Thorne Brothers: With All My Heart Part 36

Sam rubbed the underside of his chin and wondered how well lying through his teeth would be received. Judging by Berkeley's shrewd glance, not well. "Thought I'd come along to protect your back, ma'am. Though, from what I could see, you can take care of yourself."

Berkeley did not thank Sam for his compliment. Her eyes darted along the wharf. She picked out Donnel Kincaid as he tried to slip behind a stack of crates. Shawn was walking casually toward them carrying a fishing pole over his shoulder. It did not take her long to identify several other of Grey's employees from the Phoenix. She also saw the Ducks. "Bobby Burns is here," she told Grey. "And that Jolly fellow. Remember them?"

"I couldn't forget. Let's go, Berkeley."

He did not have to repeat himself. Fully aware of the threat the Ducks posed, she hurried in the direction of the carriage. When he would have snapped the reins she stopped him. "No." she said. "A moment longer. I want to see the Albany leave. I want to be certain he's not coming back."

Grey pretended to indulge her because he was curious himself. "Would you like to see through the scope?"

"You brought it?"

He nodded. Taking it from his jacket, Grey extended the sight and offered it to Berkeley first.

Berkeley raised it to her eye and made a small adjustment. The scow was clearly visible. Anderson was sitting up now, a grimace of pain twisting his mouth. No effort had been made yet to splint his leg. They would leave that to the Albany's surgeon. As soon as the scow drew alongside the clipper a canvas sling was lowered. Berkeley watched Garret and one of the crew help Anderson into the sling. She cringed as his features contorted into something unrecognizable to her, yet she didn't look away and felt no remorse. As they raised the sling Berkeley returned the scope to Grey. "You watch them put him aboard. I've seen enough."

"We've both seen enough." He collapsed the scope and put it away. "Good riddance," he said softly.

"Yes," she agreed. "Good riddance."

Grey signaled the team, and the carriage rolled forward slowly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Berkeley dart a glance back toward the ship. "Are you ready to leave?" he asked. "We can stay until the Albany's out of sight."

"What? Oh, no. We should go. I'm happy to see the last of him."

He turned his head and regarded her. "Berkeley," he said gently, "you're not happy. Just the opposite, I should think."

She forced a smile, which merely underscored Grey's point.

"Are you going to tell me what he said to you?" asked Grey. Beside him, he sensed Berkeley's withdrawal. Disappointment in her reaction turned quickly to anger. His fingers tightened on the reins. The horses responded almost immediately to his agitation by picking up their pace. It was Berkeley who remained unmoved.

More than a minute pa.s.sed in silence while Berkeley stared off to the side. At first she was hardly aware that storefronts and gaining halls were pa.s.sing with ever-increasing speed. Lost in thought, she didn't observe that pedestrians stepped back onto the sidewalks. It wasn't until her attention was caught by one miner tackling his drunken friend to keep him back that she realized the danger their speed was posing. "Please, Grey,'' she said. "Slow down. We almost hit that man backa"" She stopped because of the look he turned on her. His flinty stare pinned her back in her seat, and the carriage ride continued without any reduction in its speed.

When they reached the Phoenix, Berkeley went inside without waiting for Grey's escort. He caught up to her as she was letting herself into their suite. He held the door open for her and followed her in. She rounded on him almost at once.

"That was childish," she said. "You might have hurt someone back there. You might have hurt us."

Grey made no move to approach her. His sigh was somewhere between exasperation and weariness as he leaned back against the door. "You're right," he said finally, quietly.

She had expected some argument from him, excuses that she would see through and counter. There was no apology and none was required, not when he was able to admit so simply and easily that she was right. She knew then that she had been spoiling for a fight, and he had purposely removed all reason for one.

Berkeley eliminated the distance between them. Lightly touching his hand, she raised her eyes and searched his face. "Have I complicated your life beyond bearing?"

Grey's mouth curved in a faint smile. "Not beyond bearing,'' he said.

She leaned into him, pressing her forehead against the crook of his shoulder. Her arms loosely circled his waist. "I didn't know what to say," she told him.

At first Grey didn't understand, then he realized she was referring to the question he had asked her almost half an hour earlier. "It shouldn't have required thought," he said. "I only wanted to know what Anderson told you. You merely had to repeat it."

She was glad he couldn't see her own humorless smile. "It's not so easy as that. Anderson lied to me. Everything he said was lies."

"They must have been particularly ugly ones. Is that why you slapped him?"

