Beguiled

by Laura Parker

  “My father bought this necklace in Chinatown from a pearl merchant who told him the tale of its history. Long before they were formed into a collar, these pearls saved the life of an aristocratic lady. Her name was Mei Ling, favorite daughter of the Chinese emperor.”

  She hadn’t meant to tell the story but she’d always loved it and the telling came naturally. “Many years ago, China was a country of many warlords with many loyalties, not all of them to the emperor. One day the most powerful of the warlords rode into the capital city with his army as an honored guest of the emperor. Like everyone else in the land the warlord had heard of Mei Ling, famed for her beauty. Each day, he asked the emperor to bring his daughter to court so that he might be dazzled by her perfection. Each time the emperor promised to consider it. But when after several days she didn’t appear, the warlord decided to find out for himself if the rumors of her beauty were true.

  “A man of great cunning and daring, he climbed the walls of the women’s apartments one evening and saw Mei Ling with her handmaidens. Stricken not by love but by greed to possess the rare beauty of the lady, he instantly devised a plot to kidnap her.

  “The emperor was inconsolable but unable to summon enough men in his army willing to do battle against the famous warlord. Yet the emperor was wise enough to know that greed, not love, had spurred the warlord to the theft of his daughter. And so, the emperor offered to the nobleman who could ransom the princess the reward of ‘his heart’s desire.’ Many went forth to the warlord’s fortress, bringing rare silks and perfumes and porcelains. The warlord put each of the men to death and kept their ransoms—and Mei Ling.

  “Finally, in utter desperation the emperor offered ‘his heart’s desire’ to any man in the country who could save his daughter. To his amazement, only one man came forth, a lowly pearl fisher, a man too unworthy to be allowed inside the walls of the capital city under ordinary circumstances. Once assured that the emperor would keep his promise even to him, the pearl fisher set out for the warlord’s fortress. A month went by and when nothing was heard from the warlord or the pearl fisher, everyone, including the emperor, assumed that the man had been killed like all the rest.

  “But, on the thirty-sixth day, to everyone’s utter amazement, the pearl fisher came up the road to the capital city wearing only his loincloth and reed sandals, and leading a yak with Mei Ling on its back. When the story was told, it was more amazing than a fairy tale.”

  Philadelphia touched the necklace. “The ransom the pearl fisher offered the warlord was the first of these pearls. The warlord agreed that the pearl was indeed beautiful but said that Mei Ling was worth more than a single pearl. The pearl fisher replied that this pearl was the only one that had ever been brought up from its secret bed because he feared to dive there. There was a fierce dragon who guarded the pearls. The warlord asked how many pearls there were. Dozens, the pearl fisher assured him, and perhaps, if the warlord came to protect him, they could all be gathered up.

  “Greed is a powerful lure,” Philadelphia said with deceptive calm as her gaze searched the audience. “The pearl fisher saw the greed shining in the warlord’s eyes and knew that he had chosen the right lure. So that no other would learn the location of the pearl bed, the pearl fisher slyly suggested that the warlord alone accompany him. The selfish warlord agreed.

  “When they reached the diving place, they set up camp. Each day the pearl fisher made a single dive, bringing up an oyster that produced a perfect pearl. But, on the thirty-fifth day, the pearl fisher came up emptyhanded. He said that the monster in the deep was angry and would no longer allow him to search for pearls. Even when threatened with the loss of his life, the pearl fisher refused to go into the water again.

  “Next to greed and selfishness, pride was the warlord’s greatest sin. He said that he was not afraid and would dive for the pearls himself. And so the warlord dived in and the sea closed over him. The pearl fisher waited a full day but the warlord was never seen again.”

  Philadelphia paused for breath but the woman nearest her was too anxious to hear the end of the tale to wait. “Well? What happened to the warlord?” she demanded impatiently.

  Philadelphia lifted her eyes. “Why, the monster of the deep took him, a treacherous riptide that not even the warlord could defeat.”

