up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “My deepest condolences. I understand your mother passed away last night.”
“Yes, she did.” It was hard to talk. “She wanted a simple, gravesite service. Nothing like this.”
“Of course.” The banker nodded with understanding. “Ronald had a lot of friends, Yancy. Did you notice how many are here? Not only employees from the bank but people from his church and his club. Waiters from his favorite restaurants are here, and horse car drivers...everyone who knew him loved him.”
Not quite. Yancy looked to where Bernice stood chatting with the indolent-looking young man she called Reggie. At the funeral, she’d done a fine job of acting the grieving widow, but it must have been too much of a strain because she was laughing again, fluttering those eyelids. He thought of Ronald and had to look away.
Canfield must have noticed Bernice and her lover, too. “She’s only getting half, you know.”
“Half of what?” Yancy had no idea what he was talking about.
“Ronald’s estate.” Canfield bent close. “This is no time to discuss it, but his attorney will be contacting you soon. You get the other half, and that includes the house.”
He hadn’t given it a thought. “You mean Ronald mentioned me in his will?”
“Indeed, he did. Ronald talked to me about it many a time. He set up trust funds for the children and provided for your mother. Half of the rest he left to you. Quite frankly, you’d have gotten it all, but according to California law, it’s community property. Bernice gets the other half and there was nothing he could do.”
Yancy didn’t want to hear anymore. “I hope you understand, but right now—”
“I’ve picked a poor time to bring it up. I shouldn’t have bothered you with all this, what with you standing by Ronald’s newly dug grave. Just keep in mind he wanted you to stay in San Francisco. You could, you know. There’s a job waiting for you at the bank any time you want it. Of course, with the money you’ll inherit, you can do pretty much anything you please.”
“What I please is to get back to Maine, Mr. Canfield.”
“I understand that, but would you do me this one favor? Allow me to give you a tour of our beautiful city tomorrow afternoon. No pressure involved, I assure you, but before you go, I would like you to understand why Ronald so loved San Francisco. You may not have another chance to see it.”
How could he refuse such a well-meant offer? “Of course I’d like to go. I’ll look forward to it.”
“One o’clock then.” Canfield gave him a sympathetic pat on the back and drifted away as friends of Ronald’s approached and offered their condolences. Yancy lost track of how many hands he shook, how many “thank yous” he murmured. When he finally returned to the carriage, Bernice wasn’t there, and only Richard sat waiting, looking quiet, pale, and sad. He barely nodded when Yancy climbed in, and seemed to be fighting back tears. “Where’s your mother?” Yancy asked.
“She said she was going to ride with Mr. Hammersmith.”
“You mean Reggie?”
“Reggie,” Richard replied, a clear thread of resentment in his voice. “She said to tell you she wasn’t coming right home. She’s going over to his house, I think.” As the carriage began to roll, he shrank back in his seat and looked disconsolately out the window.
Dammit! Bernice ought to be here, but apparently she had better things to do than comfort her grieving children, especially Richard, who seemed deeply disturbed by his father’s death. Little Beth seemed okay. In a surprisingly wise decision, Bernice had decreed her daughter too young to attend the funeral. But Richard? Yancy racked his brain. How could he help? What did eight-year-old boys like to do? Hadn’t Ronald mentioned something about chess? When Yancy was that age, he and his father played the game, too. “I understand you like chess, Richard.”
The boy pulled his gaze away from the window. “Father and I played it all the time.”
“Is that so? I used to play chess with my father. Of course, that was a long time ago before I went off to the war.”
A faint light of interest appeared in Richard’s eyes. “Do you still play?”
“Not anymore. I’m so rusty no one would want to play with me.”
A long silence followed. Yancy waited patiently until Richard sat a little straighter and spoke again. “I wouldn’t mind. If you’ve forgotten, I could teach you.”
“Is that so? Fine, then. Let’s set up a board after dinner tonight, but you’ve got to promise to go easy on me.”
The hint of a smile crossed the boy’s face. Good. He needed attention, and Yancy would do his best. He looked out the window and caught a glimpse of the sparkling bay. Everyone agreed San Francisco was a beautiful city. So did he, but it wasn’t home. Nothing could compare to home, even though he realized it wouldn’t be the same as when he left. He could never go back to what he used to think was his perfect life. Belle had changed all that. What was she doing right now? But why ask when he already knew the answer? No doubt by now she’d married that young stud with that fine head of curly dark hair who’d met her at the dock. At this very moment, she could be in bed with him, blissfully happy, those days on the train forgotten.
Why torture himself? He would never see her again. If he could erase her from his memory, he would, but he couldn’t. The beautiful Miss Belle Ainsworth had disappeared from his life forever, but never would he forget her.
