My chests are at the Jas. Banner Warehouse near where Columbus and Montgomery Streets converge. I must make arrangements to retrieve them soon, not only because I am low on my native earth, but because the costs for storing the chests are outrageous. I had rather keep them in the safe at Lucas and Turner for such sums…
The house on Jackson Street was a fine, ambitious pile, made of local redwood timber and newly painted a deep-green color, unlike many of its paler neighbors, with the trim of yellow to contrast the white-lace curtains in most of the windows. It faced the street squarely with an Italianate portico of Corinthian columns; it was set back from the roadway and approached by a half-moon drive.
When Mrs. Mullinton alighted from the rented carriage, she fussed with her bonnet before stepping aside for her guest to join her.
Madelaine de Montalia had donned her new dress, an afternoon frock suitable for early suppers and garden parties, and as such, unexceptionable for this concert. It was a soft shade of lavender, with bared shoulders framed by a double row of niched silk. The bodice was fitted and came to a point in the front over a skirt of three tiers of niched silk spread over moderate crinolines. For jewelry, she wore a necklace of pearls and amethysts; her coffee-colored hair was gathered in a knot with two long locks allowed to escape and fall on her shoulders. An embroidered shawl was draped over her arms, and in one hand she held a beaded reticule. As she descended from the carriage, Madelaine silently cursed her enveloping skirts.
A Mexican servant, whose angular features revealed a significant admixture of Indian blood, ushered them into the house and explained in heavily accented English that the host and hostess were in the ballroom to receive their guests, while bowing in the direction they should go.
"We are not the first, are we?" Mrs. Mullinton asked, afraid that she had committed an intolerable gaffe.
"Oh, no. There are others here already," the servant assured the two women with a respectful lowering of his eyes.
"Thank goodness," Mrs. Mullinton said in an undervoice to Madelaine as they went along the corridor to the rear of the house. "It would not do to have it said we came early."
"Whyever not?" asked Madelaine, who had become more punctual as she grew older.
"My dear Madame," said Mrs. Mullinton in shock, "for women to arrive while only the host and hostess are present smacks of impropriety, particularly since you are new in town." Her long, plain face took on an expression of consternation as she considered this outrage.
"Then it would be better to arrive late?" asked Madelaine, trying to determine what Mrs. Mullinton sought to achieve.
"Heavens, no, for then it would seem that we did not appreciate the invitation," said Mrs. Mullinton. "I am very pleased that we have made our arrival so well." She raised her voice as she stepped into the ballroom antechamber. "You may find our entertainment sadly dull, Madame, after the excitement of London."
"Possibly," said Madelaine. "But as I have not seen London for eight years, I think what you offer here will suit me very well." She smiled at the couple approaching them—he of medium height and bristling grey hair; she a very pretty woman with a deep bosom and fair hair, in a fashionable dull-red afternoon dress that did not entirely become her; she was at least a decade her husband's junior.
"Mrs. Mullinton," said their hostess. "How nice of you to join us." She took Mrs. MuUinton's hand and kissed the air near her right cheek. "This must be your new guest." She turned to Madelaine. "I am Fanny Kent."
"And I am Madelaine de Montalia," she said, curtsying slightly to her hostess before taking her hand, though they made no other move toward each other.
"My husband, the Captain," added Fanny, indicating her partner. "My dear, you know Mrs. Mullinton. And this is Madelaine de Montalia."
Horace Kent bowed over Madelaine's hand. "Enchanted, Madame," he declared, and then shook Mrs. Mullinton's hand in a nominally polite way.
The four other couples in the room were presented, and by that time another pair of guests had arrived, and Madelaine gave herself over to the task of learning the names of the people in the room, hoping she would not confuse any of them as their numbers steadily increased.
"I have already had the pleasure," said the latest arrival, some twenty minutes later. Sherman bowed slightly to Madelaine.
"Yes," said Madelaine, taking refuge in a familiar face. "I met Mr. Sherman on my second day in the city."
