Scandal On Rincon Hill

by Shirley Tallman

  I was tempted to laugh. Naturally, Robert knew all too well how easily I could “manage it.” My professional self-respect was cut to the quick when I calculated just how much idle time I spent upstairs in my lonely two-room office. Although I knew he would never admit it, I was certain he had made off with the files without Joseph Shepard's knowledge. I am ashamed to confess that this afforded me secret pleasure. If Joseph Shepard were aware of Robert's subterfuge, he would surely have suffered one of his infamous bouts of apoplexy. Ah, yes, he certainly would. And glory be, I would no longer be obliged to stand helplessly by and listen to it!

  This was not the first time Robert had pressed me to accept paperwork from Shepard's firm since I'd established my own law office. At first, pride had prevented me from availing myself of this extra income—although heaven knows the money was sorely needed. In the six months I had been in business, I had represented but two paying clients. One payment had consisted of an exquisite antique tea service—the kettle filled with cash. The other had been an old gold brooch which supposedly had belonged to Maria Alexandrovna, the wife of Russia's Czar Alexander. It was a lovely piece of jewelry, and despite my ailing finances I could not bring myself to sell it.

  It was imperative, however, that I do something to fortify my dwindling savings. And as it says in Proverbs 16:18, “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” Admonishing myself to count my blessings, I accepted the papers from Robert. “Of course, I shall be more than happy to give these my attention.”

  “Excellent.” Looking relieved, he helped himself to another doughnut. “You have surpassed yourself this morning, Mrs. Goodman,” he told Fanny. “If you were to add a small bakery to your millinery store, your fortune would be made.”

  Fanny's flushed cheeks revealed her pleasure at this praise. She was fast learning that the Scot's rare accolades were not to be taken lightly.

  Tucking Robert's paperwork into my own briefcase, I rose from the table. “It is past time we commenced your lesson, Eddie. Come, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer awaits upstairs.”

  Eddie's eyes went to the few doughnuts remaining on the table, then sighed and rose up from his chair.

  “Don't know why we can't use the Police Gazette,” he complained. Noting my disapproving expression, he hastily amended, “Although I guess Tom Sawyer ain't such a bad feller when you get right down to it.”

  “He isn't such a bad fellow, Eddie,” I corrected. Then at his puzzled look, I said, “Oh, never mind, I'll explain it to you later. Before we leave—” I nodded my head at Fanny and gave the boy a pointed look.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, correctly interpreting my silent prompt. “Thanks for the doughnuts and hot chocolate, Mrs. Goodman.”

  “you're very welcome, Eddie, dear.” My neighbor beamed at the boy. “Why don't you come by after you finish driving your cab this evening? I'm making shepherd's pie.”

  “Yes, ma'am, I will,” he promised, eyes alight as he anticipated one of his favorite dinners.

  I doubt that Eddie ever saw meals, much less pastries, like this at his own home. The boy spoke little about his family life, but from the odd comment he occasionally let slip, I gathered he had a number of younger siblings, an alcoholic father, and an overworked mother who was not in the best of health. No wonder he had embraced Fanny as his surrogate grandmother, as readily as she had adopted him as her grandson.

  After bidding Robert a good morning, Eddie and I stepped through Fanny's tidy millinery shop, and out onto the street. Before we could ascend the stairs to my office, however, our progress was impeded by a gentleman, who stepped forward to block the doorway.

  I started to address this rude behavior, when the rebuke died in my throat. Moving my eyes upward, I was stunned to realize that the interloper was none other than Pierce Godfrey, the tall, enigmatic shipping mogul I had met several months ago when I'd become involved in the Russian Hill murders.

  I had forgotten how handsome he was: his tanned face, ebony hair, and midnight-blue eyes nearly took my breath away. He was wearing a dark gray, fashionably cut suit, a white shirt, and had tied a tasteful dark blue and gray cravat beneath his well-muscled neck. If possible, his broad shoulders seemed even more powerful than I remembered, by contrast making his slender waist appear even more taut.

