Rebecca Hagan Lee

by A Wanted Man

  “Where to?”

  Julie had to stop and think. She didn’t minister to the affluent citizens of San Francisco and knew only a few places in town where ladies shopped or dined with regularity. She needed to come up with someplace she would be safe. Oddly enough, her first thought was the Silken Angel Saloon and Will Keegan, despite the fact that she had done her best to destroy it only hours ago. It was the one place in all of San Francisco where she felt safe, and Julie suspected the only reason for that was Will Keegan. Her second thought was Wu’s Gum Saan Laundry, but it lay in the heart of Chinatown, and Chinatown had become more dangerous than ever for her. And her presence at the laundry could be hazardous for Zhing and Mr. Wu. She couldn’t go back to the mission dressed as she was; nor did she want to. The mission offered basic shelter and necessities, but she doubted the Salvationists could keep her safe, even if they could bring themselves to raise a hand against another human being in order to protect her. The most Julie thought they might do was send for the police, and the police might be her greatest enemy. Julie bit her bottom lip as she considered her options. She couldn’t go to the Silken Angel. She couldn’t go to Wu’s. She wouldn’t go to the mission. “Ghirardelli Chocolate Company.”

  The cabbie laughed. The chocolate shop was a favorite of San Franciscans, especially young ladies. It was one of the few places in town where they could go unescorted and enjoy chocolate confections and pastries and the most delicious cup of hot chocolate in the city. “Corner of Greenwich and Powell. Right away, miss.”

  Julie hazarded a nervous glance toward the front entrance of the Russ House as the cabdriver announced her destination, but the policeman didn’t appear interested in the cab and was pointing toward the dressmaker’s shop.

  She said a heartfelt prayer of thanks as the cab merged smoothly into the late-afternoon traffic and headed for Ghirardelli’s without incident. Sitting back against the seat cushions, Julie forced herself to breathe normally as she tried to calculate how far it was from the hotel to the chocolate shop. As long as she was alone in the cab, she was safe.

  But the ride didn’t last very long, and before she knew it the cab had pulled up to the front of Ghirardelli’s. Julie waited for the cabbie to open the door and lower the steps before alighting from the vehicle. He helped her down and gathered her packages for her while she got out money.

  Julie met his gaze as she handed him his fare and a generous tip. “Would you consider returning for me in half an hour?” she asked.

  “I’ll wait for you, miss, if you’re willing to pay the half-hour fare,” he told her.

  Julie stuck out her hand. “It’s a bargain, Mr. . . .”

  “Winston.” He took her hand in his and shook it. “Miss?”

  “Burke.” Not willing to give her real name, Julie said the first name that popped into her head, then remembered where she’d heard it. William Burke Keegan. My friends call me Will. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Winston.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Miss Burke.” He doffed his hat to her. “You may leave your packages in the cab. I won’t be accepting any other fares until I see you safely home.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Winston.” She smiled at him, then shivered as the wind coming off the bay seemed to cut right through her. “Shall I have them bring you a hot chocolate while you wait?”

  “That would be most kind of you, miss, and greatly appreciated.”

  “Consider it done,” she assured him. “I shall return in one half hour.”

  “Take your time, miss. There’s no rush. I’ll be here when you’re ready to leave.”

  The cabbie was as good as his word. He was waiting when Julie emerged from the chocolate shop exactly one half hour later with a box of chocolate pastries and three tins of chocolates. The pastries were for Julie’s breakfast, but the tins of the exquisite chocolates were meant as gifts. Mr. Winston jumped down from his vehicle to pull out the steps and open the door to hand her into the coach.

  “Thank you for the hot chocolate, Miss Burke,” he said. “It was most welcome, and took the edge off the chill of the evening.”

  Julie was gracious. “These are for you as well.” She handed him a tin of chocolates. “With my gratitude.”

  “Thank you, miss.” The cabbie was genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness. “Where would you like to go?”

  “Back to the Russ House Hotel.”

  “As you wish.” Mr. Winston climbed up to his seat, clucked to his horse, and began the short trip back to the hotel.