* * * *
Belle and Luther left the opium den the same way they’d come in—creeping unnoticed past the sprawling bodies of men and women who looked as if they hadn’t moved from the night before. Once on the street again, Luther announced he was coming with her. “I’ve got the time, and I want to make sure you get there safely.”
Relieved, she thanked him. She’d had quite enough of being alone in a strange city.
They started walking and soon left the Barbary Coast behind. They began to pass decent-looking homes on large lots with spectacular views of the bay. When they came to the address on the card, she wasn’t surprised to see an elaborate two-story French chateau, or maybe three stories if you counted the two tall towers with conical roofs that sat on either end. Obviously Ronald McLeish had done well. She started up the paved walkway but stopped short when she saw a large black wreath hanging on the door. How could she inflict herself upon a family that must be horribly upset? “They’re in mourning. I shouldn’t disturb them.”
“After you’ve come all this way?” Luther asked with a scornful sniff. “Just go up and knock. Either they’ll let you in or they won’t, but from what you told me about your friend, you won’t be turned away. What have you got to lose?”
Nearly her last hope was what she would lose. Luther made a lot of sense. She should at least try, and if they turned her away, she couldn’t feel any
more embarrassed and humbled than she already was. “Let’s go up to the door.”
Luther took a step back. “This is as far as I go. I’ll wait here. Soon’s I know you’re safe inside, I’ll be on my way.”
He’d taken her by surprise. “You can’t go yet.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“But I haven’t thanked you yet. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come along.”
He shrugged in mock resignation. “All right, you’ve thanked me. You don’t need me now, and I’m going.”
“But I want to make sure I can reach you. I want to give you something for your trouble, only it might take a while.”
“Forget about that. I don’t need a reward. Besides, finding me would be hard to do, considering I sleep in a different place every night.”
She gave him a hug. “Then I thank you with all my heart, Luther. I don’t think I would have survived without you, and I wish you well.” She looked down at her bedraggled self. The brown wool looked as if it had been slept in, which, of course, it had. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her hat, and her hair must look like a rat’s nest. She hated that Yancy would see her this way, but unless she wanted to keep roaming the streets, she had no choice.
She pulled her shoulders back, walked up to the front door, and rang the bell. A middle-aged woman answered. Dressed all in black, she had the look of a housekeeper about her. She took one look at Belle and frowned. “If you’ve come for the funeral, you’re too late. They’ve all gone to the cemetery. Or was it something else you wanted?”
Belle’s courage was fading fast. Only sheer desperation kept her from fleeing back down the walkway. “I’m not here for the funeral. I would like to see Mr. Yancy McLeish. I’m a friend of his. We met on the train, and I very much… I mean, it’s important that I speak to him.” She held her breath waiting for an answer.
The woman’s gaze swept over her and seemed to soften. Pity for her bedraggled appearance perhaps? Whatever the reason, the housekeeper swung the door wide. “They should be back soon. Come in.”
What a relief. Belle looked back to where Luther stood at the end of the walkway, “Are you sure you must go?” she called.
“So long, ma’am. You’ll be fine now.” Luther touched his hand to his cap in a final salute and began to walk back the way they’d come, back to the ugly, sinful Barbary Coast. Tony had called it “the wickedest place in the world,” and now Belle had seen firsthand it was true. She hated to see him go. What a shame a boy so bright, so generous and full of heart, had to live that way. She turned back and stepped through the door.
The housekeeper smiled. “Follow me. I’ll put you in the library.” She led Belle to a carpeted room with mahogany paneled walls and shelves full of books. “I’m Mrs. O’Brien. Would you like some tea while you’re waiting?”
After a day of drinking nothing but water from a whiskey bottle? Belle wanted to shout, “Yes! A cup of hot tea would be wonderful.” She refrained, though, and managed a polite, “If it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. O’Brien.” She sat to wait for Yancy.
* * * *
No matter what happened, ordinarily Yancy remained at ease with the world, but by the time the carriage brought Richard and him home from the funeral, his spirits had sunk to an unfamiliar low. He’d just lost his mother and brother. Belle was gone forever. He couldn’t begin to deal with Bernice. He’d told her he wouldn’t stand in judgment, but the woman so disgusted him, he wanted nothing to do with her. At least she’d be gone soon, but come to think of it, so would he. Meantime, he’d remain polite and that was all. So Ronald had left him some money? Mr. Canfield expected he’d be overjoyed, but he couldn’t care less. What would he do with a big inheritance? He lived a simple life and had more than enough for all his needs, which were simple at best. As for a job in the bank—God, no.
Now that the funeral was over, he was free to return home. He wasn’t sure about the train schedule, but if not for Canfield’s invitation, he could leave tomorrow. The next day then, only he probably wouldn’t. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he leave yet? For one thing, he worried about the children. Bernice said they’d be all right, but would they? Bernice was a selfish fool, so self-centered she couldn’t see her children needed help, especially the boy. He’d need a lot more than Mrs. O’Brien, the maids, and the cook to remove that unspoken pain and sorrow from his eyes.
