Chapter 3

 

Emily silently uttered as foul a curse as she could think of for failing to take care of the door hinges, braced herself for an unpleasant encounter, and donned a smile before pushing open the parlor door. Without looking to her right or her left, she steered a wide path around Clarence Pickering and tried her best to ignore him. She went over to her aunt and kissed her cheek in greeting.

If Bill Skates was patently evil, Clarence Pickering was even worse. He reeked of sincerity. His handsome face had a sincere smile to it. His dark brown eyes possessed a sincere twinkle. He wore sincere suits of brown gabardine, and his hands were even manicured sincerely.

It was no wonder her aunt had been taken in by him, Emily thought sourly. Aunt Gertrude gloried in good manners and fashionable dress. She was also not one to delve beneath the surface of anything.

But Emily didn’t trust Clarence Pickering one bit. He had steered her aunt into one bad investment after another, and Emily was just sure he was lining his pockets with pickings from Gertrude’s estate.

In the wintertime Pickering invariably wore an elegant multi-caped black coat. But the weather was fine today, and he was clad in a respectable summer suit. He sported white gaiters and black patent-leather shoes just like those of his henchman, and she wondered if they’d purchased them at a bargain, two for the price of one.

But no, she thought with uncharacteristic cynicism. Clarence Pickering had no need to look for bargains since he had all of her aunt’s money.

Aunt Gertrude peered up at her expectantly, and Emily knew she could postpone this unpleasantness no longer. She turned, held out her hand, and said with great formality, “How do you do, Mr. Pickering?”

The man had the effrontery to look her up and down, and Emily longed to smack his handsome face.

“My, my, aren’t we formal today, Miss Emily. Call me Clarence, child. You know I’m always telling you to call me Clarence.”

Emily tried not to recoil from him because she didn’t want to upset her aunt. “Yes, Mr. Pickering, I know you’re always telling me that.”

He didn’t seem inclined to release her hand, so Emily had to tug it away from his grip.

“Mr. Pickering has been telling me all about a wonderful new investment opportunity, Emily, dear. Something about ships. He’s sure it will make loads of money for us all. Then you won’t have to fuss at me anymore about my finances. Sweet Emily is forever scolding me about money, Mr. Pickering.” Aunt Gertrude gifted Emily with a rather vacuous smile and then aimed it at Pickering.

“Well, she’s a dutiful niece, Mrs. Schindler. As well as very pretty.”

Pickering waggled his eyebrows at Emily, making sure her aunt couldn’t see them, of course.

“Well, you can stop worrying now, Emily darling. Mr. Pickering assures me this new opportunity will turn our luck around.”

“I didn’t think luck was supposed to have anything to do with it, aunt. I thought one’s financial adviser was supposed to be a font of wisdom.” Emily knew the words were catty, but she tried to keep her expression sweet.

She was about half successful. Pickering glared at her, but at least her aunt didn’t notice. “Oh, yes!” Gertrude cried. “And Mr. Pickering is so wise. Why, these ships sound absolutely marvelous!”

“Oh, really, Mr. Pickering? Your last scheme nearly turned us out of this house, you know. Is this as marvelous an investment opportunity as that one? The Chinese horse herds? The ones that don’t exist?”

The target of Emily’s acid tongue assumed an air of long-suffering patience, as though he were now going to try to explain a complicated mathematical equation to a four-year-old. “Well, now, Miss von Plotz, I’m sure you know how volatile the financial market can be. One must sort through all the information one is given and discard the chaff. Unfortunately, It was truly unfortunate that communications about those Mandalayan herds went awry.”

Emily hated this man for weaseling his way into her aunt’s confidence. Aunt Gertrude would never allow herself to see through his facade, no matter how thin it was. Emily’s aunt invariably accepted everything at its face value, and Pickering’s face, unfortunately, looked quite pleasant.

“That’s so, Emily dear,” Aunt Gertrude said with a sigh. “You know those poor Chinese horses weren’t Mr. Pickering’s fault. Such an unfortunate thing to have happened. They sounded so pretty, too. I wonder where on earth they went.”