"Yes."

"And why you don't want to tell me?"

This time she only nodded.

Grey caught her by the chin and lifted her face. "Are you afraid I'll believe them?"

Berkeley understood that Grey's gesture had been deliberate. Unguarded for a moment, her eyes revealed the truth.

"You half believe them yourself," he said. "That's what has you so frightened."

"No." But there was no conviction in her voice.

"Let me decide for myself, Berkeley. Were they lies about me?"

Berkeley led Grey to the settee. She offered him a drink, and when he declined she prepared one for him anyway. By the end of her recitation Grey was staring at an empty gla.s.s in his hands. He didn't remember drinking it but the taste of whiskey was on his tongue. It did not mix well with the bile rising in his throat.

"It is a lie," he said. "All of it."

''I know." She noticed he sounded no more convincing than she had.

"You're not my sister."

"Half sister."

Grey waved that distinction aside. "We do not have the same father."

"I'm sure you're right."

"Anderson said it to torment you. He thinks he can make you get rid of our baby."

"That's what I thought."

But that night in bed, though no word was spoken between them, they didn't reach for each other, not even for comfort, and the distance that separated them was, at the same time, too much and yet not enough.

For a while they slept.

When Grey woke he was alone. There was a moment's panic until he touched the s.p.a.ce Berkeley had vacated and found it was still warm. He realized she couldn't have been gone long. He was struck that in spite of their self-imposed isolation, he had missed Berkeley almost as soon as she left the bed.

Grey sat up and hooked his heels on the edge of the bed frame. Frustrated and tired, he raked his hair back and squinted at the mantel clock. It was just after four. He sat there a moment longer, expecting to hear some movement from Berkeley in the adjoining dressing room. When silence remained his only companion, he got up and padded quietly next door to investigate.

The dressing room was empty. The library and sitting room were also deserted. Returning to the dressing room, Grey pulled on a pair of trousers and shrugged into a shirt. The clothes smelled of stale smoke and whiskey from the hours he'd spent earlier at the gaming tables, encouraging the Phoenix's patrons to spend their money unwisely. All evening he had watched Berkeley go through the same motions, greeting customers, appreciating their stories, and pretending attention when she had none to give.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Anderson." The sound of his own quiet voice, the anger and pain, not just in the words, but in him, brought Grey up short. He pressed one hand to the back of his neck and rubbed. I should have killed you. This time he did not give sound to his thoughts. Neither was he sorry for them.

Grey slipped on his boots, feeling the familiar outline of his knife now as a mere annoyance. He hadn't used it when he should have. That was his regret now. He swore again, more softly this time.

Believing that Berkeley had gone to Nat's room, Grey was on the point of leaving their suite when a movement on the balcony caught his eye. Berkeley had just stepped back from the bal.u.s.trade and was crossing her arms in front of her to keep warm. Apparently putting on her cloak or dressing in something warmer than her nightshirt had not occurred to her. She was not even wearing shoes or stockings.

She didn't turn around when he joined her or affect any surprise. It was as if she had been expecting him. He stood behind her but didn't touch her.

"They're out tonight," Berkeley said without looking at him. "There's going to be trouble."

He didn't ask who they were. He had seen several Ducks mingling with the Phoenix's guests this evening. He hadn't suspected that Berkeley had known. Bobbie Burns and Jolly were not among the faces he recognized, and he didn't believe she knew any others. "Do you know what sort of trouble?"

Berkeley shook her head. "Do you suppose Anderson put them up to it?"

"Perhaps. But Berkeley, it's nothing you did. Anything that's going to happen is not because of you."

She realized then that he wasn't questioning her. He might have wondered how she knew but not that she knew. "There were Ducks in the Phoenix tonight," she said. "Did you notice them?"

"Yes, but I didn't know you did."

"One of them gave me his palm to read. I didn't suspect until I held his hand. It was too late then. I thought I was going to be sick." Berkeley shivered slightly, but it wasn't from the cool air eddying around her. The wind was nothing compared to the chill she felt in her marrow. "They don't go anywhere alone. Where there was one there was probably a half dozen."

"I recognized three," Grey said. But he hadn't known the man whose fortune she'd told was a Duck. That put the number conservatively at four. Berkeley was most likely closer to the mark with six. "Will it be tonight?"

"Yes, I think so. I didn't know that earlier, but when I woke I felt so certain of it I came out here. I thought I might catch a glimpse of them."

