Beneath a Golden Veil

by Melanie Dobson

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said and waited as he played a few more notes. He played well for a child but especially for a slave, typically banned from an owner’s piano.

  “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be free?” she asked.

  “Think about it all the time, but Master Payne treats me as if I’m free.”

  “As your owner, he could sell you at any time.”

  “Master Payne wouldn’t do that,” he said, returning his hands to his lap.

  “Unfortunately, it’s happened many times to slaves with decent owners.”

  He nodded. “My old owner gave me away, and I was plenty glad of it.”

  “When you’re ready, I can help you find a place where you’ll be completely free.”

  “Thank you, Miss Labrie.”

  “And now . . .” She listened as the clock in her room struck one. Sing Ye may not have heard about the trial yet, but perhaps she would assist Isaac at the hotel. “Can you ask my friend to help you look after the hotel until Mr. Payne or I return? Her name is Sing Ye—Mrs. Barr.”

  “Where are Stephan and Janette?”

  “Janette’s not working today, and Stephan . . .” She hesitated. “He has been detained for a few hours.”

  He seemed to contemplate her words before responding. “Missus Barr and I will take good care of this place.”

  “I know you will.”

  After she gave him the address, Isaac skipped off between the tables toward the front door. Then she stood slowly and began her short walk to the courthouse.

  How was she supposed to stay hidden in the shadows now?

  Chapter 31

  Sacramento City

  July 1854

  I call to the stand Miss Isabelle Labrie.”

  Victor strained his neck, trying to see the woman walking toward a chair beside Judge Snyder, but the courtroom was so crowded that he couldn’t see much beyond the sea of gawking heads. The trial, it seemed, was more entertainment than a circus in this town.

  The runaway slave wasn’t a child. It was a woman named Persila, the slave of a man who’d thundered multiple times during the past two hours against the injustice in California’s justice system. Persila was his slave—he had the ownership papers to prove it. And if he were back in Georgia, Mr. Webb said, there would have been no trial. He’d have taken his property home early that morning and punished her privately for her offense.

  Until yesterday, Mr. Webb said, he’d treated his slave with remarkable care, spoiling her with a light workload and the best of food. But then his slave had gotten jealous and lied to his wife. No court, he declared, should interfere in a domestic dispute.

  Before calling Miss Labrie, Mr. Webb’s lawyer had drawled on about the fact that his client was a visitor from the Southern states. He pontificated about the Fugitive Slave Act, which penalized anyone caught helping a runaway. Mr. Webb interjected often with his own opinions until Judge Snyder said he’d heard enough. Then he took a long recess before anyone else gave testimony.

  During the recess, Fanny had chattered on like the lawyer about the threat of trying to integrate a group of people who clearly didn’t understand the difference between right and wrong. As she talked, he’d contemplated his own situation. Isaac may need direction, but he was plenty smart. And he knew right from wrong. When he found the boy, would the courts in California expect him to go before a judge and convince them that his own slave—his son—belonged to him? Were there others here who might assist runaways, like the abolitionists on the East Coast?

  Perhaps he needed to be more secretive about his venture for now, keeping the sketches to himself while he searched. Mr. Kirtland had seen Isaac someplace, and he intended to find out where. No one would deter him from finding the boy.

  “Do you have representation?” the judge asked Miss Labrie.

  The room quieted as the woman spoke, her voice refined by a European accent. “I have decided to represent myself.”

  “That’s an interesting choice,” Judge Snyder said.

  “One I feel entirely capable in making.”

  “Then tell us your perspective on what happened early this morning.”

  “Certainly,” Miss Labrie said, seemingly oblivious to the murmuring around her. “I had a guest arrive at my hotel before daylight. A woman badly beaten by a man claiming to be her owner.”

  “I am her owner,” Mr. Webb howled from his table.

  The judge slammed his gavel. “You’ve already given testimony, Mr. Webb, and a whole lot of nonsense on top of it.”

