Velvet Shadows by Andre Norton Read Free Book Online Page A

received a telegram urging that he leave the train at Sacramento to visit Virginia City where there was trouble at one of the mines his company controlled. He assured us that one of his men would be waiting in Oakland. This gentleman would then escort us on to the suite at the Lick House.
    Fog was thick at the ferry. Such fog, I thought, as might well furnish the horrifying background for some story laid in the depths of London. Thus we stayed within the cabin on board, depending on our waterproof capes to keep out at least some of the damp chill. Victorine sniffed disdainfully.
    “Me—I find this place abominable. Where are the bright skies, the pleasant land of which my brother spoke so much?”
    The young man sent to assist us, Graham Cantrell, stood as close to his employer’s sister as decorum allowed. It had been easy to see that from their first meeting he had eyes for no one else. Even Victorine’s present sullen pout, I admitted to myself a little wistfully, detracted nothing from her very real fragile beauty. Now he hastened to say that these fogs did not always shroud the bay or menace the city toward which our boat wallowed sluggishly.

    But I knew the sea. And to me such a fog would always be a threat. To look out cabin windows blind-curtained by a thick mist was frightening. And I could hear the mournful sound of warning whistles, but so thick were the damp wisps that even those seemed muffled.
    Moisture gathered in thick drops on the grimed panes. The smell of the cabin was foul—old dirt, stronger human odors, a stench of machine oil breathed out by the laboring engines.
    Suddenly I could not stand this confinement any longer. Seasoned voyager though I thought myself, my stomach was queasy. I need only take a step or two outside the door to find cleaner air, mist-thickened though that might be. So I went, to draw that dankness gratefully into my lungs.
    There were other passengers who apparently shared my desire for the open. Most of these were only vague shadows, but to the left of the cabin door two stood close together. And now and then I caught the murmur of voices.
    The taller one must be a man. The other, muffled in a cloak twin to my own, was plainly a woman. Then a member of the crew stumped by, lantern in hand, and a flash from that illuminated both plainly. Amélie, who had promised to stay with our luggage, stood there.
    However, the light had not risen as far as her companion’s features. Only the fact that their situation suggested a degree of intimacy triggered my old suspicions. Was this another man attracted by chance to her pretty face? I knew so little about her—she might be very free with her favors when not under her mistress’s eye. But it was also true that there was such a strong attachment between them that Victorine would defend rather than accuse her against any such vague suspicion as mine.
    I must watch Amélie, make sure her conduct was not such as to embroil her young mistress in some disgraceful trouble. And worry gnawed at me as we disembarked and drove at a snail’s pace through the nearly unseen streets to Lick House.
    “C’est magnifique! See, even in this fog one may see the shop lights. What a pleasure to visit them—let us do so!”

    Victorine turned away from the hotel window, letting fall the thick drapery she had raised to look down upon the life which was Montgomery Street even on such a bad evening. She was in one of her effervescent moods.
    “Not at night, my dear.” Mrs. Deaves was soberly disapproving at once. “A lady does not appear on the streets unless properly escorted—”
    “But I see them!” protested Victorine. “There they are—there and there—” She stabbed a finger at the pane.
    “Those are not ladies.” Mrs. Deaves’ verdict was meant to be final and quelling.
    Victorine scowled, letting the red velvet drapes close out the lights and the bustle of life on the street. I was growing very weary of red velvet. Hotels seemed