Читать книгу Rescuing the Heiress - Valerie Hansen - Страница 10

Here they come, Michael thought. Or do they? He shook his head in disbelief. Except for the lightness of their steps, the approaching pair resembled stodgy matrons rather than the lithe, lovely young women he had expected. If this was their idea of a joke he was not amused.

While a groom steadied the horse, Michael circled the cabriolet to assist them. Frowning, he offered his hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Mahoney,” Tess said, placing her small, gloved fingers in his and raising her hem just enough to place her dainty foot on the step leading to the rear seat.

“It’ll be good only if your father doesn’t find out what you’re up to,” Michael countered. “I can’t believe you convinced me to be a party to this.”

Stepping aboard, she laughed softly, her eyes twinkling behind the thin veil that she’d arranged to cover her face. “Neither can I.”

“You two look like you’re going to a funeral,” he said with disdain. “I just hope it isn’t mine.”

Tess merely laughed. Michael was too troubled to comment further. Instead, he helped Annie up the same step, then vaulted easily into the driver’s seat. “Ready?”

“Ready,” they said in unison, sounding like two happy children headed for a romp in Golden Gate Park on a sunny afternoon.

Their carefree attitude irritated Michael. He’d spent enough time in the seamier parts of San Francisco to know that his chore of protecting these foolish young women might prove harder than either of them imagined. Yes, the city was more civilized than it had been right after the gold rush, but there were still plenty of ne’er do-wells, drunks and just plain crooks out and about, especially after dark.

His fondest hope was that the crowd of women at Mechanics’ Pavilion would act as an adequate buffer to help safeguard his charges. He couldn’t hold off a mob single-handed, not even if he were armed, which he was not.

An aroma of salt water and rotting refuse from down by the wharves was borne on the fog, although it didn’t seem quite as offensive as usual, probably because the evening was quite cool and there was no onshore wind to carry as much of the odor inland.

Michael flicked the reins lightly to encourage the horse to trot after he turned onto Powell Street. Driving over the cobblestones with the metal-rimmed carriage wheels gave their passage a rough, staccato cadence, although there was so much other traffic on the wide boulevard the sounds melded into a clatter that made it hard to differentiate one noise from the others.

Teamsters yelled at their teams, whipping the poor beasts to force them to haul overfilled wagons up the steep streets from the wharves. A herd of cattle was evidently being driven up Market Street because their combined bellowing and shouts of the drovers working them could be heard blocks away.

Add to that the occasional echoing pistol shot, probably coming from the seamier areas of the city, and Michael was decidedly uneasy. The sooner they reached the pavilion and he got these two innocents settled inside the hall, the happier he’d be.

A giggle came from behind him, tickling the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. It was Tess. Of course it was. Annie might be accompanying her but this so-called adventure had most certainly originated in Tess’s active mind.

He glanced over his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Tess replied, her voice still tinged with humor. “I was just thinking of how much more enjoyable this jaunt would be if we’d taken Papa’s new motorcar.”

“You’d need a different driver if you had,” Michael told her flatly. “I’ve plenty of experience handling the lines but never an automobile.”

“You drive them with a wheel or a steering lever, not reins,” Tess teased. “Everybody knows that. Papa says the time will come when horses are unnecessary.”

“I doubt that. Those machines will never catch on. Too noisy and complicated. Besides, you’d spend all your spare time stopping at pharmacies to buy jugs of fuel. Imagine the inconvenience.”

“No more so than having to feed and water horses,” she countered. “You should know all about that. Those fire horses you care for are beautiful animals. When they race through the streets as a team it’s a thrilling sight.”

“How would you know?”

She tittered behind her gloved hand. “I have seen them in action many times. And you driving them, if you must know.”

“Have you, now? That’s a bit of a surprise.” When he turned slightly farther and smiled at her, he saw her gather herself and raise her chin.

“I can’t understand why it should be. Station #4 is not too far from Father’s bank and it is impossible to ignore that noisy, clanging bell and that steaming engine racing through the streets at such reckless speeds.”

“It’s only reckless if unheeding pedestrians step in front of us. The bell is meant to be enough warning for any sensible person.”

