by Delynn Royer
When she took his hand, he pulled, and she tumbled onto the floor with him. Before she could get her bearings, he had her flipped onto her back and pinned. He grasped her firmly by each wrist.
"Cole!" She struggled, but it was a half-hearted effort. "Stop fooling around. Arthur's going to wonder what's taking me so—"
"He can wait."
"No, he can't. We don't have time for this."
"We have time to get one thing straight, Gwin. Last night, you said you'd think about going to San Francisco with me. Now I want an answer."
"Are you going to let me up if I say no?"
"Absolutely not. Granted, they'll eventually have to slip crackers under the door to keep us from starving."
"This isn't funny."
"I know."
"My first responsibility is to Arthur."
"So is mine."
She frowned. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"I won't let anything happen to either of you. I promise you that. Just give me a week."
"A week?"
"One week. If we don't come up with any leads by then, I'll buy your tickets and put you on a train myself."
She studied his face. "Do you know something that I don't?"
"All I have are a few hunches, but those won't lead anywhere unless we work together."
Neither of them moved, and she didn't say anything for a long time. Then, "All right. One week. Now, can I get up?"
Cole smiled and ran his gaze down the length of her. "Since time is of the essence, I suppose I'll have to say yes ... with regrets."
He released her, and she sat up, crossing her arms across her breasts. "Honestly, Shepherd, all this takes some getting used to, you know?"
He had to agree with her. It did take getting used to. He doubted, however, that they would have much time for that. One week.
Chapter Eighteen
San Francisco
Jasper Barnes jumped down from the California Street cable car with an agility that belied his rotund physique. In the wake of his billowing Inverness cape, the closemouthed Mr. Ringo followed dutifully at his heels.
"Just like him, isn't it?" Jasper demanded as he puffed the rest of the way across the cobblestone street. "To run off without telling a soul! What could he be thinking?"
Jasper wasn't smiling this morning. Instead, he wore a glower as he chomped on the soggy end of his Havana cigar. “Charging like a flaming fool right into a veritable hornet's nest!"
"He's been acting unusual," Ringo concurred as the morning fog swirled around them.
"Not good at all," Jasper muttered.
They soon crossed the busy Market Street thoroughfare and continued on their path south to Third Street. When they turned on Mission, they spotted a crowd ahead, and it was just as the spying butler, Frederick, had warned. In lieu of a soapbox, Sidney had chosen the steps of the new St. Patrick's Church. Thus situated, it was not surprising that he had already attracted a large crowd, mostly unemployed Irish laborers, judging by the thick brogues that reached Jasper's ears.
Here stood the heart and soul of the Anti-Chinese Workingman's Party, the political phenomenon that, a few years ago, had swept San Francisco like a fever. Due to disorganization, the party itself was starting to break down, but its candidate for mayor, a wild-eyed, firebrand minister, remained Sidney's most formidable opponent in the upcoming election.
This morning, Sidney wore no coat, just a simple black vest and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. Gone too was the silk top hat. In its place, an old derby perched back on his head as he addressed the crowd. "It's simple to point our fingers at the Chinese and claim that they’re our problem. Too simple! It's naïve and self-defeating."
Standing at the back of the crowd, Jasper mused under his breath to Mr. Ringo. "Hard to believe that just last night he was addressing a banquet hall full of stuffy nabobs."
A voice from the crowd rose in challenge. "Oh, yeah? What do you know about hard times? Sitting up there on the hill in your big fancy castle?"
Jasper plucked the cigar from his mouth. "Uh oh, here it comes, Mr. Ringo, here it comes."
Sidney offered the man in the audience a sly smile. "What do I know, you ask? Do you think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, sir?"
"We don't know much about that, but we figure, by now, you got enough silver spoons to feed an army!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Sidney grinned. "You're right about that, my friend. I've earned myself enough silver spoons to line the Central Pacific track from here to Utah!"
