Scarlet Lies (Author's Cut Edition): Historical Romance Page 9

  When the war was over he returned home for a few months, long enough to know that even a city like San Francisco couldn't contain him. Robert tried to interest him in taking charge of the mining operation that was going on in Virginia City. Six years after Ryland's mine played out Robert had bought shares for himself and Ryland in the Comstock Lode, the silver strike in what was then the Utah Territory. It was the shrewdest investment he had ever made, and Ryland reaped his share of the benefits without any active participation. Ryland visited Virginia City and the mine and knew he wasn't ready to settle in one place, but he saw enough to know that when he did settle, the foothills of Mt. Davison in the Sierra Nevadas would do him just fine.

  Ryland thought about that now as he twisted in his seat for a more comfortable position. For some time he had been giving thought to putting down roots. He was thirty-one and ready to experience the permanency of relationships that he had missed by being footloose and free for almost a dozen years. His desire for stability had almost made him refuse the assignment Abby Gordon had offered him. It would be his last, he vowed. Once he had taken care of Abby's problem to his satisfaction and dealt with the family matter that was bringing him home in the first place, Ryland promised himself he was going to find the prettiest woman in California, court her until she was dizzy in love with him, and start a family of his own. Of course there would have to be marriage somewhere between the courting and the family, but Ryland was looking forward to it.

  He was looking forward to waking up beside a familiar face, coming home to a welcoming smile and conversation. He wanted peace and permanency, love and loving. He wanted children, lots of noisy children who would squeal with delight when he walked in the door, who would kick one another under the dining table, and complain about their school lessons. Ryland supposed he would have to sacrifice a measure of peace, but he didn't think he cared about that. He hoped his wife didn't either.

  He'd given a considerable amount of thought to the qualities he was looking for in a wife. She would be serene, a calming influence, a good listener, soft-spoken, and as well educated as his aunt so that she could answer the children's questions. In physical appearance she would not be very tall, perhaps barely reaching his shoulder. Coloring was unimportant, but she would have to be on the voluptuous side, with good childbearing hips curving beneath a tiny waist.

  Ryland's smile was rather complacent as he reflected on the wisdom of waiting until he was older before thinking seriously of marriage. He knew precisely what he wanted. It was only a matter of finding her.

  If only Andrew had shown some of the same maturity, he thought, Louise and Robert would not be in the state of despair they were in now. Ryland didn't think it would take long to set Drew straight. Andrew was still an impressionable youth, twenty years old and damp behind the ears. It seemed reasonable to expect that Drew could learn from Ryland's greater store of experience.

  In Ryland's opinion Drew's first mistake had been to propose to Caroline Melrose. He was too young to know what he wanted, and he had seen nothing of the world beyond California and Nevada. It would have been acceptable, at least to Ryland, if Drew had broken the engagement to travel east, attend school, or join the army in the western plains. Drew, however, had shamed himself, Caroline, and both their families by deciding that he wanted to marry a courtesan who doubled as a dealer at one of San Francisco's gambling palaces.

  Drew was smitten. Robert and Louise were horrified. Caroline Melrose hadn't left her home in two months. Ryland didn't know what the whore was thinking or feeling, but he assumed she was not prepared to let Andrew North escape her talons.

  Ryland opened the window beside him a crack. Fresh air came with a mixture of soot and smoke from the train's engine. He folded his coat to make a pillow of sorts for his head and closed his eyes again. Minutes later he fell asleep dreaming of home. San Francisco. Whatever critics said of it, no one ever penned that it was dull.

  Seven days of traveling in the close, confining quarters of a train were more than enough for Ryland. At Sacramento the train lines ended and he decided against taking the water approach to San Francisco. Instead he arranged for his baggage to be delivered and bought a horse outright from the local livery.