  “And the pearl fisher?” another prompted.

  “He achieved his heart’s desire,” Philadelphia answered. “He’d known of that pearl bed all his life but had been afraid to dive there because of the riptide. Love and loyalty to his emperor gave him what he wanted, the courage to dive for the most beautiful and perfect pearls in all the world.”

  “Did he marry the emperor’s daughter?” asked another.

  Philadelphia shook her head. “He was already married with half a dozen children. But he did become the emperor’s personal pearl fisher, and his family became famous for producing the most beautiful and lovely pearls ever found.” She took off the necklace and held it up once more. “These are from the pearl fisher’s legendary catch. Will you allow them to be sold for a mere pittance?”

  A howl of protest went up from the crowd.

  “I demand that the bidding continue,” said a woman in the third row. “I bid five hundred dollars!”

  The second and third bids were shouted out before the auctioneer could reach his podium.

  “Seven hundred and fifty dollars!”

  “Eight!”

  “Nine!”

  “I bid a thousand!”

  Philadelphia lowered the necklace as the sound of the bidders’ cries filled the air. The bidding concluded quickly but not before a bidder offered five thousand dollars for the collar of pearls. She hadn’t the heart to face the man who had bought the pearls. It was enough that they had drawn a respectable price. She handed them over to the auctioneer without a backward glance and headed for the door.

  Suddenly she was exhausted, wanting only to be as far away from the auction as possible. Her anger was gone, her aloofness had melted away. She felt fragile and vulnerable, weakened by the memories of what could never be again. She hadn’t meant to share her intimate feelings with the people at this auction. They didn’t understand, couldn’t appreciate the great and small joys she and her father had shared beneath this roof. Like the Chinese warlord, they were motivated by greed and covetousness. The realization made her feel ill, as though she’d taken part in some sordid transaction.

  She picked up her pace, wanting only to be free of the noise and chatter and heat, yet as she reached the door she heard her name called.

  “Miss Hunt!” Mr. Hoover hurried up behind her. “You aren’t leaving, Miss Hunt? Not when you’ve been so successful.”

  She turned to him. “You were right. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Why, to the contrary. You’ve been a great success. Already people are inquiring about the other pieces of jewelry. Are there stories about any of them?”

  Philadelphia sighed. “Yes. Everything my father bought was chosen for its uniqueness.”

  “Then won’t you share with them a few of those reasons?” He added with a speculative look, “Anything you can do to increase sales will help alleviate your father’s debt.”

  She looked away from him. Because she believed him to be innocent, she had publicly vowed to pay back every cent that her father had been accused of embezzling. That debt was shockingly large. She had been warned that the auction and sale of the house probably wouldn’t cover it all. But, if she remained to encourage the bidding, perhaps she would owe that much less when it was over.

  She slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket and felt the folded packet of letters she had carried with her constantly since the moment she’d found her father’s body. He’d been clutching the letters in his left hand, while a still-smoking pistol had been in his right. The police didn’t know about the letters. No one knew of the letters. And no one would, until she’d learned the identity of the sender, or senders.


  She gave her head a slight shake. “Very well, Mr. Hoover. I will stay if you think it will help.”

  Eduardo Tavares paced impatiently on the flagstones of the garden while waiting for the last bidders to claim their merchandise. The auction had become an excruciatingly long process. If not for the stamina of Philadelphia Hunt, he doubted that even the most avid buyers would have stayed once the afternoon sun rode low enough to slant its rays into the drawing room where the drapes weren’t drawn. Yet, he couldn’t leave. Nothing would have dragged him away as long as she continued to speak in her low, rhapsodic voice.

  She was like Scheherazade, spinning her tales and weaving spells that wrapped the room in a timeless landscape where only her stories, told with intelligence and imagination, held sway. He’d been beguiled, transported beyond the past and future, into a single-minded desire to listen to her forever. Then she had brushed past him as she left the room, her veil thrown back, and everything he thought he knew about the moment altered.