To Michael’s surprise, she agreed with him. “You’re right, of course. I didn’t mean to sound disparaging. I think your profession is most honorable.”

One more quick glance showed him that she was smiling behind the veil and it was all he could do to keep from breaking into a face-splitting grin at her praise. There was something impish yet charming about the banker’s daughter. Always had been, if he were totally honest with himself.

Someday, Michael vowed silently, he would find a suitable woman with a spirit like Tess’s and give her a proper courting. He had no chance with Tess herself, of course. That went without saying. Still, she couldn’t be the only appealing lass in San Francisco. When he was good and ready he’d begin to look around. There was plenty of time. Most men waited to wed until they could properly look after a wife and family.

If he’d been a rich man’s son instead of the offspring of a lowly sailor, however, perhaps he’d have shown a personal interest in Miss Clark or one of her socialite friends already.

Would he really have? he asked himself. He doubted it. There was a part of Michael that was repelled by the affectations of the wealthy, by the way they lorded it over the likes of him and his widowed mother. He knew Tess couldn’t help that she’d been born into a life of luxury, yet he still found her background off-putting.

Which is just as well, he reminded himself. It was bad enough that they were likely to be seen out and about on this particular evening. If the maid Annie Dugan hadn’t been along for the ride, he knew he’d have had a lot more questions to answer; answers that could, if misinterpreted, lead to his ruination. His career with the fire department depended upon a sterling reputation as well as a Spartan lifestyle and strong work ethic.

Michael had labored too long and hard to let anything spoil his pending promotion to captain. He set his jaw and grasped the reins more tightly. Not even the prettiest, smartest, most persuasive girl in San Francisco was going to get away with doing that.

He sighed, realizing that Miss Tess Clark fit that flowery description to a T.

Tess settled back on the velvet tufted upholstery in the rear seat of the cabriolet and watched as they finally turned south on Van Ness and approached the center of the city. The streets in this district were well lit and broad enough to accommodate plenty of traffic, yet still seemed terribly crowded.

Parallel sets of trolley tracks with a power line buried between them ran down the center of the thoroughfare. These lines sliced their way through the cobblestones in much the same way the cable for the cable cars did, except for the fact that the trolleys were driven by electric power. Traffic increased rapidly and included quite a few of the infernal motorcars that Michael had spoken so strongly against.

Tess leaned forward and placed one gloved hand on the low back of the seat near his elbow while pointing with her other. “There’s an automobile. And two more. See? They seem to be much easier to maneuver, particularly over the ruts of the streetcar tracks, no matter how the driver approaches them.”

“That’s only because most buggy wheels are narrower,” he argued, carefully maneuvering the cabriolet between a parked dray and one of the modern streetcars as it passed. “I can’t believe how some people drive with no concern for anyone else. It’s little wonder there are so many accidents these days.”

“Father says the motorcars will put an end to that because there won’t be any horses to get frightened and bolt.” She noted how hard Michael was working to control her spirited mare in the presence of the unusual, sputtering vehicles. Some of the other teamsters were having similar difficulties. “See what I mean?”

“All I see is that there’s probably not going to be a good place to leave this rig near the pavilion,” he replied. “Would it be all right if I let you ladies off near the door and then looked for a spot around the corner? There should be more room on Market Street, as long as the drovers have their cattle rounded up and moved on by now.”

“Of course,” Tess said, hoping her inflection wouldn’t inadvertently reveal a desire to remain near the handsome fireman. “You can stop anywhere. I see the banner. This is where we belong.”

“In your opinion.” Michael huffed. “I don’t believe I have ever seen so many women gathered in one place before. There must be thousands.”

Tess tensed. “Wait. How will you find us again if we go inside without you?”

“I don’t know. If you weren’t wearing that enormous hat I could probably spot you in the crowd by your pr— By your hair.”

“You were going to say pretty, weren’t you?” She smiled, amused by the way his cheeks grew more ruddy in the light from the streetlamps surrounding the enormous meeting hall.

“It would be wrong of me to mention such things, Miss Clark.”

