Scandal On Rincon Hill

by Shirley Tallman

  The “Tiv” could now accommodate up to sixteen hundred patrons, and had became one of the most frequented entertainment halls in San Francisco, especially given its reasonable ticket prices ranging from twenty-five to fifty cents. It was said that some patrons attended the Tivoli at least once a week, and it was acknowledged as an establishment where millionaires and workingmen alike could companionably rub shoulders.

  We followed Pierce around to the stage-door entrance, where an older gentleman let us in. The man wore a stained ten-gallon hat perched above long, scraggly looking gray hair. He had spurs which clanked noisily on his boots as he walked, and a large cigar clenched tightly between yellowing teeth.

  “This way,” he instructed tersely, then waited for the five of us to enter before slamming the door closed behind us. Without speaking another word, he led us through a forest of backstage sets, furniture, pulleys, and other contraptions, to the front of the theater, where several men were talking in loud voices on the stage. So animated was their discussion, that they didn't seem to notice our arrival, until Pierce walked out of the wings to join them.

  “I'm Pierce Godfrey,” he said, instantly stilling the men's conversation. “We have an appointment to meet with Joe Kreling this afternoon.”

  The youngest of the three men turned and hopped lightly down from his perch on a tall wooden stool. He was rather short and had to tilt back his head to look up at Pierce, who towered over him.

  “Sure, sure, I know who you are. Joe told me You'd likely be coming in around three.” The man's lively brown eyes quickly scanned the rest of us, then came to a rest on me. “And you must be the young lady who has the voice of an angel.”

  I took a hasty step backward. “No, not I. I fear you would find my voice more akin to an ailing calf, than to an angel.”

  I reached for Melody's hand and drew the suddenly shy girl forward a few steps. “This is Melody Tremaine. She is the one who will be auditioning.”

  The young man's eyes gleamed with interest, as he took in the girl's peaches-and-cream complexion, her vibrant blue eyes, framed by a thick fan of lashes, and the mass of golden curls surrounding her delicate oval face.

  “Well, well,” he said in sincere appreciation. “If her voice comes anywhere close to matching her looks, we have ourselves a rare find. I'm Dick Raimie, by the way, Joe's assistant and general lackey. He had to leave town earlier than planned this afternoon, but he told me to listen to little miss nightingale here, and let him know what I think when he gets back to Frisco.”

  I grimaced at his use of this very unpopular nickname, unpopular, that is, with longtime residents of San Francisco. Individuals who unknowingly referred to our fair city by this nickname were instantly labeled ignoramuses and foreigners by any self-respecting native. Pointing this out to Mr. Raimie, however, would hardly facilitate Melody's audition, so I wisely remained silent.

  “Mr. Kreling said he would be here today,” said Pierce, sounding irritated. “We've gone to some trouble to bring Miss Tremaine to the theater. When do you expect him to return?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Godfrey, but I have no idea. Could be a week, could be a month. Personal business, you see. No telling how long it will take to untangle things.” He smiled cheerfully at Melody. “That doesn't mean you can't audition for me, Miss Tremaine. Joe puts a lot of store in my opinion.”

  Pierce continued to look perturbed as he turned to Melody. “It's up to you, Miss Tremaine. Would you like to sing now, or would you prefer to wait until Mr. Kreling returns to the city?”

  A variety of emotions crossed the girl's face—excitement, apprehension, fear—but she hardly hesitated. She turned to the major. “It had better be now while I still have the courage, don't you think, Grandpapa? Who knows when Mr. Kreling will return? I could not bear the wait.”

  “I agree, my child,” the elder Tremaine said, patting the hand she had reached out to him. “I think you should sing for Mr. Raimie. After that, we shall have to wait and see.”

  David, who had shyly hung back as the rest of us spoke to Dick Raimie, took his sister's arm. “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Mel? You don't have to if you're uncomfortable.”

  The girl stood on tiptoes and kissed her brother on the cheek. “But I want to do it, David. This is the chance I've been waiting for all my life. I must at least try to make a success of it.”

