Tears of Gold (37 page)

Mara got up and opened a window, breathing deeply of the cool air. As she turned back to the room, she became aware of Brendan slumped tiredly in his chair, his head resting heavily in his hand as he propped his elbow on the table.

“Are you all right, Brendan?” He looked so pale, almost feverish.

Brendan sighed. “I think seein’ Molly again after so many years has affected me more than I thought,” he explained with a half-smile that faded quickly. “Actually I feel like hell. I think I’ll lie down for a while, Mara. Maybe I’m just getting older and can’t take these late nights anymore,” he joked. As he reached the door, he paused. Glancing back at Mara with his old, devilish smile, he said curiously, “You know…I feel good about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I really told Molly off, didn’t I? I feel like I’ve exorcised that bitch for good and all after all these years. I said all the things I wanted to say seven years ago, only I didn’t have the chance then. Jaysus, but I feel good about that.”

“To be sure, I was proud of you, Brendan,” Mara said softly, her eyes warm with understanding. For Mara had learned how a face could haunt you.

Brendan shook his head in confusion. “You know, mavournin, a year ago you’d probably have come back at me with some sarcastic remark. You’ve changed in some way, Mara, and I don’t know quite what to make of it. But Molly was right about one thing. You have grown into a very beautiful young woman,” he said. He eyed her quizzically. “Maybe
that’s
the difference, mavournin, you’ve become a woman, haven’t ye now?”

Mara nodded her head regretfully. “A woman, with a woman’s fears and heartaches. I’m all too human, Brendan, and I ache with the realization of it sometimes.”

Brendan nodded in understanding, his eyes bleak for a moment before he smiled softly and entered his room, closing the door behind him.

Mara stared at the closed door in silence for a moment, making up her mind to call in a doctor for Brendan whether or not he approved. So far Jamie’s homemade remedies weren’t helping him. Mara gathered together her things and left Brendan’s rooms, her mind on Molly and the trouble she might cause them. Mara walked down the stairs and through the lobby of the hotel, not noticing the interested glances she drew from the men hanging about as she walked straight through without looking around. As she neared the doors, an arm reached out and held them open for her to pass through.

Mara glanced up, a polite thank-you framed on her lips when she recognized the man. Nicholas Chantale. She made no protest as his fingers closed over her elbow. He guided her along the street until, passing a quiet alley, he pulled her into its gloomy depths. The odor of rotting garbage filled the air with a breathtaking stench.

“Lovely,” Mara murmured.

“You’ll accept my apologies, mademoiselle, but I desired privacy,” Nicholas explained suavely, as though merely apologizing for spilling punch on her skirt at a cotillion, instead of dragging her into a stinking, rat-infested alley.

Mara shivered, for among the piles of refuse she could hear the shrill squealings and scratchings of the long-tailed, gray rats who prowled the city in thousands.

Mara glared up into Nicholas’s green eyes, repressing a cry as one of the beasts scampered out of an overturned barrel and into the hidden crevices of a crate. It would only give Nicholas satisfaction to see her fear, Mara thought in defiance. She controlled the urge to fight her way free of him and the alley.

“Not squeamish, my sweet?” he asked softly, his breath warm against her face.

“Of what? You, or the rats?” Mara retorted without hesitation.

Nicholas smiled despite himself. “Ah, Mara, you certainly never bore me. Irritate, provoke, insult, and enrage, yes, but never do you bore me.”

“What do you want, Nicholas?” Mara demanded, her chin raised aggressively as she faced him, refusing to be intimidated by him any longer.

“So you’ve finally grown tired of subtleties, and are for plain speaking. Very well,” Nicholas said sharply, “I want you to leave the Swede alone.”