  It was late when he finally arrived at the outskirts of the city, but Ryland headed toward the heart of the San Francisco he remembered. Portsmouth Square. It hadn't changed so much from the days of his youth. There were still gambling houses and saloons where the rich and the lucky rubbed elbows with shopkeepers, farmers, sailors, and shysters. No matter how many times the city burned, fires fed by wooden buildings and whipping winds, something grander always replaced what had come before.

  Ryland wandered around the city for a while, reacquainting himself with the familiar, taking note of the new. He turned on California Street. Behind him was Chinatown, in front of him, Nob Hill. Ryland doubted another street in all the world had such diversity. He dug his heels into his horse's flanks and headed for home.

  Robert and Louise North were readying themselves for bed when a commotion in the foyer brought them to the top of the stairs.

  Robert cleared his throat and called down, "What's the trouble, Hung Ly? If it's a peddler, tell him to go 'round back and come at a decent hour in the future."

  "No peddler, Mr. North. This man say he Ryland." When Hung Ly pronounced the name it sounded more like Ryrand. "Can't be. He too little."

  "Ryland?" Louise went down several steps so she could look over the banister. "Ryland!" Ryland was standing in the doorway holding Hung Ly in front of him at eye level. Hung Ly's slippered feet dangled five inches above the floor. "Robert! It's Ry! He's home!"

  Ryland set Hung Ly on the floor, grinning widely as the servant righted his pale blue tunic and his dignity. He stepped into the foyer, threw his hat on the floor, and in three long strides met his aunt as she came flying down the stairs. He caught her by the waist, and while she buried her face in the crook of his neck Ryland spun her around.

  There were tears in Louise's eyes when Ryland finally set her away. She dabbed at her face with the sleeve of her nightdress. "You're a sight, Ryland North. Just a sight. Lord, how we've missed you!" She stood on tiptoe and kissed Ryland's cheek. "Are you staying this time, Ry?"

  "Give the boy a chance, Louise," Robert said as he descended the stairs. He extended his hand to Ryland but then found himself pulled into an embrace just as fierce as the one Ry had given Louise. Robert put his hands on Ryland's shoulders and stepped back, studying his nephew from head to toe. "Maybe not such a boy after all."

  "You said that the last time I was here," Ryland said.

  "I can't help it. I'll always think of you as a scrappy bit. Makes me feel old to think otherwise."

  Ryland looked at his uncle with a critical eye and could find nothing but the spirit and vigor of youth. Robert's temples were graying, his hair thinning a bit in back, but he was still lean and retained the wiry strength that had marked him as a younger man. The corners of his eyes and mouth were lined, but as Robert's smile stretched nearly from ear to ear Ryland thought the creases had been carved more by Robert's good nature than by any particular sorrow or worry. "You look wonderful," he said.

  "That's no compliment, considering you rousted me from bed." Robert turned to Hung Ly. "Bring us some tea in the parlor, then you can return to your own bed. Ry, if you'll wait for us in the front room, Louise and I will get our robes."

  Louise started up the stairs in front of her husband and then called over her shoulder. "And pick up your hat, Ryland," she said severely. "We've hooks aplenty in this house. Brass, silver, and gold. Choose one, please."

  Laughing at his aunt's tone as much as at the excesses wealth could purchase in San Francisco, Ryland made a low bow and swept his hat off the floor. He hung his hat in the closet at the end of the hallway, not bothering to check his aunt's claim about the hooks.

  Ryland stretched out in a chair in front of the drawing room fireplace and yanked off his boots, warm
ing his feet at the hearth. He glanced about the room and found it mostly unchanged. Furniture fairly crowded the parlor, a testimony to the early days when Louise's home was a tent and crates served as both table and chairs. There was carpet under Ryland's feet now instead of dirt, and he didn't have to go outside to be near the fire. Colored glass lamps, their globes ringed with crystal fringes, sat on the small end tables. Above the marble mantel was a large mirror that reflected the room's light.

  "You never could sit up straight," Louise said as she swept into the parlor, taking note of Ryland's slouch.

  Ryland didn't move. "This is the most comfortable I've been in over a week."

