Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [55]
The red-faced man hovered in the background, his derby hat clutched to his beefy chest, and Harmon said, “Take him to my study, I’ll be with him in a few moments.”
“Who is it, Father?” Harry stared, surprised, at the odd late-night visitor.
“Go to your room, son. What he has to tell me is not for your ears.”
When his father went to his study and the butler had disappeared into the servants’ quarters Harry tiptoed back down the hall and put his ear to the door.
“I noticed the girl when she came into the Barbary Saloon,” the man was saying. “I saw right away she fitted the description, sir. She looked pale and nervous and even though she had a shawl over her head I could see her hair was blond. She asked the bartender for a man called Josh Aysgarth. He told her he wasn’t there but I understand that Aysgarth works at the saloon. Naturally I followed her and saw that she went up the stairs into the Barbary Rooming House—it’s over the top of the saloon, you understand.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Harmon snarled impatiently.
“The bartender later established that Aysgarth also has a room there, and that he was paying the rental on the woman’s room.” Harry heard his father’s quick indrawn breath and the sound of his fist slamming on his desk as he cursed her.
“Tonight, sir, I finally saw them together. They walked arm in arm down Pacific Avenue to a café. And afterward, they returned to that same rooming house. The man’s arm was around her waist, sir, and they both went into her room. I waited for some time, but the man did not emerge. They are there now, sir.”
“I’ll kill her,” Harmon roared. “This time I’ll kill her….”
Harry jumped back from the door. He ran back down the hall and waited by the foot of the stairs. A few moments later he saw the man come from the study, a wad of notes on his hand and a satisfied smirk on his face as the night-footman hurried him out through the servants’ door.
His father strode into the hall. His face was a dark purple-red and contorted with fury. There was a pistol in his hand and Harry knew what he meant to do and he knew that even Harmon Harrison could not get away with that. He caught his arm urgently. “Father, no … No.”
“I’ll kill her,” Harmon raged. “You don’t know what she’s done—”
“Yes, yes I do,” Harry cried. “I heard it all. But you can’t kill her, Father. You’ll only cause more scandal. Horsewhip them. Put her away in the state asylum the way you planned. It’s only what she deserves, and no one will blame you for it.”
Harry took the pistol from his father’s hand. He ran to the study and carefully put it back in the top drawer of his father’s desk, locked it and pocketed the key. Then he picked up the old dog lead and returned to the hall and gave it to his father. “Use this on them both,” he said savagely, “and then we’ll make sure she never bothers the Harrisons again.”
Harmon strode to the door. He turned to look proudly at his tall, handsome, clear-thinking son. He said, “Harry, you just saved me from doing something very foolish. You kept a cool head. Thank you, my boy.”
Dawn was breaking. The early morning air was still and clear, promising a fine April day, and Old St. Mary’s Church clock struck five as Harmon drove by. His mind was churning with thoughts of Francie and her lover and he barely noticed the dray turn onto Pacific Avenue, almost into his path. He stepped on the brakes, sounding his klaxon and the big shire horses reared in terror, overturning the dray and hurling the driver onto the road. The man lay motionless amongst his fallen load of cabbages and Harmon cursed him for a fool. Now the road was completely blocked.
Workmen came running from the nearby produce market, grabbing the leading