That made her laugh softly. “But I would find it delightful if you did. Does that embarrass you, Michael?”

“Of course not.”

He brought the buggy to a halt as close to the curb as possible, then quickly helped both young women alight and saw them to the curb before once again climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Take off your hat after you get inside,” he called over the din of the crowd. “I’ll find you.”

She knew that her eyes must be twinkling because she was keenly amused when she shouted back, “And how will you do that, sir?”

Michael paused just long enough to lean down from his perch and say more privately, “By your beautiful, dark red hair.” Then he flicked the reins and the horse took off.

Beside her, Tess heard Annie sigh. “Oh, my. That man’s smile could melt butter in the middle of winter.” The shorter girl had clasped her hands over her heart and was clearly mooning.

For some reason Annie’s overt interest in Michael needled Tess. She knew it was foolish to allow herself to be bothered, since the maid was a far more likely social choice for him to make than she was.

Nevertheless, Tess was surprised and a little saddened by a twinge of jealousy. What was wrong with her? Was she daft? Just because a man was stalwart and handsome and so glib-tongued that his very words sent shivers up her spine, it didn’t mean that she should take his supposed interest seriously. After all, she was a Clark, a member of the San Francisco upper crust. And as such she did have a family reputation to uphold whether she thought it a silly pretense or not.

Standing tall and leading the way, Tess gathered a handful of skirt for ease of walking and crossed the lawn to the wide entry doors of the meeting hall. There were ladies from all walks of life proceeding with her in a flowing tide of gracious yet clearly animated womanhood, she noted, pleased and energized by the atmosphere.

Perhaps this suffragette movement would remove some of the social stigmas that had always set her apart from many of her good sister Christians like Annie, she mused. If it did nothing else, she would be forever grateful.

Michael worked his way slowly south on Van Ness Avenue and turned onto Market Street. As he had hoped, there was plenty of room there for the Clark buggy. He tipped a small boy in tattered knee britches and a slouchy cap to watch the rig for him while he was gone, then headed back for Mechanics’ Pavilion at a trot.

He hadn’t gone a hundred yards when a man grabbed his arm and stopped him. It was one of his fellow firemen.

“Hey, Michael, me boy. Where’re you bound in such a hurry?”

Before thinking, he answered, “The pavilion.”

That young man, and those with him, guffawed. “No wonder you’re wearin’ your uniform. If you’re lookin’ to use that badge to impress a good woman, you surely won’t find one there. Where are you really goin’?”

“None of your business, O’Neill.”

“Now, now, don’t be trying to get above yourself, boyo.” He laughed again, spewing the odor of strong drink on a cloud of his breath.

“Don’t worry about me,” Michael replied with disdain. “Just take care of yourself and don’t end up in a bar fight again.”

O’Neill’s only reply was a hearty laugh and a slap on the back as he shared his amusement with most of the others gathered nearby.

Michael hurried away from the group of obviously inebriated men, hoping none of them decided to trail after him on a lark. It wasn’t that he felt he couldn’t handle himself well in any situation. He just didn’t want his cronies to follow him all the way to Tess and continue their taunts, straining the difficult circumstances even further.

He needn’t have worried. Getting past the crowd milling around in the street and on the sidewalks and lawn bordering the enormous Mechanics’ Pavilion was so difficult, Michael doubted he’d be followed by anyone.

It was all he could do to work his way through to the meeting hall entrance. First he had to run the gauntlet of shouting, chanting, angry men carrying placards denouncing the women’s movement, then convince the uniformed police officers posted at the doors that his intentions were peaceful and honorable.

“I escorted several young ladies,” Michael shouted to the guards. “They’re waiting for me inside. I promised to join them.” He held up his right hand, palm out. “On my honor.”

The burly doormen looked at each other and then back at him, clearly cognizant of his official fireman’s attire. “All right,” one of them said. “But any trouble from you and you’re headed for the paddy wagon just like anybody else. We’ve got more’n one waitin’ right out back.”

“I promise I’m not going to be a problem,” Michael vowed, still holding up his hand and doffing his hat as he sidled through the narrow space between the two broad-shouldered officers.

