Bay City Belle Page 24

  Entering the drawing room, he found Mrs. Hollister pacing the floor. Not bothering with a greeting, she exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. McLeish, I think Belle’s in trouble.” She started to explain, but when he heard “Robert Romano” and “Romano’s Fish Grotto,” he held up his hand.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “You can tell me the rest on the way.”

  Luther waited in the buggy. Yancy took over the reins and headed for Meiggs Wharf, Mrs. Hollister wringing her hands as she explained why she “just had a feeling” Belle was in danger even though she claimed she’d be perfectly safe.

  “You were right to come to me,” Yancy said. He “just had a feeling,” too, and urged the horses to pick up their pace. When they arrived at the restaurant, Yancy spied a young man hurriedly climbing into a buggy. Tall and dark, full head of black, curly hair—that had to be Tony, the younger brother he’d mistaken for Roberto the day he arrived in San Francisco. “Wait up!” he called. Tony didn’t stop. Yancy leaped to the ground and grabbed his arm. “Where’s Belle?”

  Tony got a funny look on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re going back inside.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. Let’s go.”

  Yancy hadn’t raised his voice, but it carried such a ring of command that Tony shrugged in defeat. “All right,” he replied in a docile tone. “No need to get mad about it.”

  Tony returned to the restaurant, Yancy, Luther, and Mrs. Hollister following close behind. Once inside, Yancy demanded, “Show me where she is.”

  Tony started stammering. His eyes kept shifting, as if he was looking for a chance to run away. Yancy gripped his arm. “Tell me!”

  Tony cringed and cried, “All right, I’ll show you.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Tony led them across the large dining room to the door of the banquet room. He stepped aside. “She’s in there.”

  Yancy tried the door and found it locked. “Where’s the key?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  Yancy reached beneath his coat and pulled out his revolver. Thank God he’d thought to carry it. He aimed at the lock on the door. “Give me the key or I’ll blast the lock open.” He glanced around. Already some of the diners were curiously looking their way. “We can do this quietly, or do you want the whole restaurant in a panic? One shot should do it.”

  Wordlessly, Tony reached in his pocket, handed Yancy the key, and bolted away.

  Yancy unlocked the door, and the three stepped inside. “My goodness, it’s so dim here,” Mrs. Hollister said. Yancy could see well enough to make out a lone figure standing at the far end of the room. He started toward it, able to see the figure was a man holding something in his arms. He drew closer. That must be Roberto Romano, and he was carrying someone. Was it Belle? “What are you doing?” he shouted, not slowing down.

  Romano dropped his burden to the floor. With a snarl, he rushed at Yancy and threw a punch aimed at his head. Yancy easily blocked it and returned a blow that knocked his attacker back against the far wall, next to what looked like an open trapdoor. He staggered to his feet. Yancy headed toward him. For a brief moment Romano hesitated, as if not sure what he’d do. And then he was gone. Yancy stopped in his tracks. A splash came from below. He walked to the trapdoor and peered down into the darkness. Although he couldn’t see a thing, the sound of water lapping against the wooden pilings told him this part of the building stood well over the bay. Luther joined him, shaking his head in astonishment. “Was that Mr. Romano? Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Because he was afraid to face me.” Yancy got to his feet and hurried to where Belle lay unmoving on the floor, Mrs. Hollister kneeling beside her. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s breathing just fine. There’s no blood anyplace, and I don’t see any injuries.”

  Relief swept through him. He knelt by Belle’s side and examined her closely. Yes, she seemed to be all right. Most likely Romano had slipped her some kind of knock-out drug.

  “What do you think happened to that awful man?”

  “It’s hard to tell, Mrs. Hollister. He either drowned, swam to shore, or he’s still down there hanging on to one of the pilings.”

  “But if he’s alive, won’t he still try to hurt her?”

  “Romano’s a coward. It’s highly unlikely he’d ever want to tangle with me again.” Belle moaned softly. “Let’s get her home and call the doctor.”

