A Touch of Camelot (29 page)

Sidney pondered this for a moment before an odd expression crossed his face. He lifted his head slightly, almost like a deer picking up the scent of a hidden predator. Then he looked around, his gaze settling on the empty staircase, before he turned back to Gwin, his voice hushed. "We mustn't talk here. Come into my study."

Gwin was surprised at this unexpected change in manner, but she followed him as he led her to one of the doors leading off from the foyer. He motioned for her to precede him into the room and then closed the door firmly after he entered behind her.

Gwin's eyes swept the room, taking in the rich mahogany furnishings, a tall window with red velvet tieback draperies, and another fireplace. Over the mantel, Gwin saw an elaborate oil painting that caused her mouth to drop open. "Oh, my... "

Sidney's voice, self-deprecating and ironic. "I commissioned it during one of my weaker moments and I've never been quite able to bring myself to part with it."

The painting was an artist's interpretation of the final parting of Guinevere and Lancelot. What was clearly not a product of the artist's imagination was the face of Guinevere. It was Gwin's own mother, looking not much older in the painting than Gwin was now.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Your mother was a unique woman, and we were well suited to each other. I've never met anyone else quite like her."

"I believe you," Gwin said. "She used to tell me stories."

"Ah, yes, stories. She was a splendid storyteller. Most dreamers are, and your mother was a dreamer. So was Silas. I, on the other hand, was a doer."

"Yes ... otherwise I wouldn't be here."

He chuckled. "I'll be damned. You
are
her daughter, aren't you?"

"And yours." Gwin realized now for perhaps the first time the real reason she had come here. She had come so she could meet him, yes, but she had also come so he could meet her, so he would know of her existence.

He appraised her for a moment. As if reading her thoughts, he asked, "Why did you really come here, Gwin?"

"Because I thought you might be able to help us."

"And?"

"And because I wanted to see you."

He nodded as if he had expected as much. "And you've seen."

"Yes."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know what to think."

"That's understandable."

"And you?" Gwin said, challenging him.  "What do you think?"

He sighed. "Part of me is glad that you came. Another part is saddened. Perhaps it would have been better not to know I have a daughter."

"Why?"

He turned to gaze out the window. "I let go of family a long time ago."

"And so what has one visit changed?"

"Somehow it's easier to let go of the notion of traitorous brothers and faceless nieces and nephews than it is to let go of the notion of one's own child. I never thought ..."

He turned back abruptly to face her. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Gwin. You'll do well on your own, but if you ever need help—financial help, I mean—you may contact me by telegram or letter. I would suggest, however, that you use a different name in your correspondence. You see, the walls have ears."

Gwin shook her head, confused. "I didn't come here for money."

"I know that. Nevertheless, the offer stands, though you must never again come to see me in person. That would be dangerous. We may have dallied too long as it is."

"You're not making sense."

"Gwin," he said firmly, "you must get out of this house. You must get away from me. You must know that there are people who would like to see you and your brother dead."

"What?" Gwin was shocked. "How did you know about that?"

"My dear, I'm afraid that what you've done is stumble into a nest of vipers."

*

Alphonse Ringo stepped out of the shadows of the second-floor landing, his colorless eyes fixed on the door of Sidney's study. He was a large man, but he had long ago mastered the art of blending with his surroundings. He could be as silent and unmoving as a chameleon when occasion called for it, and, in his occupation, occasion often called for it.

He had overheard every word that had just passed between Sidney and his long-lost daughter. He thought it had been a touching exchange; or rather, it would have been if he were a man inclined to be touched by much of anything, which he wasn't.

He turned his head now toward the third-floor landing and motioned for Frederick to descend. When the butler reached his side, he spoke in a low voice. "You're sure she came alone?"

"Oh, yes, and she wasn't shy about giving her name. Odd, don’t you think?"

Ringo didn’t answer. He was a meticulously efficient man. Never, in all the years he had worked for Jasper Barnes, had he ever left a witness behind. Not until now. And it had been eating at him for weeks. It galled him to think that because of his own sloppiness, there existed the possibility that he could be brought down by a mere child and a woman.