Another laugh from the group, this one at the heckler's expense. Sidney continued, "But it wasn't always that way. My father worked in the coal mines of Pennsylvania. I followed him when I was thirteen. There were twelve mouths to feed in our family, and the wages the mine owners paid didn't amount to a hill of beans."
"The coal mines?" Jasper echoed in a hushed voice. "Quite an inspired piece of autobiographical fiction, is it not?" He raised an eyebrow at Mr. Ringo.
"And impossible for those muckraking newspapermen to disprove," Ringo added.
Jasper nodded thoughtfully. Mr. Ringo didn't speak often, or say much when he did. This caused many people to underestimate his intelligence. Jasper had never been one of them.
The restive crowd settled as Sidney spoke. "It wasn't until much later that I struck out on my own to make a better life for myself. It was in Virginia City that ..."
Jasper listened as Sidney recounted a rags-to-riches story that bore only the faintest resemblance to the truth. The men in the audience, many of whom had been scowling only moments before, now cocked their heads to one side, listening.
Jasper dropped his cigar and ground it out beneath his boot heel. "It's a gift, Mr. Ringo, the ability to sway a crowd, especially a hostile crowd like this one. If I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it. A Nob Hill millionaire appealing to the disgruntled masses. Oh, we have a gem on our hands. Even I never realized the full potential of his talent."
Oh, but that was not quite true. Jasper had recognized Sidney as a diamond in the rough from the beginning. Casting himself in the role of lapidary, he had done all the necessary cutting and polishing over the years, and now they were about to harvest the fruits of his labor. Sidney sparkled brighter than even the most brilliant of South African gemstones.
Kingmaker, Jasper thought, his thick lips crooking into a grin. They'll call me the kingmaker. He pictured not just San Francisco City Hall, but the United States Senate, perhaps even the presidency. Of course, Jasper would be the real power behind the throne ...
It was uncharacteristic for Mr. Ringo to express an unsolicited observation, but he did so now, rudely shattering Jasper's fantasy. "He's going to make a break."
Jasper's grin faded. His eyes clouded. "What? He's what?"
"He's been acting unusual ever since his brother came to town. He's going to make a break."
Jasper frowned up into Ringo's flat, gray eyes before returning his attention to Sidney. "Yes, ever since—"
And just that suddenly, it was all clear. And irrefutable. Jasper wasn't even sure if Sidney himself knew it yet, but what Mr. Ringo said was true.
"Blackmailers are an unscrupulous lot," Jasper said. "They inevitably keep coming back for more."
Ringo grunted assent and Jasper continued.
"There were bad feelings there, you know. Over a woman. Terrible thing, bad feelings between brothers. Silas was likely to bleed his brother dry and then turn right around and expose him just for the satisfaction."
Jasper's chubby fingers tightened around the silver handle of his cane as he watched Sidney Pierce reel in the disbelievers. It was true that Sidney had been acting unusual of late. He was acting like a man with a conscience.
"Conscience, Mr. Ringo. Pity the man who suffers from it. Imagine being dogged day in and day out until finally you snap. Not a pretty thought, is it?"
Jasper looked up at Ringo. Ringo looked down at
Jasper, and Jasper went on. "Reflecting back now, it appears we should have waited to dispose of Silas Pierce. Once out of town, it's doubtful his demise would have made the papers. Sidney would have been none the wiser."
"It's done," Ringo said coldly.
"Ah, well." Jasper donned his customary smile. "Foresight always lacks the wisdom of hindsight."
Ringo said nothing.
Jasper adjusted his cloak as he turned to leave. "Perhaps it's time for Sidney to employ a round-the-clock bodyguard. After all, with so many hooligans about these days, one can never be too careful. You remember, of course, what happened to President Lincoln?"
"Tragic," Ringo grumbled.
"I can think of no one more suitable for the job than you, Mr. Ringo. You must watch out for our Sidney. You must not leave his side for a minute." Jasper slid him a side glance. "You must keep your eyes peeled for trouble. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"And in the event that trouble should arise," Jasper added as they strolled back up Mission Street, "I have every confidence that you will know how to deal with it."
