Scandal on Rincon Hill (15 page)

From Brielle, my thoughts went to the two violent deaths that had occurred so frighteningly close to our home. Because I could not shake the fear that the killer might strike yet a third time, I tried to settle my thoughts and focus on what little was known about the cases. Assuming we were correct that the two crimes were connected, the most obvious link between them had to be Nigel Logan and Dieter Hume's friendship, a relationship which continued despite the divergent paths the men had followed after their university days. Surely this suggested that the motive was of a personal rather than a professional nature. But what might that motive be?

To answer this, I attempted to list the interests and beliefs the men held in common. Did their mutual acceptance of Charles Darwin's theories on natural selection, for instance, play a role in their deaths? Could someone feel so threatened by this hypothesis, that he would brutally take the lives of two men?

What other similarities might they have shared? Because of Eddie's recent adventure playing detective, we were aware that the deacon had a secret interest in pornography, but there was nothing to suggest that Logan was also taken by this fetish. The men had attended university together, and neither was married. Were either of these commonalities significant? According to the Reverend Mayfield, Deacon Hume had shown a recent interest in taking a wife. I couldn't recall anyone mentioning if Nigel Logan was seeing a woman, or if he had plans to marry.

This exercise was futile. I simply did not know enough about the victims' private lives to hazard a guess as to why they had been murdered. I wondered how thoroughly the police were looking into Logan's and Hume's pasts. Surely that was of primary importance in finding the killer.

When noon arrived I gave up on fruitless speculation and decided I would take my lunch in a small Italian restaurant located in
the next block. To my surprise, as I was locking my office door Samuel came darting up the stairs.

“Good,” he said a bit out of breath. “I'm glad I caught you. I'm leaving this afternoon to spend the weekend with the Talbots in Menlo Park. But first I wanted to deliver my report concerning your new client. Do you have time for a quick lunch?”

“As a matter of fact, that's exactly where I was going,” I told him. “I'm delighted you'll be able to join me.”

We settled upon the restaurant I'd had in mind, and were lucky to find a table, since the eatery was very popular at this time of day.

“I can't believe you have news of Miss Bouchard so soon,” I said while we awaited our orders.

“Never underestimate the power of a newsman's nose, my dear sister,” he said, tapping this appendage with a forefinger.

“So, what can you tell me?”

“Not as much as I would like, although I think I've made a good start. I spoke to a maid who works at the Pacific Avenue house Gerald Knight reserves for his paramours. It seems that the girl was fond of Brielle, and felt sorry for her when Knight ended their relationship and sent her packing.”

I experienced a flicker of hope. “Does the maid know where Brielle went after she was forced to leave?”

“She claims she doesn't.” At my expression of disappointment, he hurried on. “However, she thinks it's possible she may have gone to live with a Madam Valentine, who operates a parlor house for the upper crust on Montgomery Street, near Pacific Avenue.”

“Whatever makes her think that?”

“According to the maid, Madam Valentine came to see Brielle several times while the girl was living with Knight, and was recognized by one of the servants.”

I frowned, remembering something Brielle said when she came to my office on Monday morning. “That's strange. Miss Bouchard assured me that she was an innocent when she commenced her relationship with Gerald Knight. Indeed, she was only seventeen.”

Samuel gave a grim little laugh. “That isn't so young when it
comes to prostitution, Sarah. Some girls are barely fourteen or fifteen when circumstances force them into that trade.”

“I'm painfully aware of the tender age at which some girls are forced into white slavery,” I said grimly.

“Yes, of course,” said Samuel, looking a bit abashed. “I'd forgotten your wild midnight raid with Miss Culbertson of the Presbyterian Rescue Mission last year. But what makes you think Brielle Bouchard was telling you the truth? She might well claim she was an innocent to present herself in a more sympathetic light.”

“It's possible, of course, but somehow I believe her. In fact, I was astonished by how frankly she discussed her situation. She is obviously well bred, yet she made no excuses for her present predicament. She claimed that her sole reason for consulting me was to seek justice for her child.” I hesitated, not sure how to explain the impression I had formed of Miss Bouchard. “I don't know, Samuel. It's one thing to imagine her as the mistress of a prominent businessman. It's quite another matter to think of her living in a brothel!”