"How many servants are on the grounds?"

"Well, there's the cook and the housekeeper. Oh, and the gardener and the groom. That's all."

"Get rid of them."

"Get rid of them? But how will I explain it? They'll think it unusual to let them go so early in the day and—"

"Do it."

At catching the expression on Ringo's face, Frederick's ruddy complexion paled. "I ... I, well, of course."

Ringo watched as Frederick cleared the stairs in a trice and disappeared out the front door. Jasper Barnes was due to arrive any minute. He would know what to do. In the meantime, Ringo's job was to make sure that the girl did not leave this house.

*

It was a fact that Arthur was a healthy young boy. Nevertheless, he was struggling for breath and his legs were aching by the time he reached the high point of Washington Street. He had left the room at the boardinghouse in a hurry, on impulse, even after Gwinnie had told him to stay behind, and he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to filch himself a nickel for a cable car ride.

He hunkered down behind a set of prickly bushes beneath a window on the east side of the house. Although the grounds had been deserted when he arrived, it was only by luck that he rounded the corner of the massive structure and was barely out of sight before he heard the approach of another visitor.

Arthur peered from behind the shrubbery to see a short man in a top hat climbing the front steps. He had no desire to be caught trespassing. After all, he didn’t know what to expect of his Uncle Sidney. None of the stories he'd ever heard about him had been flattering.

Arthur thought it better that this first visit remain clandestine. All he really cared about, after all, was that Gwinnie stayed safe. Arthur was still annoyed with Cole, but that didn't change the fact that Cole had been dead right to tell Gwinnie to stay put until he got back. It had been stupid of her to go out by herself. After what happened to Silas and Clell, Arthur was not about to let his sister out of his sight for long.

Arthur listened hard to pick up faint snatches of a clipped conversation after the front door opened to the visitor. It was only when the heavy door swung shut that he dared to rise to his feet.

He examined the window just over his head. It was closed and shuttered, but this was a sunny day. He doubted all the first-floor windows would be closed against the fresh air. His hunch proved correct as he crept toward the rear of the house.

Crouching below an open window, he glanced around to be sure he was unobserved, then he stood and reached up to grip the lower sill. With a hoist and a grunt, he was up, feet dangling off the ground as he peered into a deserted room that held the longest dining room table he had ever seen. He grinned, pleased with his own detective work, as he climbed over the sill to drop down, silent as a cat, onto the carpeted floor inside.

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Where's Frederick?" Jasper inquired curtly, doffing his top hat and flipping it to Ringo, who hung it on a hat rack.

"Busy."

"You shouldn't be answering the door. That Pinkerton, he hasn't shown up here, has he?"

Ringo shook his head.

Jasper grumbled as he transferred his walking cane from one hand to the other, searching the pockets of his coat. "It's just a matter of time. He's been nosing around all over town. Unfortunately, that fool, O'Connell, lost him yesterday and hasn't been able to find him since."

Ringo spoke. "The girl is—"

“The girl and boy are with him.” Jasper pulled out a cigar and fumbled to strike a match. "Why else would he have come all this way?"

Ringo spoke again. "The girl is here."

Jasper stopped, the match flame hovering over the tip of his cigar. "The girl is ... what?"

"The girl is here."

"Where?"

"With Sidney in his study."

"And the boy?"

Ringo shook his head.

Jasper pondered this new revelation. "It doesn't make any sense that she would show up here alone." He shook his head and finished lighting his cigar. "But that's neither here nor there. We must tread carefully, Mr. Ringo. We must keep the girl here. The boy will undoubtedly follow, as will the Pinkerton operative."

"And then?"

"I don't think it would be wise to hurt her, not for the moment, and definitely not in front of Sidney."

Ringo bristled at this. She was a witness. She must be disposed of. Wasn't that what all this was about? Cleaning up the mess? Mr. Barnes was wrong.

