Scandal on Rincon Hill (20 page)

“Sarah, you're not listening.”

I came back to the present to find Robert staring at me as if I had suddenly gone hard of hearing.

“I'm sorry, Robert, what did you say?”

Before he could answer, the brougham swerved to avoid a pedestrian, causing one of the wheels to fall into a deep pothole, and we were very nearly jolted out of our seats. Never wholly at ease when riding in Eddie's cab, Robert leaned tentatively back onto the leather-upholstered bench, hands clutching his seat, ready, if it became necessary, to hold on for dear life. When he was finally settled, he favored me with an annoyed look.

“I asked if you would please enlighten me about this so-called brainstorm of yours. How do you propose to coerce Gerald Knight into admitting that he fathered Brielle Bouchard's child?”

“I'm not sure,” I admitted, still unsettled that the man crossing the street might have been Ozzie Foldger. “I need to discuss the matter with my father over the weekend. And I may have a word or two with Samuel when he gets back in town on Monday,” I added, not mentioning that I would also inform my brother that I might have seen Foldger outside the brothel.

“I'm not sure about your brother, but your father is a sensible man,” said Robert, seeming relieved to find that I wasn't planning any sort of drastic action. “No doubt he'll agree that this is a hopeless case. It's understandable that you want to help Miss Bouchard, but you would better serve her by calling a spade a spade. You must make her understand that she hasn't a snowball's chance in hell of proving that Gerald Knight fathered her child.”

“I know only that I must give the matter further thought,” I replied a bit sharply. “I do not plan to give up until I have exhausted all of our options.”

“All of what options, Sarah? You know there is no way you can uphold that ridiculous contract. I can't think of a single judge in this city who wouldn't laugh you out of his courtroom, if you were foolish enough to try to file this lawsuit.”

“I didn't say I planned to file suit, at least not yet. There may be
other ways to protect Brielle and her baby without taking the case to court.” Even to my ears I sounded a good deal more confident than I felt.

“Oh, aye? Well, I wish you luck if that's the route you plan to follow. Believe me, you're going to need it!”

I
t was nearly noon when Eddie's carriage reined up in front of my Sutter Street office, and I ascended the stairs to my rooms above Fannie's shop. I took a seat at my desk, opened my briefcase, and removed the papers I had taken from Robert's office earlier that morning. Sorting them into neat piles, I searched for the documents I had, perhaps foolhardily, promised to finish by the end of the day. When I finally located them, my heart sank. I had indeed bitten off a great deal more than I could chew—at least in four short hours!

Unfortunately, the case in question was a good deal more tedious than the one I had completed for Robert the day before. I honestly couldn't understand why he put up with it. One of the main reasons Robert had left Edinburgh was to distance himself from his father's position as one of Scotland's foremost defense attorneys.

By coming to America, he had hoped to establish his own reputation as a trial lawyer. He had now been with Shepard's law firm for over five years, yet he had rarely been accorded the opportunity to sit second chair, much less been entrusted with the responsibility of trying a case on his own. More often than not, he was required to research and write briefs concerning the most dreary litigations that crossed Shepard's desk. As far as I was concerned, it was a terrible
waste of a first-rate mind. It would have given me immense pleasure to say this directly to Joseph Shepard's face!

I had invited Robert countless times to join me in my practice. He invariably refused, stating sarcastically that he had become accustomed to eating three meals a day and living with a roof over his head. It was his decision, of course. For myself, I think I would have chosen starvation, rather than continue on as Joseph Shepard's overworked and unappreciated lackey!

Rising, I went into my back room library to brew a fresh pot of tea, then returned to my desk and settled down to work in earnest. So intent was I on completing the documents before Robert called for them at four o'clock, that I lost track of time. When they were finally finished, I was surprised to see that it was well past that hour. And there was no sign of Robert.

Gathering his papers into a neat pile, I crossed to the window and looked out over Sutter Street, which was already growing dark. Christmas was just over two weeks away and the shops along the street were brightly decorated, while the sidewalks were crowded with holiday shoppers. As it was a Friday, vehicular traffic was also heavier than usual. I fervently hoped that Robert wouldn't be too late, as Pierce would be calling for me at seven o'clock. If I were to be ready when he arrived, I would soon have to change my clothes and see to my toilette.

