Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) (11 page)

Seeing her mother was tiring, Valentina moved quietly out of the room. Salamar was preparing lunch, and the cooking meat sent out a delicious aroma. Valentina tried not to think about the emptiness in her stomach. She and Salamar would eat only the broth, hiding the fact from her mother that she alone would have meat to eat.

"I am going to see Mr. Lawton now," Valentina told Salamar. "Pray that he has a kind and understanding heart." Salamar glanced up at Valentina and snorted. They both knew the good reverend had very little heart.

Reverend Lawton answered the door to Valentina's knock. His shadow fell across her face as he stepped onto the front porch. "I was saying to my sister just this morning that I was expecting a visit from you," he said, dabbing at his face with his handkerchief, a habit of his that was beginning to irritate Valentina.

"I have come to talk to you about the rent, Mr. Lawton." She could not help compare the way he was watching her to the way a cat watches a mouse.

Valentina instinctively drew back when he picked up her hand, turned it over, and studied it intently. "You haven't done much hard work in your life, have you, Miss Barrett? I would say you have been spoiled."

"I haven't worked as a field hand, but I have done my share of housework. I was not. brought up much differently from most English girls."

"You haven't labored very hard; you have a maid to do that for you. I'm sure that isn't the case with most of your English misses. It certainly isn't the case in this country."

"I suppose there is some truth in that," she answered, not knowing what point he was trying to make. She could not afford to offend the man if she were going to ask him to allow her more time to pay the rent.

"Idle hands are the devil's playthings, you know, Miss Barrett."

"I have heard that saying. My grandmother was always fond of saying 'busy hands are happy hands.' I believe I prefer her expression." Valentina knew she was saying anything that popped into her head, trying to avoid the subject that was foremost in her mind.

"So you have been taught about the sins of idleness." Percival Lawton smiled wholeheartedly. "Come into the house, Miss Barrett. There is something I have been wanting to speak to you about."

Valentina reluctantly walked into the small parlor with its dark, gloomy furnishings. There was no cheerful color in the room. Decorated in drab browns, it was stiff, formal, and uncomfortable. She had a feeling that nothing would grow in this darkened room. She felt the oppression, the lack of air.

"Won't you have a seat, Miss Barrett. My sister is away or she would offer you tea."

Valentina stood near the door. "I shouldn't come in if your sister isn't at home," she said nervously.

"Nonsense. I am a man of God. It is perfectly acceptable for you to be alone with me. It is much more proper than your wandering around the country with that native, Santiago."

Valentina knew it would not be wise to argue the point. Her grandmother had once remarked to her that those who ask favors are not in a bargaining position. Valentina now understood what her grandmother had meant. Deciding the best way to proceed was to get right to the point, Valentina took a deep breath and dropped down on the stiff horsehair sofa.

"I know the rent on the cabin is due at the end of the week. I was wondering if you would mind waiting a few days until 1 can find employment."

Reverend Lawton seated himself beside Valentina, sliding so close that his leg pressed against hers. "You should have thought about looking for work instead of traipsing off to look for your father. With your mother's illness, you have a big responsibility."

"I realize that. I intend to find a job as soon as possible."

Glancing at her through watery eyes, Percival Lawton spoke. "The road to glory is paved with good intentions. What would I do in my business if I asked poor sinners to wait a bit." Valentina noticed that the reverend was staring at the neck of her gown and she shivered with disgust. His mouth was saying one thing, but his eyes were speaking another language. They were leering eyes—lecherous eyes.

"Will you give me a week to get the money?" she asked, resisting the urge to move away from him.

He was quiet for a moment, as if he were pondering the idea. "I tell you what I will do," he said at last, reaching out his hand and capturing Valentina's. "I have been looking for a wife. I believe, with my sister's training, you could be a proper helpmate for a man of God."

Valentina almost choked on her surprise. She had expected anything but this. "I hardly know you, sir. Besides, I cannot marry anyone at this time, Mr. Lawton. My mother is my responsibility. She needs me." She fought down the nausea that assailed her at the thought of being this man's wife.

"If . . . you become my wife, your mother will become my responsibility," he said meaningfully. "I wouldn't object if she were to live in the cabin out back, rent free, if we were married. I wouldn't even object to that foreign-looking maid of yours staying with her."

Valentina stood up on shaky legs. "I do not believe you and I are suited to one another, sir. You would need a wife who would be subservient to your will. I am told that I am too strong-minded for my own good. I am opinionated and not at all meek. You would tire of me quickly."

Percival stood up and, to Valentina's disgust, ran his hand down the front of her gown before cupping her firm young breasts. She jumped back and gave him a look of horror, but he forestalled what she was about to say. "I am a man with strong needs. Just because I carry God's cross doesn't mean that I'm not a man with feelings like everyone else."

"You go too far, sir," she declared. "No man has ever laid a hand on my person before." Valentina had rarely been so angry. How dare Mr. Lawton act so forward with her. "I will never forgive you for taking such liberties."

He seemed to take no exception to her angry words. His amused laughter surprised her. "You have told me what I wanted to know. I had to find out if a man's hands had touched you before, and that was the only way I could be sure." His watery eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. "I would like to teach you meekness. I would like you to become subservient to my will."

Her anger rose by degree. "How dare you think you can touch me in such an intimate way, sir!" She backed toward the door. "Know now that I will bow down to no man, you less than anyone."

Again his laughter surprised her. "I believe you will change your mind. I will wait for your answer for three days. If you decide against marriage to me, I think you will understand if I ask you to find another place for your mother to live . . . unless you can come up with the money."

She would have liked to have slapped the smile from his face. He did not think she could get the money. He expected her to come crawling back to him, asking for more time.