Jasper seemed to sense Ringo's rebellion. "Do you understand, Mr. Ringo?"

"She cannot live."

"No, of course not, but we must be careful concerning Sidney's sensibilities on the subject. He's indispensible to us now."

Ringo's fists tightened at his sides. "He's no longer loyal. He's of no use to us."

"But he can be persuaded. Once they're taken care of, he will have nothing left to fight for. He'll return to the fold, and things will get back to normal. We'll win the election." He repeated his question. "Do you understand, Mr. Ringo?"

Ringo wasn't stupid. He understood Jasper's reasoning, and he resented that Jasper questioned him. The problem was not that Ringo did not understand. The problem was that Ringo did not agree. Jasper was mistaking Sidney's dreams and aspirations for his own, and that was a grave mistake.

"Yes," Ringo said after a moment of tense silence. "I understand."

Jasper plunked the cigar back in his mouth. "How many servants on the grounds?"

"Frederick is dismissing them now."

Jasper gave Ringo an admiring side glance. "You never were one to leave witnesses behind."

Ringo didn't see that this required an answer.

"You are armed, I take it?"

Ringo grunted his assent.

Jasper held out a hand expectantly, and Ringo complied with the unspoken request by pulling a Schofield revolver from his shoulder holster. He placed it in Jasper's hand with misgivings. It wasn't that Ringo was overly fond of his gun. In fact, he rarely used it, preferring instead less impersonal methods of dispatching his victims. He merely hoped that his esteemed employer wouldn't end up shooting himself in the foot.

Jasper put the revolver into his pocket. "I'll be joining them in the study. I want you to keep an eye on things out here. If the boy shows up, hold him."

"And the Pinkerton?"

Jasper smiled. "In recognition of your formidable patience in this matter, I think it's only fair that you may have him. You may dispose of him down near Deadman's Alley. It will be unfortunate for his reputation when he's discovered in such an unsavory neighborhood, but..."

Jasper gestured carelessly as he started across the foyer to the study. His mood had improved since he'd arrived. "Those are, as they say, the stakes of the game."

*

Gwin stood in the study, her feet rooted to the floor. "How could you know? How could you possibly know about the attempts on our lives?"

Sidney's head was bowed. He hadn't moved from behind his desk. "On the day Silas arrived in San Francisco, he came to me. He threatened to expose my past. He knew it would ruin me. He wanted money."

Gwin was horrified. "You mean, you were
part
of all this?"

"I would have paid him, Gwin. I would have paid him anything he wanted just to get him out of my life, but when my colleagues learned of the situation, they took matters into their own hands. They have a lot at stake in this election."

Gwin shook her head, hoping that this was just some terrible dream. Surely, she would awaken to find herself back at the boardinghouse still waiting for Cole and Arthur to return from the newspaper office.

Sidney continued, "There was nothing I could do. By the time I learned what happened, it was too late."

"And when you found out they intended to see me and my brother dead, was it too late then, too?"

Sidney looked up, his expression unreadable. "It's too late to turn back the clock. What matters now is getting you and your brother out of San Francisco as soon as possible."

He opened the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a black velvet bag. After loosening the drawstring, he dumped its contents, a collection of gold double eagles, out onto the desk blotter. "It's all I have on hand at the moment, but it should be enough to get you out of town."

Enough?
More than enough. Gwin thought that they could probably travel to Kansas City and back ten times for what was spilled out on the desk. She looked at him. "I don't want your money."

Sidney appraised the lovely young woman before him.
His daughter.
The reality had not yet truly penetrated. It was incomprehensible to him that the woman he had loved and deserted all those years ago had borne him a child. It was perhaps even more ironic that the child they had accidentally created had turned out to be made of much sterner stuff than either of her parents.

At this point, there was nothing Sidney cared to do to change his own life. He’d made of his life what he pleased, no matter how many regrets he might harbor over his past, but he'd be damned if he would stand by any longer and allow this young woman to be sacrificed for it.