Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) (12 page)

He had lived too long to be surprised by anything—even the woman draped in black. "I'm not sure I understand what you want, ma'am, but I'll catch on."

"You will be able to follow me," Valentina said. "Please begin now." Salamar had insisted on accompanying Valentina and that left her mother alone. Valentina just wanted to get this whole degrading ordeal over with so she could return home as soon as possible.

Hubert looked at his boss, Tyree Garth, who shrugged his shoulders. Running his hands over the keys of the piano, the pianist instructed the other members to join in.

The young boy who was sweeping the floor leaned on his broom and watched the woman in black ascend the steps. When she was at center stage, the older woman seated herself on the steps, as if to discourage anyone from trying to approach too near.

Tyree almost choked on his cigar when the black drape fell away and landed at the dainty feet of a woman with the most sweetly curved body he had ever seen. She was wearing a bright red gypsy skirt with yards and yards of some kind of filmy material. Her young breasts were thrust against an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse. She was barefoot, with bangles about her ankles and wrists. Her identity was still concealed behind a veil, which covered the lower half of her face. Her hair was covered with a golden mesh net to which bangles were attached that hung across her forehead.

Hubert took his cue from the girl. She raised her arms and clicked the finger cymbals, causing a loud, rhythmic, ringing sound.

When she began to dance, she became grace and beauty. Everyone was mesmerized as she turned and whirled in time with the music. As the music shifted in tempo, she began moving her hips, tauntingly, enticingly.

Tyree had been watching her so intently that he let out a loud oath as his cigar became a stump and burned his fingertips. His eyes were glued to the stage as he watched the most beautiful dance he had ever witnessed. As Valentina whirled around the stage, he felt joy in his heart. She was creating a lighthearted Gypsy feeling. She was the eternal woman; she was Venus come to earth to bless men with her loveliness.

As the tempo increased to a maddening pitch, the dancer dropped to the floor and bowed her head. For the space of several moments there wasn't a sound in the place. Then suddenly Hubert jumped to his feet and started clapping his hands vigorously. Soon he was joined by the other musicians. The cleaning boy was clapping and crying at the same time. He had never seen such a thing of beauty in all his sixteen years.

Tyree smiled to himself and called out, "You got the job, ma'am."

Valentina came to the edge of the stage, picked up her black drape, and pulled it back over her head.

"Not yet, Mr. Garth. As I told you before, I have some stipulations you must meet before I will work for you."

"I would advise you to take her at any price," Hubert advised. "I'll bet there isn't another dancer to rival her in this country, if indeed the whole world. She's talented; she's wonderful; she can put the Crystal Palace on top. Now we can introduce San Francisco to a little culture. We can have good music."

"Come with me," Tyree called out, making his way to his office. "If I don't hire you, I have a feeling Hubert will walk out on me."

As Tyree sat on the edge of the desk, he tried again without success to see the dancer's face. "What are your conditions, ma'am?" he asked, smiling.

"They are few and simple. I want the steps removed that lead up to the stage. I will want a dressing room large enough to practice my dancing in. Also there must be a back door leading to the dressing room so I can come and go as I wish."

"Agreed."

"I will always wear a veil. No one will know my true identity. You are not to try to find out who I am or where I live. In fact, if I am to dance for you, you must promise to protect my identity."

"Agreed."

"I will dance for only an hour a night and never on the Sabbath."

"I see no problem with that."

Valentina hesitated. "... I want to be paid a hundred dollars a week."

A slow smile spread over Tyree's face. "I was prepared to pay you a hundred and fifty."

"Not at first. Wait and see if I am worth more. The time may come when I must demand more money."

"May I know your name?" he asked.

"Let's just say that I am called Jordanna."

"All right, Jordanna. Is there anything else you wish to say?”

"Yes." Again she was hesitant. ". . . May I have the first week's salary in advance?"

Tyree's laughter filled the room as he pulled out a metal box, unlocked it, and counted out the money. "I have a feeling that if I'm not careful, you'll be running the Crystal Palace before long."

