When the Walls Fell (20 page)

His hands barely brushed the swell of her hips as they moved around her. Fingertips grazed her skin as his hands passed over her stomach and up toward her breasts. Finally giving in to his desire, his fingers brushed along the underside of her breasts. He took them into his hands and leaned down to kiss the side of her neck. She arched into touch.

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

She eased around in his arms, kissed the corner of his mouth, smiled and then started toward the bedroom leaving his near breathless. He watched as she leaned against the doorway, the very picture of the coy seductress. “Are you going to do this properly, or not?”

He unbuttoned his collar and walked toward her. “Definitely not properly.”

Chapter Eighteen

T
hick black soot billowed out of the ferry’s smokestack and disappeared into the distance behind them. It was a smoother ride than Simon had thought it would be considering how rough the bay could be. Then again, the ferry was no small ship at nearly 300 feet in length and almost half that in width. The coal engine hummed below deck and the side-paddles made an oddly comforting churning sound as they dug through the water.

After Elizabeth and he had recovered from the afternoon’s adventures, Simon had used his little spy network again to find the Admiral. It might be a waste of time to talk with him, but waiting for Sunday to come simply wasn’t an option.

According to Simon’s sources, the Admiral liked to ride the ferries. Supposedly, it reminded him of his navy days and more often than not, he could be found at dusk riding the Bay City ferry to Oakland and back. That’s just where Simon and Elizabeth found him, standing at the rail of the cabin deck looking out over the bay.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Elizabeth said as she joined the Admiral at the railing.

He seemed surprised that anyone had spoken. He turned to her, looked her up and down and then turned back to the sea. “I’ve always thought so.”

“What island is that?” Elizabeth asked.

“Angel Island. It was a fine naval base once. Now, it’s home to the devil—coolies and their nursemaids.”

Elizabeth turned to Simon and raised an eyebrow. He held up a placating hand. People were products of their world and San Francisco at the turn of the century was not exactly accepting of racial differences.

“Immigration is complicated,” Elizabeth said.

The Admiral snorted. “Not from where I stand. Your Graham might call it progress, but to my mind it’s the death of a pure America.”

Simon could see Elizabeth fighting her instincts to tell the Admiral just what she thought of that last comment. He was proud that she managed to bite out a quick, “I don’t work for Graham,” instead.

The Admiral snorted. “No? You’ll forgive me, Miss, if I have trouble believing that after what I saw the other day.”

“That wasn’t what it looked like.”

“It doesn’t really matter. You can tell him I won’t fight him anymore. I’m too old and too tired.” He turned his attention back to the whitecaps. “At least he can’t buy this.”

“He really isn’t so bad,” Elizabeth offered.

The Admiral snorted. “You’re just like him, aren’t you? Progress at the cost of all else? At the cost of decency? You don’t remember how it was before, when the… negros knew their place and the Asiatics stayed where they belonged.”

“I thought you fought for the Union.”

“I fought for Maryland. The white man doesn’t stand a chance now.”

“The white man?” Elizabeth said. “The hell?”

The Admiral sighed and looked back out over the water. “I shouldn’t expect more than vulgarities from a… woman of your ilk.”

“I have an ilk?” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side.

Simon knew this wasn’t going to end well and stepped in to intervene. He pulled Elizabeth aside. As much as he wanted to push the damn pillock overboard, he knew he couldn’t. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Elizabeth.”

“Yes,” the Admiral said. “Please control that fishwife.”

Simon glared at him, but managed to rein in his impulses. There was nothing to be gained from taking the Admiral apart bigoted piece by bigoted piece, no matter how satisfying it might have felt.

“I think the air’s fresher on the other side,” Simon said.

He could feel the tension in Elizabeth’s body as he led her away.

“Makes me crazy,” she grumbled. “Miserable old…”

Simon slipped an arm around her waist. “I know, but we can’t change him.”

They left the Admiral and his hate behind. It had been a disconcerting meeting, made all the more so by knowing that men like him weren’t just relics of the past. Even a hundred years later, his brand of hate would still be alive.

The rest of the ferry ride was a rather solemn affair. It was difficult to say whether their encounter with the Admiral had made him less of a suspect or more of one. He was certainly angry enough to be trouble, but Simon didn’t get the sense that he was the sort to murder a man in cold blood either. Most men of his type were all talk, but not all of them.

They arrived back at the port just as the sun was dipping below the western horizon. They hired a hack back to Mrs. Eldridge’s. Max’s car was parked in the flowerbed when they arrived.

While Elizabeth went upstairs to freshen up, Simon went to the salon to wait. Harrington lounged in one of the chairs as he idly flipped through the latest edition of Life Magazine.

“Cross,” he said tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “Where’s our darling Elizabeth?”

“My darling Elizabeth is upstairs.” Simon eyed the man suspiciously as he sat down opposite him. “I thought she explained our situation.”

“Your situation, yes.” Harrington picked a piece of fluff off the flower in his lapel button and flicked it away. “It’s a funny word for it, isn’t it? Situation. Makes it sound so…unsettled.”

