He put a hand up. "I'm telling this to you for your own good."
Her own good? That was in the hands of God, not men.
"Thank you, Mr. Phelps, but I am going to practice law."
Phelps nodded, took another puff of his stubby cigar, then reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and a pencil. He started scribbling. "Kathleen Shannon, you said?"
"Yes . . ."
"With a K or a C ?"
"K. What are you doing?"
He looked her squarely in the eye. "I want to keep your name handy, Miss Shannon, because if you ever do become a lawyer in Los Angeles, you'll be the story of the year."
Phelps put away the paper and pencil and got to his feet. Tipping his hat, he grinned. "We're almost there. I can feel the train slowing, and I still have some drinking . . . I mean, packing to do. Miss Shannon, it has been a pleasure." He offered his hand, and she took it. Then with a nod, he was gone.
The encounter had happened so fast, it almost seemed unreal. Was that how it was always going to be out here? She thought about what he had said, his warning about the city, his advice to go back. She breathed deeply, telling herself she would probably have lots of moments like this, where doubts might creep in. She would have to be ready. But was she?
———
Kit stepped off the train into a balmy breeze. The wind played havoc with her wide-brimmed hat while the sun seemed to shine right through any protection it might have offered. Everything, from sky to ground, seemed brighter than in New York.
The scene was not unlike any other depot she'd visited on this trip, and yet it was somehow completely different. The crowds teemed with all manner of customers, from the obviously poorer Indians and Mexicans to the wealthy and overdressed women of society to suit-clad men and roughhewn cowboys.
The depot itself was a strange dome-shaped creation that bore the placard, La Grande Station. The depot platform sprawled out alongside the track, making it clear that this was a highly trafficked station.
"Kathleen!"
Kit looked up to find a well-rounded matron furiously fanning herself with a lace handkerchief, looking rather like a hummingbird cooling itself with one wing. With her other wing she waved. Her face, while amply shaded by a fashionably large hat, gleamed with an overheated, ruddy glow. Her plump frame, clad in a teal-colored walking-out dress, was made even larger by rows of flouncing and a wide, bulky train.
Kit smiled and waved. "Aunt Freddy?"
"Goodness, child, come inside out of the sun," the woman chided and turned with her hired man for the protective shelter of the station.
Once inside, Kit found herself engulfed against an ample bosom. The embrace lasted only a moment before Aunt Freddy set her at arm's length.
"I knew it had to be you! I'm so glad I finally found you—you're more beautiful than I imagined. Almost remind me of myself when I was your age!" Her aunt surveyed her from head to toe before adding, "But word of mine, those rags will have to go. You can't mean to tell me you traveled from New York to Los Angeles wearing that!"
Kit tensed. "I'm afraid so, Aunt Freddy. It was the best I could do."
"Tut! We can always do better," Frederica Fairbank said, tipping her head back ever so slightly. "When I was your age, I couldn't have moved through the station for the crowd of young admirers who would gather. I'm telling you, fashion speaks for itself."
Kit could not suppress a smile. Frederica Stamper Fairbank had been, according to family legend, quite the coquette in her youth. She had married a wildcatter, Jasper Fairbank, even though everyone warned her he'd never amount to anything. But Freddy was a determined woman who always took matters into her own hands. Jasper wouldn't have dared to be anything but a success. He rose to oil prominence over the next forty years while Frederica took her place as a reigning queen of society, first in Texas and then in the budding metropolis that had once been known as El pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Angeles—The village of Our Lady the Queen of the Angels. Freddy inherited her husband's estate, worth over twenty million, about the time folks began calling it simply The City of Angels.
Now, according to her lengthy letters to Kit, Freddy spent her days doing charity work and her nights hosting bridge games, parties, and occasional seances. Kit could hardly imagine the latter, having no interest in Victorian grimoire. Apparently the practices of potion mixing and card, palm, and tea-leaf readings were as much the rage in certain circles of West Coast society as they had been back East.
