Gold (34 page)

“
It’s becoming more and more inconvenient to do so, to tell you the truth.”

“
What in heaven’s name are you talking
about?”

W.W. frowned at her.
“Pamela, Ned has died.
I was arranging for the funeral services when the
boy brought me word you were with Gowdy and
had sent away your carriage. I had to drop every
thing and hurry over here to see you were safe.”

“
Ned?” Tears filled Pamela’s eyes. “Oh, W.W.,
I didn’t even know he was sick.”

“
Cholera’s a quick killer. Pamela, I want you
to promise me you won’t come to the docks alone
again. Either Mac or Abe or Ned or myself has
had to trail you every time you visited Charlie’s.
It’s damned inconvenient. I’ve no more time to
cater to your so-called sensibilities. Don’t you
think your coachman is well aware of your visits
here? Whom do you think you’re fooling?”

“
No one has ever molested me.”

“
Now you know why. Don’t think this scum doesn’t know it’s dangerous to tangle with W.W.
Rhynne.”

“
You make me feel I’ve been very stupid.”

“
Exactly my intention. Here we are.”

He nodded to the building Charlie Sung had
altered so that the corners of the roof curled upward in temple fashion. Bright red Chinese char
acters decorated the door. Inside were glimmering multicolored Chinese shawls, bolts of silk, carved
teakwood tables, boxes of choice teas, fans and
sticks of incense. The fragrance of sandlewood
permeated the store.

“
We’d like to see Charlie,” W.W. said to the
old Chinese who tended the counter.

The man bowed and touched a small brass
gong with a wooden mallet. Almost instantly a Chinese girl in a cheongsam glided through the beaded curtains that concealed an inner doorway. The elderly man whispered to her and she disappeared behind the curtain.

In a few moments
Charlie’s bland face appeared from the same inner doorway. Although he, too, wore a queue and dressed very much like the old man, she managed to convey and entirely different image. A Celestial, of course, but above and beyond that, a man of business.

“
Always good to see you, Charlie,” W.W. said. “Today I have a favor to ask.” He stepped closer and said something to him in such a low tone that Pamela couldn’t make out the words.

Charlie
’s face didn’t change.

W.W. spoke again, still so softly she didn
’t hear.

Charlie nodded,
“For you, Mr. Rynne,” though with reluctance. Charlie’s voice never failed to fascinate Pamela. He spoke with a cultured English accent. She would have thought he was an Oxford graduate had she heard but not seen him, when she had ventured to ask him once, Charlie had assured her he’d never had the pleasure of voyaging to England.

No
w Charlie touched the gong and the same girl appeared. He spoke to her in Chinese, then turned back to W.W. and Pamela. “If you will please follow Plum Blossom.”

Pamela stared at W.W. He motioned
with his head toward the girl. Pamela had not gone beyond the beaded curtain before when she’d come for her laudnaum
. In fact, of late the
old man simply
handed her the bottles with a bow
when she gave him the money and she didn’t
even see Charlie. What was Rhynne up to?

“
Come along, Pamela,” he said curtly.

To mask her confusion she spoke to Charlie.
“Is Plum Blossom actually her name?” she asked.
The girl was as fragile and lovely as a flower.

“
The exact English translation is Early-Flower
ing-of-the-Plum-Tree,” Charlie told her.

Pamela and W.W. walked behind Plum Blos
som through the beaded curtain, along an ill-lit corridor and through a wooden door that she
unlocked. Another corridor with many doors. The girl stopped before the last door, unlocked
it and motioned them to precede her. She then
relocked the door behind the three of them.

Pamela gasped. From a small platform she gazed down into a squalid smoky room where
men lounged against dingy grey pallets. Round
braziers stood near each pallet and although some
of the men seemed asleep, others puffed on long
exotic pipes. None of them paid any attention to
the intruders. Pamela stared, uncomprehending.

“
These, my dear, are opium smokers. There
you see them dreaming their lives away.”

She whirled to look at W.W. Although his tone
had been mocking, his dark eyes were sad.

“
As you can see, not all of them are Celestials,
and not all are men.” He inclined his head.

To Pamela
’s horror, she now noticed the per
son almost directly under them was a woman, a
white woman.

“
Oh, W.W., how could she?”

“
The same as you could, Pamela. Only she’s
unluckier. And poorer.”

Pamela bit her lip. This was unfair of W.W. It wasn
’t the same, not the same at all.

“
The difference is only in degree,” he said as
though reading her mind. “You still keep yourself
active. How long will you be able to?”

She didn
’t reply. Couldn’t reply. Only she knew
how hard it was to climb out of bed sometimes, to
leave the warm fascination of her dreams behind
and force herself to accept the responsibilities of
the day. Wasn’t it becoming more difficult? Would
the day come when she didn’t make the effort? But on the other hand the agony when she tried
to give up laudanum was indescribable.