  The crowd laughed.

  “She pretends to be French, but she’s really from Baltimore,” Fanny whispered.

  He almost snorted at Fanny’s critique. She may like to talk about her childhood adventures in the city of New York, but she was clearly raised someplace in the South.

  “Continue your story, Miss Labrie,” the judge said.

  “My guest needed care for her wounds, but she also had a man chasing her. I was afraid for her life, so I instructed my steward to secure her in a safe place until I could determine who had injured her and why.”

  The attorney spoke next. “Were you not suspect when you saw her dark skin?”

  Victor strained his ears to listen above the rustling.

  “My steward is a freed black. I thought this woman might be free as well.”

  “You asked your steward to hide her from the sheriff?”

  “I didn’t know at the time that Rodney was knocking on my door.”

  The attorney snickered at her response before he continued to badger her. “There are rumors around town that you intended to marry an already married man.”

  “I don’t know what that has to do with—”

  “It tells us what type of woman you are,” he stated, playing to the audience. “What type of decisions you make.”

  “My past decisions are not relevant to this case,” the woman replied.

  “But I think they are, Miss Labrie. I think your choices speak to your character as a person who isn’t as trustworthy as your fine gowns and demeanor might display. In fact, I suspect that you’re hiding more than just a slave.”

  As he waited for the woman’s response, Victor glanced across the heads of the men in front of him. Were they as fascinated by this Miss Labrie as he was? By her confident speech? He wished he could see her face. He imagined her appearance was as exotic as her voice. And a challenge to all the men in town.

  “What exactly do you think I’m hiding, Mr. Martin?”

  “Probably many things, but let’s start with the truth about this morning.”

  “I’ve already explained to you what happened.”

  Mr. Martin paced beside the table. “You lied to the sheriff.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “You didn’t tell him about the runaway.”

  “He never asked me if I had seen a runaway—or a woman, for that matter.”

  “Another deputy found Mr. Webb’s slave being carried by your steward, a block away from the hotel.”

  Victor stood on his toes again, trying to see the woman on the stand as well as the slave.

  “I believe I’ve already explained that I thought Persila was going to be harmed. And I remain resolute in my assumption. If this court returns her to the man in front of me, he will hurt and possibly kill her.”

  “Conjecture, Miss Labrie. It’s not for you or me to surmise about the future.”

  “But if he injures Persila further, it will be on my conscience, as it should be on yours.”

  “I abide by the law of man,” the attorney said. “No matter what my conscience says.”

  “Perhaps you should abide by God’s law instead.”

  The judge struck the gavel again. “In this case, we will all abide by the law of California.”

  Straining his neck, Victor saw the profile of Miss Labrie, turning toward the judge. “It seems that the laws in our state keep shifting.”

  “They
are growing and changing, with the rest of the state,” Judge Snyder said.

  “Then you have the power to change this too, for the sake of an innocent woman who only wants to be free like you and me.”

  The judge shook his head. “That’s something I cannot do.”

  The debate continued for another hour, the back and forth. And somewhere in the midst of the arguments, Victor grew bored of it all.

  He needed to be searching for Isaac while most of the city was packed inside here—or perhaps he should be back at the hotel with Fanny, if her husband was as oblivious to her activities as he supposed.

  Alden panicked when he stepped into the Golden. Miss Labrie was typically at the front desk at this hour while Janette, Isaac, and Stephan were preparing the evening meal. Instead, it seemed that Miss Labrie and Isaac and everyone else at the hotel had disappeared.

  He walked outside, around the corner of the alleyway to see if Isaac or one of the others might be working on Miss Labrie’s herb garden in the courtyard, but there was no one outside either.

  As he looked over at Miss Labrie’s window, his heart seemed to stop. What if the trip back to San Francisco was just a ruse? It was possible that Miss Labrie sent him away in order to snatch Isaac. She wouldn’t kidnap Isaac to sell him, but he could imagine her stealing Isaac to set him free.