  “Good, then,” the boy said with a reassuring smile. Hugging his sister, he encouraged, “Let her rip, sis. Once they hear you sing, they're going to be knocked for six!”

  Dick Raimie was waving one of the two men he had been speaking with earlier over to the piano. “This is Wes Corbett, Miss Tremaine,” he told Melody. “He'll be accompanying you on the piano. Did you bring your music?”

  Melody looked horror-stricken. “No, I didn't. We left the house in such a hurry, it never crossed my mind.”

  “No problem,” Mr. Corbett told her from the piano bench, then pointed to his head with a forefinger. “I've got hundreds of songs stored right here, miss. Just name the tune, and more than likely I can play it from memory.”

  Melody thought for a moment, then asked if he was familiar with Josephine's first solo from Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Sullivan's wonderful comic opera H.M.S. Pinafore.

  “Nothing could be easier,” Wes Corbett pronounced with a wide grin. “We did that very show here not two years ago. Now why don't you come over here and we'll decide what key is right for you.”

  Melody did as she was bade, and five minutes later she stood alone, appearing small and very vulnerable, on center stage of the Tivoli Opera House. The rest of us, including Dick Raimie, had taken seats in the audience. The second man Raimie had been conversing with before our arrival had hurried backstage and soon two limelight spotlights came on, illuminating the young girl from either side of the stage. She started nervously when they were lit, then smiled sheepishly, took a deep breath, and resumed her place before the footlights.

  “Are you ready, dear?” Raimie called out to her from his seat.

  Melody shielded her eyes against the glare of the spotlights to locate him in the audience, then somberly nodded her head. “Yes, Mr. Raimie, I'm ready.”

  I could just detect the slight shaking of the hands she held clasped to her breast, and thought she well might have added, “as ready as I shall ever be.” Fortunately, this thought vanished the minute the piano started to play the introduction to Josephine's first solo, “Sorry Her Lot Who Loves Too Well,” from H.M.S. Pinafore.

  During this piano overture, Mr. Raimie behaved rather rudely, I thought, ignoring Melody and speaking in undertones to Major Tremaine, who was in the seat to his right. The instant she began to sing the first few measures, however, Raimie's head snapped up to the stage, and he stared at her in astonishment.

  “Good Lord!” he gasped. “That girl has one almighty fine set of pipes.”

  Even I looked on in disbelief. If I had been impressed by the quality of her voice the first time I had heard it, this afternoon she literally took my breath away. Whether it was the superior acoustics of the Tivoli Opera House, the skill of Corbett's piano accompaniment, or just her innate stage presence, Melody Tremaine's small, delicate figure suddenly appeared larger than life. Her magnificent, perfectly pitched voice seemed to grow in clarity and richness until it filled the entire auditorium.

  Everyone listened, captivated, until the end of the piece, then broke into ecstatic applause. Hearing the sound of clapping coming from the rear of the theater, I turned to see that two men had entered the hall from the lobby. At first, I failed to recognize either of them. Then, with a wave of shock, I realized that the taller of the two men was none other than Gerald Knight!

  “What is it, Sarah?” asked Pierce in a low voice, seeming to sense my sudden rigidity. “Do you know those men?”

  “Only one of them,” I answered in a tight voice. “The man on the right is Gerald Knight, owner of the Daily Journal newspaper. I've had some unfortunate business dealings w
ith him lately. What can he possibly be doing here?”

  Dick Raimie had also spied the newcomers, and gave them a quick wave, before turning his attention back to Melody.

  “That was first-rate, love,” he called out to her. “What else can you sing for us? How's about ‘The Hours Creep on Apace,’ Josephine's ballad from the second act of Pinafore?”

  “Yes, Mr. Raimie, I know that one,” she replied, once again shielding her eyes against the bright lights and regarding him with a huge smile of relief now that her first song had been so enthusiastically received. “Is that all right with you, Mr. Corbett?” she asked the pianist. At his easy nod, she once again positioned herself center stage. This time she appeared far more confident and relaxed as she prepared to sing.

