Scandal on Rincon Hill (43 page)

I sighed, and my heart felt heavy in my chest. “Yes, Major, I agree. I will give you an hour.”

He smiled wanly at me as he reached the door. “Thank you, Miss Woolson. It is the right thing to do.”

Only moments after Major Tremaine led his grandson out of the room, Charles burst into the library, closely followed by Samuel, Robert, and Pierce. My mother came to the door, but was quietly turned away by my colleague.

“It is best if you don't come in, Mrs. Woolson,” the Scot told her. “There has been an accident. A man is dead.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” I heard her exclaim, but she did not press Robert to enter the library. “Who—who is it?”

“I don't believe he was invited,” Robert told her. “I doubt that you know him.”

“Heaven help us!” Mama's voice was thin and cracking in distress. “Whatever shall I tell my guests?”

“Tell them there has been an accident,” I said, going to her at the door. “It would probably be best if they didn't leave until the police arrive.”

Before I could close the door on my mother's retreating back, Papa entered the room.

“What has happened—? Oh, my God!” He stood just inside the library door, staring at the dead man on the floor. “Who is he? Is he—dead?”

“It's Gerald Knight,” Samuel answered. “He owns,
owned
, the
Daily Journal
.”

Papa looked at his youngest son in confusion, then turned his attention to me. “Gerald Knight? Isn't that the man you were telling me about, Sarah? The one who kept the girl on Pacific Avenue?”

I nodded.

“Well, what in tarnation is he doing here? I don't remember your mother inviting him. And how in God's name did he end up like that?”

“He wasn't invited,” I explained. “He accompanied Joseph Kreling, owner of the Tivoli Opera House.”

“Yes, I met Kreling after Miss Tremaine sang. I wasn't introduced to this fellow.”

“No, he left right after Melody finished performing,” I told him.

Before my father could question me further, my brother Charles rose to his feet. He was shaking his head. “He's gone. He must have died almost instantly.” He looked at me. “Sarah, do you know who did this?”

I attempted to remain as close to the truth as possible. “Major Tremaine was in the library when it happened. He claimed it was an accident.”

All four men looked at the bronze bust on the floor, then at me. “How in hell can this be an accident, Sarah?” Samuel asked. “Are you telling us Lincoln's bust flew off the mantel all on its own and attacked Knight? There is no way it simply fell on his head, unless he was crawling around on all fours beneath it.”

“I'm only relating what the Major said,” I told him, endeavoring to keep my face blank. “It's up to the police to determine if they believe him or not.”

“Sarah,” said Robert, “what are you holding back? I know that look on your face all too well.”

“You're always telling me to leave these matters to the police,”
I answered quietly. “Well, you should be happy, for that is exactly what I intend to do.”

A
fter the police arrived and I had given them my statement, I threw on a shawl and slipped out of the house, making my way to the Tremaine home on Harrison Street and Rincon Place. Reginald and Faith, along with Melody and the rest of our guests, were still being questioned by George Lewis and a lieutenant who had been assigned to the case. I had not asked anyone to accompany me. In fact, I had told no one I was going out. My father and Samuel—and probably Robert and Pierce, as well—would have insisted on accompanying me. However, this was something I felt I must do on my own.

It was well after midnight when I knocked on the Tremaines' door. The twins' young brother and sister would have long since been put to bed, but surely at least one of the servants would still be awake. It was customary for a member of the household staff to stay up until the family returned after an evening out.

When I knocked a second time, the door was opened by a surprised-looking butler. “Yes, miss?” he said, obviously not sure what to say to a young woman who was out and about apparently on her own at that hour of night.

“I know it's very late,” I told the man, “but it is urgent that I see Major Tremaine. I believe he is expecting me.”

“If he is,” the butler said doubtfully, “he failed to inform me, miss. I suggest that you return tomorrow at a more civilized hour.”

I was sorely tempted to take the man's advice and allow circumstances to reveal themselves in their own time. But that would be cowardly. In my heart, I was sure I knew what the Major planned, and I could not bear to think of Melody or one of the younger children making the discovery. If I was wrong, my only sin would be disturbing an old man's sleep.

