Chapter 32
Sacramento City
July 1854
All Isabelle wanted to do was escape into her bedchamber and pull the covers over her head, like she’d wanted to do after her son died. Persila was out there tonight with a man who hated her yet refused to let her go. It wasn’t about the money. It was about power—a power that refused to be satiated, no matter what Persila did to subdue it.
Instead of returning to the hotel, Mr. Payne and Stephan had gone to visit Mr. Webb. What they planned to do next, she didn’t know. She only prayed that Stephan would be safe. And Mr. Payne—she wasn’t sure what to think about that man.
He’d unnerved her this evening with his determination to help Persila. A slaveholder attempting to rescue a slave. It didn’t make sense.
Maybe her resolution not to trust him was about power for her too. Even if he feigned kindness, she wouldn’t give him or anyone else who owned slaves an ounce of power over her heart. She’d learned early never to trust a slave owner. No matter what Mr. Payne did, she couldn’t trust him either.
She’d expected to find Sing Ye and Isaac at the hotel when she returned, but she hadn’t anticipated Ross waiting for her in the kitchen. She hadn’t seen him or Fanny since they left her hotel, though she’d heard he used his gold to buy a boardinghouse about six blocks away.
Had he come to revel in her misery?
She didn’t invite him into her sitting room, choosing to speak with him in the front lobby while she sat behind her desk—above the vault that held the deed for the hotel and the money she needed to pay the judge.
He leaned against the counter. “I heard you’ve had a hard day.”
“One of the worst of my life.”
“The fugitive slave law should be abolished.”
She shrugged, knowing he’d say anything to get what he wanted from her. “It’s too late to change it for this woman.”
“Fanny has been talking about returning to the East Coast,” he said.
“Are you going back?”
“It doesn’t matter what I decide. She’s leaving with or without me.”
She swept a loose curl back behind her ear. “I thought she wanted to run an establishment of her own.”
“She likes the idea of being the proprietor of a fashionable hotel, but she’s not too keen on keeping up a boardinghouse.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, though she wasn’t surprised. She doubted Fanny would want the responsibility of being a proprietor for long either.
“She thought she’d be living in luxury here, but I don’t even have enough money to buy her passage home.”
Ross’s gaze dropped to the floor. He knew where she kept her savings, knew that she had enough gold to pay for multiple tickets back to the East Coast. She wouldn’t have much money after she paid the judge, though. Perhaps that’s why he came now, before she paid the fine.
“Hopefully you’ll have time, then, to reconcile your marriage.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid there’s nothing left to reconcile.”
In his eyes, she saw the hope that she might not only give him money but also change her mind and marry him after Fanny was gone.
“You should save your money and return with her. Perhaps New York really is the place you belong.”
He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “My place is here in California.”
When she didn’t reply, an awkward silence crept between them.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Ross. I’m afraid I don’t have any more conversation left in me.”
“I understand,” he said, but still didn’t leave. “There’s one more thing . . .”
“What is it?”
“There’s a man staying at my house who showed me the oddest thing today.”
She didn’t want to take the bait. “Is this important?”
“He said he was searching for his slave.”
She sighed, the weight heavy on her heart. “It seems as if everyone is looking for a slave.”
“This wasn’t just any slave,” he said slowly. “It was the picture of a child, but the eyes—they looked just like yours.”
She clutched the edge of her desk as she considered his words. It felt as if she were back on the ship to California, the room rocking back and forth. She tried to refocus her gaze. Calm her voice. Still, everything seemed blurry.
“What is this man’s name?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Victor Duvall.”
In that moment, it felt as if the entire ship slammed into a rock.
Ross took his leave, but she didn’t even realize he’d gone until the bell chimed across the room.
Nine years had passed since she had left the Duvall house. Nine years of a new life for her, learning and working as a freed woman.
Had Victor been searching for her all this time? And had Mr. Payne come to Sacramento as well to find out if she belonged to the Duvalls?
But that didn’t make sense. Mr. Payne knew exactly where she was.
If her old master found her, he wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly what Mr. Webb had done to Persila. He would beat and humiliate her, then take her back before Judge Snyder if he must.
And there was nothing she could do to fight him.
She slid her chair back and hurried to lock the lobby door. Like Persila, she had to run before her master found her.