  I was so disconcerted by seeing Gerald Knight—who, with the second man, had taken seats several rows behind us in the hall—that I hardly noticed Melody singing Josephine's second song from Pinafore. I was much too preoccupied wondering what the newspaperman was doing here.

  Then I remembered Samuel telling me that Knight fancied himself a patron of the arts, especially the Tivoli Opera House. If he were one of Joe Kreling's financiers, then of course he would enjoy ready access to the theater whenever he cared to visit. What an inopportune coincidence, I thought, that it should be today.

  Turning in my seat to catch a glimpse of him, I was taken aback by the way he was ogling Melody as she performed. His eyes were narrowed in chilling concentration as he followed her every gesture on the stage. His expression reminded me of a tomcat stalking a helpless mouse. Was he evaluating her as Brielle Bouchard's possible replacement as his mistress? I wondered with a sinking heart.

  I was so lost in these troubling thoughts, that I was only recalled back to the present when everyone around me once again started applauding. Dick Raimie had bolted out of his seat and was dashing up the stairs and onto the stage, clapping wildly all the way. David and the major followed upon his heel.

  “That was marvelous, just marvelous, Miss Tremaine,” Raimie exclaimed, sandwiching her small hands between his own. “Joe will be thrilled to learn that we have uncovered such a beautiful rose in our own fair city. I shall send him a telegram this very afternoon.”

  Major Tremaine and David beamed with pride, as Melody was congratulated. Glancing back to where Gerald Knight had been sitting, I saw that he, too, was out of his chair and hurrying toward the stage, his companion following closely upon his heels.

  “Mr. Knight,” I called out after him. Either he didn't hear me, or was pretending that he had not, for he failed to so much as glance in my direction.

  “Just what sort of business have you had with that man, Sarah?” asked Pierce, watching the owner of the Daily Journal as Raimie introduced him to the girl. “I saw your face when he walked into the theater. You looked as if you'd like to skewer him on the spot.”

  “He's a man—a married man—who fancies very young girls,” I told him, my voice tight with fear. “And I don't like the way he's looking at Melody as if she's to be tonight's dessert.”

  “He must be a friend of the Krelings',” Pierce said, watching as Dick Raimie introduced the second man to the girl. “That's Joe's brother, John, with him. John Kreling is the Tivoli's coowner, although Joe makes most of the company's decisions.”

  I took hold of his arm, suddenly afraid I had made a terrible mistake allowing this audition to take place. The fascination I saw gleaming in Knight's eyes, as they traveled boldly from the tip of Melody's polished slippers, to the top of her curly gold-brown hair, was unmistakable. There was no doubt that he had made up his mind to possess this girl. Worse, the man exuded an air of confidence which made it clear that he was used to getting whatever his heart desired!

  As we entered Pierce's carriage some minutes later, I saw that Melody's original excitement had been somewhat deflated since Dick Raimie had informed her that she would still have to audition for Joe Kreling when he returned to town.

  “He's solely responsible for the talent that appears on this stage,” Raimie had told Pierce, when he complained that Joe had promised him a decision that afternoon. “I'm sorry, but those are Joe's rules, Mr. Godfrey. Sure as I am that he's going to love her, it would cost me my job to schedule Miss Tremaine to perform in the Opera House without the boss seeing her first.”

  Promising to let us know when Mr. Kreling was back in San Francisco, he hustled back inside the theater. As we settled into Pierce's carriage I spied movement in the doorway of an adjoining building. I realized with a jolt of alarm that Gerald Knight was watching us as we drove off. The predatory look on his face was frighteningly simple to read.

  Feeling my face flood with sudden anger, I silently vowed that I would not allow that lecherous man to have his way. No matter what I had to do to prevent it, Gerald Knight could not be allowed to destroy another young girl's life the way he had ruined Brielle Bouchard's!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After a quick breakfast the next morning, Samuel and I shared a cab downtown, he to City Hall for a story he was writing, while I went on to the jail to visit my clients. During the drive, I brought my brother up to date on Melody Tremaine's successful audition at the Tivoli Opera House the day before.

