Thorne Brothers: With All My Heart Part 5

Grey looked down at her. The hat brim hid her hair and head completely from his view. Her legs were swinging lazily over the water. She looked every inch the urchin boy she had pretended to be. "Your letter's been delivered," he said.

"Yes, thank you." Holding on to her hat with one hand and the cat with the other, she looked up at him. Her expression held no trace of guile. "I didn't realize it would cost so much to have it taken out to the clipper."

"How long have you been in San Francisco?"

"A week or so shy of two months."

"And you've been masquerading as a boy for all of it?"

"Not all," she corrected. "Just most."

"G.o.d," he said feelingly, looking away from those fathomless green eyes. "You need a keeper."

"I know," she said simply. She paused, uncertain now. "I don't suppose you woulda""

"h.e.l.l, no." He cut her off before she reeled him in. No rod, he thought. No hook. No line. But she was fis.h.i.+ng. "You told me you were going to get rid of the cat."

She continued to stroke the tabby as if she hadn't heard him. "What are they bringing you from the s.h.i.+p?"

"I don't know." He hunkered down beside her. "It depends where it's been."

"You should get upwind," she said.

At first he didn't understand, then he realized she was referring to her fish odor. "It's all right. I'm used to it now."

"It's why I can't get rid of the cat," she said.

That was true enough, Grey thought, but it didn't explain why he was still hanging around. He took out his telescope again and peered through it. "She's the Remington Rachael," he told her. "That doesn't help me know her last port of call. Would you like to see?"

Berkeley was immediately wary. "Really? You mean you'd let me?"

A small crease formed between Grey's dark brows.'"I asked, didn't I?"

"Yes, buta I meana" She put the tabby in his lap and took the scope. "Thank you." Berkeley put the gla.s.s up to her eye quickly, before he could catch sight of the tears forming there. He couldn't conceive that what he had done was any great kindness. To Berkeley it was the first act of sharing she'd witnessed in a profoundly selfish city.

"You might have to adjust it." He reached over and showed her how to turn the sight.

"Oh, yes. I see. Why the s.h.i.+p's almost as close as my hand."

He found himself smiling at her amazement. "How old are you?" he asked again.

Berkeley realized how stupidly childlike she must have sounded. "About thirty minutes older than the last time you asked me, Mr. Janeway." She told him she needed a keeper, but he hadn't understood. She'd been sheltered in a peculiar fas.h.i.+on most of her life, but that didn't make her young.

Grey didn't press her. She was a curious mixture of candor and innocence. "What can you see?" he asked.

"The scow's pulling alongside the Rachael. The clipper crew is reaching out to her with poles."

"'Grappling irons,'' he corrected. "To keep the scow in place while they load her." He scratched the tabby behind her ears and she stretched complacently in his lap. "Can you see anything else? Rolls of carpet, perhaps? Crates that look as if they'd be large enough to hold mirrors?"

"That's what you're waiting for?" She could only imagine the scope of his wealth if he was waiting on treasures like carpets and mirrors.

"If Rachael's been to the Orient, then she could have my carpets. The mirrors will be there if she's called on London. And if she's been home to New England, I could also have the draperies and linens I ordered." Grey stood again as he heard the close approach of a wagon. "Sam!" He lifted one hand, partly in greeting, partly to stop the driver's advance. "I didn't know if I'd be seeing you after all."

Sam Hartford tipped his hat upward with his index finger and wiped his brow. A fringe of salt-and-pepper hair was pressed damply to his forehead. The fine creases at the corners of his eyes deepened as he squinted in the suns.h.i.+ne. "Had to unload the lumber first," he said. "Got it all stacked when I heard there was a Remington s.h.i.+p in the bay. Knew you said you wanted the wagon here if one came in." Sam pulled his hat back in place and pointed to the tabby dozing contentedly in Grey's arms. "Never figured you for liking cats, Mr. Jane-way. You pick up that stray today?"

Grey's eyes slid away from Sam and returned to Berkeley.

Sitting there with the scope still trained on the clipper, her legs swinging in fits and starts, she seemed oblivious to his exchange with his driver. "Two strays, Sam. And they picked me."

Beneath the shadowed brim of her hat, Berkeley Shaw smiled.

Chapter Three.

The work on the Phoenix fell into a lull when the men saw the approaching wagon. "By G.o.d," one of them called, surveying the height, width, and depth of the crates on the flat bed. "He's brought the mirrors with him!" That announcement was followed by whistles and a smattering of applause from the workers on the scaffold.

"Why are they so excited about the mirrors?" Berkeley whispered. She was sitting in the back of the wagon, just behind the driver's bench, and she had to get up on her knees to make herself heard by Grey and Sam Hartford.

