Velvet Shadows Read online

  He smiled. “Yes, a stream in the heat of the day. Water in many places out here is more precious than gold. Men’s lives depend upon it. While gold is wealth and not life itself.”

  “Though men believed otherwise in forty-nine,” I ventured. “Did not many lose their lives in pursuit of riches then?”

  “Too many. Gold fever is dangerous. But that is past; now we build, set our roots deep. We have railroads to tie us with the East, we open lands for crops, cattle—” He spoke quickly and then began to talk of life in California.

  My father had never looked upon me as without intelligence simply because I had been born female. Until my twelfth year, when I was sent ashore to school, I, who had been born aboard ship, taught from an excellent library my father carried, I had always had my questions answered with respect for my mind. And I had not heard such stimulating conversation as this for years.

  Most of the men I had met socially used an inane surface speech for ladies. To dip below that and display any understanding of or interest in important events was a social error. The enthusiasm for study my father had fostered in me had become a solitary act—near a vice. And at this moment I realized just how cut off from what I wanted I had been. I was the thirsty wayfarer chancing in a wilderness upon such a stream as that before us.

  Mr. Sauvage encouraged the questions I asked, waited for me to make comments, which he accepted as natural. I began to mention things my father had drawn to my attention. For he had made it a point to see that I visited many unusual places in the lands to which the India Queen carried cargoes. That I had inherited his ability to pick up languages easily he had found a matter of pleasure.

  “So you have then visited Canton and the Sandwich Islands?” Mr. Sauvage was really interested. “And what did you think of that part of China which you saw?”

  He was not condescending and so I answered forth-rightly what I had observed. I think I startled him when I explained that I had been entertained for two days in the women’s quarters of one of the great merchants, seeing a part of native life which was open to no male travelers.

  “You have had many advantages,” he commented.

  “One above all others, sir—that was having a father who trained in me an inquiring mind.”

  Perhaps my answer was a little too sharp, for then he asked, “You say that with such emphasis, Miss Penfold. Do you believe that your father’s attitude was then out of the ordinary?”

  “Judging, sir, by what I have learned since I lost his companionship, very much so. He fostered in me a wish to enlarge my horizons and then gave me every opportunity of doing so. Since such educational advantages are usually reserved for sons instead of daughters, I know now he was very much out of the ordinary.”

  I was skirting the edge of propriety in that answer. Was there the beginning of a frown to draw his dark brows together? He could well believe I was reflecting in some way on his own convictions.

  “Alain! I did not know you were waiting.” Mrs. Deaves swept down upon us from the corridor. “It is thoughtless of me to waste your time when you have so much to worry you. But I have all the papers here—”

  She busied herself loosening the catch of the portfolio she carried.

  “I am at your service, as always, Augusta.” He arose and reached for the portfolio.

  I realized this was a dismissal and was a little piqued that it was so abrupt. Not that I had any more claim on his attention than common courtesy dictated. Mrs. Deaves made no more acknowledgment of my presence than a slight nod of the head as I passed her on my way to my stateroom.

  There was still my letter to Madam Ashley, but I was not in the mood to add the daily entry to that. Instead I gazed out the window at a land which now looked very forbidding. And I was still trying to sort out the puzzle of my own feelings when there came an imperative rap at my door and Mrs. Deaves entered before I could answer.

  “Miss Penfold!” She used my name in the same tone I had in the past employed to bring an inattentive scholar to order. Instant resentment was my inner reaction.

  “Mrs. Deaves?” I returned inquiringly. “There is something I can do for you?”

  “There is something you can do for yourself, Miss Penfold.” Without invitation she seated herself.

  Perhaps she expected a response from me, but I waited in silence for her to continue. This had always been an excellent device with which to counter such emotion as she displayed.

  “I am referring, of course”—she fell to turning one of her many rings around on a plump finger—“to the fact that young ladies in good society do not seek to attract the attention of gentlemen—”

  Did they not, I thought bitterly. Most of their time was spent in maneuvering to do just that, as subtly as possible, of course.