*
Despite her anxiety over returning to San Francisco, Gwin enjoyed most of the train trip from Reno to Oakland. The scenery, once they traveled into the Sierra Nevada, was breathtaking, and some of it, especially as they crossed bridges that spanned treacherous canyons, was downright hair-raising. They passed through Sacramento at the end of their first day, and by mid-afternoon the following day, found themselves disembarking on the Oakland side of San Francisco Bay.
They took a ferry across the sparkling blue bay to land in San Francisco proper and then took a horsecar up Market Street, where they ate dinner at a small café. Afterward, they set out on foot to find accommodations.
Locating a lodging house with two vacancies that also fit into Cole's stringent budget had proven to be a challenge. It was past dusk when Gwin finally dropped her valise onto the bed in her new room. She turned a slow pirouette, eyeing up the peeling floral wallpaper. The furnishings consisted of one sagging brass bed, one cane chair, and a washstand with a tin basin and pitcher. The sign over the front door of this establishment read, ROOMS FOR RENT. 50 CENTS AND 75 CENTS. This was one of the seventy-five cent rooms. She shuddered to think what one of the fifty-cent rooms must look like.
Cole stood inside the open doorway, examining the bolt lock. The rusty piece of hardware was missing two screws and looked to be hanging by little more than spit and a prayer.
"We'll have to get this fixed," he muttered. He'd been thrilled to find two rooms for rent in this brick building on Kearney Street, but he didn't seem quite so thrilled at the moment.
Arthur looked in from the hallway. "Geez! What a dump!"
Irritation flitted across Cole's face. "I wouldn't exactly call it a dump."
Gwin gave Cole an amused glance. "We've lived in a lot of dumps. We know one when we see one."
"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit?"
"Modest accommodations, you said. Why didn't we do it right and just pitch a tent?"
Cole tossed up his hands. "I don’t believe you two. You've got a perfectly good roof over your heads and running water right down the hall."
"Yes, and did you notice that tub? I swear, the last time it saw a scrub brush was during the gold rush."
"It's nothing that a little soap and elbow grease won't fix. Besides, no one will think to look for you here."
Gwin laughed. "You're probably right about that."
"Oh, come on," Cole chided as he crossed the room to sit on the rickety brass bed. "The landlady says she does laundry every day." He slapped the mattress firmly. "Why, the linens are clean as a whistle. No bedbugs."
"No bedspread, either."
"You know we need to watch our expenses. Tomorrow, I'll have to send a telegram to Fritz at the Agency. After paying for dinner and these rooms, we're just about out of money."
Gwin waved this away. "Oh, you worry too much. We can always get money."
"Oh?"
"Certainly. In a town like this, there are dozens of opportunities."
Cole gave her a doubtful look. "If you're talking about gambling again, you can forget it."
"Not gambling. You have no imagination at all."
"And you do, I suppose?"
"Absolutely. Why, I'll bet even young Arthur here could come up with a few ideas."
Her brother, who had donned his favorite overalls before Gwin had had a chance to catch him this morning, grinned at her from beneath the brim of his cap."Sure! We know how to get money. Anytime, anywhere. Right, Gwinnie?"
"You bet." Gwin felt the juices begin to flow. "How about that old game, the Pigeon Drop?"
"You mean the one where Silas would pretend to find some money and—"
Gwin snapped her fingers as another idea occurred to her. "Oh! I know, we could—"
Cole stood. "Stop it. Hold it right there."
Gwin and Arthur looked at him.
Cole raised a finger at Gwin. "I just want to know one thing."
"And what's that?"
"Has it ever occurred to either of you to just get a job?"
Gwin and Arthur looked at each other. Gwin wrinkled her nose. Arthur grimaced.
"That's what I thought. We'll wire the Agency."
Gwin shrugged. "Suit yourself, Shepherd. Just trying to help."
"That kind of help we can do without. We're liable to end up in the county jail."
"At least you wouldn't be able to complain about the rent."
