A Touch of Camelot

by Delynn Royer

  Again, his question caught Cole by surprise, but it forced him to think. He tried to picture Gwin's face, and the first image that sprang to mind was that of her sitting at that candlelit dinner table in Virginia City. She'd looked beautiful that night.

  Maybe he was falling in love with her. And, if so, why should he be surprised? She was lovely, she was smart, and, although she did her darnedest to hide it, she had a good heart. He imagined for a moment that his father was alive and what it might be like to take Gwin home to meet him. Well, Pa, it's true, she's a cardsharp, a horse thief, and a thimble-rigger, but, other than that, I really think you'll like her. Cole smiled at the thought.

  "What's so funny?" Arthur demanded.

  Funny? It was funny, all right. Downright crazy, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of having Gwin around to talk to, to laugh with, and, yes, even to argue with. He liked still better the idea of not having to return to an empty apartment when he came home at the end of a long assignment.

  "Hey! I asked you a question!"

  Cole focused on Arthur's upturned face. Maybe he was in love with Gwin, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it, not yet. The revelation was still too new and fragile to utter aloud. He needed to ponder it and to keep it to himself a little while longer.

  "Never mind," he said, taking Arthur by the arm. "We can have this out later. Right now, we've got work to do."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The bespectacled clerk in the business office of the San Francisco Chronicle was a callow youth in rolled-up shirtsleeves and vest. Arthur stood with Cole as the young man arose from behind a rolltop desk and strode forward to shake hands.

  "Pinkerton Detective Agency, you say? Hey, I heard of you fellows. I've even got a couple of Mr. Pinkerton's books. Say, you don’t happen to know him personally, do you?"

  Cole smiled politely. "Actually, yes. I work out of the Chicago office."

  "So, what brings you all the way to San Francisco? Working on a big case?"

  "Not exactly, Mr....?"

  "Oh, sorry. The sandy-haired clerk pushed absently at his spectacles and grinned. "Warren Besecker is my name. What can I do for you, Mr. Shepherd?"

  "Are you a reporter, Mr. Besecker?"

  "Call me Warren, please. No, not yet, but I sure will be one of these days."

  "I'm glad to hear it Maybe you can help me with something."

  Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets, no longer paying attention to their small talk. Deep in one pocket, he felt a handful of walnut-sized rocks, leftovers from the day before when he had spent the afternoon target-shooting with his slingshot. He had killed three rats, each in one shot, right between the eyes, but even that hadn't helped to dispel the anger inside of him.

  Now, he wasn't feeling so mad anymore, but he still felt pretty miserable. He had said some mean things to Gwinnie, and now Cole's words haunted him. "No one's perfect, no matter how much you want them to be." It was true. Silas hadn't been perfect. Why did he expect so much more of Gwinnie? Because she was all that he had left? Maybe, deep down, he was afraid she would leave him, too.

  Cole interrupted Arthur's gloomy musings. "Arthur, do you have any idea of the date of the issue we're looking for?"

  Arthur wasn’t quite ready to forgive Cole. Not just yet. He kept his reply frosty. "I didn't read the date."

  Arthur was glad to see the look of mild irritation that flitted across Cole's face. "Do you think it was early June?"

  "Perhaps."

  Cole turned back to the clerk. "Warren, could we have a look at the first two weeks in June?"

  "Certainly. Won't take but a minute. Wait right here."

  Warren disappeared behind a door in the back, leaving Arthur and Cole to stand in awkward silence. Cole folded his arms and stared at the print of a clipper ship that hung on one wall. Arthur could tell by the look on his face that he was already a million miles away. That suited Arthur just fine. He didn't have much to say to Cole right now.

  Warren soon appeared with a collection of newspapers tucked under one arm. "Here you go."

  Cole walked over to the desk as Warren put down the newspapers. "Come here a minute, Arthur."

  Arthur moved reluctantly to Cole's side as Cole began to thumb through each edition. "Which one was it?" Cole asked.

  Arthur shook his head at each one as it passed. "No, no, no, no, no ... wait." He tapped one. A column heading had caught his eye: Taylor Likely Draft for Mayoral Race. "That's it."