" . . . and we'll simply put Mrs. Norris on it as soon as possible."
Kit quickly realized she'd missed her aunt's declaration. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
Freddy looked at her with a momentary frown. "I have a seamstress who will fit you for a more fashionable look. I'll have her come over with the latest copies of The Delineator. The fashions you'll find there will fit you nicely."
"That isn't necessary, Aunt Freddy. I can't afford—"
"Money is hardly the issue," Freddy proclaimed in a hushed tone. Looking at her hired man, she ordered him to find Kit's luggage. "Julio will see to your things." She waited until the man had gone to see to the task before leaning close to Kit. "Kathleen, we do not discuss the topic of money while in the presence of servants. Or anyone else for that matter. It simply isn't done. You are a part of my household now, and as such I will expect a certain decorum to be adhered to. No doubt you will need training along with new gowns, but I won't stand for any breech in etiquette once you are aware of the rules."
Kit felt duly chastened and looked down at her hands as a child might. By the time Julio had loaded the luggage into the one-horse surrey, however, Aunt Freddy seemed to have put the issue behind them. She now held an interest in laying out Kit's future.
It began with men.
"I know the finest eligible gentlemen in the city, my dear. We will discern those of good breeding and old eastern fortunes from those of new money and more ostentatious circumstances," Aunt Freddy said, as if the news were the most important since the taking of San Juan Hill. "You shall meet them all. And I daresay, with your looks and my help, you shall have your pick."
"Aunt Freddy—"
"Marriage is the foundation of our civilization, and as pretty as you are, my dear, you're no spring chicken. A few more years of spinsterhood and you'd be expected to dress in black. What are you now, twenty-two?"
"Twenty-three," Kit replied flatly.
"Oh my. It's worse than I thought. Well, there's simply no time to waste. We'll get your wardrobe attended to, and I shall assign Corazón to you for your upkeep. She can work wonders with hair and accessories." She paused only long enough to rearrange the train of her gown before Julio started them for home.
"As soon as possible," she continued, "you must settle down and start having babies. Once you're married, with children, people will forget your delay in establishing matrimony."
Kit let out an exasperated sigh. How was she to get a word in? "Aunt Freddy—"
"I remember the day you were born. All that red hair! I knew we had a fire in the teapot, or a tempest, or whatever it is one finds in teapots. Now, one more thing, and I say this with all respect because you are an educated woman." Aunt Freddy dropped her voice, as if speaking about the dead. "You must disregard this fancy about the law."
"But, Aunt Freddy," Kit began slowly, "I thought I made clear in my letters—"
"My dear, I have only your best interests at heart."
"I know you do, but—"
"There are so many rich young men available here. It's like a field of gold nuggets. You'll never want for anything."
Kit couldn't stand it any longer. "I don't want gold, Aunt Freddy. I want to practice law!"
A small yelp squeezed out of Aunt Freddy's throat. "Scandalous! I won't have it!"
"Aunt Freddy, please try to understand."
Fanning herself furiously, Aunt Freddy replied, "I don't know what's happened to decorum. It's this age
, this restless age! We can thank that cowboy in the White House, if you ask me. Getting everyone all fired up about progress, as if progress is always a good thing."
"But—"
"It isn't, let me tell you."
"Aunt Freddy, I—"
"No wonder the young have such crazy ideas. Oh! I can't imagine what your poor mother would think!"
An emotional spear pierced Kit's chest. She paused a moment before saying, "But I'm doing this for her, Aunt Freddy."
"My dear, your mother's death was a tragedy. I know it pains you, but—"
"My mother would be alive today if it weren't for—" The words caught in Kit's throat. She looked at her hands, which she noticed were balled into fists.
"Sweet Kathleen," Freddy sighed, patting Kit on the shoulder. "Can't you leave these things to others?"
Kit raised her head, emotion thick in her voice. "I believe this is God's will."
"And just how do you know what God's will is, young lady?"
