Valerie Hansen - Rescuing the Heiress

“It’ll be good only if your father doesn’t find out what you’re up to,” Michael countered. “I can’t believe you convinced me to be a party to this.”

Stepping aboard, she laughed softly, her eyes twinkling behind the thin veil that she’d arranged to cover her face. “Neither can I.”

“You two look like you’re going to a funeral,” he said with disdain. “I just hope it isn’t mine.”

Tess merely laughed. Michael was too troubled to comment further. Instead, he helped Annie up the same step, then vaulted easily into the driver’s seat. “Ready?”

“Ready,” they said in unison, sounding like two happy children headed for a romp in Golden Gate Park on a sunny afternoon.

Their carefree attitude irritated Michael. He’d spent enough time in the seamier parts of San Francisco to know that his chore of protecting these foolish young women might prove harder than either of them imagined. Yes, the city was more civilized than it had been right after the gold rush, but there were still plenty of ne’er do-wells, drunks and just plain crooks out and about, especially after dark.

His fondest hope was that the crowd of women at Mechanics’ Pavilion would act as an adequate buffer to help safeguard his charges. He couldn’t hold off a mob single-handed, not even if he were armed, which he was not.

An aroma of salt water and rotting refuse from down by the wharves was borne on the fog, although it didn’t seem quite as offensive as usual, probably because the evening was quite cool and there was no onshore wind to carry as much of the odor inland.

Michael flicked the reins lightly to encourage the horse to trot after he turned onto Powell Street. Driving over the cobblestones with the metal-rimmed carriage wheels gave their passage a rough, staccato cadence, although there was so much other traffic on the wide boulevard the sounds melded into a clatter that made it hard to differentiate one noise from the others.

Teamsters yelled at their teams, whipping the poor beasts to force them to haul overfilled wagons up the steep streets from the wharves. A herd of cattle was evidently being driven up Market Street because their combined bellowing and shouts of the drovers working them could be heard blocks away.

Add to that the occasional echoing pistol shot, probably coming from the seamier areas of the city, and Michael was decidedly uneasy. The sooner they reached the pavilion and he got these two innocents settled inside the hall, the happier he’d be.

A giggle came from behind him, tickling the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. It was Tess. Of course it was. Annie might be accompanying her but this so-called adventure had most certainly originated in Tess’s active mind.

He glanced over his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Tess replied, her voice still tinged with humor. “I was just thinking of how much more enjoyable this jaunt would be if we’d taken Papa’s new motorcar.”

“You’d need a different driver if you had,” Michael told her flatly. “I’ve plenty of experience handling the lines but never an automobile.”

“You drive them with a wheel or a steering lever, not reins,” Tess teased. “Everybody knows that. Papa says the time will come when horses are unnecessary.”

“I doubt that. Those machines will never catch on. Too noisy and complicated. Besides, you’d spend all your spare time stopping at pharmacies to buy jugs of fuel. Imagine the inconvenience.”

“No more so than having to feed and water horses,” she countered. “You should know all about that. Those fire horses you care for are beautiful animals. When they race through the streets as a team it’s a thrilling sight.”

“How would you know?”

She tittered behind her gloved hand. “I have seen them in action many times. And you driving them, if you must know.”

“Have you, now? That’s a bit of a surprise.” When he turned slightly farther and smiled at her, he saw her gather herself and raise her chin.

“I can’t understand why it should be. Station #4 is not too far from Father’s bank and it is impossible to ignore that noisy, clanging bell and that steaming engine racing through the streets at such reckless speeds.”

“It’s only reckless if unheeding pedestrians step in front of us. The bell is meant to be enough warning for any sensible person.”

To Michael’s surprise, she agreed with him. “You’re right, of course. I didn’t mean to sound disparaging. I think your profession is most honorable.”

One more quick glance showed him that she was smiling behind the veil and it was all he could do to keep from breaking into a face-splitting grin at her praise. There was something impish yet charming about the banker’s daughter. Always had been, if he were totally honest with himself.

Someday, Michael vowed silently, he would find a suitable woman with a spirit like Tess’s and give her a proper courting. He had no chance with Tess herself, of course. That went without saying. Still, she couldn’t be the only appealing lass in San Francisco. When he was good and ready he’d begin to look around. There was plenty of time. Most men waited to wed until they could properly look after a wife and family.

If he’d been a rich man’s son instead of the offspring of a lowly sailor, however, perhaps he’d have shown a personal interest in Miss Clark or one of her socialite friends already.

Would he really have? he asked himself. He doubted it. There was a part of Michael that was repelled by the affectations of the wealthy, by the way they lorded it over the likes of him and his widowed mother. He knew Tess couldn’t help that she’d been born into a life of luxury, yet he still found her background off-putting.

Which is just as well, he reminded himself. It was bad enough that they were likely to be seen out and about on this particular evening. If the maid Annie Dugan hadn’t been along for the ride, he knew he’d have had a lot more questions to answer; answers that could, if misinterpreted, lead to his ruination. His career with the fire department depended upon a sterling reputation as well as a Spartan lifestyle and strong work ethic.

Michael had labored too long and hard to let anything spoil his pending promotion to captain. He set his jaw and grasped the reins more tightly. Not even the prettiest, smartest, most persuasive girl in San Francisco was going to get away with doing that.

He sighed, realizing that Miss Tess Clark fit that flowery description to a T.

Tess settled back on the velvet tufted upholstery in the rear seat of the cabriolet and watched as they finally turned south on Van Ness and approached the center of the city. The streets in this district were well lit and broad enough to accommodate plenty of traffic, yet still seemed terribly crowded.

Parallel sets of trolley tracks with a power line buried between them ran down the center of the thoroughfare. These lines sliced their way through the cobblestones in much the same way the cable for the cable cars did, except for the fact that the trolleys were driven by electric power. Traffic increased rapidly and included quite a few of the infernal motorcars that Michael had spoken so strongly against.

Tess leaned forward and placed one gloved hand on the low back of the seat near his elbow while pointing with her other. “There’s an automobile. And two more. See? They seem to be much easier to maneuver, particularly over the ruts of the streetcar tracks, no matter how the driver approaches them.”

“That’s only because most buggy wheels are narrower,” he argued, carefully maneuvering the cabriolet between a parked dray and one of the modern streetcars as it passed. “I can’t believe how some people drive with no concern for anyone else. It’s little wonder there are so many accidents these days.”