  “Mr. Godfrey, I—that is—you're back in town,” I sputtered rather lamely.

  My chest seemed bereft of breath, and I wondered why I had suddenly lost the ability to speak coherently. The man who had offered me my first proposal of marriage had left San Francisco some months earlier to open Godfrey Shipping's Hong Kong office.

  Naturally, my discomfort did not escape his notice, and his self-satisfied grin did nothing to alleviate my embarrassment.

  “Hello, Sarah,” he said, his voice as rich and compelling as ever. “Since you instructed me to send all my correspondence to this address, I thought it best to visit you here, rather than at your home.”

  “Yes, ah, of course. I'm glad you did.” Furious with myself, I struggled to get my thoughts in some semblance of order. I'd requested that he direct his letters to my office because my mother, who was increasingly desperate to see me married, tended to become overeager when she spied Pierce's name in the post. Given that I had long since disavowed the married life to pursue a career in the law—and not wishing to cause my mother pointless pain—I did my best to avoid conversing with her on this sensitive subject.

  The simple truth was that I could not remain firm in my life's resolve if I permitted a man to gain power over my life. Sad to say, that is exactly the abysmal state I would find myself in if I were to marry. Under our frequently misguided legal system, a modern-day married woman hardly possessed more rights than those allotted to a child. A husband controlled his wife's finances, had the final say on her choice of reading material, the upbringing of their children, and even which church they attended. I could not allow myself to fall into this wretched position.

  As Eddie fidgeted restlessly beside me, I realized I had become lost in my thoughts. Recalling myself to the present, I said, “You remember Eddie Cooper, do you not, Mr. Godfrey?”

  He stretched out his hand to the lad, taking him by surprise. After a brief hesitation, Eddie wiped his doughnut-sticky fingers on his pant legs and reached out to return the handshake. The boy smiled broadly at this unaccustomed display of adult recognition, especially coming from a person he held in such awe.

  “I certainly do remember the lad,” replied Pierce. “How are you, Eddie?”

  “I'm mighty fine, Mr. Godfrey, sir.” The boy stared up at Pierce. “Did you really sail all the way here from Hong Kong?”

  “I did, indeed.” With twinkling eyes he went on, “Perhaps You'd enjoy going aboard one of our ships sometime over the Christmas holidays, Eddie. I could give you the grand tour.”

  For a moment I feared the lad might burst with excitement. “Yes, sir, Mr. Godfrey,” he gushed. “I'd like that all to pieces!”

  With an inward sigh, I realized I could expect no substantive work from the lad after Fanny's doughnuts, and now visions of tall ships sailing the seven seas. Extracting a promise that he would arrive at my office no later than eight o'clock sharp the following morning, I released Eddie from today's lesson.

  He was still grinning from ear to ear as he hopped aboard his brougham, and clicked his patient dappled-gray horse toward Market Street to begin his day's work as a cabbie.

  “You realize, of course, that he will give me no peace until you've made good on your promise,” I told Pierce, as we watched Eddie's departing carriage.

  Pierce laughed. “Thank you for the warning, but I meant what I said. I'll be happy to allow the lad onboard. I haven't forgotten my excitement as a boy when my father and uncle allowed my brother and me to board their ships.” His look grew serious. “Speaking of Leonard, I have to meet with him shortly. Perhaps you would afford me the pleasure of dining with me tomorrow evening? That way we'll have the leisure to c
atch up on the events of the past few months.”

  I experienced a brief panic, then remembered that I had a perfectly valid reason for refusing his invitation. “I'm sorry, but my sister-in-law is holding a dinner party at our house tomorrow night.”

  “Tonight then,” he said, seeming not in the least put off by my refusal. “Don't tell me your sister-in-law is holding a dinner party tonight, as well?”

  My panic returned, before common sense exerted itself. Surely a casual dinner between friends was perfectly innocent. It did not mean I had to marry the man! And I could not deny that I was eager to hear of his recent adventures in the Far East.

  “All right, Mr. Godfrey,” I agreed, trying to ignore my racing heart. “That would be quite pleasant.”