Hearing the newsboys at the corner hawking the evening's newspapers, I threw on my cloak and dashed downstairs. Making my way through the throng of people purchasing papers, I bought not only a copy of the
Tattler
, but of every evening edition.

Back in my office, I quickly scanned each newspaper, holding my breath for fear I might find my name in bold print, along with the story of my visit to the brothel that morning. When I could find no mention of either myself or Madam Valentine's parlor house, I settled in with a fresh cup of tea, and read through the papers more leisurely.

To my intense relief, it appeared that I had dodged the bullet, at least for the time being. It was always possible that I had simply
imagined the man outside the brothel to be the reporter. Or, if it truly had been Foldger, perhaps his presence on Montgomery Street had been just a coincidence. Of course I wouldn't be able to truly breathe freely until I saw tomorrow's papers.

For the next hour I busied myself going through the remaining work I had appropriated from Robert's desk that morning, sorting it by case into separate stacks. Fortunately, what was left did not seem particularly urgent, and could wait until Monday. Nevertheless I could not help but think that he had received the better part of our bargain. In my eagerness to induce him to accompany me to Madam Valentine's parlor house, I had saddled myself with a full two days' work. Moreover, I had rashly promised to complete the research and write the briefs at no charge!

With a sigh, I put down my pen. Despite the extra work, and my shock at spying a man who looked very much like Ozzie Foldger, I considered our visit to the brothel a success. I had located Brielle Bouchard and satisfied myself as to her well-being. Whether or not I would be able to help her, of course, remained a question I could not as yet answer.

Hopefully, after I'd had an opportunity to speak to my father and Samuel, I would finally be able to lay the matter to rest. One way or the other.

W
hen Robert still had not put in an appearance by six o'clock, I could no longer put off getting ready for the theater. The gown I had chosen for the evening was a deep shade of mauve, and was constructed of soft cashmere and satin merveilleux. Although the back skirt was gathered at the waist, the bodice was tailored and, other than a delicate ruffle of cream lace at the neckline, contained a minimum of flounces. My mother had persuaded me to choose this gown for a dinner party we had attended at Thanksgiving, insisting that the shade contrasted nicely with my raven hair and ivory complexion. Since Mama possesses a keen sense of style which I shall never be able to emulate, I inevitably yielded to her counsel.

After I had pinned my thick mane into a reasonably fashionable arrangement atop my head—finally giving up on the stray curls to either side of my face which stubbornly refused to be tamed—I added a small black felt hat, with the brim raised on the right side, and decorated with several feathers stuck into a band of dark rose velvet encircling the crown. Examining myself in a small looking glass I kept to hand, I decided it was the best I could be expected to achieve under the circumstances, and returned to the front office.

Spying the files of legal documents still stacked on my desk ready to be picked up, I wondered once again what could be keeping Robert. According to my lapel watch, it was after six thirty. What would I do, I worried, if he was still here when Pierce appeared to collect me for the theater? Given Robert's unreasonable dislike for Pierce, compounded by his unfortunate lack of tact when expressing his opinions, there was a very real possibility that he would precipitate an unpleasant scene.

My worst fears were realized, when Robert came bursting into my office—as usual without so much as a knock—barely fifteen minutes before the hour of seven. I had the files ready to turn over to him, but naturally the infuriating man ignored me, sinking instead onto the chair facing my desk and expelling a deep sigh.

“Ah, you've got them ready, then,” he said, finally accepting the papers from my outstretched hand. “I know I'm late, but Shepard hauled the lot of us into his office to discuss a new case the firm has accepted. The old bugger is too miserly to assemble us during normal work hours, but he'd be perfectly content to keep us there until the wee hours of the morning, if the whim struck him.”

“I thought you said he required these briefs by four o'clock?” I asked, annoyed that I had worked so diligently to meet this deadline.