  * * * *

  In the darkest recesses of her mind, Belle slowly become aware she’d been in a faraway place she’d never been before. Simple awareness sufficed. Only gradually did questions begin to form. Why am I lying down? Where am I? Why do I feel so peculiar? She opened her eyes and found herself lying in her own bed. Mrs. Hollister sat beside her, Tippet curled on her lap. Seeing Belle had opened her eyes, she remarked, “So you’re finally awake. It’s about time.”

  “Where…where have I been?” Hard putting the words together.

  “What do you remember?”

  She could barely think straight. The ride to the restaurant with Tony. Stepping into the banquet room. The locked door. The sagging white streamers… “Roberto! He was going to kill me.”

  “And just about did. You’re a lucky girl. We almost lost you. If it hadn’t been for Yancy, you’d be gone forever, and we’d never know what happened to you.” Mrs. Hollister went on to describe the horrifying scene in the banquet room and how Yancy had come to her rescue. When she finished, she placed Tippet on the floor and handed Belle a full glass of water. “Here, drink this. The doctor said you should drink lots of liquids. To flush your system out, he said.”

  Belle struggled to sit up. She welcomed the water and drank the whole glass at once. “What time is it?”

  “Four o’clock in the afternoon. You slept the day away.”

  “How did I get home?”

  “Yancy carried you to the buggy and got you back here in a hurry. We sent for the doctor. He said you’d been drugged, probably with chloral hydrate, the same thing they use to shanghai those poor sailors.”

  “But how could Roberto have drugged me? He made me drink some champagne, but he drank some, too, from the same bottle.”

  “What about your glass, Belle? Could he have put the chloral hydrate in the glass before he poured the champagne?”

  Belle pictured the scene in her mind. “He said he’d brought fresh glasses from the kitchen, so of course that’s what he did.” With a groan, she declared, “It’s all clear now. What a fool I was.”

  Mrs. Hollister vigorously nodded her head. “Yes, you were, but at least you’re alive, and the doctor said you’d be all right. Yancy stayed for a while, but you slept so long he finally went home.”

  “It looks like I owe him my life, and you, too.”

  “Thanks, but it was mostly Yancy. If ever there was a hero, it’s him, and why you refuse to marry the man is beyond me. I’ll leave you now, so you can get some more rest.” She picked up two letters from the bedside table and handed them to Belle. “These came today.”

  After she left, Tippet following behind, Belle laid the unopened letters on the bed beside her and stared into space. Hard to get it through her head that Roberto had nearly killed her. If not for Yancy, she could be deep in her watery grave by now. Once again, he’d come to her rescue. That made twice he’d risked his life for her, yet she’d rejected him even though she loved him. Why? Because he was a Yankee and her family wouldn’t approve? How foolish could she get?

  And yet…

  Soon she’d be leaving San Francisco, headed for home. But was that what she really wanted? Why must life be so confusing? She picked up the letters. Both came from Savannah, one from Bridger, the other from Victoria. Strange, how the letter from Bridger was in Victoria’s handwriting, yet his name appeared in the corner
. She opened it first and read:

  Dearest Belle,

  In case you’re wondering why Victoria is writing this for me, it seems I’ve “taken a turn for the worse,” or so the doctor says, and now find myself a prisoner of my bed, too weak to lift a pen.

  You wrote to me about Yancy McLeish, the man you met on the train and fell in love with. You say you can’t marry him because he’s a Yankee and friends and family would disapprove. My dear little sister, are you out of your mind? Are you still worried about what people think? Are the opinions of your family so important you’d throw your happiness away? Do you really care what Mrs. Beauregard Bedford Stuart and the Georgia Ladies of the Confederacy might say?

  Remember what I told you once: All we really have is not yesterday, not tomorrow, but now. You can’t look back. The war is over. Who fought whom doesn’t matter anymore, even though there’s many a stubborn Southerner who’d argue otherwise. You can’t look ahead, either. Nobody can. Unless you’ve completely lost your mind, for God’s sake, just marry the man and let the future take care of itself.