  Julie let out a sigh of relief when the coach rolled to stop and the hotel doorman opened the coach door. The policeman who had followed her from Mission Street was gone. She directed the doorman to collect her packages and have them delivered to her room while she paid and thanked the cabdriver once more.

  “Anytime you need a cab, miss, you have Turner there”—he pointed at the hotel doorman—“send for me.”

  “I’d be pleased to, Mr. Winston,” she promised.

  He waved good-bye and doffed his top hat to her. Julie waved back, then turned and entered the hotel.

  She walked through the lobby and stopped at the front desk to collect her room key from the desk clerk. Hotels in the West routinely collected keys from guests when they left their rooms, returning the keys for the night upon request. “I would like the key to my room, please.”

  The desk clerk stared at her. “I’m sorry, miss, but are you registered here?”

  Remembering that she was wearing dark brown hairpieces and the deep half bonnet to hide her red hair, Julie quickly rephrased her request. She was getting good at lying, perhaps too good. Julia Jane Parham prided herself on always telling the truth, no matter what the consequences, but now . . . The fact that her fabrications were growing more elaborate and easier to concoct was cause for concern. She promised herself she would do something about it. But not as long as her safety depended upon her quick wits. “Forgive me,” she told the desk clerk. “I’m Jane Burke. I’ve come to join my cousin, Miss Parham. She wired me with instructions to come here and ask for the key to her room.”

  “That’s quite all right, Miss Burke. You may share a room with your cousin, but you must sign the hotel register in order to do so.”

  “Of course,” Julie agreed. “But I should like a room of my own, if that is possible.” She knew the room next to hers was vacant. “Perhaps one that connects to Miss Parham’s . . .” She dropped the suggestion hoping the desk clerk would pick up on it.

  “As it happens,” the desk clerk began, “the room next to Miss Parham’s is available. It doesn’t connect, but it’s right next door.” He collected the key from the eighth box in the row of open cubicles mounted behind the desk and held it out to her. “Room eight. Up the stairs to the right.”

  Julie took the key he offered. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Burke, and welcome to the Russ House Hotel.”

  “I left packages with the doorman,” Julie remembered.

  “We’ll have them sent up to your room.”

  “Thank you again.” She turned toward the stairs.

  The desk clerk stopped her. “Miss Burke?”

  Julie turned back to the front desk. “Yes?”

  “The girl from Wu’s Gum Saan Laundry delivered Miss Parham’s laundry this afternoon.” He lifted a package wrapped in thick brown paper from behind the front desk. “Would you please tell her it’s here?”

  “Why don’t you give it to me?” Julie suggested, reaching for the package. “I’ll see that she gets it.”

  “That’s most considerate of you, Miss Burke, and just so you know, we have a ‘no Celestials’ policy at the Russ House. If you would be kind enough to remind Miss Parham to ask one of our employees to collect her laundry from Wu’s, rather than have the China girl come to the hotel to deliver it. We have a reputation to maintain. We cannot have Celestials running about the hotel. It upsets our guests.”

  “I see.” Her words were clipped and preci
se as Julie struggled to mask her anger. “My apologies, sir. I’m quite certain Miss Parham was not aware of your hotel policy. She would never purposely upset your guests—or upset the Chinese laundry girl by asking her to trespass where she isn’t allowed.” She took the package out of the clerk’s hands and carried it upstairs.

  Her packages arrived shortly after Julie entered her room. After accepting them and tipping the bellman, Julie closed and locked the door behind her, then collapsed on the bed. What was she going to do now? She’d become three people—Julie Parham, Jane Burke, and Jie Li, the laundry girl. She was paying for two hotel rooms, and she couldn’t leave either one of them dressed as Jie Li. And Zhing Wu couldn’t come to the hotel and act as a lady’s maid to transform her into Jie Li or back into Julie. How was she going to get back to Chinatown to search for Su Mi? Or to the Silken Angel Saloon to rescue the seven girls trapped there? How was she supposed to accomplish what she’d come to San Francisco to accomplish?

