Thorne Brothers: With All My Heart Part 6

Grey simply stood there, stunned. He had hoped to find proof that she was a woman under her battered felt hat, but this silky fall of pale gold and platinum far exceeded his expectations. Crumbling the hat in his fist, Grey wrapped his free hand under her billowing hair and around her neck and herded her off the sidewalk.

Berkeley looked up as she was thrust toward the large red doors that marked the Phoenix's entrance. "What's that?" she asked, halting in her tracks two stories under the scaffold.

Grey nudged her, but she wouldn't be moved, at least not without some injury to herself. He followed her eyes upward and saw that she was looking through a s.p.a.ce in the planks. "That's Rhea. Neptune's mother."

"It looks as if it belongs on the bow of a s.h.i.+p."

"It did. It's a figurehead." He gave her a push, and she moved this time. "But it belongs to the Phoenix now."

Berkeley entered the vast hall of the gaming house, heard the doors close behind her, and wriggled out from under Grey's grasp. She let the cat go and watched it dart off in search of prey among the stacked crates, discarded lumber, and furniture draped in yards of muslin. Running almost the entire length of the hall was a beautifully carved mahogany bar. Berkeley realized it had been recently installed because it wasn't covered by the same film of sawdust that lay over the floor. The bra.s.s foot rail was polished to a s.h.i.+ne that was apparent even in the dimly lighted hall.

The muslin sheets outlined the shape of the protected furniture. Berkeley recognized gaming tables by their recessed tops or their peculiar kidney-bean design which allowed a dealer to stand on one side and pa.s.s cards easily to players seated in an arc on the other side. There looked to be enough chairs to accommodate a hundred gamblers and enough s.p.a.ce at the open tables to take a crowd of two hundred more. Standing side to sideways, fifty men could put one foot on the rail and one elbow on the bar and comfortably knock back drinks for hours without fear of collapsing in the crush.

Berkeley pointed to the unfinished wall behind the bar. "The mirrors go there?'' she asked.

Grey nodded. "Most of them."

"But none of them are going above the beds."

"That's right." He returned Berkeley's hat to her as she considered this.

"You just let people think that."

He shrugged and pointed toward the wide staircase at the back of the hall. "It's good for business. Come on. I'll show you where you can get out of those clothes."

"If it's all the same to you, I'll wash myself in them." When he looked at her oddly she explained, "I've done it before. In the bay. It's not so bad."

Grey glanced at the steps. There were a lot of them. The staircase curved to lend an air of elegance and drama. It had been his idea. Now he regretted it. The thought of carrying Berkeley Shaw up all those steps was not appealing, not when she was bound to squirm and kick and holler and likely to knock them both back to Kingdom Come.

He was working out the problem when two laborers came in hauling a crated mirror between them. "See those men," he said in an aside to Berkeley. "They can lift three times that weight between them. You won't present much of a challenge, and we can always put you in a crate if you do. Now, the stairs are that way. Can you manage them on your own, or do I ask Mike and Shawn to help you?"

Mike Winston and Shawn Kelly were grinning at each other as they gently set down their load. They looked on eagerly, waiting for Grey Janeway's guest to make her decision.

Berkeley jammed her hat on her head and marched off.

"Thanks, fellas," Grey called to them as he followed her. "I appreciate the help." Out of their line of sight one corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. Mike and Shawn had been eager to do a lot more. He caught up with Berkeley. "Can I antic.i.p.ate more of these battles?"

"I expect so, Mr. Janeway."

He sighed. The tabby charged up the stairs beside him and wound her way between Berkeley's feet. Grey had to catch her to keep her from tumbling. He felt her stiffen. "Miss Shaw, do you really think I have an interest in making you my wh.o.r.e?''

Berkeley squeezed out of his light grasp. "Don't you?"

"No."

"Someone else's wh.o.r.e, then?"

"No."

Without looking back, Grey took a few more steps. He heard Berkeley's light tread behind him.

"This is a brothel, isn't it?" she asked.

"No, it's a gambling hall and hostelry, not a wh.o.r.ehouse. I'm a businessman, Miss Shaw. Not a pimp. And if that's what you thought, why did you come? I didn't force you into the wagon at the wharf. You and the cat jumped in."

At the top of the stairs he turned right and headed down the hall. Berkeley had to quicken her step to keep up. "I thought you meant to help me," she said quietly. "I didn't mean that you should get nothing for it. I thought I might find work with you."

"What sort of work?"

"I don't know exactly," she said slowly, feeling her own inadequacies keenly. "But something. I'm not without a talent, you know."

