Rue Allyn (24 page)

His smile faltered minutely. “Delighted, Mrs. Smithfeld. Are you bound across the bay to San Francisco? May I escort you to your destination?”

“Thank you, no, Mr. Trahern. I am grateful for your help, but I’m meeting someone.” Her voice shook. Hopefully he would think she was still distraught from nearly being run over. And she must be or she would have thought of a better lie. She knew no one in San Francisco. If Mr. Trahern lingered, her falsehood would soon become apparent. Unable to continue meeting his glance she bowed her head and stared as her fingers pleated the fabric of her skirt. He unsettled her, and she didn’t know why. She did know that the sooner they parted ways the better.

He seemed rooted to the spot, so she raised her head a bit and watched his gaze travel around the nearly deserted terminal. Only railway employees remained. All the passengers and vendors had moved into the waiting room and ticketing office or beyond.

His stare finally returned to her. “Is it possible that your party forgot or mistook the day?”

Edith ordered herself to stop fidgeting. She squared her shoulders to present a confident façade.

“More likely
he
has been delayed.” She stressed the male pronoun. Mr. Trahern might be more inclined to leave if he thought she waited on a man’s arrival.

“Then allow me to be your escort, please.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. The man was too persistent by half. “I … I couldn’t desert my friend.”

“You can leave a message for him at the ticket window. I promise to take you directly to your hotel and deliver news of your safe arrival to your friend personally.”

“I don’t … that is, I’m uncertain of his address.” Her fingers sought her skirt, and she forced her hands to still.

“I’ve lived in this area most of my life and have a great many friends and contacts. Give me your friend’s name. If I don’t know him I can find someone who does.”

This would never do. Edith had to get rid of Trahern. She stood, drawing herself up to her full height, which had her staring at his neck. And a very nice neck it was too. She shooed away the errant thought and waited for him to back up out of courtesy. He didn’t. She fought the excitement of close proximity by summoning her best chilly reserve. The one she used to discourage familiarity with servants who saw her as an equal because Grandfather treated her just as harshly as the help.

“Really, Mr. Trahern, you need not concern yourself further in my affairs. I am quite capable of fending for myself.” The words emerged firm and even, no longer nervous and shaking.

• • •

Maybe back east she was capable of managing on her own, but Dutch didn’t think for a minute that Mrs. Smithfeld could safely navigate San Francisco’s rougher waters. He studied her. Earlier, he’d caught a glimpse of porcelain skin and auburn curls, but she’d straightened her veil too quickly for him to see her face. Her form was nothing unusual, a bit thin perhaps but shapely enough and on the tall side for a woman. The navy serge dress and matching gloves told him only that she had an eye for quality goods and practical colors. However her movements, even while so obviously nervous, were extraordinarily graceful. Her voice was dark and smooth with a slight edge like the best chocolate. Her words implied an educated, cultured background. And she smelled like a field of daisies. Dutch found her clean simplicity powerfully attractive and wished he could see the face behind the obscuring cloth.

Why did she wear the veil anyway? Veils were hot and impeded vision. Worn to keep dust and dirt off the face, most women would raise a veil whenever possible, but Mrs. Smithfeld kept hers securely tucked and tied. Then there was her ramrod posture and her fidgeting fingers. All combined to rouse his suspicions that she wasn’t quite what she claimed to be. He despised liars, and if she hadn’t seemed so helpless, he would have obliged her and left.

She was right that her affairs were none of his business, but something — her slim rigidity or those nervous fingers perhaps — raised every protective instinct. He should leave her to her own devices. She was married for crissakes, or claimed to be, but he couldn’t make himself walk away when she was so distressed.

“No doubt you are capable of caring for your safety in your own community. However, this is San Francisco. Trouble lurks for the unwary on every street corner and in every stoop. Our city is unfortunately full of rogues, thieves, and charlatans.”

Dutch waited for her reply and tried to penetrate her veil. He wanted, needed to see her features. To see truth or lies on her face.

Her shoulders trembled.

Had he upset her? Was she crying?

“Which are you?”

Dutch shook his head. “Which what am I?”

“Are you a rogue, a thief, or a charlatan?”

She was laughing at him. His brow lowered. “None, I’m a businessman.”

“Really?” Her voice was low and touched with humor. “You did not include businessmen on your list of San Francisco’s populace.”

He reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a card, and handed it to her.

“I’m Dutch Trahern of Trahern-Smiley Import & Export.”

She accepted his card. “I appreciate your concern, and I thank you for your warning. Nonetheless I must refuse your kind offer. Even in San Francisco a lone woman who accepts the escort of a stranger for any appreciable distance must be considered unpardonably fast.”

Unbidden and unwanted the memory of his mother in the company of strange men rose like bile. She’d always refused his pleas for her to stay home. The same helplessness he’d felt then knotted his chest now. He sucked in a deep breath and forced back the image, the feelings, to focus on Mrs. Smithfeld. Short of abducting her, he’d done everything he could. Frustration tightened his mouth. “I can see I’m unable to change your mind.”

She nodded.

“At least,” he continued. “Allow me to walk you to the ferry. The dock is very close by.”

After some hesitation she nodded once more. “If it will help to put your mind at rest, I accept. A short walk in the open would be unexceptionable.”

“This way.” He hefted her trunk onto one shoulder and grasped both her carpet bags with the other hand.

As they walked he explained which offers of transport could be trusted, which to avoid, and how to find the best lodging. He saw her safely settled on the ferry and wished her well.

A mix of worry, regret, and relief tugged at his chest as the vessel disappeared into the fog. Why had he pushed to insert himself into Mrs. Smithfeld’s business? She was a presentable female, so some amount of attraction was understandable, but that was hardly reason enough to desert Smiley and risk having their informant get away.

That porter had information about human cargo being secretly brought to San Francisco aboard Trahern-Smiley vessels. The flesh trade disgusted Dutch for personal as well as moral reasons. Horrifying as white slavery was, he knew that he couldn’t stop it. What he could do was ensure that neither he or his business and associates had any involvement with flesh peddlers. Dutch was determined to halt the use of his ships for anything other than legitimate business. Only his brother Trey was more important than the business that anchored their respectability. Dutch could not explain why he allowed one solitary woman to distract him from protecting that respectability. Shaking his head, he turned his back on the approaching fog and set off to discover if Smiley had caught the porter.

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