Mara stared at Nicholas incredulously. “You’re warning me off your friend? Does he know you’ve appointed yourself his watchdog?” Mara asked contemptuously, hoping her wounded feelings didn’t show. “I don’t think he’d appreciate your meddling. He is a grown man, and most capable of taking care of his own affairs. Nobody likes a busybody, m’sieu,” she ridiculed him, deciding he could just go on thinking what he wanted about her and the Swede, for she wasn’t about to tell him that they were merely friends. Let him worry and make a fool of himself, Mara thought angrily.

Nicholas’s mouth tightened. “I’m just giving you a friendly word of advice, Miss O’Flynn. Don’t play any of your cruel games with the Swede. Remember, I know who you are, and should anything happen, you can’t slip away to Paris the following morning. I’ll be watching you, and waiting for the least misstep.”

Mara smiled up into his face, her eyes glinting with anger. “My, my, we do love to threaten people, don’t we? How do you ever find time for yourself, or for polishing your halo?” Mara demanded. “Well, you’re worse than me, Nicholas, because you’re a hypocrite and a liar.”

“Careful you don’t go any further than name-calling, Mara,” Nicholas warned her as he noticed her clenched fists and remembered the feel of her hand against his cheek.

“I wouldn’t touch you for all the gold in California. You lied to me. You let me go on believing that I’d been responsible for your nephew’s death. That was despicable,” Mara whispered as she stared up at him. “How you must hate me, Nicholas.”

Nicholas was silent for a moment, then said coldly, “It didn’t hurt you to feel a little remorse for once in your life. Just maybe you might learn to respect the emotions of other people. Not that I expect any miracles where you’re concerned, my sweet,” he added.

Mara couldn’t think of anything to say, and without a word she turned on her heel and walked away from him, her shoulders sagging slightly. She would never be able to change his opinion of her. Never. Nothing she could ever do would ease his bitterness. She never even had a chance. She hurried down the busy street, her cloaked figure disappearing into the crowd.

The next few days passed quickly, with no word from Molly. But Mara was not lulled into believing that Molly was out of their lives. She was just waiting for the right time to strike. They would have to be prepared for her scandalmongering, for that was the only way she could hurt them.

Brendan seemed unconcerned by the incident and continued his partying and late nights. In fact, Mara thought, he might even be trying to show Molly just exactly what she had lost out on, as he entertained lavishly. Mara finally began to wonder how long it would last at the rate Brendan was spending it but she wasn’t worried, for as Brendan had told her often enough, there was more gold out there just waiting to be picked up by some enterprising fellow.

Chapter 9

“Wake up, Mara! Wake up!” a voice whispered urgently, Mara burrowed deeper into her pillow, pulling the blankets up over her head as she closed out both the annoying voice and the chill of the room.

“Go away,” Mara mumbled sleepily, but the persistent arm kept shaking her. Finally Mara sat up in bed to face her tormentor. “What the devil?” Mara demanded.

“Mara, there’s someone downstairs wanting a word with you,” Jenny told her, her voice still urgent. “I think it’s important. You’d better see her.”

“Her?” Mara asked groggily as she climbed out of bed. By now Jenny had lit the oil lamp, and a dim light was spreading throughout the room. Mara found her robe and slipped it over her nightgown, something she had finally given in to wearing in the cold, damp climate of San Francisco. She followed Jenny’s woolen-robed figure down the stairs.

In the hallway below a single figure huddled, and although Mara couldn’t see much of her bundled-up form except for a bunch of blond curls, she knew she didn’t recognize the woman who stood waiting for her.

Hearing footsteps, the caller glanced up in relief and came toward the foot of the stairs, her wind-chaffed hands twisting nervously. “You Mara O’Flynn?” she asked eagerly.

Mara eyed her curiously, wondering what in the world she could want with her at this hour of the night. “Yes. Who are you? What do you want?”

“He sent me,” she said breathlessly.

“Who?” Mara asked, looking at Jenny in bewilderment.