Kit hadn't expected Aunt Freddy to be so blunt. How indeed did she know this was God's will? She had prayed, yes, and diligently. But there had never been any lightning bolt of realization. Scripture told her that God loves justice, and after what had happened to her mother, and then to Kit herself, the decision seemed inevitable.
"I'll have Madame Zindorf in for a reading," Aunt Freddy said. "You know, she can absolutely predict the future."
Kit shook her head. Her aunt was clearly a partaker in every sort of fad that promised health, beauty, or connection to the spirit world. Her stay here was going to be even more trying than she'd originally thought.
They rode in silence for several minutes. Kit wrestled against the voice of doubt her aunt had implanted in her. Thankfully, she soon found herself caught up in the sounds of the new city—horse and cow bells clanging, street vendors hawking to pedestrians, even an occasional motorcar. Buildings, a couple as tall as eight stories, rose magnificently from the street. Temples of modern commerce testified to the current economic boom—J. W. Robinson Co., The Broadway Department Store, Mullen & Bluett Fine Men's Clothiers. Kit took it all in like a child looking at pictures in an Edison Kinetoscope.
"This is so wonderful, Aunt Freddy!" Kit said. Pushing aside her lingering fears, she added with a sudden exultation, "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll clerk in a small, quiet office somewhere to start. Then I'll earn my own way, and the Fairbank fortune and name need not be affected by my actions."
Aunt Freddy's reaction remained the same. "It would be a scandal! I'd be ruined."
"Don't you worry, Auntie. If anyone tries to ruin you, I'll just take them to court!" Kit grinned broadly.
Her aunt seemed to consider her words only momentarily before rolling her eyes heavenward. "Oh, dear!"
Chapter Two
HE MOVED THROUGH SHADOWS, unseen. Invincible.
Who would stop him? The impotent police? That was a laugh.
Floating.
He had the sensation he was floating over the streets. Even as the rain fell, just as it had four nights ago, he was weightless above it.
Was he insane? No, merely on a higher plane of awareness than anyone else had ever known. And soon they would know about him. About his work. They would think him insane, but they were the ones out of touch with reality.
When he reached the doorway of the building, deserted now in the heart of the night, he rested. Like a jungle animal, attuned to every nuance and movement, every smell and flicker, he was coiled, ready.
Animal. That is what he was, after all. They all were. Everyone. Animals in a long line of ascent. Animals with big brains.
And his was biggest of all. He would show them.
He calmed himself in the darkness, breathing rhythmically. He thought about the matter at hand.
Before it actually happened, he knew she would walk by. The same one he'd spotted three nights earlier, watched carefully two nights ago, and checked again last night. That was planning. No, more—it was ambition!
He would be like that fellow in England, the one they called Jack the Ripper. What a masterful animal he was! The world misunderstood that one—just as it misunderstood him.
A covered horse-drawn two-seater sauntered by, and a young couple laughed from within it. Revulsion gripped him. How could anyone dare to laugh? Laughter was a sign of frivolity, and that was loathsome to him. Life was a dark, brutish struggle to survive and thrive. He who laughed would never thrive.
Which is why he hated women who laughed.
They all did, the ones who sold themselves. Laughter, cloying laughter, painted faces that mocked you, hated you, even while they laughed.
His anger burned so hot it threatened to consume him. He felt faint for a moment, then hit himself in the face with his fist. A drop of blood slid over his lip and into his mouth. The taste of it calmed him.
And then she came, as he knew she would.
Singing.
He could see through the rain and darkness that she was swinging a purse with one hand and holding an umbrella with the other. Swinging her purse in time with the song she sang. It was a happy song. He could picture her laughing at it.
He stepped out of the doorway.
"Oh!" the girl said. "You frightened me!"
"So sorry."
"What are you doing, jumping out like that?"
"Couldn't wait to see you."
Her face twitched in momentary confusion. He liked that.
"Do I know you?" she asked.
"I know you."
"Who told you about me?" A coy smile twisted her face.
He clenched his teeth.