  Eduardo thought himself familiar with life in all its guises. He knew women of every sort and was certain he had experienced emotions to the limits of his ability to perceive them. Yet at the sight of Philadelphia Hunt’s loveliness some new emotion had pierced him as cleanly as an arrow to the recesses of his being. Her eyes were a mosaic of bright amber and dark shadows, gleaming with unshed tears. Currents of rich honey-gold and deeper molasses-brown ran through her thick chestnut hair. She was more than pretty. She possessed that rare enigmatic beauty that makes women jealous and even the boldest men a little shy.

  In that instant, he had also made a second disturbing realization. In ruining Wendell Hunt’s life, he had also ruined hers.

  Until the anguished bewilderment that augmented her beauty touched a hidden chord within him, he had not allowed himself to consider the consequences of his actions. His need for vengeance had been a blinding rage directed toward the men who had stripped him of family, home, and nearly his life. If he were honest, he could not say he would have acted differently. Hunt deserved his fate. Yet, an innocent girl did not deserve the same.

  Eduardo turned to gaze back at the house as expectation ran like new wine through him. Earlier Philadelphia Hunt had faced down a roomful of wrathful men and women who had come to buy her family’s possessions. He admired her courage. Yet he doubted she understood the extent of the scorn and degradation a hostile world could heap upon a destitute and unprotected young woman.

  Suddenly he knew what he must do. Circumstance had taught him to be brutal. Perhaps in helping Philadelphia Hunt he would learn once again how to be kind. He had no idea of what he would say to her to persuade her to allow him into her life. He only knew he must find a way.

  The absurdity of his thoughts brought laughter from deep within him. Tyrone would think him mad. Perhaps he was, or perhaps he was thinking rationally again for the first time in many years.

  Philadelphia waited until even the auctioneers were gone before she took a final walk through her home. Upstairs, the rooms were nearly bare, most of the furnishings gone in the auction. The house seemed even larger than its twenty-five-room size. As her heels resounded along the empty hallways, the echoes sent chills up her arms.

  She paused before descending the main staircase, overwhelmed by the emptiness. It hung in the still air, the isolation of abandonment. It was as if not only her father but also her future had died. She was ineffably alone.

  When a dark, upright figure emerged from the shadows of the entry hall below, she suppressed the instinct to cry out. After all, the house had been full of people throughout the day. This must be one of the workmen, she supposed.

  Yet he didn’t move like a servant. He moved with a fluid, long-legged grace unfamiliar to her. As he came forward to stand at the foot of the stairs, the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the transom above the front door fell across his features.

  She saw that the man’s face was broad with high cheekbones, a wide brow, and a full, well-shaped mouth. His hair was coal-black, strongly waved, and brushed straight back from his brow. His skin was unusually dark, the color of polished cherry wood. Everything about him was strange, exotic, and strongly masculine. Even his clothing was unusual. He wore a short fitted jacket that ended at his waist, accenting broad shoulders and narrow hips encased in tapered trousers. This was no workman. Everything about him hinted at breeding, wealth, and, surprisingly, danger.

  “Who are you?” she demanded with a confidence the day had worn thin.

  He did not reply but she saw him smile as he ascended the steps slowly, and the charm in that smile caught her again by surprise. It was a strong smile, competent, confident, and oddly reassuring. When he was standing only two feet from her, he executed a formal bow, then offered her his hand.

  “Permit me, Senhorita Hunt.” His voice was slightly inflected by an accent she couldn’t name. Yet she took the hand he extended to her, unable to think of a reason not to.

  They descended the staircase in silence, and it never occurred to her that she should question the reason for his presence. When they reached the bottom, Philadelphia quickly withdrew her hand from his because, despite her glove, the warmth of his hand had reached her skin. Her palm tingled in a way that made her want to rub the sensation away. When she looked up to see his dark gaze regarding her with an intensity that was far from reassuring, an inkling of self-preservation made her move away.