  He should be thrilled if Miss Labrie were able to find a good home for Isaac, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really want Isaac to leave—the boy had become like a younger brother to him. Isaac needed a family, though, and a sense of stability that Alden couldn’t provide.

  He sat down in the front lobby, shaken. He would find Miss Labrie and tell her the truth. Then he’d find Isaac so he could say good-bye.

  Outside the window, he saw a petite Chinese woman pause next to the lobby door. She was dressed in a silky pink dress, her head covered with a white parasol. When she opened the door to the hotel, Isaac rushed inside.

  Alden hopped up from his seat.

  “You’re home,” Isaac exclaimed, giving him a hug.

  “I thought—” Alden started, vastly relieved. “I thought you might have gotten lost.”

  Isaac was grinning when he stepped back. “Miss Labrie asked me and Missus Barr to take care of the hotel in her absence.”

  He looked over at Mrs. Barr. Unlike Isaac, the woman wasn’t smiling. “Do you know where Miss Labrie is?”

  She twisted the handle of the parasol. “I’m afraid I do.”

  “And Stephan?”

  She nodded her head, but didn’t tell him where either Miss Labrie or Stephan had gone. Alden’s sentiments shifted again, alarm filling his chest once more. The sail of his emotions had risen and fallen rapidly today, like a ship trying to ride out a storm.

  “Isaac—could you start setting the tables for Stephan?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once Isaac was gone, Mrs. Barr told him all that had transpired. Miss Labrie was on trial for helping a runaway slave. Stephan was on trial for assisting her.

  He had no doubt that the accusations against them both were true.

  Mrs. Barr gave him directions for the courthouse. He may not have passed the California bar yet, but he needed to do something to help Miss Labrie and Stephan and hopefully this runaway slave.

  “Isaac can take care of himself, but—”

  “I’ll watch over him,” Mrs. Barr assured him.

  “Thank you.”

  The wood-framed courthouse was five blocks from the hotel, over on I Street. By the time he arrived, streams of people were flooding out of the building, the spectators chattering, some even laughing. There was no solemnity after a fateful verdict. No whispering about what was going to happen next.

  Perhaps the judge had thrown out the case. Or perhaps Miss Labrie and the others had even won.

  When he found Miss Labrie and Stephan by themselves at the front of the courtroom, their faces sober, he knew instantly that there’d be no victory celebration.

  Where were the men and women who frequented the Golden’s dining room? Where was Mr. Walsh and the Mr. Kirtland he’d inquired about? Surely, someone in this city should be here alongside Miss Labrie and Stephan, letting them know they weren’t alone.

  Alden reached for a chair to join them at the table. “Mrs. Barr told me about the trial.”

  Miss Labrie met his eyes, the gold flecks dull in the fading light. “Was she at the hotel?”

  “She and Isaac will take care of the guests.” He glanced at her and Stephan, at the exhaustion etched into their faces. “Did the judge find you guilty?”

  She nodded slowly. “He fined Stephan and me each a thousand dollars for assisting a runaway.”

  It was an enormous sum of money, even by California standards. “Do you have the money?”

  She nodded again.

  “What happened to the slave?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “The judge returned her to the man who’d beaten her.”

  Alden leaned forward, his hands pressed together. “Why are you helping this woman?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do,” she said. “No person should be owned by another.”

  He studied her eyes again, the rawness in them heartrending. And he felt her pain keenly, like on Christmas morning, when it seemed as if his own heart had been ripped open.

  “I have no doubt that her master will make his ownership known tonight,” she said.

  He glanced over at Stephan. “It will be even more dangerous for you to help a slave now.”

  Stephan’s eyes flashed with a renewed fervor. “I won’t desert Persila, no matter what the court says.”

  Alden stared at him, his emotions swept back in the gale. “Persila?”