  Louise picked up Ryland's feet and pushed an ottoman beneath him. "There. Now you look relaxed instead of lazy."

  "Thank you," Ryland said with grave politeness. His aunt was a diminutive woman with a mind of her own and voice that could melt the will of the strongest man.

  Hung Ly brought the tray of tea and set it on a table near Louise. He left as silently as he had come. While Louise served, Robert questioned Ryland about his trip west.

  "Not like the trek across water and Panama, was it, son?"

  "Nothing like it," Ryland agreed. "You can't believe how the plains stretch on and on. Grassland and prairie as far as the eye can see. Of course, that will be changing. The railroad is going to change everything."

  "You don't think that's a good thing?"

  "The tribes are having serious objections. The train was held up twice while the tracks had to be repaired. Torn up by Sioux. Passengers were killing buffalo while the train was rolling for nothing more than target practice and to alleviate their boredom." Ryland massaged his temples with his fingers. "I don't see that there's any way to stop the railroad from laying tracks all over the West, but there should be a better plan."

  "Do you want me to sell your shares?" asked Robert.

  Ryland was startled. "I have shares in the Union Pacific?"

  Robert nodded. "And in some of the smaller companies that are planning trunk lines."

  "When did you do this?"

  "Back in sixty-nine, right after the transcontinental line was completed. We didn't get in at the beginning. I'm still cautious about things like that, but our investment has already been returned tenfold. So... do you want out?"

  Ryland thought about it for a moment. "No. No, I don't think so. It's not the money, it's the opportunity to have a voice in what's happening," he explained.

  Robert smiled. He leaned forward and patted Ryland's arm. "Never thought otherwise, Ry."

  "How did you get that scar?" Louise asked, pointing to Ryland's temple. "You didn't have it when you were last here, so don't pooh-pooh me with some nonsense about the war. I know better."

  "So do I," Ryland said dryly. "I ran into a little trouble about four years back."

  "Government business?" asked Robert.

  Ryland shook his head, a sheepish smile crossing his face at the memory. "No, nothing like that. This was strictly personal. Something I was doing for a friend. The scar is what's left of a very unusual encounter with a woman and a derringer."

  "I knew there was a woman," Louise said firmly. "I knew it."

  "You can tell by the scar?" Ryland asked incredulously.

  "I can tell by that silly smile on your face."

  Ryland chuckled wearily. "I'll remember that. Tell me, where's Drew? Not in bed, surely?" He sensed the change in the atmosphere of the room immediately. His uncle's hand closed a little tighter around his cup and Louise's luminous green eyes clouded.

  "No," Robert said heavily. "Andrew's at the gaming tables tonight."

  "Which house? The Palace? The El Dorado?" Those were two of the most popular gaming houses in the city.

  "No. The Brass Slipper."

  "What sort of place is it?"

  "Exclusive. Membership only. Honest games as near as anyone can tell. That's part of the reason it's so popular."

  "I took a short tour before I came here. I didn't notice it."

  "You wouldn't. It's belowground, beneath the Hamilton Hotel on Grant Avenue. You can get to it by going through the hotel or take the private entrance off the alleyway."

  Ryland sat up a little straighter. "How long has it been open?"

  "It was here the last time you were. I'm surprised you didn't find it."

  "I wasn't looking. I found the amusements at street level just as satisfactory."

  Louise sighed. "If only Andrew had. It's not like it was with you, Ry. Drew doesn't remember anything but having money. Even when he was a baby we had a nice place above the shop. He never worked in the mines the way you did." She smiled sadly. "He's never even appreciated having an egg for breakfast," she said, knowing Ryland would understand.

  He did. The cost of a single egg in the minefields had been a dollar. Before Ryland's father made the strike there had been no eggs, and while gold was trickling in they were still a luxury. No, Andrew wouldn't understand that. The house on Nob Hill was already under construction when the store burned down. Robert and Louise had simply moved their family up the hill, and Andrew's memory of the apartment on Montgomery Street was vague. "Why isn't he at some university?"