I was interrupted by the waiter delivering our entrees. When he left, Samuel said, “Don't look so stricken, Sarah. As these places go, Madam Valentine's is one of the more fashionable establishments.”

“Being fashionable does not alter the nature of its business. I just find it difficult to understand why she would agree to live in such a place—even the kind of parlor house you have described. And with her baby!”

“Has it occurred to you that she might have nowhere else to go?” Samuel said, his tone challenging. “If, as you say, she was evicted from Gerald Knight's home when he discovered she was pregnant, the poor girl might well have considered a high-class brothel a great deal more attractive than living on the street. Where, I might add, many of these women end up when their beauty fades and they've outlived their usefulness.”

“But Brielle is only nineteen,” I protested. “And she's extremely lovely.”

Naturally, I was aware that places such as Madam Valentine's parlor house existed in San Francisco. Nay, I knew that they thrived
in our city and had since the forty-niners first landed on its shores. I did not advertise the fact, but I had even visited one during the Nob Hill murders, although admittedly I did not actually enter the establishment. I could not, however, keep from wondering what this said about our society when, in order to avoid the poorhouse, innocent young girls were often forced into such a life.

“If what you suspect is true, it's no wonder Brielle refused to tell me where she was living,” I said, toying with my plate of lasagna. It smelled delicious, but I seemed to have lost my appetite. “From a grand house, jewels, fine clothes, and a seemingly devoted lover, to a—”

“Life of a common prostitute,” Samuel finished for me. “I understand what you're saying, Sarah. However, you must understand that not all girls who end up in such places have been forced into the business, nor are they there simply to ensure a roof over their heads. Some choose the life because it pays a good deal better than being a domestic servant or a seamstress—especially in quality houses like Madam Valentine's.”

“You paint a pretty picture, Samuel,” I commented, not bothering to hide my skepticism. “But I still have a hard time imagining why any woman would willingly choose such a life for herself.”

“Of course it isn't all pretty,” he said, swallowing a bite of his spaghetti. “I didn't mean to imply that it was. Many, perhaps most, of the houses in town are unclean, often violent, and treat their girls little better than slaves. I'm merely pointing out that a few of them, like Madam Valentine's residence, are held to higher standards. Take my word for it, Sarah, you will not be welcomed with open arms if, for the women's sakes, you attempt to close them down.”

“I understand what you're trying to tell me, even if I don't like it. The important thing now is to establish if Brielle has actually gone to stay with this Madam Valentine.”

“Of course it is. Unfortunately, I didn't have time this morning, but I promise to look into it when I return to town on Monday.”

“Not until Monday?” My heart sank. “Is there no way you can postpone your trip until tonight? Or even tomorrow morning?”

“I'm to ride in the Talbots' carriage, Sarah, and there is to be a dinner party tonight that I really can't miss. One or two members of the jury who overturned Laura Fair's conviction will be there, as well as several reporters who covered both trials.”

“And you hope they'll be able to provide you with valuable information for your book,” I said with a sigh of acceptance.

Samuel was referring to the book he had recently commenced writing, revisiting famous murders, robberies, and mayhem committed in and around San Francisco since the days of the Gold Rush. He planned to include Laura Fair's case, which captured headlines some ten years earlier when she fatally shot her married lover, Alexander P. Crittenden, a member of the California bar and recording secretary of the State Supreme Court. Laura Fair's first trial concluded with her being found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. Her second trial, held shortly thereafter, ended in her acquittal, a reversal which caused a torrent of outrage and disgust throughout the city.

He had stopped eating his pasta and was watching me with a worried expression. “I know what you're thinking, Sarah, and it is a very bad idea. You can't possibly visit a brothel on your own, not even one as upper-crust as Madam Valentine's. If Mama found out, there would be hell to pay—probably for me! There's no reason you can't wait until Monday, when I can go with you.”