Soft laughter touched his ears. "I don't wish to run your saloon, Mr. Garth. I only wish to use it as a means to an end."

He watched her leave, followed by her strange foreign-looking maid. "I'll be damned," he said, lighting another cigar. "I'll be damned."

It was late in the evening when the knock came on the front door. When Salamar opened it, Prudence Lawton entered. Looking about her, she took in every change that had been made in the cabin.

"Good evening, Miss Lawton," Valentina said politely. "May I offer you refreshments?"

"No, I just came to do you a good turn," the older woman said, lifting the curtains at the window and examining the material while Valentina waited for her to continue. "This place isn't half bad the way you have it fixed up."

"Thank you," Valentina replied demurely.

"Well, seeing that the hour is late, I'll come right to the point. Are you looking for employment?"

Valentina managed not to show her surprise at the blunt question. "Indeed I am, although I am finding I am not qualified for many things."

"Can you read?"

"Yes, of course."

Prudence reached into her drawstring bag, withdrew a slip of paper, and pressed it into Valentina's hand. "This is the address of Mrs. Windom. She is a widow. Her husband was a sea captain who lost his life coming around Cape Horn last year. The poor woman is suffering from some kind of stroke and can't speak. She requires someone to stay with her in the afternoons and read to her. I heard about her through Maddy Dillan at the fish market."

"I thank you very much, Miss Lawton. I shall go and see Mrs. Windom first thing in the morning."

Prudence nodded in approval. "I'm always willing to do my Christian duty. The poor woman likes to be read to, but there aren't many women who can read in San Francisco."

Valentina was surprised that Prudence Lawton would bother to help her. She knew the woman did not like her very well. "I suppose that's true, Miss Lawton. Thank you for thinking of me."

"Think nothing of it. I just want to be a good Christian. I'll be going now."

Valentina accompanied Miss Lawton to the door and thanked her again for her kindness. After the woman had gone, Valentina shook her head in amazement. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if I were to get this job? If it paid enough, I wouldn't have to dance at the Crystal Palace."

Salamar said nothing. Removing the foot warmer from the fire, she wrapped it in a heavy cloth and carried it into Evonne Barrett's bedroom.

Marquis had been having dinner with the Estradas. After the meal, as if it had been planned, Isabel's parents had excused themselves and left their two daughters at the table to entertain their guest.

Across the table from Marquis, Isabel laughed and tossed her hair, trying to entice him. He felt her foot touch his boot and then slide up his leg. Toying with his wine glass, he did not even look up. When her foot moved up to rest on his thigh, his eyes flickered and locked with hers.

Isabel had expected her bold movements to cause passion to ignite in him, but it had not. She could tell he felt nothing by the dullness in his eyes. The look he gave her was one of bored indifference, and Isabel could not endure indifference—especially not from the man she was to marry. She jerked back her foot and glared at him.

"I am sure that if my hair were golden you would notice me, Marquis Vincente!" she hissed. As if a serpent were poisoning her mind, she felt hatred building deep within her. "Would you want to bed me if my eyes were the strange silver color of the English woman's?"

Through lowered lashes, he flicked an imaginary crumb from the table. No, he thought, in your case it wouldn't help. Aloud he said, "Are you not concerned that your sister can overhear your conversation?"

Isabel glanced at Eleanor, who was pretending not to hear. Seething inside, she realized she had just been spurned. Marquis was not attracted to her at all. "She cannot have you, you know," she said, lowering her voice.

His lips curled into a smile, though coldness laced his words. "Who cannot have me?"

"You know I speak of the English whore."

For the first time there was life in the depths of Marquis's eyes as anger turned them to slow-burning fire. The hand that grasped the wine glass tightened; the knuckles whitened. "Tread easy, Isabel. Do not say something you will regret."

"My God!" she declared, jumping to her feet. "I will not endure your defending that bitch to me. Am I not the woman you are going to marry? You have treated me as if I had some dread disease ever since we first met."