  “Mr. Sauvage—Alain”—she used his given name as if she would so underline that fact that it was her privilege to do so—“is very good-natured. Though he is a man of affairs which need constant attention, he is well bred enough not to show impatience—”

  I had continued to eye her with the perplexed look of one unable to understand. Perhaps my attitude puzzled her in turn for she paused, to begin again:

  “You are quite young, Miss Penfold, and your circumstances have been such that you may be misled by some common civility. Mr. Sauvage found your recent conversation a little—shall we say, odd—in a lady selected to be a companion to his sister. Since this is a delicate matter he pressed me to speak to you about it.”

  “But, of course,” I agreed blandly. “And it is most kind of you to do so, Mrs. Deaves. Though I am still somewhat at a loss as to the nature of my offense, since my most recent conversation with Mr. Sauvage was initiated by him. I thought he wished to know more of my background. That I believe to be quite natural under the circumstances.”

  She flushed. I think she had thought I could be easily cowed. And I was sure her dislike of me grew with each word. But I had spoken what could well be the truth and she knew it. Now having so temporarily silenced her, I attacked in turn—if one might think of our conversation as a skirmish.

  “I assure you I have no wish to give any offense. And I believe, now that Mr. Sauvage has satisfied himself as to my background, he will have no need for any further conversations. You may tell him that I understand the message sent through you, and I will act with discretion in the future.”

  I was sure that she had never met my tactics in the past. By her standards I might seem insolent, yet she could not seize upon any words of mine to accuse me of that fault Muttering something I could not hear, she left as abruptly as she had burst in upon me.

  Now I had something else to consider. I must walk very warily indeed in the future, giving this woman nothing upon which she could build a plausible attack. If I had read Mr. Sauvage aright, I did not believe he had sent Mrs. Deaves here. He was the type not to move deviously, but rather express himself directly.

  However, he could have made some casual comment to Mrs. Deaves which allowed her to believe she could so approach me. Perhaps I had been too carried away by his easy manner so that my own had verged on forwardness. I must watch my tongue and be on terms of strictly polite correctness when dealing with Mrs. Deaves’ Alain. And that knowledge gave me a sense of loss and even a twinge of pain. It was as if I had been awakened out of a long time of boredom, given a glimpse of brightness, and been sternly forbidden to seek that out again.

  It was with little pleasure that I answered the dinner gong. Mrs. Deaves dominated the conversation at the table, her purpose perfectly transparent to me. She sprinkled her sentences with names, taking as her subject the social round in San Francisco, the “season” to come, and the role Victorine would be expected to play. She was freezing me out of that charmed inner circle by all her implications. And if Mrs. Deaves achieved the goal Victorine had suggested, that of the mistress of the Sauvage household, I believed my term of employment would be far shorter than that which had been agreed upon.

  When Mrs. Deaves
at last suggested that we return to the salon Victorine yawned, saying that she was finding train travel very conducive to slumber and that she was about to retire. I said I had a letter to write and escaped so easily that I knew it was to the relief of Mrs. Deaves.

  But I had no more than gotten into my wrapper and was giving my hair its nightly brushing when Victorine slipped into my room without any warning knock.

  “What did that old henwife say to you earlier, Tamaris? She was hot with rage when she went past my stateroom. Was that because my brother had talked with you for a while?” She curled up on my divan without invitation.

  “Bah—you are going to be discreet.” Victorine made the last word sound as if it were a sin of sorts. “I see by your look you will not answer me. But I am not stupid, I can guess that is the truth. That one thinks to become Madame Sauvage—already in her ears she is called so. She is so afraid of not gaining her desire that she sees in every female a threat to her plan. Well, listen to me, Tamaris, she shall never get what she wishes!