Emily could no longer hide her contempt. “Now wherever did I get the impression an investment counselor’s purpose in life was to learn about the investments he proposes before he takes your money for them, Aunt? It seems to me that Mr. Pickering needs to research his schemes a little more thoroughly before you give him any more money. After those invisible herds, you know, you don’t have much left.”

Aunt Gertrude pouted. “Now, Emily, that’s an unkind thing to say to dear Mr. Pickering. He tries so hard for us. I just hate to hear unkindness spoken in my home, you know.” She then addressed Pickering. “My sweet Emily is such a spirited little thing, don’t you know.”

Pickering ogled Emily. “Isn’t she, though?”

Emily sighed. “Well, what is this wonderful investment scheme, then? Did you say ships?”

“Emily dear, you sound almost snappish. Did you have a bad day, dear? I almost think it would be better for you not to hear about it now, darling, if you can’t speak in a more pleasant manner. Poor Mr. Pickering is very upset about those Chinese horse herds. He brought this new idea to me today in an attempt to make up for the lost horses. He’s just sure investing in these ships built out of that special African wood will recoup all our losses.”

African ships? Oh, Lord. Emily gave up. She knew from bitter experience it wouldn’t do any good to fight her aunt about Pickering because Aunt Gertrude simply wouldn’t listen. Emily knew her family’s only hope for financial salvation lay elsewhere.

“You’re right, Aunt,” she said abruptly. “I don’t think I want to hear about any more of Mr. Pickering’s plots and schemes right now. I’ll just leave you to discuss them. I have a column to write.”

She marched out of the parlor and up to her bedroom fairly quivering with indignation. Once seated at her desk, she was in such a state of frustrated rage that she read and answered another five whole letters.

When she reread the answer she had just penned to yet one more lovelorn adolescent, Emily realized she was taking her anger out on her correspondents. The heartsick girl had sent Aunt Emily a plea for assistance because her mother and father didn’t understand the depth of her regard for her young man. The girl came across to Emily as an idiot infatuated with a bounder. In her reply Emily had written:

“Dear Unhappy: You would best recover from your melancholy if you were to turn your energy to some constructive activity rather than whine about lost love at an age when you are too young to know what love means. Mooning helplessly and arguing with your parents about a person who, quite frankly, sounds like a money-grubbing twit to Aunt Emily will only prolong your misery.

“Believe me when I tell you a proper gentleman would not press a suit distasteful to his dear heart’s parents, nor would he ever urge the young lady into deception. Turn your attention outside of yourself, young lady, and you might come to understand that the reason you are unhappy is not your parents but your own present callow, selfish attitude.”

Emily actually groaned aloud when she scanned this particularly vituperative response. She crumpled the piece of paper.

She would have to get a grip on her nerves. It wouldn’t do to alienate her readers and lose the only source of income her family had. With a soul-deep sigh, she dipped her pen into the standish and tried again.

She was more pleased when she read her edited reply to the lovelorn miss:

“Dear Unhappy: At age sixteen, I know you believe your heart is broken. Please take advice from your caring Aunt Emily and abide by your parents’ wishes with grace. They love you, my dear, and it is their duty as parents to protect you. It is your duty as a good and obedient daughter to trust their judgment. If your young man is a person of character and honor, he will wait for you and not press you into a deceitful alliance. Please accept my best wishes in this time of your distress.”

“Idiot child,” Emily muttered as she completed her reply. “Her parents ought to lock her in a closet until she grows a brain in her head.”

Her heart lurched when she picked up the next letter. She read, “Dear Aunt Emily: I think you are a very nice lady to give me such good advice. I wish more ladies was like you. Signed, Texas Lonesome.”

Tears stung Emily’s eyes, and she swallowed them back. She must not flinch from her purpose. The reason for her resolve was taking tea with her aunt at this very minute. She couldn’t fail in her plan. She simply couldn’t.

After she had written a gentle reply and finished reading and answering another letter, she gathered her stack of correspondence. She supposed she’d better slow down. Pretty soon she’d have so many columns written, Mr. Kaplan wouldn’t need her services anymore.