Marquis rose slowly to his feet, looking at her with an unreadable expression. "I believe it is time I took my leave. If you would not mind, please pay my respects to your mother and father." Walking across the room, he stopped at the door. "I am going to pretend tonight did not happen, Isabel. I suggest you do the same." With a slight smile to Eleanor, he quickly moved out the door and down the hallway.

Isabel stared after him in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. "How dare he!" she raged, her voice rising in volume. "How dare he treat me with such contempt! I will never allow Marquis Vincente to forget this night."

*                                          *                                          *

Marquis swung his leg over the saddle and, turning his mount, he cantered toward home. It would have angered Isabel still more had she known how easily Marquis had dismissed her from his mind. His thoughts had returned immediately to the golden-haired goddess who haunted him day and night.

10

As it turned out, Valentina's hopes for finding suitable employment were dashed. After gaining the approval of Mrs. Windom's housekeeper, Mrs. Gibbins, Valentina was led into the bedroom and introduced to the dour Mrs. Windom. The elderly woman showed her disapproval of Valentina immediately and, nodding toward the door, indicated that Valentina should leave at once.

The housekeeper ushered Valentina out the door and into the entryway. "I'm sorry, miss. My employer seems to have her heart set on a certain kind of young lady. She has a strong dislike for anything British. Perhaps that is why she sent you away. I hope you won't take the slight personally."

"I need this job desperately. Is there any chance that Mrs. Windom might change her mind?"

"No, ma'am, but then, you see, the position doesn't pay that much anyway. Mrs. Windom was only offering three dollars a week."

Valentina shook her head. "I need more money than that to take care of my mother. That would hardly be enough to put food on the table at the high prices in San Francisco." Valentina extended her hand to the housekeeper. "Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Gibbins."

"For what it's worth, I think Mrs. Windom made a mistake in not hiring you, miss," the maid said, acting genuinely sorry. "You seem a very well-brought-up young lady."

"Thank you again. It is unfortunate for me that you don't have the last word in hiring me," Valentina said, taking her leave.

Her footsteps dragged on the way home. She had had high hopes for the job with Mrs. Windom. Now she would have to dance at the Crystal Palace for an indefinite period of time.

When Valentina arrived home, she sank down in a chair, feeling miserable. Salamar, with a concerned frown on her face, handed her a cup of tea. "I take it the interview did not go well?"

"No. It seems that the lady had an aversion to my being English. Perhaps I should have informed her I was half French."

"It may be for the best, Valentina. I doubt that the position would have paid all that well. Besides, who would want to work for a woman who condemns a whole race of people just because she does not like one or two of them?"

"You are right about the woman and the pay. We couldn't have survived on the meager amount, and I wouldn't have been happy working for her."

"What are you going to do?"

Valentina's shoulders drooped and she felt completely deflated. "I just don't know, Salamar."

"I believe you do."

"Yes, you are right. I will dance for Tyree Garth. I owe him a week of dancing anyway since he already paid me. I was just hoping a week was all I would have to dance. I do not know how we will keep Mother from finding out about what I'm doing."

Salamar stared into Valentina's eyes. "You could tell your mother that you got the position with Mrs. Windom. That will lend respectability if anyone inquires about how you are earning money."

"I cannot tell an untruth, Salamar. You always taught me to be honest. If it was wrong in the past to be untruthful, it's still wrong."

"What you say is true. We must weigh carefully what the truth would do to your mother. I do not think we are prepared to take the chance." Salamar sat down beside Valentina and looked at her with sad eyes. "If I could take your unhappiness in my hands and crush it, I would do so. If you can believe this, then know that the road to true happiness is often strewn with stones."

Valentina smiled. "Are you trying to tell me that at the end of the rainbow is a pot of gold?"

"Yes, something like that."

Valentina laughed uncontrollably as the tears streamed down her face. "What cannot be cured must be endured, Salamar. I must flaunt myself on a stage where men will gawk at me. My mother would die of shame if she ever found out. I will try to remember that I am doing this for our survival; otherwise, I couldn't go through with it."