  “First—because she is really a fool, and, though I have only known my brother a short time, this much I have learned of him—he is not one to suffer a fool gladly. Also, she tries too hard. Sooner or later she will make plain what she wishes and that will give my brother a disgust of her. She is no fit mate for him!”

  There was no hint of amusement in Victorine’s eyes, rather they were brilliant with the same emotion which deepened her voice, low though that already was. It was plain that the girl did possess some feeling for her brother. And Mrs. Deaves might well be defeated before she realized she had this particular adversary.

  Now Victorine laughed. “Do I frighten you a little, Tamaris, when I speak so? Do you think that I plan some dark way to rid my dear brother of Augusta? That I am, perhaps, even a witch?” She made a grotesque face.

  “Good! Then I think I shall be a witch, and I shall lay upon Augusta a curse, a strong curse. Shall I give her a spotted skin so all will turn from her in disgust—or—? Do I not frighten you now, Tamaris—just a little?”

  I laughed. “Of course. Do you not see I am shuddering in horror at your evil plans?”

  She gave me an odd, searching look with no answering amusement in it.

  “Do not laugh at what you do not understand, Tamaris. There are things—” She broke off abruptly. “But those are of another time—another place—not of this safe little world. Finish your letter, chère Tamaris, then sleep well.”

  As silently and swiftly as she had come she was gone. My amusement of a moment before had ebbed. I glanced about me sharply, seeking to know what had for a second or two so disturbed me. But that feeling had been only a flash, and if a warning, I was not wise enough to heed it.

  During the course of the next morning Mr. Sauvage received a telegram urging that he leave the train at Sacramento to visit Virginia City where there was trouble at one of the mines his company controlled. He assured us that one of his men would be waiting in Oakland. This gentleman would then escort us on to the suite at the Lick House.

  Fog was thick at the ferry. Such fog, I thought, as might well furnish the horrifying background for some story laid in the depths of London. Thus we stayed within the cabin on board, depending on our waterproof capes to keep out at least some of the damp chill. Victorine sniffed disdainfully.

  “Me—I find this place abominable. Where are the bright skies, the pleasant land of which my brother spoke so much?”

  The young man sent to assist us, Graham Cantrell, stood as close to his employer’s sister as decorum allowed. It had been easy to see that from their first meeting he had eyes for no one else. Even Victorine’s present sullen pout, I admitted to myself a little wistfully, detracted nothing from her very real fragile beauty. Now he hastened to say that these fogs did not always shroud the bay or menace the city toward which our boat wallowed sluggishly.

  But I knew the sea. And to me such a fog would always be a threat. To look out cabin windows blind-curtained by a thick mist was frightening. And I could hear the mournful sound of warning whistles, but so thick were the damp wisps that even those seemed muffled.

  Moisture gathered in thick drops on the grimed panes. The smell of the cabin was foul—old dirt, stronger human odors, a stench of machine oil breathed out by the laboring engines.

  Suddenly I could not stand this confinement any longer. Seasoned voyager though I thought myself, my stomach was queasy. I need only take a step or two outside the door to find cleaner air, mist-thickened though that might be. So I went, to draw that dankness gratefully into my lungs.

  There were other passengers who apparently shared my desire for the open. Most of these were only vague shadows, but to the left of the cabin door two stood close together. And now and then I caught the murmur of voices.

  The taller one must be a man. The other, muffled in a cloak twin to my own, was plainly a woman. Then a member of the crew stumped by, lantern in hand, and a flash from that illuminated both plainly. Amélie, who had promised to stay with our luggage, stood there.

  However, the light had not risen as far as her companion’s features. Only the fact that their situation suggested a degree of intimacy triggered my old suspicions. Was this another man attracted by chance to her pretty face? I knew so little about her—she might be very free with her favors when not under her mistress’s eye. But it was also true that there was such a strong attachment between them that Victorine would defend rather than accuse her against any such vague suspicion as mine.