"They don't typically keep their presence a secret,'' he said. "Intimidation is one of their weapons. They do that in numbers, never alone. It would be more like them to march into Portsmouth Square with torches blazing than to skulk in the shadows making mischief."

Berkeley turned on Grey. Her features were starkly etched by fear. "It isn't mischief they have in mind this night. They mean for people to die."

Grey did not require convincing. He reached behind him for the door and opened it. "Come inside and get dressed. I'm going to get Donnel and Sam. We'll empty the hotel into the square. Wake Nat and take yourselves out. That's your only job, Berkeley. I want to know that you'll be outside waiting for me."

She nodded. "Yes, of course." Before she thought better of it, Berkeley stood on tiptoe and brushed his mouth with her own. She hurried past him before he could catch her or comment.

There was grumbling and protests as guests were roused from their beds. Some had only left the tables an hour earlier and were groggy with drink and lack of sleep. Others had been in a deep sleep and required considerable convincing to leave their rooms.

The fact that Grey couldn't tell them what the danger was made them more suspicious than cooperative. Some made no secret that they thought it was all a ruse to separate them from their belongings. Many people took time to gather valuables and pack a valise. The gamers still at the tables on the main floor were even more difficult to remove from their cards and dice. Those in the middle of a lucky streak were especially physical in their opposition.

Up until the very last Grey thought he and Donnel would have to carry Annie Jack out of her precious kitchen. It didn't come to that. When he finally told her that he was acting on Berkeley's intuition that there would be trouble, she barreled right past him.

The oddity of the throng of displaced guests gathered in Portsmouth Square soon brought out the curious from the El Dorado. They were joined shortly by men from other saloons and gaming houses bordering the square. The rising noise woke up wh.o.r.es and their customers and brought them to their windows. In a little more than the hour since Grey had risen from his bed, it seemed that no one was left resting comfortably in their own.

Berkeley laid one hand on Nat's shoulder to keep him close. His eyes were darting around the crowd at boot level looking for some sign of Pandora. Berkeley was more than a little afraid he would slink off when she wasn't looking to find the cat.

"There!" Berkeley said. "Over there!"

Nat looked up hopefully and saw Berkeley had spotted Grey. He raised his hand to join hers. Grey caught sight of their waving arms and ignored all those demanding an explanation from him to reach Berkeley and Nat.

"Have you seen Pandora?" Nat asked in the way of a greeting.

Grey tousled Nat's hair affectionately. "She was under my feet most of the time I was trying to get everyone out. I nearly stepped on her twice." He noticed that seemed to calm Nat rather than alarm him. Grey decided not to tell Nat he'd been close to pitching Pandora off the balcony at that point. "I'm certain she followed me out."

"Probably has." His eyes went back to the crowd.

Grey smiled a little guiltily at Berkeley. "I suppose I should have taken the cat in hand."

"No," she said, taking his instead. "She'll be fine." Berkeley looked around her. There were not many patient, understanding faces from what she could see. "Do you think they'll lynch me for provoking this?"

Grey could tell the question was asked only partially in jest "I think you'll be this night's real hero," he said.

Looking at each other the way they were, Grey and Berkeley were not the first to see flames shooting from the roof of Peterman's hardware store on the southwest corner of Portsmouth Square. That sighting was left to a wh.o.r.e leaning out of her room at the El Dorado. Her shrill cry was lost on the crowd below her. What they all heard instead was the shattering of the store's large plate-gla.s.s window as it was blown outward by exploding cans of paint and turpentine.

Grey thrust Berkeley away from him. Donnel was already shouting for a brigade to form, and Grey took up the call. The crowd organized itself quickly, finding purpose where there had been chaos. Buckets were gleaned from every available source, and the pumps were manned. Even men who minutes before had staggered away from the bars were able to manage themselves well in the crisis.

Their first target was not Peterman's hardware. These men had enough experience fighting fires in San Francisco to recognize that the store could not be saved. The plan, the only one that made sense and had some hope of succeeding, was to keep the fire from spreading. They accurately judged the wind to be coming from the north and east, and while they approached their task with a single-minded grimness, knowing full well it was the worst condition they could face to fight the fire, it was the Gandy Dancer saloon that received the first shower of water.

The pumper trucks arrived pulled by men, not horses. Taking aim at the roof, water was unleashed on the saloon. The brigades, less effective but still so necessary, never stopped pa.s.sing their buckets hand to hand.

"Fine work of the Ducks this night," someone shouted.