Fanny giggled like an elf as she slid off her high-topped shoes and tossed them next to the bureau. He wished she’d given the slightest contest, but she’d followed him willingly up to his room, to the edge of the horsehair mattress on his bed.
Victor hushed her when she giggled again. “Mr. Kirtland will hear.”
She dangled her stockinged foot in front of him, the shadow of it dancing on the wall in the lantern light. “Ross won’t be back for hours.”
“And you’re not concerned about your guests?”
“We don’t have silly rules here, like at Isabelle’s place.”
He locked the door and sat down beside her on the ticking that covered the mattress. The entire room stank of camphene from the lamp. “Who is Isabelle?”
She wrinkled her nose, her pretty lips crunched together in a pout. “That awful Miss Labrie at the Golden Hotel.”
His mind wandered back to that confident, pure lilt in the voice of the woman who’d publicly disputed the act of slavery. Miss Labrie, he was certain, would prove to be more of a challenge than the woman beside him.
And less inclined to brain-numbing drivel.
She reached for his arm. “I don’t want to think about Isabelle.”
“Neither do I,” he lied.
She laughed again, twirling her foot until it knocked the leather portfolio off the bureau.
He dove for it, placing it back on top of the dresser. “Don’t touch that.”
She ignored his words, bending toward it. “What is it?”
He shoved her hand away. “I said don’t touch it.”
“You shouldn’t keep secrets from me.” She crossed her arms, seemingly offended.
“I’m not here to banter, Fanny.”
Scooting away from her, he fumbled with the three buttons on his pleated dress shirt. Then he took it off. He’d finish what he started, and then he’d go visit this Isabelle.
When he looked back over, Fanny had his portfolio in her lap. The flap was open, and she was staring down at the sketch of Mallie.
Irate, he yanked the portfolio out of her hands, the papers scattering on the floor.
“Fool,” he mumbled as he dropped to his hands and knees, shoving the papers back into the case. He had tired of the woman’s silliness long ago. Unlike Mr. Kirtland, he did not intend to let her or any other woman control him.
He placed the portfolio inside a drawer this time. If she tried to open it, he’d make certain she remembered that no matter what he asked, she must obey.
When he returned to the bed, Fanny wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead, her gaze was focused on the drawer. “Why do you have a sketch of Isabelle?”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I said—” Looking up, she studied his eyes for a moment before shrugging. “Never mind.”
He reached for her arm. “Tell me what you just said.”
“Let me go,” she said, shaking her arm to break free.
But he wouldn’t let go until she told him the truth. “What about Miss Labrie?”
“I—I just wondered why you had a portrait of her.”
He squeezed her arm as he mulled over her words. Then he let go.
After all these years—was it possible that Mallie was right here in Sacramento, hiding behind the title of Miss Labrie? Her skin was almost as light as any white person’s, and her beauty would enchant all the men in this city. Add to it a cultured accent and perhaps an education, and she would be free to move in circles that would have rejected her back in Virginia.
He clasped his hands together, the reality of it pouring over him.
Not only was he close to retrieving Isaac, but he would be able to regain Mallie as well—a refined, beautiful woman who must do as he pleased.
His family was all right here, waiting for him.
Was that the reason Alden brought Isaac to Sacramento? Had Mallie somehow orchestrated this to reunite with her son? Oh, it was perfect. There would be a reunion all right, just not what Alden or Mallie were expecting.
He pulled the white shirt back over his head and quickly rebuttoned it.
She sat up straighter, rubbing her arm. “Where are you going?”
“I’m finished playing games, Fanny.”
“I wasn’t playing a game.”
“You’ve been distracted.” He stood, taking the portfolio from the drawer and then reaching for his frock coat and wallet. “But I’ve heard that Miss Labrie is more than accommodating.”
When she swore at him, the pieces seemed to fall into place: Mr. Kirtland’s recognition when he saw Isaac’s face, and then his denial. Victor knew the proprietor had been lying, but he hadn’t seen Isaac after all. He’d seen Mallie.
It was impossible for any man to forget her eyes.
He stopped by the door. “Perhaps I will find your husband with Miss Labrie as well.”
He heard the glass shatter, felt the heat of the lantern’s flames, but they didn’t burn him.
A steady coolness flooded over him as he asked someone outside for directions to the Golden Hotel. Finally, after all these years, he would recover what was rightfully his.