  This may be my last letter to you. I won’t lie and say I don’t mind that my life has been cut short, but I shall leave this world knowing I did my duty as God saw fit. My deepest wish is for your happiness, and on the day of your wedding to Yancy McLeish, kindly raise a glass to the brother who loved you more than words can ever say.

  Bridger

  For a long time, Belle sat on the edge of the bed, numb with grief. After a time, she walked to the window, a bit wobbly at first, but the drug had completely worn off and she was fine. She stared out the window for she didn’t know how long, not wanting to return, not wanting to open that second letter.

  But she couldn’t stand here forever. She left the window and sat on the edge of the bed again. With a deep sigh of acceptance, she opened the letter from Victoria.

  My Dear Sister,

  It is with great sorrow that I must tell you our beloved brother left us last night. Bridger was cheerful to the end. He had accepted his fate and firmly believed he was going to a better place, and I’m sure he has.

  Before he died, he told me about you and that Yankee, Yancy McLeish. He said you loved him but would never marry him because of what your family might say. I admit there was a time when my hatred of the Yankees knew no bounds. At the least, I wished them all dead, and if I never saw another Yankee soldier, it would be way too soon. But time has erased those awful memories and softened my heart. With Bridger’s help, I have learned forgiveness. If he, who had gone through so much suffering, could forgive and forget, then so can I.

  I weep as I write this and can only hope Bridger’s death will mark the last of our family’s tragedies. Marry your Yankee, Belle. Bring him home to meet us, and he will be welcomed with open arms.

  Your grieving sister, Victoria

  Despite the deep, wrenching sorrow that overcame her, at long last Belle found the peace of mind she’d long been seeking and knew what she had to do.

  * * * *

  Yancy was having a busy day. In the morning, he’d met with Ronald’s attorney, Mr. Frederick Bartlett, to discuss his adoption of Beth and Richard. Assured she’d still receive her share of Ronald’s estate, Bernice had readily agreed to sign the papers. In the afternoon, Yancy met with Reverend Madrid to discuss plans for the building of a new orphanage. Yancy had become deeply involved, both personally and financially. He liked to think his brother would be pleased knowing a sizable portion of his hard-earned money would be put to good use. What more noble cause than bettering the lives of underprivileged children?

  Looking back, Yancy couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he decided to stay in San Francisco and make it his home. Although he would miss his hermit life in the Maine woods, he’d gradually come to realize he wasn’t a stranger in a strange land anymore. He belonged in this bustling, beautiful city where each and every morning he awoke with a purpose in his life, eager to begin his day.

  And then there was Belle.

  Thanks to Roberto Romano, he’d come close to losing her. That made twice now. How many times must he show her his love before she realized they belonged together? She might be flighty sometimes. She might be prone to making bad decisions, but no man could love a woman more than he loved Belle Ainsworth. How could she not know that? He would wait forever if he had to, even if she returned to Savannah, which he highly doubted she would. One of these days she’d come to her senses. He just had to be patient enough.

  He was in the drawing room when he heard the doorbell ring. Soon Mrs. O’Brien appeared. “Miss Ainsworth is here to see you.”

  “Show her in.”

  Here she came, dressed in her brown wool suit, another one of those silly ostrich-plumed hats upon her head.

  “Hello, Yancy.” She had a sort of tentative smile on her face, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be welcome or not.

  He nodded briefly. “I see you got a new hat.”

  “Yes, I did, but that’s not why I’m here. For one thing, I came to thank you for saving my life last night.”

  “Think nothing of it.” He waved toward the settee. “Care to sit down?”

  “I’ll stand, thank you. I have something else to say.”

  He caught his breath. It was all he could do to return a careless, “Is that so?”

  She gazed at the ceiling and back again. “Bridger is dead.”

  “Oh, Belle, I’m so sorry.” He took a step toward her.

  She held up her hand. “Wait. Hear me out. Before he died, he wrote me a letter. He asked if I was out of my mind because I wouldn’t marry you. He was right. Bridger was always right.” She choked up and for a moment couldn’t speak. He waited patiently until she could go on. “So the reason I’m here is to tell you that I love you, Yancy McLeish. I love you with all my heart, and if you still want me, I’m yours.”