There was a general chorus of agreement, though no man among them thought it would ever be proved. "We'll be lucky if we don't lose the city," another observed.

Standing on the opposite side of the square, Berkeley couldn't hear the comments, but she was thinking much the same herself. The wind had already randomly lifted tongues of flame from Peterman's and set them licking at a storefront three buildings away. Without a miracle, the fire was going to get away from them.

"I feel as if we should be doing something, Nat," she said. "In addition to praying, I mean. Do you havea"" Berkeley stopped because she was suddenly aware that Nat was no longer beside her. Worse, she couldn't recall how long ago she had last noticed him. Had he taken it upon himself to help Grey fight the fire? Her heartbeat quickened as she imagined him among the crash of men, staggering under the weight of bucket after bucket of water pa.s.sing through his hands. Nat would drop over before he would give up.

She started forward to search him out when his youthful, anguished cry behind her stopped her in her tracks. The next one raised gooseflesh on her arms. Berkeley whirled around and faced the Phoenix. Her pale complexion reflected the orange-and-yellow flames leaping through the open French doors off Grey's balcony. They reached out toward Nat, twisting and curling, trapping him in one corner.

Watching from below, her heart in her throat, Berkeley held her breath while Nat climbed on the bal.u.s.trade. He teetered there a moment until he threw one thin arm around the Phoenix's figurehead. Two arms would have been better, but in the other he held Pandora.

The fire that was leaping from the Phoenix's windows was still confined to the upper floors. Berkeley started to cross the street for the main doors, but she was hauled back roughly.

Grey planted her. "Don't you move.'' His face was streaked with soot and sweat. Beneath it his complexion had taken on a ruddy hue from the heat of the fire. His eyes were like beacons, and they held Berkeley in place after he let her go. "I'll get him." He looked over her shoulder at Donnel and Sam, who were just catching up with him. "Get a pumper here! Hose down the hall!"

Having every expectation his orders would be followed, Grey turned and sprinted into the Phoenix.

The stairwell was clear at the bottom, but by the time he reached the first landing the smoke was thick. Grey took out a handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose. He crouched low so there was a little more visibility. After less man ten yards he was feeling his way to the door of his suite. He held his breath until he felt unsteady. The next full gulp of air seared his lungs and caused a paroxysm of coughing. Stinging tears blinded him.

When Grey finally found the door there was nothing he could do. It was hot to the touch and beyond it he could hear the fierce crackle and spit of the fire. In the few moments he stood there weighing his options, a thin sheet of flame began to creep out from under the door. He backed away, dropping to his hands and knees again, and headed for the stairs.

Shawn met him halfway and helped him out of the hall. "No good, was it?" asked Shawn. "We were worried. The boy's still out there. We think we might catch him with a blanket if he drops."

Grey shook his head. Now that he could see Nat again it was clear the boy wasn't going to let go of the figurehead any more than he would let go of Pandora. Berkeley was straining against the arm Sam had around her shoulders. Grey realized if he didn't think of something soon he was going to have to fight her as well.

He looked at the distance to the balcony from the ground, then at the flames that were flickering up the side of the building. "Give me a lift, Shawn." There wasn't time for something elegant. Brute strength was called for.

Shawn positioned himself under the balcony and hunkered down, making a firm step with his work-hardened hands. Grey stood back, measured his leap, and signaled Shawn he was ready. His first step put him in Shawn's callused palms. The boost Shawn gave him sent him up to the laborer's broad shoulders. Grey grasped the bottom of the balcony rail and began pulling himself upright.

Berkeley did not want to look, yet she couldn't look anywhere else. All around her she was aware that men were working tirelessly to save the Phoenix. The crowd in Portsmouth Square had swelled as miners, merchants, wh.o.r.es, and Johns came from everywhere to fight the fire. No one wanted to lose another building. Sam Brannan's Vigilance Committee did not want to lose a chance at the Ducks.

Berkeley sucked in her lower lip, biting down hard, as Grey hauled himself awkwardly onto the outside edge of the balcony. She tasted blood in her mouth. Her eyes followed his progress, willing him over the bal.u.s.trade. She pressed her hands together in an att.i.tude of prayer and murmured her thanks as he landed safely on the balcony.

Heat kept Grey against the rail. He worked his way carefully toward Nat, keeping his eyes on the flames as they spiraled out of the sitting room and were whipped into a frenzy by the wind. He climbed on the bal.u.s.trade when he reached Nat and used his body to protect the boy from the heat and fire.