Grey ignored her, but Sam answered. He glanced over his shoulder and looked down at the upturned face. "Because they think they know where they're goin', lad." He winked as if Berkeley should understand that. When he received only a blank look, he added, "Above the beds, don't you know?"

Under the brim of her hat, Berkeley's eyebrows lifted. She sank slowly back to the bed of the wagon as Sam reined in the team in front of the Phoenix.

"Heard enough?" Grey asked her a moment later. He had waited until Sam was out of earshot attending the horses before he posed the question.

Berkeley's eyes scanned the building in front of her. Unlike the other structures on Portsmouth Square, this one was brick, not wood, and it stood a story higher than everything around it. Reflected sunlight on the rows of windows made them wink at her. Men on scaffolds were putting finis.h.i.+ng touches on the trim, and one man, directly center of the building, was staining the naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s of a s.h.i.+p's figurehead.

"And seen enough," Berkeley said. "I think I made a mistake." She struggled to a crouching position in the crowded wagon, scooped up the cat, and started to climb over the side.

Grey grabbed her by the collar and hauled her back in. Berkeley lost her balance, fell solidly on her bottom, and caught her hip on the sharp corner of one of the crates. "Be careful," he said tightly. "You'll break one of the mirrors."

Tears sprang belatedly to Berkeley's eyes. She ducked her head to keep them from sight and hoped her sniffle was lost as the horses whinnied and snorted.

"Are you crying?" Grey asked as he dropped down from the wagon.

She shook her head and avoided his hand when he reached her chin. The cat tried to escape as she hugged it protectively.

Grey withdrew his hand and studied her bent head. "You're squeezing the cat," he said. She loosened her grip, and the tabby jumped right at his chest. It wasn't at all what he wanted but the cat didn't seem to realize that. She curled in his arms as soon as they went around her. Stroking the cat's back, Grey turned away from Berkeley. "Sam, get someone else to tend the horses. In fact, this little fellow can do it while you run some errands for me."

Sam finished tying off the reins. ' "What about the mirrors, Mr. Janeway?"

"Mr. Kincaid will get some of the workers to unload them." He motioned to Donnel Kincaid as the foreman walked out of the building. "The mirrors, Donnel."

"Aye, so I heard. All the way at the back of the third floor, I was, and the news rumbled up like a Frisco shaker." He wiped his ruddy brow with his forearm and looked at the crates approvingly. "All of a piece, too."

"We think so," Grey said. "Sam and I only opened two of the crates at the wharf."

Berkeley, thinking she had been ignored long enough that an escape might be possible, began to slink over the side of the wagon.

Donnel thrust his large hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and indicated her with a forward thrust of his square-cut jaw. "Where'd you find the bairn?" he asked Grey.

At first Berkeley thought he was talking about the cat, then she realized he meant her and that he'd called her a baby. She lifted her face long enough for Grey to see her flash of irritation before she accepted his hand and jumped to the ground.

"Sam will show you what needs to be done with the horses,'' Grey told her. To Donnel he said, "I wouldn't call him a bairn again. He took on two of the Ducks this morning and came close to coming out ahead."

Donnel whistled softly. A crease appeared between his fiery brows as he watched Berkeley dog Sam's footsteps. There was somethinga He shook off the thought, turned back to Grey, and was momentarily startled by being on the receiving end of his employer's watchful, flinty gaze. Donnel looked over his shoulder, wondering if he had intercepted a look meant for someone behind him, but there was no one there. "I'll take care of the mirrors, Mr. Janeway," he said. "Is there anything else you'll be wantin'?"

"That's all, Donnel."

The foreman thought he saw a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in Grey Janeway's face now. He wiped his brow again, this time with a rag he had in his back pocket. It was the heat, he told himself, that accounted for his imagination.

Grey walked to the post where the lead horse was tethered. Berkeley paid him no attention as she wiped down the mare's damp flanks. Sam was standing over her, watching her work with a critical eye. "Sam," Grey said, "I need you to find Ivory Edwardsa" He paused, shaking his head, something like a smile edging his mouth as he remembered what Ivory had told him that morning. "She may be calling herself Ivory DuPree today. She's at Howard's place."

"The Palace," Sam offered. "I know who you mean."

"Good. Tell her that I need a couple of gowns from her. Her smallest ones. Something she's outgrown and couldn't bring herself to part with. And for G.o.d's sake, try not to insult her when you ask for them."