The door most of the women were using stood wide-open. That feminine multitude was sweeping through without being questioned, although many were casting sidelong glances at each other as if they were either worried or wary. Or both. He supposed, given that this kind of gathering was such an unusual occurrence, it was natural for some of them to be uneasy particularly if their husbands didn’t know where they had gone.

On the other hand there were the stalwarts like Tess, who were obviously not intimidated by a crowd, especially not by one composed mainly of members of the fairer persuasion. How on earth could he hope to locate her among this mass of velvet and feathers, furs and veils? Surely she’d realize his dilemma and at least wave her hand in the air from time to time.

Straining with cap in hand, he stretched to his full six-foot height to peer at the seething mass of well-dressed women. Those who did not have fancy hats covered with flowers and feathers were in the minority, although there did seem to be a fair number of plainer bonnets or uncovered heads as well. That was where he’d made his mistake. By assuming that only Tess would be bareheaded, he’d become overconfident.

The press of the crowd was stifling. Various aromas of perfume assaulted him as they mixed and permeated the already overly warm inside air.

He raised his eyes to the vaulted ceiling and was in the midst of a short, silent prayer for guidance when he noticed a gallery.

As he headed for the stairway leading to the upper tier he continued to pray. “Father, I know there’s no way I’ll ever find Tess in this mess unless You help me.” His heart skipped and hammered. “Please?”

Gaining the landing, he gripped the rail and gazed down at the rows and rows of benches facing a stage where several well-dressed but otherwise unremarkable ladies sat. If not for their position at the podium, he would have assumed they were merely a part of the audience.

Would Tess press closer to the stage so she could observe the speaker’s expressions? He assumed so, given her earlier conversation and the determined way she had been behaving.

Starting at the center near the front, Michael began to systematically scan the crowd row by row. He had to force himself to take his time and study the back of each person’s head carefully in spite of his burgeoning anxiety.

His “Where are you?” was spoken barely above a whisper. There? No, that wasn’t her. How about…? No.

Jostled and pushed, he stubbornly clung to his place at the railing and prayed he wouldn’t have to actually return to the ground floor and make a spectacle of himself in order to locate and be reunited with the two young women. Bringing them there in the first place was bad enough. Calling attention to such a folly would be a hundred times worse.

Michael took a sudden gulp of air. There! Was that her?

Maybe. Maybe not. His breathing was already ragged and his heart was pounding exactly the way it did every time he answered a fire alarm. His hands fisted on the rail. He wanted to shout out, to call to Tess. To see if it truly was her he was staring at.

Fear for her safety and well-being stopped him. There might be few folks in this particular crowd who would recognize wealthy Gerald Bell Clark’s daughter on sight, but many knew her name only from the society pages of the Chronicle. It would be unwise to call attention to her in this unusual situation, especially since he was currently too far away to protect her if need be.

Watching and continuing to hold perfectly still, he willed the reddish-haired woman to turn her head just the slightest so he could be certain.

In moments she did better than that. Standing and swiveling while she removed her coat, she looked over the crowd behind her, eventually letting her gaze rise and come to rest on the balcony.

Michael tensed. His breath whooshed out with relief. There was no doubt. It was Tess.

He was about to leave his place to join her when he saw her raise her arm, grin broadly and wave to him as if she had just spotted the most important person present.

To his delight and equally strong sense of self-disgust, he was so thrilled by her candid reaction that he temporarily froze.

In all the time they had been acquainted, Tess had never looked at him that way before. Or had she? He blinked to clear his head and sort out his racing thoughts. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he kept imagining that perhaps she had done so and he had been too blind, too dunderheaded to have noticed. Until tonight.

As he started back down the stairs to join her he corrected that supposition. It wasn’t foolish to ignore Tess’s apparent personal interest. In his case it was the only intelligent thing to do. Even considering her to be a mere friend could prove detrimental.

The idea that she might actually covet a deeper relationship with him was unthinkable. Ridiculous. Nothing good—for either of them—could ever come from entertaining such an outrageous folly. Not even in his dreams.