  I must watch Amélie, make sure her conduct was not such as to embroil her young mistress in some disgraceful trouble. And worry gnawed at me as we disembarked and drove at a snail’s pace through the nearly unseen streets to Lick House.

  “C’est magnifique! See, even in this fog one may see the shop lights. What a pleasure to visit them—let us do so!”

  Victorine turned away from the hotel window, letting fall the thick drapery she had raised to look down upon the life which was Montgomery Street even on such a bad evening. She was in one of her effervescent moods.

  “Not at night, my dear.” Mrs. Deaves was soberly disapproving at once. “A lady does not appear on the streets unless properly escorted—”

  “But I see them!” protested Victorine. “There they are—there and there—” She stabbed a finger at the pane.

  “Those are not ladies.” Mrs. Deaves’ verdict was meant to be final and quelling.

  Victorine scowled, letting the red velvet drapes close out the lights and the bustle of life on the street. I was growing very weary of red velvet. Hotels seemed particularly fond of that as if it were a badge of respectability and luxury. And the Lick House certainly paraded the latter.

  Its interior of carved woodwork, velvet, and plush marble floors made its tasteless opulence overpowering. Just as the meal which had been served in our private suite—six courses beginning with oysters and adding every imaginable delicacy in or out of season—had left me feeling there was far too much food in the world.

  Champagne also seemed to be the rule, produced as a matter of course, just as a glass of iced water might be elsewhere. Also, and this had surprised me, both Victorine and I had been served it without question. I scarcely touched my glass. But Victorine and Mrs. Deaves did not follow my example.

  “Your brother, my dear”—Mrs. Deaves held her ever-present embroidery bag on her lap but at this moment made no attempt to open it—“keeps his own carriage here in the city. And there is no reason why we cannot use that to visit some of the shops tomorrow. If there are any additions you wish to make to your wardrobe—”

  Then she had glanced slyly in my direction. I caught her eye boldly. If she thought to daunt me with the implied disparagement of my wardrobe, she failed. I was secure in the knowledge that I made the proper fashionable appearance always expected of one of Madam Ashley’s instructoresses.

  However, a glance around the ladies’ parlor, through which we had been ushered with no little ceremony upon
our arrival, had made plain that what was considered correct taste in the East was very lacking compared to that worn in the flamboyant West. Such a wealth of overdresses —sometimes of two contrasting colors on a single gown—fringes, headings, wreathing of flowers and laces, I had never seen displayed before.

  It was the fashion here, Mrs. Deaves had informed us, during one of her instructive monologues on the uses of polite society, for families of wealth not to maintain a town house (though there were some of those, of palace size and design, on such likely sites as Nob Hill) but rather to retain a permanent suite in one of the major hotels, thus escaping the cares of homeowners.

  This custom had begun in the early days of the gold seekers when the majority of arrivals were lone men and lived in boardinghouses. Many gentlemen banded together and established semiprivate places for boarding, presided over by competent and even highly talented cook-housekeepers. So attached had the gentlemen become to this state of affairs that, even after some of them had been provided with families and homes, they still kept up the “boarding” establishments and visited those in the evening to meet friends, talk business, and engage in activities one does not generally discuss openly.

  During our dinner Mrs. Deaves had continued to talk, offering such a constant flow of information that I wondered how she found time to do justice to her food. But I listened closely, to learn we were indeed now faced by a world quite different from all I had known.

  “Yes!” Victorine plumped herself down on one of the plush-covered love seats. “We must see all the shops! But—I forgot—we have no money. How, then, will we be able to buy—?”

  Mrs. Deaves laughed. Her face was flushed. She had dined very well, though she must be tightly laced, so wrinkleless was her boned bodice. During the meal her voice had grown louder, her words a little slurred, her laughter more and more frequent

  “You need not worry. Alain’s credit is very well established. Carrying money is tiresome. You see, they will not accept paper bills, such as one uses in the East. Here you can offer only gold or silver.”