“Yer brother’s Brendan O’Flynn, ain’t he?” the woman demanded. “Well, he’s sick, and real bad too, I reckon. He didn’t seem himself tonight when we was out on the town. Won a heap of money too, but he just didn’t seem to care. Then, when we was back at his hotel, he just faints dead away. That he did, I swear. I don’t usually get myself involved in other people’s business, but Brendan…well, he’s a real gent’man. Treats a body like a lady, even if he is payin’ fer it. So I figured I’d tell you like he asked me to. He says, ‘Get Mara. I must see her, and the divil take ye if ye don’t.’”

Mara had grown pale. She believed her and now she turned to Jenny with a determined look. “I must go. Will you take care of Paddy? I’ll need Jamie with me.”

“Of course. And if there’s anything I can do, you must let me know,” Jenny reassured her.

“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” the strange woman said.

“Thank you. If you’ll wait a minute, I want to give you something for coming out of your way to tell me,” Mara said, indebted to the woman for not ignoring Brendan’s plea.

“Nah, ain’t necessary,” she replied with a sniff. “Did it fer a friend. Besides, he’d already paid me. Like I said, a real gent’man he is. Hope he gets better right soon. ’Night.”

Mara quickly roused Jamie and dressed. Together they made their way to Brendan. Lights still shone out of the gaming saloons into the night and were reflected into the dark pools of water filling the potholes in the streets. They made their way to Brendan’s hotel without incident, for by this time in the early morning most of the revelers were either being entertained or had drunk too much to notice two unescorted females.

They passed without comment through the lobby of the hotel where a few latecomers were straggling in. The desk clerk dozed behind the register, his pince-nez precariously balanced on the tip of his nose.

“For once Brendan showed some common sense in pickin’ this hotel,” Jamie whispered as they walked along the quiet corridor to Brendan’s room.

“Brendan’s always had the best of taste, Jamie,” Mara said automatically, “and now he can finally afford it.”

Mara tapped lightly on the door of Brendan’s room. After waiting a second, she and Jamie entered the silent room. Several pink-tinted lamp shades cast a rosy glow over the room with its elegant furniture and rich carpeting. Above the mantelpiece a clock was ticking away, the only sound in the room until a faint moan drifted to them from the other side of the sofa, the high, carved back having hidden Brendan from their view.

Mara rushed around to the other side and stared down in shock at Brendan’s sweat-drenched body. His breathing was coming raspily, then he suddenly started to shiver, curling up his body as he tried unsuccessfully to find warmth.

“Brendan,” Mara whispered as she pushed the hair from his brow. She was surprised by the cold dampness of his skin.

“We gotta get him into bed with plenty of hot bricks and blankets. And get something hot inside of him too,” Jamie said as she eyed Brendan worriedly. “Never would stay out of the rain, fool boy, always wantin’ to go out and play. Guess he never changed none.”

It was hard to lift Brendan’s weight into the bedroom, but they managed between them to get him settled in bed. Mara pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed, watching as Brendan alternately shivered and sweated. A painful cough would rack his body every so often, leaving him weak and pale against the pillows as he gasped for breath.

His delirium continued through the next day, Jamie or Mara keeping watch while the other rested. Mara began to lose count of the hours. With the thick velvet drapes pulled across the windows, night could be day. The activity down on the street seldom let up, and the only time she could accurately guess was the period preceding dawn when most people were abed.

Jenny came the following afternoon with a change of clothes for Mara and other items she thought they might need. The Swede had come with her and sat uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa, not knowing how to help, or even what to say. His eyes showed his concern as he stared at Mara’s haggard face and reddened eyes.

“If there’s anything I can do, Mara,” he offered as he was about to leave, “well, don’t hesitate to ask. I’d like to help if I can.”

Mara smiled tiredly. “Thank you, Swede, but I think we’re doing all that can be done. I appreciate the offer,” Mara told him.

“How’s Paddy doing?” she asked Jenny, wondering what he’d been up to while she was away.

“Oh, he’s been real good, Mara, no trouble at all, just playing with Paul and Gordie,” Jenny reassured her. “Yesterday, Swede took them all down to the docks to watch the ships.”