Grey's tone was dry. "We'll discuss that later." He stopped in front of one of the large oak doors. The handle turned without inserting a key. "No locks yet, I'm afraid," he said. "Next week, Donnel tells me. Or the week after." He opened the door and gestured her inside.

Except for an enormous walnut desk and a pine crate turned on its end to serve as a chair, the room was empty. French doors were centered in the opposite wall and could open onto the balcony that overlooked Portsmouth Square. When she stepped farther into the room Berkeley could see part of the scaffold she had noticed earlier. She pressed the side of her face against the gla.s.s and watched the workman smooth linseed oil into the wooden G.o.ddess's hair. At least he had finished polis.h.i.+ng her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Stepping away from the gla.s.s, her cheeks washed with a faint rose color, Berkeley walked to the fireplace. Imported marble tiles made up the lintel and jambs. The mantel was a single piece of polished walnut that blended seamlessly where it met the inlaid panels that completely covered the wall. A pair of bra.s.s sconces that still required their globes to be safely functional, flanked the mantelpiece. Above the walnut wainscoting that trimmed the rest of the room, a flocked wallpaper in two shades of blue had been chosen to keep the quarters from being too dark or close.

Berkeley pointed to the door set in the wall on her right. It was open a crack. "May I?" she asked.

"Of course. Look anywhere you like."

She supposed that if he had already furnished his apartments, he would not be so quick to extend an invitation, or at least he would feel compelled to follow her around. Berkeley knew she didn't present an appearance worth trusting. It wasn't only the fish odor that clung to her, but weeks of sleeping in alleys and sc.r.a.ping meals from refuse piles behind the eateries. If she had had the luxury of was.h.i.+ng in the bay a hundred times a night, it couldn't have removed the desperate edge that poverty had given her. She wouldn't wh.o.r.e for Grey Janeway, but she wouldn't think twice about stealing from him.

Berkeley slowly circled the adjoining room. It would be a small library when it was finished. The shelves were in place, though lacking even a single book. Beyond that was what Berkeley suspected would be the bedroom. A bench had been built below the bay window that filled almost the entire wall, and there was also a door that led to the hallway. A dressing room completed the suite. It was narrow by the standards set by the previous rooms but still big enough to hold a ma.s.sive armoire and a dressing table. The armoire was empty, and the table held no personal items.

Berkeley walked back into the bedroom. Grey was waiting for her, casually leaning in the doorway that led from the library. "Is it what you expected?"

She hadn't given a thought to expectations. There was no denying it was a grand place, but then she would have been satisfied with a dry floor and roof that didn't leak. She didn't answer his question because she couldn't. "Is this where I'll be staying?"

Still watching her closely, Grey shook his head. "No."

Berkeley looked down at the floor to conceal her disappointment. Why had he brought her here if he didn't mean to give her shelter?

"You'll have a room down the hall."

Her head bobbed up. Her eyes were mirrors for her grat.i.tude and her relief. "Do you mean it?"

To be on the receiving end of so much appreciation was a bit daunting. Grey's answer was clipped. "I just said so, didn't I?" He regretted his tone when he saw Berkeley flinch, but he didn't apologize. She didn't seem to be able to understand the enormous responsibility that she presented and that he didn't necessarily welcome it. Until this morning at the wharf, he'd made a point to avoid commitments that weren't totally related to business.

The tabby chose that moment to sprint into the bedroom. Her attention was immediately caught by the shaft of sunlight coming in through the window. She pawed at a dust mote that appeared to be suspended in the beam. Shaking his head, Grey watched the cat's antics for a moment. This was the Sydney Ducks' real revenge, he decided. His brief encounter with them had left him in charge of a lunatic cat and a singularly curious young woman. The Ducks could be very pleased with their morning's work. Without much effort they had managed to disrupt his life completely.

Berkeley reached for the cat as if she were a lifeline, but the tabby wanted no part of her. She leaped onto the window seat and settled in the sunlight. Berkeley stood up slowly, suddenly adrift.

Grey felt her uncertainty keenly. Until that moment he hadn't been entirely sure that she was alone. Now he knew.

Berkeley made a visible effort to shrug off her self-pity. There was nothing to be gained, and she doubted Grey would be moved by it. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her anyway. She could hardly prove her independence if she somehow became his responsibility.

"Mr. Janeway?" The call came from another room.

Grey turned toward the parlor. "In here."

Shawn Kelly appeared carrying an armload of books. "From your tent, sir. Where should I put them?" He looked around, became aware he was standing in Grey's small library, and offered, "What about on one of these shelves, Mr. Janeway?"