"At the bank, I suppose," said the man accompanying him, another foreigner, with a Russian accent. He beamed at Madelaine and continued in French. "It is an honor to meet such a distinguished lady traveling so far from home. We are two strangers on these shores, are we not?"
Sherman looked from one to the other. "Madame, let me present Baron deStoeckl. Baron, Madame de Montalia."
"Delighted, Baron," said Madelaine, and went on, "I had thought that everyone in California except for the Indians were here as strangers, and far from home."
"Touche, Madame." As the Baron kissed her hand, he said, still in French, "I hope you will excuse my friend's curt manner. There is no changing him."
"And remember," said Sherman in rough-accented French, "he understands what you say." With that, he gave Madelaine a polite nod and passed on to greet General Hitchcock, who had just entered the ballroom.
"He misses the army, or so it seems to my eyes," said the Baron to Madelaine. "If you will excuse me?"
She gestured her consent, and a moment later had her attention claimed by her hostess, who wished her to meet Joseph Folsom. "He is one of the most influential men in the city," Fanny confided. "You will be glad to know him."
Madelaine allowed herself to be led away; she saw Mrs. Mullinton deep in conversation with an elderly lady in lavish half-mourning, and thought it best not to interrupt her.
It was almost an hour later, after the string quartet had beguiled them with Mozart and a medley of transcribed themes from Norma, that Madelaine once again found herself in Sherman's company. He had just come from the bustle around the punch bowl bearing a single cup when he saw her standing by the window, looking out into the fading day. He strolled to her side, and remarked, "The fog comes in that way throughout the summer."
She turned to him, a bit startled, and said, "So Mrs. Mullinton has warned me, and advised that I carry a wrap no matter how warm the day." She went on, "What do you think of these musicians?"
"More to the point, Madame, what do you think of them? Undoubtedly you have more experience of these things than I do." He sipped from his cup and then said, before she could answer his first question. "I would fetch you something, but that would cause idle tongues to wag. With my wife away, I cannot risk giving any cause for gossip that would distress her."
"Certainly not," said Madelaine, regarding Sherman with some surprise. "On occasions such as this—"
"You will forgive me, Madame, for saying that you do not know these sniping cats who have nothing better to do with their conversation than to blacken the reputations of those around them." He bowed slightly and was about to turn away when he looked down at her. "You may find it difficult to move about in society, single as you are. If you were not so beautiful a young woman, Madame, and so vivacious, there would be little to fear, but—" And with that, he was gone.
As Madelaine and Mrs. Mullinton were taking their leave of the Kents at the end of the concert, Fanny Kent drew Madelaine aside, with signs of apprehension about her. She made herself come to the point at once. "I could not but notice that you and Mr. Sherman spoke earlier."
Madelaine knew well enough not to laugh. "Yes, some minor matters about when I could sign certain papers at the bank. Mr Sherman wished to know when I would be available to tend to them. I gather they will be ready earlier than I had been told."
Fanny looked reassured, her rosy cheeks flaming with embarrassment. "Oh, Madame. I am so sorry. I have mistaken the… But as you have just come here, and have not yet learned… I was afraid you were wanting to fix your interest… oh, good gracious."
"Dear Mrs. Kent," Madelaine said pleasantly enough but with grim purpose, "I am aware that Mr. Sherman is a married man."
"Yes, he is," said Fanny Kent flatly. "With three hopeful children."
"I have no intention of making his life awkward for him. What a goose I should be to do such a foolish thing. Great Heaven, Mrs. Kent, he is my banker. I rely upon him to look after my financial welfare while I am in San Francisco." She smiled easily. "And because he is, I will have to speak with him upon occasion, and call at his office to take care of transactions that married women leave to their husbands to perform, but which I must attend to for myself. I hope that people understand the reasons are those of business; I have no motives beyond that."
"Of course, of course," said Fanny hastily.
"It would be most inconvenient to have to contend with malicious speculation over such minor but necessary encounters." This time her smile had purpose to it.