  He remembered that headline. Heck, he remembered every article on the front page. This one had begun: As keynote speaker, Phineas Taylor once again enthralled members of the Pacific Club last evening with his new ideas on ...

  Cole slipped the paper from the stack and began to scan it with interest.

  Warren spoke up. "Find what you're looking for?"

  "Maybe I have ..."

  Arthur frowned. What was Cole talking about? There hadn't been anything in that paper about Sidney Pierce. He had read it over twice and found nothing. Bored, Arthur turned to Mr. Besecker. "Mark Twain ever work here?"

  The young man looked thoughtful. "Mark Twain? No, I don't think so. He reported for the Morning Call, I think."

  Cole spoke up. "Warren, how much do you know about this Phineas Taylor?"

  "He's running for mayor. What do you want to know?"

  "I've heard he's wealthy. Is that right?"

  Warren snorted. "Wealthy? That's an understatement. He lives up on the hill with the railroad and silver tycoons."

  "Got a pretty fair chance at winning?"

  Warren nudged his spectacles up. "I think he's got a good shot at it. There's a lot of money behind him, and he's gaining some popularity with the working folks."

  Cole folded the paper and handed it back to Warren. "Where did you say he lives?"

  "Washington Street. Up near the top of the hill."

  Arthur observed Cole as he listened closely to the newspaperman's street directions. Cole was on to something, and Arthur frowned. He was beginning to think maybe he had missed something important in that newspaper after all.

  Warren strolled with Cole to the door. "Take Kearney up to Washington and catch a cable car up to ..."

  Arthur listened to Warren’s directions even as he contemplated the issue of the Chronicle. Taylor Likely Draft for Mayoral Race. He still didn't see what this Taylor fellow had to do with anything. Nevertheless, he threw a glance at Cole and Warren to make sure they were occupied before he snatched the paper. He turned his back, folding the paper and sliding it neatly behind the front bib of his overalls. When he turned again to face them, he wore a studiously innocent expression.

  Cole motioned. "Come on, Arthur. Let's go."

  Arthur joined Cole as Warren shook Cole's hand for the second time. "Say, you wouldn't be working on a case that has something to do with Mr. Taylor, would you? Now, that could be big news."

  Cole laughed good-naturedly. "Sorry, Warren."

  "Well, if you stumble onto anything interesting, you just remember good old Warren at the Chronicle, all right?"

  Cole winked as he rested a hand on Arthur's shoulder, urging him toward the door. "You’ve got a deal."

  *

  At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, Gwin jumped up from her bed and flew to the door, remembering only at the last second to throw back the bolt on the lock Cole had insisted the landlord fix only the day before. As soon as she caught sight of them approaching she knew just by the look on Cole's face that he'd found something.

  She accosted him before he could reach the doorway. "What did you find?"

  Cole motioned to her to be quiet as he ushered Arthur and her ahead of him into the room. "Shut the door."

  Gwin did as he instructed, throwing the bolt for good measure. "All right, Shepherd, spill it."

  He looked amused. "Spill what?"

  Gwin wasn't so amused. "Is Sidney in San Francisco?"

  "I don't know. There's one more thing I have
to do."

  Gwin was losing patience. "Is Sidney here or isn't he?"

  Cole took her gently by the shoulders. "I'll explain everything tonight over dinner."

  "I can't wait that long."

  Still, he wore that indecipherable smile. "If this pans out, I'll take you and Arthur to Delmonico's."

  Gwin frowned. Delmonico's was one of the most expensive restaurants in San Francisco. Why, he had come up with something, and he was deliberately holding it back from her. Before she could protest, he kissed her lightly on the lips.

  And that wasn't all.

  Gwin's mouth fell open in shock as he took her full into his arms and kissed her again, much more thoroughly this time. Despite herself, Gwin melted against him, reveling in the feel of his lips moving warmly and persuasively over hers. Being in his arms felt like coming home again, and this to a girl who had once thought she would never know what a real home felt like.

  When he finally pulled away, he grinned. "Now, I want you to stay put."