  “What a shame Joe Kreling wasn't there,” he said. “Do you think her parents will allow her to audition again when he gets back in town?”

  “I wish I knew. We were fortunate neither of them were at home yesterday afternoon. I know her grandfather is eager to see her sing for Mr. Kreling. He adores those twins, and I have the impression that he'd like to see them follow a path of their own choosing.”

  “Still, the Tremaines have the final say on the subject,” he pointed out.

  “I'm sure they realize that all too well,” I said soberly.

  “Don't sound so dejected, Sarah. Not every young woman has your spirit and determination.”

  “Or every young man, Ian Fearless,” I teased, calling him by the pen name he used when writing his crime articles.

  “Ugh. I wish you hadn't brought that up.”

  “Sorry, but I've been wondering what you plan to do about the position in Arthur Cunningham's law firm. It's a big decision.”

  He shook his head. “I've been looking over some of Father's law books. Heaven help me, I've been out of school too long.” He gave a rueful smile. “You realize, of course, that I'm going to have to spend all my time studying if I'm actually going to take my bar exams in February.”

  “Well, if you decide to go through with it, let me help you. It'll be easier with two of us.”

  “Don't worry, Sarah,” he said dryly. “If I actually agree to take the bloody exam I'm going to need all the help I can get!”

  “Papa will be a good resource, too.”

  “Oh, no,” he protested with a grimace. “I can't afford to let him see how hopelessly far I've fallen behind. Don't forget, he thinks I've been working as a part-time paralegal since law school.”

  “Have you actually done any work for Andrew Wayburn?” I asked, referring to his law school friend who passed his own bar examinations shortly after graduation.

  “At first, yes. Then when Andy's father died and left him settled with a small fortune, he all but gave up his law practice. The scoundrel decided it was more fun to play than to work, although he did continue to let me use his name to explain the money I was earning as a crime reporter.”

  In an effort to change what was obviously an unwelcome subject, he inquired how preparations for Saturday night's Christmas party were coming along.

  “I've managed to avoid most of the hullabaloo,” he said with a chuckle. “Although Mama tagged me to decorate the tree with the popcorn and cranberry strings Tom and little Mandy made. And, of course, I placed the angel atop the tree.”

  “A task you've performed ever since you were ten years old,” I pointed out. “Come on, Samuel, you can't fool me. I know how much you enjoy trimming the tree.”

  “You have to admit th
at it requires a certain keen eye for symmetry,” he said with a smile. “I've already begun to train little Tommy. At the rate he's growing he'll soon be tall enough to take over the job.”

  “Speaking of the party,” I said, eyeing him curiously. “What lucky lady have you invited?” I find it difficult to keep up with my brother's active social life. I believe I've mentioned more than once that, as an extremely handsome bachelor, he enjoys great popularity with the young ladies in town.

  “I've decided not to ask anyone. Actually, Catherine Butler and I are—well, let's just say that we've had a bit of a misunderstanding. I think it's best to allow her time to cool down.”

  I swallowed a smile. “I see.”

  “What about you? Have you invited a guest?”

  I thought back to the kiss I'd shared with Robert several nights ago, and once again realized how much it had complicated my life. Weeks ago, when I'd first invited him to the dinner party, all had been as usual between us. Now I sensed he was as uncomfortable over the situation as I was. Perhaps too uncomfortable for him to attend? I wondered. If that was the case I determined I would not attempt to change his mind.

  To my surprise, this thought brought about an immediate pang of regret. The idea of Robert sitting home alone, while our family celebrated the holiday with good cheer and good friends, bothered me more than I would have expected. The truth was, I truly did not want to see him alone for the holidays.

  “Sarah?” Samuel said, nudging me with his shoulder. “Have you fallen asleep?”

  “Sorry, I was thinking of something else. Actually, I asked Robert to the party some time ago.”

  “Have you now? And Mama has invited Pierce Godfrey.”

  I silently nodded, having no desire to voice my concerns about such a potentially volatile situation.