Simon leaned back and crossed his legs. “Does it?”

Harrington shrugged in that casual, diffident way entitled private schoolboys always did. “If we’re being honest with each other. You do prefer that, don’t you?”

Simon draped his arms across the back of the small sofa. “By all means.”

“Well, then yes, it does sound that way. You and Elizabeth might work things out, but then again, you might not.”

“And you’ll be there just in case we don’t,” Simon said feeling less inclined to be polite than he had a few minutes ago.

Harrington shrugged and ran hand through his ridiculously floppy hair. “She’s a free woman, has her own mind and I don’t see a ring.”

Simon was surprised at how calm he was. Just a few days ago a remark like that would have drawn blood, from one of them. “Do you always chase after another man’s woman?”

“I’m not chasing, just…running alongside.” Harrington laughed. “You probably don’t have anything to worry about anyway, old man. Aunt Lillian says I’m not the marrying kind, lack follow-through and all that. Last week I would have said I was in violent agreement with that assessment. I’d be a terrible husband, always setting off on some ridiculous adventure. Of course, if I’d met someone who found the prospect of that as exciting as I do, I’d be a fool to let her go, now wouldn’t I?”

Simon was about to respond when Elizabeth came in looking far less sea-blown. “What’d I miss?”

Both men stood and looked at each other. “Nothing.”

“All righty then.” She sat down next to Simon. “Max, did you find out anything?”

“Quite a bit actually.” He walked over to the fireplace and leaned on the mantle. “Your Madame Petrovka has made quite an impression on San Francisco, even before last night’s incident.”

“How’d you hear about that?” she asked.

“Mrs. Daniels told Mrs. Eckels who told her maid and I lost track after that. I heard it from Teddy who is, by the way, very grateful for your kindness to him last night. Both of you.”

Simon nodded his head in acceptance. “And Madame Petrovka?”

“Right. Well, she’s predicted things with startling accuracy including the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius.”

“That’s a pretty big one,” Elizabeth said giving Simon a worried look.

“Did you hear back from your contacts in England?” Elizabeth asked.

“One of them. It’s a bit sketchy, but over the last few years, she’s made the rounds, even performed for some royal houses. Made some astonishing predictions, most of which turned out to be quite true. Married a very successful Russian businessman a few years ago, who tragically died less than a year later. And here’s the really odd bit. Before her marriage, there’s no record of her at all. He couldn’t find a thing. It’s as though she didn’t exist before that.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Elizabeth said.

“It’s possible she changed her name,” Simon said. “Or the records were lost.”

“Could be,” Max agreed. “My friend’s looking into it. He said he’d cable me again in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “That was very kind of you to do.”

“My pleasure,” he said with a courtly bow. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what this is all about? I’d like to help, if I can.”

Elizabeth cast Simon a speculative glance.

“I do love a good adventure,” Max added hopefully.

“I’m afraid it’s nothing so exciting,” Simon said. “Something for Lloyd’s.”

Max looked disappointed at that. “Insurance?”

“I’m afraid so. Some spurious claim. Just being diligent.”

“That’s a shame. I thought it might be something dangerous and exciting.”

“No,” Simon said with a quick look at Elizabeth. “Not dangerous or exciting at all.”

***

“Try not to be too confrontational,” Elizabeth said to Simon as they bumped along the road to Haight-Ashbury.

“Like you were with the Admiral.”

Elizabeth made a sour face and looked out the window of the carriage. It was hard to believe that all of the amazing Victorian homes they passed would be rendered to nothing more than ashes and rubble in a just a few days. It made the breakfast she’d managed to get down that morning feel more like lead than toast.

Tomorrow was D-Day. She’d tried to remember every bit of information that Travers had told her. The trouble was, there wasn’t much to remember. The details were sketchy at best. Graham was murdered sometime in the evening of Easter Sunday and time would be altered.

She glanced at Simon who was disturbingly undisturbed by the whole thing. If what the Council had said was true, history would change and one of those changes could affect Simon’s very existence. And yet, he didn’t seem worried. In fact, he looked quite at home. Maybe it was the dressy clothes or rights of privilege, but he seemed more confident somehow, more at ease. Whatever it was, the turn of the century suited him.

The carriage stopped in front of a group of lavish row houses, large two-story homes whose sides kissed. They were a little like the brownstones of New York, but the class was an upper not a lower.

Simon opened the door and helped Elizabeth out. 815 Ashbury. That’s where Simon’s contacts had said Madame Petrovka lived.

They walked up the steps to the portico and Simon rang the bell. A few seconds later Mr. Stryker, his craggy face as implacable as ever, opened the door.

“We’d like to see Madame Petrovka,” Simon said.

Mr. Stryker gave them a small, hollow smile before stepping aside and letting them in. He asked them to wait in the parlor.

A few minutes later Madame Petrovka joined them. “I am not available for appointments today, but if you’d like to make arrangements with Mr. Stryker…”

“We’d like to talk to you about what happened at the Graham’s,” Simon said.