  “Excellent. But tell me, why have I suddenly become Mr. Godfrey?”

  There was that familiar gleam in his dark eyes again, a look I remembered all too well from when we'd first met some six months ago. Just thinking back to that fateful evening still caused me to shudder. In all fairness, however, I could not allow the spate of murders which followed our initial meeting to influence our current friendship.

  “Well?” he persisted, in that tone of voice I still found altogether too smooth and self-assured. “If I didn't know better, Sarah, I'd say that you were frightened of me.”

  I felt blood creep up my neck until it warmed my cheeks. “Don't be ridiculous,” I countered, realizing even as I spoke that my reddened face bespoke the lie. “We are on a public street. It is only decent that we observe proper decorum.”

  To my consternation, these simple words caused him to laugh aloud.

  “What do you find so amusing?” I demanded, irked and embarrassed by this show of disrespect.

  “I apologize,” he said, making an obvious attempt to rein in his laughter. My anger was further stoked when he could manage nothing better than an amused chuckle. “But really, Sarah, that excuse is akin to the pot calling the kettle black. You pay remarkably little attention to decorum when you're defending a client, or out hunting a murderer. Leonard wrote to me in Hong Kong describing your recent adventures battling ghosts and goblins. I found the entire affair intriguing, if difficult to comprehend.”

  He referred, of course, to my last case involving a Russian psychic and a series of murders following a séance conducted at San Francisco's Cliff House.

  “Your brother was not privy to the particulars of the situation, so he can only report the drivel he read in the newspapers. I assure you, Pierce, those articles fell well short of what actually happened.”

  “Finally! you're back to using my given name. That's more like the feisty, determined young woman I have come to admire.”

  “you're impossible!” I declared, my anger turning inward as I belatedly realized how easily I had allowed him to bait my temper.

  “Yes, I suppose I am,” he admitted good-naturedly. “All right, then. Shall I call for you here this evening? Or am I permitted to come to your home?”

  I was momentarily taken aback; I had not considered this dilemma when I had accepted his invitation. If he came to the house, Mama was sure to read far too much into a harmless dinner out with a friend. On the other hand, the severely tailored gray suit I had chosen to wear to the office that morning was hardly suitable attire for dining out. I seemed to be left with little choice.

  “You may call for me at my home,” I told him, already wondering how I might keep him away from Mama's eager eyes.

  As if guessing my thoughts, Pierce said, “Don't worry, I shall assure your mother that we are nothing more than friends.” Again, his midnight-blue eyes twinkled. “Unless you've changed your mind and have reconsidered my proposal of marriage?” Before I could protest that indeed I had not reconsidered, he gave a dry little chuckle that sent goose bumps shivering down my arms. “Until tonight, then, shall we say around seven o'clock?” He bent down his handsome face until his dark eyes filled my vision. “My dear Sarah, I look forward to a most pleasurable evening.”

  All I could do was stare at him speechlessly. With a slight bow and an all too knowing smile, he made his way down Sutter Street to where his driver and carriage were waiting.

  “So, he's back,” proclaimed a voice from behind me, startling me out of my stupor. “Doesn't he have some ships to waylay in China, or in the West Indies, or wherever he's been for the past few months?”

  I turned to find Robert behind me. I wondered how long he had been standing there.

  I took in a deep breath of cool morning air, and sought to regain control of my inexplicably wayward emotions.

  “Mr. Godfrey has been in Hong Kong opening up a new office for his shipping company, as you well know,” I told him, not hiding my annoyance. “Your repeated quips referring to him as a pirate are rude in the extreme, Robert, not to mention childish.”

  “I might say the same thing about you, Sarah. I cannot understand why you continue to be taken in by that scoundrel. Where he's concerned, you behave like a gullible schoolgirl.”

  I felt my temper, and embarrassment, rise. This statement fell uncomfortably close to its mark. Even I could not explain why I behaved so irrationally whenever I was in the presence of the dashing shipping mogul.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” I told Robert, lowering my eyes as I straightened my pleated skirt. “He's a good friend, and that is all there is to it. I will never understand why you have taken such an irrational dislike to the man.”