  "We just couldn't convince him to go," Robert admitted. "He said you had never finished, why should he."

  "I believe the circumstances were entirely different," Ryland said. "How is he earning a living?"

  "I'm not certain he realizes he's supposed to," said Louise. "He's wealthy in his own right, what with the silver strike in Nevada. He dabbles in the market. Most every morning he's down at the exchange checking the stocks. It's little more than gambling, the way he does it. He doesn't have his father's enterprise or caution."

  Ryland set his cup aside. "Why didn't you write me about this? Until this matter with Caroline Melrose came up you didn't let on that anything was wrong."

  "I stopped her, Ry," said Robert. "You have your own life to live, and aside from the scar you seem to be doing splendidly. I didn't want you to feel obligated to come back and help us with Andrew."

  "Obligated? You're my family. I want to be here when you need me and even when you don't."

  "You didn't always feel that way," Louise reminded him gently, without reproach. "Not the part about wanting to be here when we didn't need you."

  "You're right," he said quietly. "But I'm here now, Aunt Louise, and I want to help any way I can. Tell me about this woman Andrew wants to marry."

  "Caroline Melrose is a lovely young lady. Her family is—"

  "I don't think Ry was speaking of Caroline," Robert interjected calmly.

  Louise screwed up her face, indicating her displeasure. "I still can't believe he's serious about this other woman." She waved her hand dismissingly. "He's not thinking clearly."

  "He's not thinking at all," Robert said, turning away from Louise and facing Ryland squarely. "Her name is Lyn. One 'n.' No last name that we've been able to discover. As Louise wrote, Lyn is the hostess at the Brass Slipper."

  "I thought she was a dealer," Ryland said.

  "Well, she does deal on occasion, but that isn't her primary purpose. She mixes freely with the customers, offers condolences to the losers, congratulates the winners. She makes certain the drinks are flowing and the games stay honest."

  "And her other activities?"

  "You don't need to dress it up," Louise said tartly. "I know what goes on upstairs in that hotel."

  "She entertains gentlemen from time to time in her private suite," Robert said.

  "Andrew?" asked Ryland.

  Robert nodded. "According to Andrew he's been there on several occasions. He fancies himself in love with her. It's not so surprising really. Lyn is quite out of the ordinary."

  "Robert!"

  Robert placated his wife by placing an arm around her shoulders. He continued to speak to Ryland. "I've been to the club once when I was sure Andrew was elsewhere. Lyn treats everyone with courtesy and with a respect that is rare in young women of her ilk
these days. There is little doubt that the Brass Slipper's phenomenal success these last years is due to her presence. There's an air of tantalizing mystery about her that draws men like bears to honey."

  "Or flies to-"

  "Louise!"

  "I'm sorry." But she wasn't, and neither man thought otherwise.

  "Is she the owner?" asked Ryland, clearing his throat slightly to keep from giving vent to his laughter. His aunt was still a study in indignation.

  "William Maine owns the place and has since it opened. Lyn may be a partner, but if she is, she's a silent one."

  "Is this Drew's first fascination with an older woman?"

  Robert choked on a mouthful of tea. "Older woman? Oh, I see... Of course you would think that, wouldn't you? It stands to reason. But no, Lyn isn't old enough to be an older woman. She's younger than you, Ry. Probably somewhere in her mid-twenties."

  That was a surprising piece of news. Ryland had assumed she would have to be older to have taken on the position of hostess. "Has she always worked there?"

  "I only became aware of Lyn when Andrew started talking about her. I made some inquiries and it seems she's been at the Slipper about four years. Frankly, my associates were surprised I didn't know who she was. Apparently she's very much in demand."

  "No doubt," Louise said acidly. "Which makes Andrew's pursuit of her even more of an embarrassment. He's completely humiliated Caroline with this dalliance." She turned pleading eyes on Ryland. "You'll speak to Andrew, won't you, Ry? He'll listen to you. He's always looked up to you, hovered on your every word."