"That would be fine, Shawn. Don't bother to sort them."

"Oh, I wouldn't know how," Shawn said. "Never learned to read more than enough to get by." He pushed the books onto one of the shelves. "You'd better show us where you want the rest of your things. No sense moving more than once."

It was then Berkeley became aware of the approach of heavy footsteps in the hallway. She followed Grey back into the parlor in time to see a parade of workmen enter with canvas, poles, cots, trunks, blankets, cooking utensils, a pitcher, a basin, and a chair. Just when she thought no one else could fit into the room, two men hoisting a large wooden washtub on their shoulders walked in. Grey raised his hand, pointed in the direction of the dressing room, and the sea of men parted soundlessly. Berkeley jumped out of the way as they squeezed themselves and the washtub through.

"The canvas and poles have to go to the storage room," Grey told the men. "I'm not setting up a tent here. Cooking supplies to the kitchen. Leave the chair here; everything else in the bedroom."

Moving into a shadowed corner of the parlor, Berkeley watched the workmen move with ch.o.r.eographed simplicity. There was not even the slightest misstep as the belongings were distributed to their proper place in a matter of minutes. The men who had not gone to the kitchen and the storage room congregated back in the parlor. Grey struck a careless, casual pose that was becoming familiar to her as he hitched one hip on the edge of his desk and stretched a leg out to the side.

"Can I have a few volunteers to heat water and carry it back up here?" he asked. "I'll need buckets of it, I'm afraid. The Phoenix's first guest will require a considerable amount of scrubbing before she's fit to take a room."

Berkeley realized the shadows in her corner weren't nearly deep enough as the men turned in unison toward her. Cheeks aflame with humiliation, Berkeley tried to make herself invisible by staring at her feet and closing her eyes. She thought some of the men must have given Grey a silent indication they would help because no one volunteered aloud.

"Good," Grey said. "You can go. Oh, and if at any time you see Sam loitering in the hall downstairs, send him up." Grey waited until the men shuffled out and the door was closed before he addressed Berkeley. "You can come out now."

She didn't move.

"Or not,'' he said, shrugging as if it were of no importance. When she remained exactly as she was for longer than a minute Grey's patience came to an end. "I'm not going to apologize each time I trample your tender feelings. I expect I'll be doing it quite often."

Berkeley dragged the rumpled hat from her head and clutched it between her hands. More of her pale hair fell forward across her shoulders. She lifted her face a few degrees but still did not look at Grey. "I won't get used to it," she said softly. "I won't let myself."

"My G.o.d," Grey said under his breath. "How the h.e.l.l have you managed to survive on your own?"

"By disguising myself as a boy." Now she looked at him straight on. "And you took that defense away from me when you lifted this hat off my head. All of your workers know the truth and most of the men in Portsmouth Square. If I can't hide what I am any longer, then I don't see that I should be expected to hide what I feel. You may ignore my tender feelings, but I won't let you pretend I haven't any."

Berkeley missed Grey's faint smile because she glanced away too quickly. He noticed that these flashes of temerity seemed to have the capacity to surprise her. She was staring at the floor again as if waiting to be set in her place, not realizing she had set him firmly in his.

Grey pushed out the chair the workers left behind. It sc.r.a.ped against the floor, drawing her attention. "Sit down, Miss Shaw."

"I'm fine," she said. "Really, Ia""

"Did you think I was inviting you to have a seat?'' he asked. "I wasn't. It was an order." He held up one hand, staving off her protest. "Consider your argument said, heard, and ignored. Have a seat, Miss Shaw."

With the momentum she achieved by pus.h.i.+ng herself out of the corner, Berkeley managed to cross the room. She pulled the chair back a few feet so she wasn't directly beneath his gaze and sat down. "Is it your intention to interrogate me?" she asked.

"It is my intention that you should stop cowering in that corner." He stood, skirted the edge of the desk, and sat on the pine crate. "Let's agree to hold further discussion until the water arrives." Without giving her another glance he began leafing through a stack of papers, sorting and filing them away in one of the drawers. While she looked on silently, Grey made an occasional note on something he read or scribbled an addition to a list he was compiling.

Almost an hour elapsed before workmen appeared at Grey's suite. Berkeley was asleep in the stiff ladderback chair she occupied, her head c.o.c.ked sideways at an awkward angle and her hands lying palm up in her lap. The abused hat that she had twisted and tugged while she held her tongue lay on the floor at her feet.