  Robert harrumphed. “And I will never understand why your usually acute senses stultify whenever Pierce Godfrey walks into a room.”

  I fought down a sharp retort, disconcerted to realize that I had just asked myself this same question. Suddenly I wanted nothing so much as to escape to the privacy of my own rooms, where I could put the aggravating Pierce Godfrey out of my mind.

  “Good day, Robert,” I said, indicating my briefcase. “I have a great deal of work to do.”

  Without another word, I turned and started up the stairs to my office. I caught a glimpse of Robert's bemused face as he stood below me on the street, watching as I turned the key in the lock and stepped inside.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Throughout the day, I found my eyes constantly straying to the timepiece pinned to my shirtwaist, and to thoughts of that evening's dinner engagement with Pierce Godfrey. I should be concentrating on the work Robert had deposited with me that morning. The brief I was attempting to write was tedious in the extreme, but that was no excuse to give it less than my full attention.

  It was humbling to admit that my usually rational emotions were in such turmoil. It was even more maddening to realize that Robert had so easily seen through my protestations. Were my feelings so easy to read? I wondered. Was I deluding myself into believing that I was immune to Pierce's considerable charm?

  No! I could not credit the notion. Irritably, I pushed up my sleeves and stabbed my pen rather too vigorously into the inkwell, causing a trail of blue spots to dribble across the top of my desk. I blotted them with my handkerchief, then looked over what little I had managed to write over the past hour. Just as I feared, it was complete gibberish. I crumpled up the page and flung it into the wastebasket to join several other failed attempts.

  Rising from my desk, I moved to the small back room of my office, where I brewed a cup of strong tea. Carrying it to the armchair I'd situated in front of the window overlooking Sutter Street, I sat down, determined to examine my muddled emotions.

  It was no use, I thought. I could not go on lying to myself like this. It was time to admit that I had found Pierce Godfrey intriguing since our first meeting at his brother's charity dinner on Russian Hill earlier that year. I had to smile. It was no mystery why it had happened—the man was handsome and self-assured enough to turn any woman's head. It just shouldn't have been my head. I was supposed to be immune to such girlish flights of fancy!

  My attention was caught by a black and white dog rushing headlong into Sutter Street, and nearly being hit by a fishmo
nger's cart. The startled horse reared onto its hind legs and it required all the driver's strength—and a barrage of swear words—to bring him under control. Oblivious to the commotion it had created, the canine culprit completed its sprint across the street and into the alley that cut between the butcher's shop and Millie Thomas's flower store.

  From my perch above the fray, I watched as the drivers caught in the gridlock behind the cart grew angry and strident. It struck me that the congestion below my window provided an apt analogy for my disordered thoughts. Just like the carriages and wagons piled one upon the other on the street, my feelings seemed to be caught in a traffic jam of their own: bunched together, making a great deal of racket, and not one of them getting me anywhere.

  It was ironic, really, and not a little humbling. I had long prided myself on my ability to control my emotions, and boldly forge ahead on the path I had chosen for my life. Now, it appeared I was caught on the horns of a dilemma I had never expected to encounter. Sarah Woolson, I told myself wearily, it seems that you are a fallible human being after all!

  My mind traveled back to the night several months ago, when Pierce arrived at my house to propose that we marry and travel to Hong Kong together. It was embarrassing to admit that I could still remember how he had kissed me. It had been totally unlike any kiss I had experienced before or since.

  Once again, I had to smile. In truth, I had kissed less than half a dozen men in my entire twenty-eight years. Before Pierce, only one man had left any lasting impression on my heart: the handsome and entirely too dashing Benjamin Forest.

  Just remembering his name caused my cheeks to burn. Benjamin had been my first love, the man I had never thought, nor intended, to meet. By nineteen, I had already vowed to dedicate my life to the law. If spinsterhood was the price I must pay for achieving this goal, so be it.