Salamar felt tears in her own eyes, knowing Valentina was suffering from shame and heartbreak. She knew Valentina was being torn apart inside because she was forced to dance in a place like the Crystal Palace. Taking the girl in her arms, Salamar held her tightly, allowing her to cry out her misery. "This too, shall pass, Valentina. I swear to you that you will one day see the gold at the end of the rainbow."

The Crystal Palace was noisy and smoke filled. The sound of the roulette wheel was swallowed up by the sounds of murmuring voices and loud laughter from the men at the gambling tables.

Tyree glanced up at the stage where new red velvet curtains hung. Looking about him at the rough-hewn faces of the customers who frequented his establishment, he wondered if he had made a mistake in hiring the girl who called herself simply Jordanna. These miners might not appreciate her talent. They might be just as happy if Dora and Sadie, the two women who served drinks for him, climbed on stage and tried to dance. They would only be interested in a show of legs or a low-cut bodice. It was evident that Jordanna would show neither.

Holding a cigar between his teeth, Tyree scraped a match across the edge of the bar, watching it ignite with the accompanying sulphur smell. Touching the match to his cigar, he heard Hubert run his fingers over the piano keys and fill the room with a soft melody. The song he was playing reminded Tyree of summer skies and bluebirds he had seen long ago in his boyhood. The music stopped and he knew it was time for Jordanna to appear.

The men who were drinking and gambling did not even glance up as the curtain opened and the slight figure of the woman glided forward. Tyree watched in shocked surprise and more than a little anger. Jordanna was not wearing the red gypsy skirt she had worn the day he had hired her. She was draped in filmy white material that hung down to her ankles. Her hair was covered with a white veil, which fell across the lower half of her face, concealing her identity. She was not barefoot, but wore the white satin toe shoes of a ballerina.

His teeth clamped down on the cigar, and he swore under his breath. He had gone to the expense of redoing the stage and having the dressing room decorated to the woman Salamar's specifications. He damned sure hadn't hired her to do some damned fancy toe dance. This was the West, not some luxurious salon in Europe. He was so angry he decided to go backstage and order Jordanna either to dance the Gypsy dance or leave the Crystal Palace at once.

Valentina eased up on her toes and began swirling around in a circle. Tyree was halfway to the stage when a strange sound met his ears—the sound of complete silence! The roulette wheel wasn't spinning, and there was no laughter or murmuring. Turning around, he glanced at the faces of the men only to find their eyes glued to the stage. Awe and reverence were written on the weathered faces of the old men. A look of adoration graced the faces of the younger men. Jordanna had them all completely under her spell.

Tyree leaned back against the wall, poked his hands in his pockets, and watched Jordanna with a smile on his face. The soft music filled the room and she whirled, she spun. She danced on her toes; she gracefully moved like poetry across the stage, her white gown always modestly hugging her ankles. As she danced, each man was reminded of eternal youth and beauty. Tyree watched one old, hard-bitten miner with a white beard dabbing at his eyes. Others were crying openly and unashamed. They were witnessing something so lovely, so unbelievable, they would never forget it.

The music built up in tempo and Jordanna leaped into the air as if she had taken wing. In her graceful broad leaps, her legs swept out into perfect splits. The music slowed and she spun around and then dropped into a deep curtsy.

With one last glance at the audience, she arose and disappeared backstage. For what seemed an eternity, silence reigned in the Crystal Palace. Then, all of a sudden, the men went crazy. Bedlam swept the crowd as they applauded and called for the dancer to return. Voices were raised in tribute to the goddess who had just blessed them with a glimpse of undeniable beauty.

Tyree felt a jolt at his elbow and smiled into the laughing eyes of Julian Mathews, a reporter for the
Missouri Republican
, who had been sent to San Francisco to write articles about the gold rush.

"You have been holding out on me, Tyree. Who was that lovely angel?"

"Just that—an angel."

"Introduce me to her. Damnit, she is the most graceful and talented dancer I've ever seen, and I've seen plenty. It isn't fair to keep her for yourself; she's too beautiful for just one man."