  Gwin had to struggle with an annoying combination of giddy elation and righteous indignation. "But—"

  "Trust me," Cole said, moving for the door and throwing the bolt. "I've got to check something out. When I get back, I'll explain everything. Promise you'll stay put?" He opened the door and paused. "Promise me, Gwin."

  She wanted to say no, but she had little choice as far as she could see. "All right."

  Cole winked and then he was gone.

  "He kissed you." Arthur's voice was flat and indignant from across the room.

  "He kissed me," Gwin echoed.

  "Right smack on the mouth! If he doesn't quit that stuff, I'm going have to punch him again!"

  Punch him? Again? Gwin noticed that her brother's tone, while distinctly annoyed, no longer seemed to hold the hostility it had earlier this morning. He was finally thawing.

  "Arthur," she ventured cautiously, "you didn't ...?"

  "I sure as heck did!"

  Gwin fought to control a sudden swell of affection for her brother. What she wouldn't have given to have been there when those two ... She shook off the thought and turned to stare again at the closed door. "I sure would give just about anything to have a look at that newspaper."

  Arthur cleared his throat, prompting her to look at him. She was surprised to see that, for the first time in almost two days, he wore just the hint of his familiar bright smile. "Anything?"

  And it was then that her little brother, bless his sneaky heart, pulled a folded copy of the San Francisco Chronicle from beneath the bib of his overalls.

  *

  Cole stood on the front porch steps to the boardinghouse, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He had one stop to make before visiting his agency's mysterious client, Phineas Taylor. That stop was the telegraph office. It was time to bring Fritz up to date.

  The moment Cole had spotted Phineas Taylor's name on the front page of the Chronicle, another yellow flag had risen in his mind. Arthur was correct that Sidney Pierce's name didn't appear anywhere on that page, and Cole had no doubt that Arthur was also correct when he insisted that it didn't appear anywhere else in that day's edition. But that didn't matter. What, after all, was in a name? Silas Pierce had taken a number of aliases during his colorful career. Why expect his brother to be any different? Especially if he had a public reputation to maintain, a reputation that depended on his past remaining a secret.

  Cole intended to pay a visit to Mr. Taylor, and in so doing, he was aware that he might be walking directly into the lion's den. The problem was, he couldn't solicit any help from the authorities. He didn't have any evidence yet, and more importantly, he wasn't sure who he could trust. That was why it was best to wire the Agency first. While he doubted that Taylor would do him bodily harm in the middle of the day in his own residence, it was better to be safe than sorry. If something were to happen to him, it would be better if Fritz knew all of the facts. There would be somebody left to pick up the thread.

  With that thought, Cole descended the front steps of the boardinghouse and headed south on Kearney toward the telegraph office.

  *

  Arthur handed the newspaper to Gwinnie, secretly pleased that he had been able to satisfy her curiosity. In a way, it made him feel better about some of the things he had said to her the day before.

  Gwin sat on the corner of her bed as she read over the front page article. "And you're sure this is the one Cole seemed so interested in? The one about this Taylor fellow?"

  "That's the one, all right. He even asked the newspaperman for directions to the guy's house."

  Gwin shook her head as she spread the paper on the bed and turned the pages slowly, scanning the columns. "It doesn't make sense," she said after a few minutes. "I mean, who is this guy that Cole should be so interested in—" She stopped. "Arthur ... ooooh, Arthur ..."

  "What?" Arthur felt a stab of concern. Her face had gone pale.

  Gwin folded the paper in half and held it up for him to see. "Look at it." She tapped a thumbnail sketch no bigger than an advertisement, a political cartoon, featuring two main characters, a bug-eyed minister and a man in a top hat, positioned as snarling opponents in a boxing ring.

  Arthur strained to read the caption, something about the politician named Taylor. "What?" he asked again, confused.

  "The picture, Arthur. Look at the picture."

  And he did. Edging closer, he squinted at the newspaper artist's crude caricature. "I don't understand."

  "Who does he look like?"

  "Which one? The one with big eyes or—" Then Arthur started to see it. He began to see what it was that she saw, and his stomach clenched up.