Feeling very melancholy, she gazed out her bedroom window as the dusky evening settled into dark and the fog curled up from the bay and wound its way around the city, softening its rough edges.

What a fraud she was. Who was she to vilify another’s deceit? Here she was, coldly trying to lure poor Will Tate into marriage with her—her!—a woman burdened with debt and two crazy, spendthrift relatives. And he was so kind; so sweet. Emily decided glumly that she was an evil woman. She wiped a tear from her cheek and wished there was another way.

She changed into her evening clothes slowly and wondered what Will Tate was doing for dinner tonight. The uneasy feeling that Clarence Pickering would be joining them at the table gnawed at her, and she wished she’d invited Will to sup with them tonight instead of tomorrow. For some reason, she just knew Pickering wouldn’t bother her if Will Tate was around.

Oh, well, she didn’t suppose she could have Will visit every night just to distract her from Pickering.

Emily didn’t have a maid to help her dress so she generally chose gowns that buttoned up the front. She was fastening her basque when she was suddenly struck by the thought that if she married Will, he could button dresses up the back for her. The thought of his long, brown fingers brushing against her bare skin brought a flush to her cheeks.

Well, if she did trick him into marrying her, at least she’d be wed to a very handsome man. And he seemed so considerate, too. But it would serve her right if he hauled her off to Texas and she never got to see San Francisco again.

She loved her city by the bay. Every time she thought about Texas, the best her brain could picture was bleak desert dotted with hostile savages, all aiming their bristling arrows straight at her heart. She was nearly in tears by the time she descended the stairs.

But at dinner, as Clarence Pickering tried to play “footsie” with her under the dining room table, Emily’s resolve, which had been perilously close to dissolving earlier, began to firm up again. It solidified into a granite certainty after the meal when Pickering managed to get her alone in a corner of the parlor.

Uncle Ludwig was, as usual, pontificating about dachshunds. Aunt Gertrude was listening to him with rapt attention.

“I tell you, Gertrude, they’re magnificent animals. Marvelous dogs. They have the spirit of the Kaisers in their blood!”

Uncle Ludwig almost always spoke in italics and exclamation points. He had a heavy German accent and a tendency to spit when he was excited. Since he was excited most of the time, chatting with Ludwig could be quite an adventure.

“I’m sure you’re right, Ludwig. I’m certain of it.” Gertrude gazed adoringly at her beloved brother. He could do no wrong in her eyes.

Gustav and Helga had been allowed into the house after supper and they, too, were in the parlor. Neither dog cared for Clarence Pickering. While Ludwig spoke to Gertrude, they nipped at Pickering’s feet and gradually backed him into a chair by the fire.

“Look at them, Gertrude! Just look at them! They’re trying to protect us.”

Ludwig’s voice was fervent as he gazed at his pets with pride. Pickering managed to raise his feet a bare instant before Helga’s sharp teeth could damage his new shoes.

Gertrude’s smile wobbled a little. “Perhaps you should call to them, Ludwig, dear. They seem to be trying to bite poor Mr. Pickering.”

“I think Uncle Ludwig is right, Aunt Gertrude,” Emily said. “They certainly do seem to be trying to protect us.”

The ferocious hounds ignored Uncle Ludwig’s command to leave Pickering alone, but at the offer of a biscuit, Gustav immediately abandoned his quarry. Helga followed him a moment later with a fair show of reluctance.

The dogs’ departure gave Pickering an opportunity to rise from his chair and, in one fluid motion, trap Emily by the fireplace.

“Those dogs of your uncle’s are a fierce pair, Miss Emily.” Pickering’s slick voice made Emily shiver.

“They’re shrewd judges of character, Mr. Pickering.” She stood rigid as a lance as he approached. She cursed herself for coming over to the fire, because now there was no easy escape.

Pickering gave her a sly smile. “You don’t like me much, do you, Miss Emily.”

“You’re wrong, Mr. Pickering. I don’t like you at all.”

Pickering seemed undaunted. In fact, he chuckled when he said, “Aw now, Miss Emily, if you’d get to know me better I’ll bet you’d soften your attitude a little bit.”