“Thank you. That was certainly kind of you,” Mara said, relieved. “Have you heard anything about us around town?” Mara asked casually.

“Like what?”

Mara smiled. “If you don’t know, then I don’t have to worry,” she responded enigmatically.

As they were about to leave, the Swede paused at the door and said carefully, “I have heard a few rumors, Mara, but if you think it’s Nicholas spreading them, then you’re wrong.”

Mara sighed. “So it’s started,” she said softly. Shaking her head, she looked at the Swede. “I know it’s not Nicholas. He may despise me, and at times can be hateful, but he doesn’t sneak around behind someone’s back. That’s not his style.”

“Good,” the Swede answered, relieved that she hadn’t lost complete faith in Nicholas, that her love hadn’t turned into hate quite yet. With a nod of understanding he left with Jenny.

Mara was dozing fitfully when she woke abruptly to hear the clock in the sitting room chiming the hour. She counted five. Soon it would be light, and Brendan would have passed another night. But as Mara listened intently, she became aware of a difference in Brendan’s breathing. It sounded laborious, as though he were having a great deal of difficulty catching his breath. Mara stared down at his handsome face, so pale and thin. Around his lips was a faint tracing of blue. Mara lightly touched his face, jerking back her hand at its coldness. His eyes seemed to have sunk in his head, and his soft curls hung limply over his forehead. Suddenly he opened his eyes and stared up at his sister. He looked lucid for the first time in days.

“Mara,” he whispered hoarsely.

Quickly Mara filled a glass of water and, carefully holding his head, let him sip a little of it. He smiled thankfully and lay back against the pillows.

“No whiskey?” he joked, reminding Mara faintly of the old Brendan.

“Not until you can hold your fill, me love,” Mara told him. “I wouldn’t be so cruel as to give an Irishman a mere swallow.”

“I’m so tired, Mara,” Brendan said. “I seem to ache all over. Did anyone beat the daylights out of me while I wasn’t looking?” He choked back a cough that rumbled up from his chest and left a reddish brown phlegm staining the cloth on his pillow.

Mara wrung out a fresh cloth in the bowl of water on the bedside table and pressed its cool dampness against his hot forehead.

Brendan stared into the distance. “Never knew I could spend money so fast and enjoy it so much. I’ve been thinking, mavournin, that I’ll go back up to the Sierra and find myself another chunk of gold. I know where to look, you know,” he confided, then continued dreamily, “and then I think we’ll return to Ireland. I rather fancy going back to Dublin and buying back our old house. Of course, we might be wantin’ something grander than that. Wouldn’t it be something if the old man’s ancestral estate were for sale, and we, the illegitimate offspring, bought it? ’Twould only be fitting after all we’ve been through because of him, Mara,” Brendan sighed.

“Ah, it’ll be grand, Mara, me little darlin’, you wait and see. Brendan did it for you, like he promised. We struck it rich, livin’ the life of a king, for sure. I can see meself in London now, with a townhouse in Grosvenor Square and a small place in Bath—quite the place to be during the Season, you know—and we’ll have a fine stable full of horses that’ll be the envy of half of London. We’ll be quite respectable, riding out every morning along Rotten Row, and damned if we won’t catch an earl or even a duke for you, Mara. Ah, mavournin, ’twill be grand to be living fancy again, never having to worry about payin’ the bills; and people sayin’, ‘there goes Brendan O’Flynn, a fine gentleman, to be sure,’” he said softly. He closed his eyes with a deep, contented sigh.

Mara tucked the blankets around his shoulders, brushing from his forehead the soft curls that reminded her so much of Paddy’s. She placed a light kiss against his brow before settling down in the chair beside his bed. She picked up the book she’d been reading and tried to find her place once again, but her heart wasn’t in it. Soon she fell asleep, the book still open in her lap.