"How could you tell she was beautiful when her face was covered?" Tyree asked lazily.

"I could just tell. Are you going to introduce me to her or not?"

"Not."

"Then I'll just go backstage and introduce myself."

Julian Mathews turned in the direction of the stage only to be yanked back by Tyree. "I can't let you do that, Julian. See Bob Taylor over there nursing that rifle? His orders are to allow no one backstage. As you know, Bob is a stickler for following orders."

"Why won't you allow anyone backstage?" Julian asked, his reporter's nose smelling a story. "What's the big mystery about this dancer?"

"The mystery is that this is the way she wants it. I don't know her story. I only know that if she keeps dancing for me, she'll make me a wealthy man. If she doesn't want anyone to see her face, that's the way it'll be. If she doesn't want anyone backstage, that's the way it will be too."

"What if I find a way to meet her?"

"I would ask you not to do that. If you succeeded, I believe she would disappear and none of us would ever see her dance again."

Julian ran a hand through his sandy curls as his eyes lit up with an idea. "I've had a change of heart. I don't want anyone to know who she is. I am going to make that little lady famous. Everyone loves a mystery. I will fight as hard as you to protect her identity, because she is going to provide me with whopping news stories for a long time to come. The folks back East will eat this up."

Tyree nodded. "I'm glad you see it that way." To himself he murmured, "I wonder who she really is and what her story is."

The next morning's newspaper headlines hailed the mystery lady that graced the stage at the Crystal Palace. It mentioned something about her being the golden Venus, hiding her face because she was too beautiful for mortal man to look upon.

Marquis and one of his Indian vaqueros, Tomico, rode up the rocky slope toward Valentina's father's mine. Halting their mounts in front of the mine opening, Marquis called out in English, "Hello, is anyone here?"

When there was no answer, Marquis got off his horse and motioned for Tomico to draw his rifle and remain mounted. Walking cautiously toward the cabin that was just past the face of a cliff, he called out again.

This time he was rewarded by a grumbling voice and a man pulling up his suspenders came out of the door. He looked at Marquis suspiciously and would have drawn the gun he wore crammed into the waist of his trousers had he not spied Tomico's rifle aimed at him.

"What you want around here, stranger? If you came to rob me, you'll find poor pickings," Samuel Udell said, his eyes moving from the Indian to the dark-eyed Spaniard.

"I have come to inquire about a man named Ward Barrett." Marquis knew this man with his white beard and mustache and a distinct American accent could not be Valentina's father. This man was too crude, too uneducated. Ward Barrett would be a much younger man who spoke English with a clipped British accent.

"Have you now? And just what in the world would be your interest in my partner?" Samuel Udell looked over the fancily dressed Spanish man carefully. His appearance proclaimed him to be of the landed gentry— probably some aristocratic grandee, he thought. He could not imagine why the man would be inquiring about Ward Barrett. "Why would you want to know about a dead man?" he questioned.

"I made Ward Barrett's daughter a promise that I would find out about her father. I am told that you were the last person to see him alive."

The old man scratched his head. "Now that would be a fact. We was digging down in the mine, and there was a fearsome cave-in. He were buried so deep in that there mine that they'll never find his body."

"I would like you to show me where the cave-in occurred so I can tell his daughter that I saw where her father was buried."

"Now I ain't likely letting no strangers go poking around in my mine. How do I know you haven't come to rob me? A man can't be too careful these days. There's plenty of claim jumping going on."

"But, senor, you have intimated to me that you have nothing to steal. Did you not tell Senora Barrett that the mine was nonproducing. As far as I can see, that would bring up another question to be answered. If you have not found gold, why do you continue to dig here?"

The old man's eyes became hooded and he laid his hand on the handle of his gun. When he heard the click of the Indian's rifle, he held out his hands. "I don't have nowhere else to go. I sunk all my money into this mine. I have to stay with it, come rain or hell."

"It would be wise for you to speak the truth, senor. I would not want to believe that you have cheated the Barrett family," Marquis stated flatly, the merest hint of a threat hanging in the air.