Grey rose from behind the desk quietly and went to the door. He met the bucket brigade in the hallway. He gave them instructions on preparing the bathtub and motioned them to use the door leading directly into the bedroom. They accomplished their task with a surprising amount of efficiency for men who had never been in service in their lives. Grey thought their eagerness to please had a lot less to do with him than it did with Berkeley's cascade of corn silk hair and the fey appeal of her leaf green eyes.

He dismissed the men, then went to Berkeley and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She didn't stir. Grey bent and slipped one arm behind her back and another under her knees. Her head lolled comfortably against his chest. He looked down at her sleeping features and felt a small resentment for the trust she had extended him.

Grey carried her through the library and bedroom and into the dressing room. The tub had been lined with a sheet to protect her from the rough slats and filled three-quarters of the way with hot water. Two more rinsing buckets stood by. Towels, soap, and washcloths lay on top of the trunk lid. There was nothing left to be done.

"Miss Shaw?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your bath is ready."

Berkeley's only response was to offer an abrupt little snore and burrow against him.

Grey saw the cat wander into the doorway and stare at him curiously. "This could happen to you," he told the tabby. "So learn from it." He lowered Berkeley over the tub until he was in a position to drop her. Then he did.

The tabby meowed loudly, back arched, as Berkeley came up spitting and flinging water. The cat ran away. Berkeley had nowhere to go. She pushed the damp curtain of hair out of her eyes, then tried to lift herself out of the tub. She was held in place by the hand on her shoulder. "Do you mean to drown me?" she demanded, sinking back under the weight of Grey's palm.

"It has a certain appeal," he admitted. He straightened. "You can take off your clothes and put them on the floor. Call me when you're done, and I'll get them out of here." He took her silence as a.s.sent and went to the trunk. The bar of soap he pitched in her direction landed heavily in the water when she missed it. While Berkeley groped for it Grey tossed the washcloth and laid the towels beside the tub. He opened the trunk lid, rooted among the contents, and came away with another sheet. With no explanation he left the dressing room.

Berkeley felt her mouth sag a little as she stared after him. Did he really expect her to strip at his command? Wash, just because he'd thrown soap at her? The only thing worse would be if he tried to scrub her down himself. Berkeley began to heave herself out of the tub just as Grey walked back into the room. This time he was carrying a hammer, rope, and, between his teeth, two nails. He gave her a quelling look and she lowered herself into the water while he began to rig a curtain that would separate the tub from the rest of the dressing room.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"It's for your privacy."

"I don't understand. You can just as easily shut the door on your way out."

"I could," he said. "If I intended to go out. Stay where you are. There's no need to scatter water to every part of the room. I intend to talk to you, and we can't have a conversation if there's a closed door between us. I thought this would be an acceptable compromise."

"It's not."

"It's the best I can do."

"A compromise would be for you to allow me to bathe alone and engage in conversation later."

"Yes, but that wouldn't be acceptable to me." Ignoring her bewildered expression, Grey finished attaching the rope and tied two corners of the sheet to it. The curtain part.i.tioned off the area of the room where Berkeley sat in the tub. "No one will be bringing more hot water," he told her. "You'd do well to get out of those clothes now."

"I don't think I can."

Grey had to strain to hear her. Berkeley's voice was barely audible. "I'll strip them off you myself," he said. Grey realized that her modesty, if that's what it was, was unexpected. It hadn't occurred to him that she would offer so much resistance over such a trifle. Hadn't she told him that she would have been willing to bathe in the bay? And she had already been walking around San Francisco for weeks wearing trousers. That behavior, even though it had probably been born of necessity, didn't impress Grey as modest. "I mean it, Miss Shaw." He paused. "Your alternative is to leave. And the cat goes with you."

There was a long silence; then Grey heard her sigh. That breathy little sound was followed by some wet piece of clothing slapping against the floor. Satisfied, Grey sat on the trunk and waited. One piece followed another. Occasionally there was a soft grunt as an article proved difficult to get out of. "Finished?" he asked her when he thought she had lowered herself into the water again. There was no answer. "If you're nodding, Miss Shaw, I can't hear you."

"Yes," she said. "I'm finished."

"Then I'm going to take your clothes."

Berkeley went under the water to the level of her nose. It was an unnecessary precaution. Grey didn't come around the curtain; he merely reached under it. She watched what was left of her belongings disappear. Except for the earring she was clutching in her palm, she had nothing.

Grey wasn't gone long, but Berkeley didn't doubt she would never see those clothes again. She imagined they were burning in the same stove that had been used to heat her water.

"I don't hear anything," Grey said. "Have you finished was.h.i.+ng?"

"I haven't begun."