Having made up my mind, I rudely pushed my way past the butler and started up the stairs. The poor man was so shocked that
it was several moments before he gathered his wits and followed upon my heel.

“Miss, you cannot barge in here like this,” he sputtered, hurrying up the stairs behind me. “Please leave this house at once!”

The man was a bit overweight, and he was breathing heavily when we reached the second-floor landing.

“I can open every door on this floor,” I told him, starting down the dimly lit hall. “Or you can point out the Major's bedroom. I would prefer not to wake the children, or their nanny, but it is your choice.”

To prove my point, I gave a little knock, then opened the first door to the right of the landing. The room was dark, but I could make out enough detail from the faint spill of light coming from the hall, to see that it was a very feminine room, probably Melody's. I closed the door and proceeded on to the next.

“Wait, miss, please,” the butler pleaded. “You will wake the entire household.”

“Then show me which room belongs to the Major,” I retorted, knocking on the second door and throwing it open.

It, too, was decorated in feminine colors, with a good deal of lace and a number of dolls piled high in a basket by a wall. I could just see a small form curled up beneath the covers in the room's only bed. This must be little Carolyn's room, I surmised.

I was about to try the third room, when the butler came up behind me, clearly at a loss as to what to do with this crazy woman who had invaded his well-ordered house.

“Miss, wait,” he cried out, as I raised my hand to knock. “The Major's room is the last one on the opposite side of the hall. Although what he will think of a strange woman entering his bedchamber at this time of night, I cannot imagine. Won't you please leave off this business until tomorrow?”

“I am truly sorry,” I said, wishing with all my heart that I could do just that. “But it cannot wait.”

With a great deal of apprehension, I approached the room the butler had pointed out as belonging to Major Tremaine. Light
from the few gas lamps fitted upon the walls was more faint at this end of the corridor, and I slowed my step. It pains me to admit to such weakness, but my heart was pounding so hard in my chest I was surprised it was not audible to the butler.

I looked back to where he stood midway down the corridor. He probably wanted to be well out of shouting range, if the Major objected to his allowing a madwoman to assault his bedroom

“Would you please accompany me?” I asked him, angry that I felt obliged to request the man's help. “I—I know this is very irregular, but I would appreciate having you by my side.”

The butler appeared taken aback by this request, but he reluctantly came to stand behind me as I knocked softly on the Major's door. When there was no response, I pushed it open. The first thing I noticed was a strong odor permeating the air. I was at a loss to identify the smell, but the butler recognized it at once.

“That's cordite.”

“You mean from a gun?”

“Yes, miss. A gun that has recently been fired.”

His reply sent shivers racing down my spine. The room was dark and silent. I listened, but could detect no sound, not even of breathing. All was ominously quiet.

With great force of will, I made my way with slow reluctance across the room to the bed. When I was closer, I could see the figure of a man partially propped up by pillows. Even in the dim light it was obvious that his body had slumped to the side at an awkward angle. I could make out something shiny on the white pillows. Tentatively, I reached out a hand and touched the substance. My fingers came away wet and sticky. I was sure it was blood.

“Is he—?” The man's voice behind me was none too steady.

“What is your name?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“Arlott, miss.”

“Arlott, would you please fetch some candles? I think Major Tremaine may be in need of medical assistance.”

The butler needed no further urging to flee from the room. He returned in no more than five minutes, carrying a candelabrum
which clearly illuminated the poor Major's inert body on the bed. I experienced a moment's light-headedness to see so much blood, not only on the bed coverings, but on the walls and floors. The Major had obviously shot himself through the head with what I took to be an old service revolver.

“Dear Lord,” the butler gasped, clapping his free hand to his mouth.

Taking hold of my emotions, I forced myself to look around the room. Atop the Major's bureau I spied a white envelope. I assumed it was a suicide note, and very probably a confession accusing himself of the four Rincon Hill murders.

“Before we notify the police,” I told the butler, “please show me to young David's room.”

“Oh, miss, you don't think something terrible has happened to the boy, as well?”