He and Richard climbed from the carriage and walked to the front door. He’d think about returning home tomorrow. As for now, he would do his best to shake this miserable mood he was in and have a pleasant dinner with Richard, and of course play chess.
Mrs. O’Brien let them in. “There’s a lady waiting to see you in the library,” she said.
“There is?” He couldn’t imagine who.
“She says her name is Belle Ainsworth. She seems most anxious to see you.”
* * * *
After she finished her tea, Belle couldn’t sit still and began wandering around the library. Eventually, she was drawn to a large window that framed a clear view of San Francisco Bay and stood quietly watching the progress of a steamer headed for the Golden Gate. The library door opened. She turned toward it. Yancy stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.
Her breath caught at the sight of him. “Hello, Yancy. I suppose you’re a bit surprised to see me.”
“Belle, is it really you?”
“Oh, it’s me all right.” She looked down at herself and frowned. “I look a mess.”
He shut the door and walked toward her, still with that questioning look on his face. “What happened? Didn’t you get married?”
“No, I did not.”
“You didn’t?” Now he looked astounded.
“It’s good to see you, Yancy.”
His face relaxed, and he started to laugh. “And it’s good to see you, Belle. What happened? How did you get here?”
“It’s a long story that you wouldn’t believe.”
“Try me.”
They settled upon a settee, and she told him what happened after she left the ferry, beginning with her insulting reception when Robert, whose name was really Roberto, didn’t meet her at the dock and sent someone else instead.
Yancy’s mouth twisted wryly. “So that good-looking fellow with all that hair wasn’t—?”
“No, he wasn’t. That was Tony, his brother. He drove me home in real style, in a delivery wagon. It had a big sign on the side that read Romano Brothers Fish Company.”
He tried to stifle a chuckle and failed. “Did it smell like fish?”
“Actually, it did.” For the first time, she saw the humor of it all and couldn’t suppress a giggle before she got serious again. “From there I went from bad to worse. I met his family, and they were fine, but when I met Robert, I knew in less than a minute I could never love him.” She hadn’t known Yancy long, but well enough to know he’d never understand why she simply didn’t walk out, so she skipped the part about her inner struggle, how she’d agonized over whether she should simply flee or do the honorable thing and marry Robert anyway. She continued with her story: how finally she’d fled from the family home only an hour before the ceremony; how she found a good hotel and thought she was safe; how shocked she’d been upon discovering that little weasel, Bruno, had stolen her money; how she’d wandered the streets, penniless and alone, ending up on the notorious Barbary Coast where a drunken man had attacked her.
Yancy had listened with growing concern. “I’m almost afraid to ask. What happened next?”
“I’m pretty sure they’d have found my dead body in the weeds if a boy named Luther hadn’t saved me. He was wonderful. He found me a place to stay for the night and in the morning brought me breakfast.”
“So where did you stay?”
Belle hesitated. Who would believe it, but the truth was best. “A
n opium den.”
Yancy, usually so unflappable, sat back in amazement. “Did I hear you right?”
“Yes, you did, but we didn’t have a problem because the… I guess you could say customers were all just lying there and staring into space. I doubt anyone knew we were there. Luther knew of this vacant room on the second floor, so that’s where we spent the night.”
“Oh, my God, I don’t believe this.”
“But it was all right,” she tried to reassure him. “I slept well, even if it was on the floor, and had a lovely breakfast in the morning that Luther collected from the garbage. Bread, an apple, some delicious crab legs, and some water.” Seeing Yancy’s appalled expression, she decided not to mention the Old Crow whiskey bottle. “I’m fine now, really. I came to you because I had nowhere else to turn.” That wasn’t strictly true. She could have gone to Mrs. Hollister, but the truth was, she’d yearned for Yancy. Pride prevented her from saying so, though. “I feel like a beggar, and I guess I am, but if you could loan me enough money to get home, I would repay you immediately, as soon as—”
“Of course you can have all you need.” His eyes brimming with concern, he took both her hands in his and held them tight. “You’re a brave woman, trying to make light of it, but it must have been a nightmare. I wish I’d been there to help.”
“After I’d done a fine job of getting rid of you?”
“We’ll discuss all that later. You’ll be staying here, of course. There’s more bedrooms than you can count in this place.”
“How is your mother, Yancy?”
A flash of sorrow crossed his face. “She died last night.”
“I am so sorry.”
He nodded his thanks. “At least I got to say goodbye to her, and that means a lot.” Obviously not caring to dwell on the subject, he looked around and spied her valise. “The housekeeper can help you get settled in. Where are the rest of your clothes?”
Bay City Belle Page 14