Pamela took a deep breath and straightened
her shoulders. “Thank you for your concern,”
she said, her voice frosty. “You’ve made your
point, misguided though it might be.”

W.W. shook his head, but said nothing. He motioned to the girl that they were ready to leave.

Outside Charlie’s, though the cold wind from
the bay cleared her lungs of the sweet smell of
opium, Pamela fancied she could still taste it.
“How could you?” she said in a low intense voice
to W.W. when he offered his arm. “How could
you do this to me?”

“
Because I love you,” he said, looking directly
at her.

She lowered her lashes. She had no
answer.

Maria knocked on the door of Pamela
’s bed
room. When Pamela answered, she eased the door open and stuck her head in
to announce there was a man at the door.

“
He ask to see Lady Pamela,” Maria said in her heavy accent. “He say Captain Fitzpatrick.”

Pamela rose slowly from the chaise longue.
She hadn’t even heard the knocker. “I’ll be down
in a few minutes,” she told Maria. “Show him
into the parlor.”

Rapidly she tidied her hair and smoothed her skirt. How foolish of her to have fallen asleep
without changing into a dressing robe. Should she
put on something more becoming than the black
gown? It lacked even a crinoline. Meeting her
eyes in the mirror she made a face. She was
definitely not looking her best.

Quickly she undid the buttons and stepped out of the dress. What should she put on—the rose
taffeta? With a modest crinoline, so she didn’t appear overdressed. Yes, that was an improvement. These days black seemed to drain all the
color from her face. She arranged her hair in a
more elaborate chignon than she usually bothered
with and descended the stairs, all too conscious
of the rapid beating of her heart.

How would he look? Did he remember what
there had been between them those last weeks on
the trail? Pamela took several deep breaths as
she approached the parlor door. When she en
tered she was smiling and composed.

“
How nice of you to visit, Barry,” she said.
“I’d heard you were in San Francisco.” She gave
him her hand, looking into his bright blue eyes,
the eyes she remembered so well.

“
Hello, Lady Pamela,” he said, holding her
hand only for a brief moment.

“
Why, Barry, you’re so formal. Surely you can
call me Pamela.”

He nodded.
“Pamela, then.”

He was even more handsome than she remembered. The extra years had honed him. His
bone structure was more prominent, the eager
ness of his youth replaced by the assurance of a
man who knew all there was to know about him
self. An exciting man.

“
Would you care for spirits? I can offer you
some excellent French brandy. Or there’s . . .”

“
Thank you, no. Not now.”

She raised her eyebrows. They stood facing
one another but he made no move toward or away
from her.

“
Have you come on official business, then?”
she asked, her voice mocking him. “Have you
come to arrest me, perhaps?”

Barry tried not to stare at her. He
’d been ap
palled when the man he had trailing Rhynne sent
word that Rhynne had taken Pamela to Sung’s
opium den.

“
I peered in through the window,” the man
had told him, “and they went into the back. So they weren’t buying any tea, I’ll vouch for that.”

And now Pamela
’s eyes were strange, her
pupils unnaturally small in this dim room with
no lamps lit although it was nearly dusk.

“
I apologize for my late visit,” he said abruptly.

Pamela blinked, then looked about, suddenly
aware of the rapidly darkening room. She
laughed. “Maria isn’t the best of servants,” she
said. “It’s not easy to find capable help here.” She
turned to pull a cord to summon the maid.
Barry caught her arm. “No,” he said. “Maybe
it’s best to talk with the lamps not lit.”

She looked up coquettishly.
“That depends on
what you intend to say.”

He released her arm. Pamela was still an at
tractive woman, yet she seemed somehow faded. With her eyes giving him the almost sure knowl
edge she used opium, he found the idea of hold
ing her in his arms distasteful.

“
I want you to stay away from Wordsworth
Rhynne,” he said gruffly.

Pamela drew back.
“And what do you think gives you the right to order me about?”

“
He’s a rogue. You must know that.”

“
And you’ve been hired to dispose of him. Do
you intend to dispose of me as well?”

“
If I must,” he said curtly.

“
I don’t believe you.”

“
I came here as a friend. I don’t want to be
come your enemy. But W.W. Rhynne will be
removed from San Francisco one way or another.
It’s in your best interests—and the interests of
your daughter’s reputation—to dissociate yourself
from him completely.”

“
I believe you are already my enemy,” she said
slowly.

“
You misunderstand. I told Selena . . .”

“
You’ve talked to Selena?”

In the dark room she couldn
’t be sure she saw
his face redden. Selena hadn’t told her. Some
thing twisted inside Pamela. Yes, he’d seen Selena
and now she, Pamela, was suddenly old in his
eyes. That’s what was wrong with him.

I won
’t be jealous of my own daughter, she
told herself. But her eyes filled with tears. She swallowed and forced herself to laugh, a sound that was brittle in her ears.

“
I do believe our interview is at an end, Captain Fitzpatrick. I’ll ask Maria to show you out, if you’ll excuse me. “