  Gwin prodded him. "He looks like ..."

  Arthur blinked hard, his vision suddenly misting over. "Silas!"

  And it was true. How had he not seen it before? The artist's rendering was unflatteringly exaggerated, but the square line of his jaw, the shape of his eyes, and that tilted, "dare-you" smile was unmistakable. "It looks like Silas!"

  Gwin stood. "He looks like Silas because he's Silas's brother. It's Sidney, Arthur. Sidney Pierce is Phineas Taylor."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gwin had no trouble locating Phineas Taylor's home. The elaborate residence, set far back from the municipal sidewalk and encircled by a tall wrought-iron fence, stood over three stories tall. Its painted wooden exterior simulated marble stone to such an extent that it was impossible to tell the difference until one actually crossed onto the property.

  Gwin paused at the end of a flagstone walk to observe a pair of ornamented turrets. They reminded her of a castle, a castle that might have once nestled in the fabled land of Camelot. Before she climbed the stone steps to the entrance, she passed an Oriental gardener, who tended a cluster of blooming rosebushes.

  She raised her hand to a brass knocker, letting it fall twice before retreating a few steps. As she looked up to behold an elaborate stained-glass mosaic above the wide archway, she half-hoped there would be no answer to her summons.

  She didn’t get her wish.

  The monstrous door creaked open to reveal a lanky butler with a narrow mustache and thinning dark hair. "May I help you, miss?"

  "I'm here to see Mr. Taylor."

  The man inspected her unfashionably dressed figure, noting with disdain the green silk reticule that clashed with her daytime attire. "May I tell him who is calling?"

  "Miss Pierce."

  The butler stepped aside and opened the door wider for her to pass. "Very good, Miss Pierce. Won't you come in?"

  Gwin found herself standing in a huge foyer, peering around the expressionless butler's shoulder to behold a majestic marble staircase. It was warm outside, but now, as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind her, it suddenly seemed cold.

  "Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Pierce. I'll inform Mr. Taylor that you're here." The butler turned crisply and headed for the stairs.

  Gwin watched the man ascend until he disappeared around the corner of a s
econd-floor landing before she turned to take in her surroundings. She was startled to see what at first appeared to be a human figure standing not ten feet away from her on the other side of the staircase.

  Upon closer examination, however, she realized it was nothing but an empty suit of armor, and it wasn't alone. Here and there, interspersed at various points in the entrance hall that bisected the first floor, she saw a number of similar figures posted by closed-off doorways. These served to complement an impressive collection of ancient weaponry and lush Renaissance-era paintings that hung on the walls. Apparently, Gwin's first impression of this place as a medieval castle was precisely what the owner intended.

  As she began to move, the soft click of her heels against the gleaming marble floor followed her in the form of a hollow, all-surrounding echo. She observed rich gallery paneling on the walls and thick marble columns before tilting her head back to see the unstained roof timbers two stories overhead. Oh, Mother, this might have been your Camelot ...

  But it could never be Gwin's. She had discovered a touch of her own Camelot this morning, and that had been in Cole Shepherd's arms. Perhaps neither of them, mother nor daughter, were fated to attain the full measure of their dreams.

  Gwin passed beneath a sparkling chandelier to examine more closely the armored figure she had first mistaken for a person lurking by the curved banister at the bottom of the staircase. A deep, masculine voice boomed behind and above her.

  "A full suit of field armor. It was crafted in Germany sometime during the first quarter of the sixteenth century."

  Gwin turned to see on the staircase a figure whose broad-shouldered stance and distinctive countenance brought a flood of memories crashing back to her. She was seeing a ghost. Silas. But not Silas. This man was younger, perhaps more handsome. His forehead was lower and his thick brown hair was several shades lighter than Silas's had been. My father, she thought, more than a little awed by the sight of him.

  "That other one," the Silas-figure continued, pointing as he descended the stairs, "the one to your left, was known as parade armor. Notice the rich decoration, the elaborate scroll design, and the gilt ornamentation. It was probably made in Antwerp in the seventeenth century."