Sam's weathered face was deeply creased as he considered his problem. He scratched his brow with his fingertips. "Don't reckon I know howa""

"Well, think about it," Grey said. "Something will occur to you. Tell her I'll pay for them, whatever they cost to replace. That should soothe her a little. If it doesn'ta duck."

"Duck," Sam repeated woefully.

"While you're there you may as well ask her where she buys her dresses, and if the seamstress has talent for making suitable gowns for a lady."

Sam frowned. "I don't think I should put it quite that way."

"Not unless you're very good at ducking," Grey said. The tabby stretched in his arms and turned over to have her belly rubbed. His mind otherwise occupied, Grey obliged without thinking. "Shoes. Bonnets. Stockings. Petticoats. Drawers. A nights.h.i.+ft." He stopped as Berkeley tugged on his sleeve. "What is it?"

She stepped between him and Sam and mouthed the words.

One of Grey's brows arched and he looked at her consideringly, his eyes falling to the level of her loosely bound b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "And a corset, Sam. Ask Ivory if she has a corset."

Satisfied, Berkeley ducked out of the way again to tend to the horses.

Sam had his hat off now, and he was scratching his bald spot at the back. "You sure I'm the man to send, Mr. Janeway? Seems there's one or two others"a"he looked pointedly at Berkeley's backa""around here that know something about a lady's undergarments. I'm no expert. Let the boy go. Miss Edwards wouldn't throw things at him."

"Miss DuPree. And Ivory wouldn't let him in."

"On account he's so young?" Sam asked.

"On account he smells like fish."

Sam had to give in to this superior reasoning. Sure enough, the boy did smell like fish.

Grey went on. "Before you go, find someone to strike the tent across the square and bring my things here."

"You moving in, Mr. Janeway?" Sam Hartford was clearly surprised. "Beggin' your pardon, but you said you were going to wait until the building was finished."

"And I've changed my mind," Grey said. As owner of the Phoenix, Grey felt it was a sufficient explanation.

"But the furniture's not arrived and there's noa""

Grey almost laughed. "I've lived in a tent these past ten weeks. I think I can manage the hards.h.i.+ps of sleeping indoors."

"Yes, sir."

When Sam didn't move, Grey said, "That's all, Sam. You can go. Oh, here, take this." He reached inside his jacket, withdrew some scrip from a silver money clip, and handed it to Sam. "Give this to Ivory. She knows this is good as gold in hand. I'll pay up later. And Sam, send Ivory my regards."

Grey watched Sam Hartford step down from the wooden sidewalk and head out across Portsmouth Square. "Leave the horses," Grey told Berkeley. "One of the workers will finish with them after the mirrors are unloaded."

That was when Berkeley realized that he had only ordered her to tend the animals because it would keep her busy and within his sights. She snapped open the cloth she'd been using and laid it over the hitching post. "I'm not going in there with you," she said.

"Really?" Grey said. He was undisturbed by this announcement, but curious. "I thought your request for a corset was an indication you agreed."

"My request? You thought I was asking for that for myself?''

"Weren't you?"

"I was simply pointing out that your list of clothing was lacking an important item. A lady's wardrobe would be incomplete without one."

"But not your wardrobe?"

"I didn't know you were talking about my wardrobe."

Grey watched, fascinated, as Berkeley's features became more animated. The green eyes flashed, and her chin came up. Her eyebrows disappeared under the band of her hat, and her mouth puckered in a pretty show of exasperation as she blew away a stray tendril of hair. "Don't you think you need more suitable clothes?"

"More suitable how?" she demanded. "That's what I'm asking myself, Mr. Janeway. I'm comfortable in these, even if they do smell like fish." She sniffed the air. "And horse sweat."

Grey was peripherally aware of two things: Berkeley's rising voice and the odd stares she was eliciting from his workers. Bending his head slightly, and leveling her with his gunmetal glance, he spoke in tones that were both quiet and intense. "If you weren't going to come in, Miss Shaw, then why come at all?"

"I didn't know you meant for me to be your wh.o.r.e, Mr. Janeway."

Grey's head jerked back and he stood up straight. A muscle worked in his cheek. Berkeley Shaw might as well have been the town crier for all the restraint she showed. Grey estimated that fully a third of the traffic on the other side of Portsmouth Square stopped to stare. By this evening it would have circulated among his a.s.sociates, acquaintances, and enemies that Grey Janeway was a sodomite. "You really leave me no choice," he said.

Before Berkeley knew what he was about he had thrust the cat in her hands and was palming the top of her head. Grey wasn't conferring a blessing, though. He yanked off her hat and let a cascade of her poorly pinned hair fall around her shoulders and down her back. It lifted like a banner in the breeze and collected all the brightness of the suns.h.i.+ne in its com silk length.