Hurriedly Valentina reached for the doorknob. When her hand wrapped around it, she jerked open the door and dashed outside, breathing in big gulps of fresh air. Shivering with disgust, she made her way back to the cabin. She did not know what she was going to do, but she would never marry that odious man. The touch of his hand had made her sick. She thought of Marquis Vincente and felt her heart ache.

Salamar met her at the door with a questioning look in her eyes. Valentina shook her head dejectedly. "He implied if I didn't come up with the rent money, I could either marry him or we would have to move. What will we do?"

Salamar stared at Valentina for a long time. At last she spoke in a whisper. "I believe you already know what you must do."

Valentina's eyes rounded in surprise. "You mean that I should dance?"

Salamar nodded. "It is the only way. If I could do it, I would. If you do not earn money quickly, you may be forced to marry Mr. Lawton for your mother's sake. I do not want this for you."

Valentina remembered her mother saying just that morning that if she were a dancer, she would be a sensation. Hadn't Salamar always told her that she was an exceptional dancer? But she did not want to be a sensation; she did not want to dance on stage before a mob of leering men. All she wanted was to take care of her mother and see that she got well.

"How can I do it, Salamar? If Mother were to find out, she would be horrified. Mother wouldn't like me to dance on stage. She would never approve of my dancing in the kinds of places they have here in San Francisco where men go to drink and gamble."

"You are right that your mother would disapprove, but I have an idea that I think will work. If it does, no one will ever know your true identity.".

Valentina tiptoed to the bedroom door and stared at her mother, whose face was pale even in sleep. "Tell me what I must do, Salamar," she whispered, turning back to the maid. "I know we are in dire need of money."

The office at the back of the Crystal Palace was cast in shadows. The owner, Tyree Garth, lit a cigar and lazily watched the smoke drift toward the open window. He then turned his attention back to the woman who sat across from his desk. When the woman had entered his office a few moments ago, he had noticed that she was of medium height. Other than that, he could not tell too much about her appearance because she was draped in black and wore a heavy veil. He had recognized the older woman who was with her as the one who had come to him a few days back asking to be employed as a dancer.

"I was told you wanted to see me, ma'am," Tyree said, straining his eyes to see past the black veil. The hand that reached up to pull the shimmering material more tightly across the lower half of the woman's face was small and delicate.

"I would like to work for you, Mr. Garth," a soft, feminine voice with a cultured English accent uttered from somewhere amid the veil.

"No disrespect intended, ma'am, but I have nothing suitable for a woman of your obvious genteel upbringing." He thought the woman was probably homely as sin or she would not have taken the trouble to cover her face. He did not have any objections to her being ugly. With the shortage of women in California, the men who drank and gambled in his establishment were not too particular. They were more concerned with a woman's body than the cut of her face anyway. The women who worked for him had to have a nice form, and this one was obviously shapeless.

Valentina studied the man through her veil. He was tall, broad shouldered, and dressed in a soft grey cutaway suit and yellow vest. His chestnut hair was curly and swept back from his forehead. His eyes were a deep blue and he had a mustache that was neatly trimmed. She found him handsome in a rakish sort of way.

"I can dance, Mr. Garth," Valentina said in a soft voice. "I can dance well."

Every time the woman in black moved, Tyree could hear a tinkling sound that aroused his curiosity. He flicked the ashes from his cigar and shook his head. "I don't have much use for a dancer, ma'am. This is a rough place. Why don't you just run along home now. I hear a woman can make a fair living as a laundress; leastwise, she could before the Chinese started arriving in San Francisco."

Valentina stood up. "I might consider your suggestion, Mr. Garth; but first allow me to dance for you. What have you to lose? If you don't like what I do, I will leave and never bother you again."

Tyree nodded at the older woman who stood near the door, her eyes alert, as if she were on guard. "Why not? I'm feeling in a generous mood today. Step outside and tell the head musician, Hubert Aims, what music you want him to play. The musicians at the Crystal Palace aren't fancy, but they have a good ear for music. I'll be out directly and watch."

Valentina walked to the door. "After I have danced for you, sir, there are some promises you must make before I will agree to work for you."

Tyree threw back his head and laughed. "You may or may not be able to dance, but you're not short on spunk. I'll see this dance and then you can leave and never bother me again. Is that a promise?"

"I promise, but I have very little doubt that you will ask me to stay. As I said, I am very good." The statement was not made in a bragging manner; rather it carried the earnest ring of the truth.

Tyree was becoming more intrigued by the moment. He walked to the door and waited for the two women to precede him. When they entered the massive barroom, it was empty but for the young boy who was sweeping the floor and the three musicians who played for the Crystal Palace. The leader, Hubert Aims, who was running his fingers over the piano, looked up with interest when they entered.

Tyree propped his elbow on the bar and motioned Hubert over to him. "This woman wants to dance for us, Hubert. Play something pretty for her."

"All right, boss," Hubert said, holding up his hands to catch the attention of the other two men. "What would you like us to play for you, ma'am?" he called out.

"Do you know Traveling Gypsy'?" Valentina asked.

"Yes, of course," Hubert answered, seating himself at the piano.

"I would like you to play it softly to begin with; keep the tempo slow, then gradually build up faster. When I give you the signal, I would then like you to play the rest of the melody at twice the tempo. I believe you will understand what I mean when I start dancing."

Hubert Aims was a man in his early sixties. Music had always been his life. At one time he had conducted an orchestra in Boston, Massachusetts. Too much drinking had shattered a promising career. He had sailed for California hoping to find himself again, which he had. At one time his talent had been heralded as promising. Now he played for rough men who cared nothing for fine music. He led three other musicians in bawdy songs for the amusement of the customers.