His hand began to shake so badly I took the candelabrum from him. “Would you please lead the way to David's room?”

The boy's room was several doors down the hall from his grandfather's. When we reached it, the butler fell in behind me, obviously not wishing to enter first. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

David's room, too, was ominously quiet. Even as I entered, I could make out his still form lying beneath the bed coverings. Holding up the candelabrum, I saw that he looked quite peaceful; it would be easy to assume he was just sleeping. But of course he wasn't. An empty bottle of laudanum sat on a bedside table. Just to be certain, I placed my fingers on his neck, searching for a pulse. There was none.

I continued to study the boy's serene face for several minutes. He looked so young and so very handsome. I had become acquainted with David and the Major less than two weeks ago, yet in that time I had grown to know something of their feelings, of the kind of people they were inside. It seemed impossible that he and his grandfather could be in my life and then gone within the space of ten short days. What had snapped in this poor boy's head that he felt compelled to kill every man who seemed even casually interested
in his sister? Perhaps some bonds between people could be too strong, I thought, too unyielding not to eventually lead to tragedy.

I handed the candelabrum back to the butler. “Would you please escort me to the front door, and then return to keep watch over David and the Major until I come back with the police? Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine are still at my home and they will need to be informed.” I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “As will David's sister, Melody.”

“Miss Melody will be devastated,” he said miserably. “I cannot imagine how she will manage without her brother.”

“It will be very difficult, especially at first,” I said wearily as we descended the stairs. “But unless I am mistaken, that young woman is made of stronger stuff than we imagine. I have every confidence that she will survive.”

N
ew Year's Day was cold and damp, an inauspicious beginning for 1882. It had been two weeks since David's and Major Tremaine's deaths, but the shock of that night still cast a long shadow on everyone involved. The authorities seemed satisfied by the Major's confession, and reluctantly freed my clients, as well as the suspect in Patrick O'Hara's case. Young David was deemed to have died from an accidental overdose of laudanum, taken to relieve the pain of a migraine headache.

Melody Tremaine left her room only long enough to lay her beloved brother to rest. Since then, she had remained isolated and inconsolable. Joseph Kreling, with a little help from Faith Tremaine—who had become one of his steadfast admirers—had finally convinced Reginald to allow his daughter to appear at the Tivoli Opera House for a limited engagement. At the end of one month, all parties involved would revisit the contract, based upon the girl's success and her continuing desire to pursue a career on the stage. Although Melody was too heartbroken to appreciate this victory so close to her brother's death, I had faith that music would, in the end, be her salvation.

Interestingly, Madam Valentine wrote to thank me for the publicity I had inadvertently generated for her brothel thanks to Ozzie
Foldger's article. It seems that an unflattering exposé for one individual can be an excellent advertisement for another. Even though the famous madam publicly denied my presence at her parlor house, she privately admitted that business had never been so brisk!

Perhaps the most unexpected, and certainly the nicest, surprise to come out of the tragic happenings on Rincon Hill was Mrs. Lily Knight's generosity toward her husband's mistress. It seemed the visit Brielle and I paid to Gerald Knight's newspaper had not been in vain after all. According to Mrs. Knight's attorney, Brielle Bouchard and her small daughter were to receive, all expenses paid, a small apartment on Union Street near Washington Square, where the child might spend happy hours frolicking in the park. Although I doubt it was part of the widow's plan, Brielle's new home would also be within blocks of Madam Valentine's parlor house on Montgomery Street. Very handy, according to the former Matilda Abernathy, for visiting little Emma, who had become the darling of the brothel.

A
few days after Christmas, Pierce fulfilled his promise to take Eddie aboard one of his ships for a grand tour. The day was clear and warmer than usual for that time of year; perfect weather for an afternoon on the Bay. Pierce chose a large, four-masted schooner, a powerful ship that regularly made the voyage from San Francisco to the Orient. To Eddie's delight, Pierce even arranged for a picnic lunch to be brought up from the galley. After showing the boy every nook and cranny on the ship, demonstrating how the sails were rigged, giving him a turn at the wheel, and answering a seemingly endless stream of questions, we finally called it a day as the sun began to set.