  He stepped quickly to reach the door ahead of her, and to her relief he opened it. As she walked past him, she saw the laugh lines about his dark eyes deepen with his smile as he said, “Go with God, menina.”

  A private coach stood parked across the street from the Hunt residence. For nearly six hours the coachman had waited on his perch. Twice he had climbed down to water his horse but he had not spoken to his fare. The man who had hired him had given him a ten dollar bill, an address, and said he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. The coachman suspected the gentleman had dozed off and forgotten the time.

  Yet anyone who knew the passenger could have told the coachman that the man known simply as Tyrone never slept. He had the instincts of a jungle cat, could remain in apparent indolence for hours while in reality he watched and waited with concealed claws for the moment to strike.

  It was dusk when the last two people exited the house. A curtain within the private coach moved a fraction to allow a better view. The woman passed through the gate and then turned to walk with quickened steps down the sidewalk. Following at a slower pace was Eduardo Tavares. He paused to watch the woman until she turned the corner and disappeared. Only then did he hail a passing cab and, entering it, ride away. A moment later the curtain of the private coach closed. A light flared in the dark interior. The brightness wavered briefly, the faint crackle of tobacco accompanying the action, and then dimmed.

  Tyrone chewed thoughtfully on the end of his cigar. He had not wanted to intrude on Eduardo’s moment of triumph and though he could not stay away, he had been content to remain apart from this final hour of revenge. Eduardo needed it, to look upon the vanquished and feel the sense of closure. Eduardo was an emotional, passionate man. That passionate nature made him a loyal ally, a fierce fighter, and the only human being Tyrone had ever allowed himself to think of as a friend. He envied Eduardo those emotions he denied himself. Together they had become wealthy men, gathering up the spoils of the enemies they had defeated and putting them to their own respective uses. But now that the need for revenge that had brought them together was gratified, he suspected Eduardo would want what he had so long denied himself: home, peace, and family. That meant breaking with the past and association with men like himself.

  Tyrone’s heart beat no swifter as he thought of losing Eduardo’s friendship but his cigar trembled slightly in the hand holding it. The raw instinct for survival that had kept him alive many times when he should have died told him that they were not yet done with one another. He felt not a sense of closure,
but the yawning of a new trap. While he trusted few other emotions, he never discounted fear. Yet, until he had discovered the reason behind his disquiet, he would leave Eduardo alone.

  A sudden chuckle rumbled softly through the coach. That long look Eduardo had given the woman answered one question. He now knew where to look for Eduardo when the time came: between the soft thighs of a new love.

  2

  “… and you see, of course, my situation is untenable.”

  Harry Collsworth ran a hand nervously through his golden hair, then thrust both hands into his trouser pockets as he paced the small parlor of Philadelphia’s rented rooms.

  “You’re suggesting that we not end our engagement permanently?” Philadelphia asked calmly.

  “No, no, of course not! What sort of a man would that make me if it were to get about that I’d dropped my fiancee in her hour of need?” He stopped before her, tossing her a grateful smile. “I knew you’d be sensible, Philly. You’re always so very sensible about things.”

  “Yes. Sensible.” She stripped off her left glove and removed from the third finger a small but decently mounted ruby. “You’ll want your ring.”

  Harry gulped at the sight of the ring she held out to him. His father had told him not to come home without it, but now that he realized exactly what he was doing, he felt cheap and cowardly. “That really isn’t necessary, Philly. It’s only temporary. You keep it until I can put it back where it belongs.”

  “It belongs in your pocket, or in the rubbish bin!” She was a little shocked by the tight anger that colored her words. She’d been expecting Harry to break off their engagement. In fact, it had been the one thing she hadn’t been dreading. Yet now that it had come, she was quite thoroughly disgusted by the craven act. “Don’t dissemble, Harry. Your affections were never engaged.”