“Oh, aye, but he changed his mind. Says he and his wife have been invited to spend the weekend out of town, and that he won't have a chance to go over them after all.” He looked at me hopefully. “I don't suppose you could manage a nice hot cup of tea? It's
close to freezing out there tonight, and in words of the vernacular, I'm completely exfluncticated.”

I eyed him in sharp surprise. “Good heavens, Robert, you've been spending too much time around Eddie.”

“Oh, I don't know. In his own inimitable fashion, the boy occasionally has the knack of hitting the nail precisely on the head.” He stretched out his long legs in obvious relief. “So, do you think you could manage a cup of tea before I'm forced to go back out there and brave the elements?”

“I'm sorry, Robert,” I told him, rising to my feet. “I wish I could, but I simply don't have the time. As it is, I'm late for an appointment. In fact, I was just about to leave.”

He gave me a very direct look, seeming to notice for the first time what I was wearing. After he made a careful examination of my gown and hat, I was startled to see his ruddy face turn a slightly deeper shade of red. “Sarah, you, ah, look beauti—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “That is to say, you look quite presentable. Where are you off to, then?”

“Thank you for the compliment,” I said dryly, not sure whether to laugh or lecture him on the proper social graces when admiring a lady. “At least I assume that's what it was meant to be. As a matter of fact, I'm attending the theater with a friend. So, if you will just—”

His reddish-brown eyebrows rose as he regarded me suspiciously. “A friend? And what friend would that be?”

“Really, Robert.” I felt my temper rising. “What possible concern can that be to you?”

Naturally, he ignored my question, studying me instead through considerably narrowed blue-green eyes. “That friend wouldn't happen to be Pierce Godfrey, would it? He's only been back in town for a few days and already he's making a nuisance of himself. First dinner, and now the theater.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks. What a terrible fuss you make out of nothing. Pierce Godfrey and I are good friends and that is all there is to it.”

“Nothing? You call this nothing? The man is no better than a
buccaneer, Sarah. He's dangerous, and frankly, I don't trust him. Especially with you.” The minute these words were out of his mouth, Robert's lips clamped together, as if wishing he could take them back.

“Now you're being absurd!” I attempted to control my temper, but the man was irksome beyond endurance. “Pierce Godfrey is invariably polite and agreeable toward you, Robert, yet I have yet to hear you utter one civil word about him.”

His face flushed an even darker red, but he did not reply.

“Not only that,” I went on, “but you will insist on referring to him as a
pirate
, an appellation which infers that he is dishonest in his business dealings, and for which you possess not a modicum of proof. I simply cannot comprehend such unwarranted behavior, or why you have developed this unreasonable dislike for the man.”

With this, I folded my arms across my chest, sat back down in my chair, and waited for him to respond to these justifiable charges.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked.

I started to make a sardonic reply, then decided I had said enough and held my tongue, contenting myself with giving him a brisk nod of my head.

“All right, then, I'll tell you why I mistrust the man.” He fixed me with steely eyes, all the while moving forward until he was perched on the edge of his seat which, considering his muscular build, caused the chair to creak in protest.

“I understand that, as a woman, your knowledge of the world is limited. If it were not, you would realize that men of the sea are notoriously capricious, especially when it comes to the ladies. Even as a wee lad growing up in Edinburgh I knew that a sailor had as many women as the ports he visited. Believe me, Sarah, Godfrey is no exception. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that his reputation as a lothario is well known throughout the Orient. You are too naïve by half to recognize his true intentions, but I assure you they are anything but honorable.”

I was so taken aback by this froth of utter nonsense, I could scarcely draw breath to speak. As I fumbled to find words severe
enough to express my outrage, he was off again, rising from his chair and punctuating each ludicrous accusation by slapping a hand down on my desk.

“He has besotted you, Sarah. It's not your fault, of course, but it's your very innocence that's placing you in such peril. I wish you could see your face when that man—”

His tirade was brought to an abrupt halt by a knock on the door. I was so caught up in anger and exasperation that I did not immediately answer, and the knock was repeated.