A smile tugged at his lips. "You have an answer for everything, don't you, Miss Pierce?"
"Not everything. In fact, I have a question for you."
"Yes?"
"When do we get started?"
"Started what?"
"On our case. Now that you dragged us back here, what's next, Mr. Pinkerton Detective?"
"First thing tomorrow, I get to work."
"You? I thought we were working together. You do remember saying that, don't you?"
"Not out in the open, we're not. You two might be recognized, and until we know who our enemies are—"
"That's not a problem," Gwin said. "We could disguise ourselves."
Cole looked incredulous. "What?"
Arthur hopped up and down. "Yeah! We could disguise ourselves!"
"It's not like you're dealing with two amateurs,” Gwin said. “Between Arthur and me, we've probably got ten years' worth of stage experience."
"Absolutely not," Cole said.
"Wait, just hear me out." Gwin turned to Arthur to demonstrate her point. "It's not as crazy as it sounds. Anybody who knows us will be looking for a woman and a boy, right? But would they ever think to be on the lookout for two boys?"
She snatched the engineer's cap from Arthur's head and set it down on her own, pulling the brim down low and stuffing her curls beneath it."See? Put me in a pair of pants and a coat and ... See?"
Cole stared at her, his head cocking to one side, a look of puzzlement creeping over his face.
Gwin prodded again." Pretty good, huh?"
The look of befuddlement passed, and he glowered. "Not pretty good." He snatched the cap from her head and slapped it back against Arthur's middle.
"But I'll be wearing pants and a big coat and ..."
Cole waved her protestations aside. "Come on, Gwin, no right-thinking person would ever mistake you for a boy."
"But—"
Cole closed the distance between them and caught her up by the shoulders. He spoke in a low voice for her ears only. "I am telling you, Miss Pierce, that no matter how you try to disguise yourself, no red-blooded man worth his salt will ever mistake you for a boy." His gaze dipped to her breasts and then back to her face.
Gwin felt a flood of color rise to her cheeks. "Not even a really big coat?"
"Not even."
There followed a silence, a long, lingering silence, during which they both became exquisitely aware of how close he held her.
Gwin couldn't tear her eyes from Cole's. "Oh, I think so. Why don't you go wash up before bed?"
"What? Again?" Arthur sounded horrified.
"Just do it."
"Geeeeez! Cole, do I have to?"
"Listen to your sister."
"Geez! Wash up, wash up! All I ever do is wash up. It ain't healthy. I'm gonna end up getting sick from it. You just watch and see if I don't." But his voice was already fading down the hall where a door slammed.
Cole bent his head so that his mouth hovered tantalizingly over Gwin's. "Is it my imagination, or is this the first time we've been alone since yesterday morning?"
"Not your imagination."
He kissed her, one hand dropping to her waist, his other slipping behind her neck. Just about the time Gwin thought she might swoon, he pulled back. "Last night, on the train, I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about —"
"I know." Gwin wondered at how so simple a kiss could scramble her insides worse than a morning egg.
He kissed her again, deeper this time. When he pulled away, she had to catch her breath. "Tonight," he said, "after Arthur is asleep?"
"Yes," she agreed. Too quickly, she knew. But she couldn't seem to help herself. Succumbing to temptation once had not quelled her desire for him. If anything, it had only fanned the flames. She had spent the better half of last night lying awake, thinking of him in the next berth, dreaming of the night they'd spent together. Was she being a fool? She didn't know.
They heard the door down the hall squeak on its hinges, and Cole pulled away from her with a reluctant sigh. "That had to be all of ten seconds to ourselves. I wonder if that kid actually uses soap."
Gwin forced a weak smile. A moment later, her brother was back in the room, and it was too late to change her mind.
Chapter Nineteen
Cole lay on his back in one of two narrow camp cots, listening morosely to the songs of drunken revelers as they passed on the street one story below. They had probably come from one of the many noisy gambling parlors or saloons just up the street near Portsmouth Square.