“I seriously doubt it, Mr. Pickering. But we’ll never know, because I certainly do not intend to get to know you better.”

His smile was sincere and condescending, as though he was a politician speaking to a constituent. If one were observing him from afar, Emily was sure one would think he was only making polite conversation. She knew better, though, especially when he said, “It might be a good idea if you did, though, Miss Emily. I really do think it would be.”

“I’m sure you do, Mr. Pickering,” Emily said furiously. “After all, one of these days, perhaps my aunt and uncle will listen to me and realize what a villain you are.” Actually, she was positive that day would never come, but she didn’t want Pickering to know it.

He chuckled. “You’re a fine sight when you’re riled, Miss Emily.”

Her spine stiffened even more. She did not deign to respond to Pickering’s offensive comment, but the look on his face began to alarm her.

“You know, sweet Emily, it might really be a good idea if you were to be a little nicer to me.” One of Pickering’s long, elegant fingers reached out to stroke her cheek, and she turned her face away in disgust.

“Stop it!” she whispered fiercely.

“Oh, my lovely Emily, don’t be so rash. I bet you’d like me if you gave me half a chance. And it sure would be good for your aunt and uncle if you sweetened up to me.”

“And just what do you mean by that, Mr. Pickering?” Emily tried to move away from him, but he blocked her retreat. She swore to herself that she would never allow this vile creature to back her into a corner again.

“Well now, Miss Emily, what do you think I mean? If you were to be nice to me, it would be a joy for me to help your family out.”

“You’re supposed to be helping them now. What does my being nice to you have to do with anything?”

“Aw, Emily, my pet, you know I do right by your aunt and uncle. But if you were to give me some incentive, I’d work even harder. I’ll bet you’d like pretty dresses and trinkets. Wouldn’t you? All ladies like pretty things. You deserve them, Emily, dear. You truly do.”

She was flat up against the wall now. She’d slap his face and run out of the room, except she didn’t want to upset her aunt and uncle. Frantically, she tried to peer over his shoulder, but realized he had chosen his time and place well. They were hidden from Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Ludwig by two enormous wing chairs and neither her aunt nor her uncle was paying them any mind. Ludwig was too busy glorifying his dogs and Gertrude was too busy agreeing with him to think about Emily.

As usual, Emily thought. She had to swallow a bitter tear or two that surged up behind her guard.

“You’re a real, real pretty girl, Miss Emily,” Pickering whispered.

His face was getting closer and closer, and Emily finally couldn’t stand it a second longer. She gave him a tremendous shove and he stumbled backwards. They were near the fireplace, and Pickering’s right ankle banged against the brass firewood basket.

“Oh, dear. How terribly clumsy of me, Mr. Pickering.”

Emily watched with pleasure as the basket tipped over and Pickering landed on his elegant rear end among the rolling logs. Using exquisite care, she stepped on his hand with the sharp heel of her evening slipper as she sidled around his sprawled body. Then she ground her heel into his open palm once, just for spite.

“Oh, my goodness, Mr. Pickering, how careless of me,” she added sweetly when he let out a bellow of pain. She smiled at him beatifically and then strolled over to the door.

“My goodness!” Aunt Gertrude cried as Pickering tried to pick himself up. His ascent was seriously impeded by Helga and Gustav, who sniffed a victory and roared over to attack.

As she paused at the doorway and peered at the melee, Emily thought she had seldom enjoyed a scene more. She smiled in satisfaction when she noticed the angry red welt on Pickering’s palm as he covered his head to avoid the furious dachshunds’ gnashing teeth. Then he staggered up, immediately stepped on a log, and lost his balance once more as it rolled away under his foot. She nearly giggled when Helga’s long canine teeth rip a big gash in the side of his shiny patent-leather shoe. Gustav tugged at a formerly white gaiter and two buttons popped off.

Emily was disappointed when Ludwig finally subdued the two small furies, exclaiming, “Now you see what I say is true, Pickering. These dogs are wonderful guardians. Wonderful!”

While he and Aunt Gertrude were occupied in soothing Pickering’s ruffled feathers, Emily decided to make her escape.