  “Ah, Belle…” He took her into his arms. “Of course I still want you. I’ve loved you since that moment you sat across from me on the train.”

  “I’ve been an idiot.”

  “No, you haven’t. I’m still a Yankee and always will be, but if you can ignore the past, we’ll be happy. That’s all that ever stood between us.”

  “But where will we live? I suppose I could live in the woods—”

  “That won’t be necessary. We’ll stay in San Francisco. I can’t leave now. I’m helping to build an orphanage and I’ve got a niece and nephew to raise.”

  * * * *

  Belle had never in her life felt such peace and satisfaction. After all she’d been through, she could hardly believe such happiness could be hers. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “I’ve grown to love the children, not only Richard and Beth but Luther and his sisters, too. I hated the thought of leaving them, and now I won’t have to.”

  She thought of Bridger and how she wished he could be here to share this moment. But then… She had a feeling that somehow he was.

  Yancy stood back and regarded her with eyes full of love. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s take the children and go someplace.”

  “I think that’s a fine idea.”

  Meet the Author

  Shirley Kennedy was born and raised in Fresno, California. She lived in Canada for many years and graduated from the University of Calgary, Alberta, Canada, with a B.S. in computer science.

  She has published novels with Ballantine, Signet, and several smaller presses. She writes in several different genres including Regency romance, western romance, and contemporary fiction. She lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, and is an active member of the Romance Writers of America, Las Vegas chapter. Please visit Shirley at www.shirleykennedy.com, or follow her Twitter account @ladyk360, or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/shirley.kennedy.52.

  River Queen Rose

  If you enjoyed Bay City Belle, be sure not to miss the first book in Shirley Kennedy’
s In Old California series!

  The ramshackle River Queen Hotel is home to vagabonds, gamblers, and heathens—and now, to new widow Rose Peterson. The rundown Gold Rush establishment is the only thing her late husband, Emmet, left her. Despite its raucous saloon and ladies of the evening, Rose can see the hotel’s potential. Her late husband’s family claim that sheltered Rose isn’t capable of running the Sacramento inn herself. But she is determined to make a new life for herself and her young daughter, even if it means flying in the face of custom and propriety. She feels as if she hasn’t a friend in the world.

  Except, perhaps, one. Decatur “Deke” Fleming, a tall, lanky Australian who once served as Emmet’s farmhand. Pride prevents Deke from revealing his moneyed past; conscience keeps him from confessing his feelings for the still grieving widow. But when Rose is tempted by wealthy civic leader and hotel owner Mason Talbot, Deke may be the only person who can save her—and the one man capable of reviving her bruised and battered heart . . .

  Keep reading for a special look!

  A Lyrical e-book on sale now.

  Chapter 1

  In the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, September, 1854

  Rose Peterson shivered in her underwear as she stood in the freezing cold creek. She flinched as she splashed cold water on herself. She’d gone days without a bath and gladly endured the shock of it just to get clean. She turned to her sister-in-law who stood in her chemise beside her. “Just one more day. Think of it! One more day and we’ll be there.”

  Drucilla returned her familiar mocking smile. “Just one more day? Thanks for telling me, Rose. I hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’ll wager you hadn’t.” Rose accompanied her words with a scoop of creek water splashed over her sister-in-law’s head.

  Drucilla splashed her back. “Are you excited about seeing Emmet again?”

  “Of course I am.” Rose hoped she sounded convincing. Strange, how she didn’t feel the least excited, even though she hadn’t seen her husband for over two years. She wasn’t the only wife who’d been deserted when word of the Gold Rush reached Illinois. Like thousands of others, Emmet rushed to California. Unlike most of the thousands, after finding a little gold, he concluded there were other ways to make money without breaking his back in a freezing cold stream. He bought a hotel in Sacramento and a small farm outside of town. Everyone rejoiced when he finally sent a letter asking his family to join him.