"Hey," she said, "your nose is bleeding."
"Help me, won't you?"
He motioned to her and backed into the doorway again, reaching behind him to open the door. She would be hesitant at first, but he knew she would follow.
"Listen, mister," she said as she moved forward, "I have a handkerchief. It's a little wet on account of the rain, but—"
"I want more than a handkerchief."
"Now, I don't just keep company freely, you know."
"I know," he said. "Come in."
"This a proposition, mister?"
"Come in."
She took another step. "You live here?"
"No. Work."
"What sort of work, then?"
"Come see."
She closed the umbrella and entered, as he knew she would. "It's dark. Why don't you put on a light?"
"No need for light."
"I can't help you if I can't see you."
"No, I'm going to help you."
"Me?"
"Deliver you."
"What?" she whispered.
"Deliver you from evil."
He slammed the door.
Chapter Three
THE RAINSTORM SEEMED out of place to Kit, but there it was, outside her window, casting a pall on what Aunt Freddy insisted on calling "her night."
Here only a week, and now the cream of society was gathering downstairs to receive Kit Shannon, the invader from the East. Kit felt like some sideshow attraction. Maybe it wasn't too late to run out into the storm and lose herself.
No, Aunt Freddy had done all this for her. She had brought her to this beautiful mansion atop Angeleno Heights, given her this palatial room as her own. Aunt Freddy had gone to a lot of trouble to make the room cheery. A huge bouquet of flowers was changed daily, set in a porcelain vase on a table in the center of the room. Kit loved the fragrance of the salmon-colored roses. The sweetness delighted her senses nearly as much as the visual treat. Kit had always been more readily affected by the visual. Colors and textures, angles and architectural designs . . . the wonders of sight always captured her attention and imagination. Perhaps that was why she loved the law. Some people would never have related it to a visual form, but it was to Kit. She saw stories in people's faces.
Yes, Aunt Freddy was sparing no expense. But her greatest gift had been Corazón. Aunt Freddy had assigne
d the pretty Mexican girl to be Kit's personal maid. Her name meant "heart" in her native tongue, and already she was becoming part of Kit's own heart—a true friend, though Aunt Freddy would not approve.
But the dark-eyed beauty made life bearable for Kit with her stories about the city and simple lessons in Spanish. They did their best to appear staid and proper in Aunt Freddy's company—Aunt Freddy had told Kit adamantly that non-white servants especially were to be kept in their place—but Corazón offered Kit a much-needed friendly ear. Her skin color did not matter in the slightest to Kit.
Now her friend and maid was helping her get ready for the big night. Corazón was dressed in her immaculate black-and-white uniform, reminiscent of the Harvey Girls Kit had seen in the food stops along the Santa Fe Railroad. Her starched white apron covered her like a jumpered gown, wrapping completely around her slender figure and falling from neck to toes. Only a black collar and sleeves revealed the shirtwaist she wore beneath. All of Freddy's maidservants dressed in such a manner.
Kit stared at her reflection in the mirror as Corazón put the finishing touches on her hair. The butterflies in her stomach had turned into a stampede of wild horses, and Kit seriously doubted she would ever make it through the evening without being sick. This, coupled with her painfully tight corset, was bound to make the evening's events difficult at best.
"I don't suppose I'm very knowledgeable about the latest fashions," Kit said. "But I don't want to embarrass Aunt Freddy."
Corazón continued to manipulate Kit's hair with quick, agile grace, and before Kit realized it, the maid had masterfully finished a stylish coiffure.
"How do you do that?" Kit said, putting up a hand to touch her hair. Corazón had created a look fit for a queen.
"I have been taught. It no hard if you know how."
Kit shook her head. "It's marvelous. Can you teach me to do that?"
"Sí . . ." Corazón looked at the floor.
"What is it?" Kit asked.
"I . . ."
Kit put her hand on the maid's arm. "It's all right."
"Can . . . would you teach to me the good English?"
City of Angels (The Trials of Kit Shannon #1) Page 2