  Julie wanted to pound the mattress in frustration and scream into the pillows, but what was the use of a temper tantrum if there was no one around to witness it? She needed to think, needed to find a way to return to the Silken Angel. . . .

  Getting up from the bed, Julie changed out of her green dress and bonnet and removed her brown hairpieces. Opening her packages, she took out her Salvationist uniform and reluctantly put it on. She had to make an appearance sometime, and she might as well use it to retrieve her room key.

  Dressed as a Salvationist missionary, Julie left room number eight and went out the back exit, walked around the hotel, and entered through the front doors before approaching the desk to request her room key.

  The front desk was empty when Julie rang the bell. The desk clerk came out of the back, discreetly wiping his mouth with a napkin he then surreptitiously tucked inside his trouser pocket. She had purposely waited until the middle of the man’s supper break to interrupt him. “Good evening, Miss Parham.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Bishop,” she returned the greeting. “May I have my room key, please?”

  “Yes, of course.” He pulled the key from the room box on the wall behind the front desk and held it out to her.

  “Would you happen to know if my cousin has arrived?”

  He nodded. “She checked in a little while ago. She is in the room beside yours. Haven’t you seen her?”

  “How could I, Mr. Bishop?” she asked, “when I’ve only just returned from the mission?”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize . . .”

  “That’s quite all right.”

  “I gave her your laundry.”

  “You gave my laundry to my cousin?”

  He nodded. “The China girl from Wu’s laundry delivered it for you. I had it here behind the desk and Miss Burke offered to take it to her room in order to save me a trip up the stairs. I also made your cousin aware of the hotel’s ‘no Celestials’ policy.”

  Julie arched one elegant eyebrow at him and put a questioning note in her best Queen’s English voice. “A ‘no Celestials’ policy? What, may I ask, is that?”

  Bishop explained the hotel’s policy barring Orientals from entering the hotel.

  “I contracted with Mr. Wu to provide laundry services,” Julie told him, pretending ignorance of a bigoted and blatantly biased policy. “How will he be able to meet his obligations? I cannot take a carriage to Mr. Wu’s. The alleys are too narrow. And I’m not inclined to walk to Mr. Wu’s and carry my laundry back when I’m paying him to deliver it.”

  “Of course not, Miss Parham!” He sounded shocked, although he was most likely very much aware of her mission work. “Chinatown is no place for a lady. Especially the rabbit’s warren of alleyways where most of the Chinese laundries—including Wu’s”—Julie noticed that Mr. Bishop refused to honor Wu by attaching the courtesy title of “Mr.” to his name—“are located. If you will come to the front desk whenever you need laundry services, we will see that a bellman is sent to collect it and take it to the laundry of your choice. When your laundry is ready, we’ll send someone to collect it for you. With this system in place, there is never any need for one of our guests to come in contact with an Oriental. We at the Russ House Hotel strive to make our guests’ stays as comfortable and trouble-free as possible. As I explained to your cousin, Miss Burke, we simply can’t have Celestials running about the hotel. Our guests find it objectionable.

  Julie pinned the desk clerk with a look. She wondered whether, if she complained to the hotel’s owner, he would eliminate the desk clerk she found objectionable. “I apologize for my ignorance, Mr. Bishop.” She said the right thing, in the right tone of voice, without meaning a word of it. “I grew up in the Far East, where Celestials, as you call them, work as house servants in my home. I do not find their presence a nuisance. I did not know I was the exception, rather than the rule, in San Francisco.”

  “Now you do,” Mr. Bishop said.

  “Yes,” Julie agreed, “now I do.” Taking the key from him, she turned on her heel and went upstairs to her room.

  After spending three-quarters of an hour shuttling belongings from one room to the other, separating what might belong to Julie Parham and what might belong to Jane Burke into two rooms that gave the appearance of being fully occupied, Julie returned to her original room, locked the door, slipped off her missionary dress, hung it in the armoire, and lay down on the bed to rest her eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I am escaped by the skin of my teeth.”

  —JOB 19:20

  Someone was in her room.