“I understand your concern, Samuel,” I said calmly. “But I assure you there is no need to worry.”

I considered his answering laugh to be rude in the extreme. “Don't you believe me?” I demanded hotly.

“Not for one minute.” He stared at me for a moment, then said, “All right, little sister, I know well and good that you're going to do whatever you please no matter what I say. Just promise me that you won't visit Madam Valentine's parlor house alone.”

I hated it when Samuel pressed me into making a promise I had absolutely no desire to keep.

“Well?” he prompted, and I knew he had no intention of letting the matter rest.

“Oh, all right,” I gave in ungraciously. “I don't know why you insist on making such a fuss about this. It's not as though I'm planning to spend the night roaming about the streets of the Barbary Coast. You said Madam Valentine's parlor house is on Montgomery Street. That isn't such a bad neighborhood.”

He didn't answer. Given my brother's streak of stubborn German tenacity, I decided it was time to change the subject.

“Were you able to learn the identities of the two men who confronted Brielle outside my office yesterday morning?”

“It seems probable that they were Gerald Knight's men. Unlike the Bouchard girl, it wasn't difficult to uncover information about him. I don't know if you're aware of this, but Knight is married to the former Lily Randolph.”

“Randolph? You mean of the Randolph steel family in Pittsburgh?”

“The very one. She's several years older than her husband, and it's her family money that keeps that awful broadsheet of his up and running.”

“I thought you sold several stories to that ‘awful broadsheet,’ ” I put in with a wry smile.

“One or two of my articles have appeared there,” he admitted, “but very early on in my career, when I was all too pleased to see any of my scribblings in print.”

“Didn't I hear his name mentioned in connection with Millie Javers, the singer who took San Francisco by storm two or three years ago?”

“You have a good memory. According to my sources, Knight did his best to hush up that particular scandal. He fancies himself to be a patron of the arts, though, at least of the Tivoli Opera House, and any other theaters in town that employ lovely young singers and actresses.”

“You mean he's actually involved in the productions?”

Samuel smiled. “No, although I'm sure he'd love nothing better. He contributes financially, which probably affords him some say on minor cast members. As I mentioned, he's well known for
his roving eye when it comes to beautiful young women,
very
young women, I might add.”

“If he's contributing to the arts, then his paper must be doing better than I thought. I could have sworn I read somewhere that the
Daily Journal
was closing its doors a year or so back.”

“It did. Circulation dropped nearly in half after the paper printed dangerously libelous gossip about some prominent members of city government. Evidently, it was only his wife's influence, and a great deal of money, that kept him out of court. Still, bad publicity nearly cost Knight his newspaper.”

“How long have they been married?”

“Close to twenty years, I'd guess. About fifteen years ago, Knight bought the newspaper using her money. They have three children and a large home on Nob Hill. Mrs. Knight is a prominent member of San Francisco society. I'm sure Mama must know her.”

“I believe I've heard her name. I just didn't connect it to Gerald Knight.” My mind was racing, trying to digest this information. “What makes you think it was Knight's men who convinced Brielle not to keep her appointment with me yesterday morning?”

“Apparently this isn't the first time he's pulled a heavy-handed tactic in order to shape a story to his liking—or to squelch an unfavorable rumor. My guess is that he's been keeping an eye on the girl since she left his house. They parted under less than harmonious circumstances, and you know the old saying about a woman scorned. He can't afford to let this get back to his wife, particularly since she controls the purse strings.”

I sat quietly pondering my brother's words. “I wonder if there's some way we might use this information to our advantage?”

Samuel stared at me. “Sarah, you can't be serious. Brielle Bouchard's case is hopeless. Gerald Knight would never risk his wife's fury by publicly honoring that contract. The foolish girl should have known that from the start of their liaison.”

“A much older woman might have been misled,” I said, coming to Brielle's defense. “She was a girl of barely seventeen.”

Samuel dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “It's not that I don't sympathize, but there is simply no way to prove that he fathered Brielle's child.”