Mara awoke suddenly, the pounding of her heart the only sound in the room. It was dawn. She could see the glare of light through the parting of the drapes and hear the stirrings of sound from the street below, but there was an unnatural stillness in the room. With a feeling of dread Mara looked down into Brendan’s quiet face and knew he had died.

The slight smile of contentment still curved his lips even in death. Mara continued to stand silently staring down at him, her face frozen. Swallowing hard, she whispered her brother’s name for the last time.

She was still standing there when Jamie bustled in half an hour later. The old woman stopped abruptly as she took in the strange look on Mara’s face. With a deep sob Jamie ran forward, her gray eyes moving quickly between brother and sister, both so unnaturally still.

Jamie’s wail cut through the numbness of Mara’s mind. She refocused her eyes and gazed lovingly down at Brendan’s features for the last time. She gently covered his face with the sheet and, without a backward glance at the shrouded figure, walked from the room and closed the door. But still she could hear Jamie’s sobbing, and with a muttered curse she pressed her hands over her ears, determined to shut out the sound that brought back memories of her mother’s death in Paris.

It wasn’t the way of the Irish to hide their grief. During the night-long wake that preceded the burial of Brendan O’Flynn, his friends paid their respects. Many of these were Irish and they stayed the night long, sitting vigil over the body.

But some of the faces crowding the room Mara had never seen before, and she suspected they were fellow Irishmen who had never met Brendan O’Flynn. They were homesick for the old country and its customs, and hoped to find solace with a glass of whiskey and the gentle, melodic brogue of the mourners murmuring softly around the coffin.

That Mara received her share of curious glances and speculation she didn’t doubt, for she sat in stony silence throughout the long hours of the wake, never smiling, crying, or speaking except for a word of thanks and a slight nod now and then as she received condolences. Brendan had been a popular fellow, and he’d have been proud of the send-off his friends gave him. From the dissipated looks of many of the mourners, Mara judged that they would shortly follow in his footsteps. They staggered drunkenly into the night still humming snatches of song from the evening’s festivities. A wake was meant to be enjoyed by all but the dead.

The following morning, as a light drizzle fell under leaden skies, the mourners gathered around the open grave on Russian Hill, and Brendan Michael O’Flynn was laid to his final rest in the land that had promised him riches beyond his wildest dreams.

Dressed in black bombazine trimmed with crepe, a bonnet with a heavy veil obscuring her face, Mara looked like a statue. The only movement she made was in the slight lifting of the edges of her cape as the wind caught it. A subdued Paddy stood beside Mara, his small hand tucked inside hers. He solemnly watched the proceedings, a slight frown on his forehead as he listened to the priest’s droning voice, not understanding the Latin the man was speaking. Jamie stood on the other side of Paddy, her small body hunched over as she cried continuously into a soggy handkerchief. For the first time, Jamie looked really old. Jenny and her boys stood nearby. For once, they seemed to have been impressed into silence, but it might have been the intimidating presence of the Swede standing just behind them that formed their admirable behavior.

But it was as Mara stared across the grave that she felt a black rage rise almost uncontrollably inside of her. On the other side, suitably dressed in black, stood Molly O’Flynn, the grieving widow, there for all the world to see. Behind the concealing folds of her veil Mara’s eyes glowed with fury, the first stirrings of emotion she’d felt since she’d stood over Brendan’s deathbed. Mara unconsciously tightened her fingers around Paddy’s small hand and watched in disgust as Molly sobbed loudly. Jacques D’Arcy patted her arm every so often, perhaps warningly, as Molly’s wails threatened to drown out the priest. As the eulogy ended, Mara bent on shaky legs and, picking up a handful of the soft, damp earth, let it trickle onto the coffin, staring down in fascination at the dark hole. She felt a strong hand beneath her elbow as she swayed, and then was led away from the graveside by the Swede. Mara drew strength from his comforting presence. Without looking back at Molly on the far side of the grave, Mara allowed the Swede and Jenny to escort the little party back to the boardinghouse.