  Julie awoke with a start to discover she had fallen asleep dressed in everything except her dress.

  Her heart was pounding as if she’d run a race, her senses heightened in awareness as she tried to figure out what had brought her out of a deep, dreamless slumber. Everything seemed to be just as she’d left it, but something had awakened her.

  And then she heard it.

  The sound of quiet rustling and footsteps.

  Barely daring to breathe for fear of discovery, Julie lay as still as death, afraid to move. She held her breath. Her lips moved in silent prayer, but the rest of her didn’t. She lay in the darkness listening as a stranger rifled through her belongings, thankful that she’d put the bundle of laundry Zhing Wu had left for her in the other room.

  Moving as quietly as possible, Julie eased off the bed. The soft creak of the bedsprings was deafening to her ears. She half expected the intruder to grab her, but his back was turned and he was busy rummaging through the dresser drawers, flinging silk stockings and delicate garters about the room, scattering her underthings.

  Her pulse beat a rapid staccato.

  Sneaking a peek over her shoulder, Julie saw that his back was still turned, his focus on the chest of drawers. It was now or never. Summoning all her courage, she slowly, carefully inched toward the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Miss Parham?” he hissed a moment before he grabbed her by the back of the neck and yanked.

  Julie grabbed for the knob and jerked the door open a few inches. “Help! Somebody!”

  Placing his white-gloved hand against the door, the intruder slammed it shut. Julie barely registered the sound of it echoing through the hotel corridor before he locked an arm around her waist.

  Acting on instinct, Julie flung her head back and connected with his face.

  Yelping in pain, he reacted, hurling her toward the bed. She bounced off the side of it and hit something hard. Or something hard hit her. She rocked back, momentarily stunned. It took her a moment to comprehend the fact that he’d hit her with his fist. She shook her head, tried to focus, and saw stars before he grabbed a handful of her petticoat, lifted her off her feet, and threw her back on the bed, facedown.

  And held her there. With one hand against her head and his knee in her back, he pressed her face against the mattress while he fumbled for something just out of reach. . . .

  Struggling to breathe, her lungs burning, reali
zing he was smothering her against the feather bed, Julie fought, twisting and bucking, trying to dislodge him, until she managed to turn her face to the side. She inhaled, sucking precious air into her lungs. . . .

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” he growled, trying to subdue her, his breathing as labored as hers.

  Fighting like a wildcat, Julie wriggled free, then rolled onto her back and reached out her right hand, searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon as he balled up his fist. Julie vowed that she was going to do whatever she had to do to survive. She was not going to allow this man to take her life. Not today. Not ever.

  Feeling the smooth, cool surface of the Ghirardelli’s chocolate tin, Julie latched onto it and swung with all her might, clouting him on the side of the head. Reaching up, he managed to take hold of her wrist, twisting it until she cried out in pain and let go of the chocolates. The tin bounced off the bed and hit the floor with a clatter.

  Her attacker grabbed hold of her throat, shoved her hard against the mattress, and squeezed, cutting off her air once again.

  “Hey! What’s going on it there?” Someone pounded on the wall separating her room from room four. “Some of us are trying to sleep. Keep it down!”

  Realizing that the assault was loud enough to disturb the neighboring guests, Julie’s attacker froze.

  Seizing the opportunity, knowing it was her last chance to save herself and Su Mi, Julie clawed at his hand, managed to grab hold of his little finger and bend it backward. He eased his grip on her throat and reached for something in his boot.

  Julie gulped in a breath, then wasted no time in rolling off the bed once again.

  Breathing hard, but breathing, Julie stumbled toward the door, pulled it open, and yelled, “Fire!” It came out as a croak. Inhaling as deeply as she could, Julie tried again. He grabbed her skirts to pull her back inside. Refusing to let go of the door, and bracing herself for whatever came next, Julie kicked out with all her might and connected with his knee. Hearing his grunt of pain, she made another attempt at escape. Ignoring the agony in her throat and her wrist, she stumbled into the hall. “Help! Fire!”