  Miss Labrie wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Do you know her?”

  “Is she owned by a man named Mr. Webb?”

  Stephan nodded.

  Alden stood up, his hands trembling. “They were on my ship to San Francisco.” Back in Virginia, he’d waited too long to help Benjamin, but he wouldn’t make that same mistake with Persila’s life. “Where is Mr. Webb staying?”

  “At a boardinghouse on Seventh Street.”

  “If you’ll excuse me”—he stepped back—“I’m going to pay the Webbs a visit.”

  Stephan stood up beside him. “I’m going with you.”

  Alden eyed the man for a moment and then nodded. “First, I need to speak to the judge.”

  He and Stephan found Judge Snyder walking between the oilcloth walls of a corridor, heading toward a back door.

  “Excuse me, Your Honor,” Alden said. “I would like to request a retrial.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Neither Persila nor Miss Labrie had proper representation during the first trial.”

  The judge straightened his top hat. “Miss Labrie chose to represent herself.”

  “Because she didn’t have time to secure an attorney.”

  When he reached the door, the judge turned toward him. “Are you an attorney?”

  He shifted his hat in his hands. “I attended Harvard Law School.”

  “Have you passed the California bar?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Once you pass the bar, you can bring any case you want to my court.”

  Alden stepped back. “I will do that,” he assured the man.

  He and Stephan left the building to find the Webbs. If the courts wouldn’t protect Persila, they would have to find a way to do it themselves.

  Chapter 32

  Sacramento City

  July 1854

  All Isabelle wanted to do was escape into her bedchamber and pull the covers over her head, like she’d wanted to do after her son died. Persila was out there tonight with a man who hated her yet refused to let her go. It wasn’t about the money. It was about power—a power that refused to be satiated, no matter what Persila did to subdue it.

  Instead of returning to the hotel, Mr. Payne and Stephan had gone to visit M
r. Webb. What they planned to do next, she didn’t know. She only prayed that Stephan would be safe. And Mr. Payne—she wasn’t sure what to think about that man.

  He’d unnerved her this evening with his determination to help Persila. A slaveholder attempting to rescue a slave. It didn’t make sense.

  Maybe her resolution not to trust him was about power for her too. Even if he feigned kindness, she wouldn’t give him or anyone else who owned slaves an ounce of power over her heart. She’d learned early never to trust a slave owner. No matter what Mr. Payne did, she couldn’t trust him either.

  She’d expected to find Sing Ye and Isaac at the hotel when she returned, but she hadn’t anticipated Ross waiting for her in the kitchen. She hadn’t seen him or Fanny since they left her hotel, though she’d heard he used his gold to buy a boardinghouse about six blocks away.

  Had he come to revel in her misery?

  She didn’t invite him into her sitting room, choosing to speak with him in the front lobby while she sat behind her desk—above the vault that held the deed for the hotel and the money she needed to pay the judge.

  He leaned against the counter. “I heard you’ve had a hard day.”

  “One of the worst of my life.”

  “The fugitive slave law should be abolished.”

  She shrugged, knowing he’d say anything to get what he wanted from her. “It’s too late to change it for this woman.”

  “Fanny has been talking about returning to the East Coast,” he said.

  “Are you going back?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I decide. She’s leaving with or without me.”

  She swept a loose curl back behind her ear. “I thought she wanted to run an establishment of her own.”

  “She likes the idea of being the proprietor of a fashionable hotel, but she’s not too keen on keeping up a boardinghouse.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, though she wasn’t surprised. She doubted Fanny would want the responsibility of being a proprietor for long either.

  “She thought she’d be living in luxury here, but I don’t even have enough money to buy her passage home.”

  Ross’s gaze dropped to the floor. He knew where she kept her savings, knew that she had enough gold to pay for multiple tickets back to the East Coast. She wouldn’t have much money after she paid the judge, though. Perhaps that’s why he came now, before she paid the fine.