As she trod up the stairs to her room once more, she realized that she had no choice but to ensnare the innocent Will Tate. She vowed she would do her best to be a good wife to him.

# # #

The next day was a productive one for Will. He spent most of it with Charley Wong in the rose garden at Golden Gate Park, making arrangements to have several roses shipped to his home in San Antonio. Before he left, he peered paused before the pretty pink polyantha he’d shown to Emily the day before.

“Why don’t you give me another one of those ‘Cecile Brunners,’ too, Charley. Put it in a big pot and have it delivered to this address.” He scribbled Gertrude Schindler’s Hayes Street address on a scrap of paper and handed it to the gardener.

“Sure thing, Mr. Tate.”

“It’ll grow all right in a pot, won’t it?”

“Oh, sure. Just make sure it gets lots of sunshine and plenty of water.”

Will didn’t know it for a fact, but he was fairly certain Emily von Plotz would take good care of anything anybody gave to her.

“Is this a gift, Mr. Tate? Do you want to send a note with it?”

Will decided then and there that Charley Wong was a genius. “Good idea, Charley. Yes, I do.” He thought hard for a minute. Then a grin spread itself across his face, and he quickly scribbled a note. “Can you put this on a card for me?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Tate.” Charley Wong read the message, looked up at Will in surprise, and then stuck the paper into his pocket with a shrug.

# # #

Emily felt her cheeks warm with pleasure when she read the note accompanying the lovely potted rose plant that had just been delivered to her aunt’s door.

“Dear Miss Aunt Emily,” the note ran, “I don’t know if it is proper manners, but please accept this here rose and stick it somewheres in the sun. The man says it will grow good in the pot, so’s you don’t need a yard as long as you pour water on it. Yrs, Will Tate.”

“Oh, what a dear, dear man,” Emily breathed.

She gave the delivery boy a tip before she directed him to take the big pot out back and deposit it beside the entrance to Gustav and Helga’s elaborately constructed living quarters. Emily held the snarling beasts by their collars so they couldn’t eat the frightened boy as he did as she’d bade him.

He eyed the dogs warily. “I ain’t never seen no dogs look like that before.”

“No, I’m sure you haven’t,” Emily said with a sigh.

When the boy left and she finally released them, Gustav promptly marked the rose pot as his. Helga sniffed at it with her usual suspicion

“Well, that beautiful rose will look very pretty climbing over your kennel, Gustav and Helga,” Emily said.

She stared morosely at the dogs’ home which resembled a miniature Victorian mansion, complete with real glass windows. Uncle Ludwig had certainly spared no expense in building it. Nothing was too good for his dogs, he claimed.

Sometimes she wanted to ask him why his dogs should live better than their owners, but she always restrained herself. She knew better than to expect her relatives to behave sensibly.

Her mood was gloomy when she walked into the house to search for her aunt. She found Gertrude in the best parlor, staring into a clear globe of glass Emily had never seen before.

“What’s that, Aunt Gertrude?”

Gertrude peered up at Emily with her usual, slightly fuddled smile. “It’s a crystal ball, dear. Mrs. Pollifant says you can see the future in it.”

Emily held in her groan of exasperation. “And what do you see in your future, Aunt?”

Her aunt stared intently into the ball for an intense minute or two. “Bubbles,” she announced at last.

“Bubbles?”

Gertrude sighed. “The glass has bubbles in it, dear. I can’t see a thing. Mrs. Pollifant says it sometimes takes a while for the spirits to warm up to one.”

Emily sighed as she looked down at her aunt’s immaculately coifed gray head, covered this morning with a lacy white cap that must have cost five dollars if it cost a penny.

“Where did you get it, Aunt?”

“Mrs. Pollifant’s spiritual advisor sold it to her and she sold it to me, Emily darling. Mrs. Pollifant never does a thing without consulting Professor Claude, you know. He’s a very wise man.”

Try as she might, Emily couldn’t be cross with Gertrude. She was such a sweet woman, in spite of her often tenuous relationship with reality. Emily could not, however, hide the slightly acid tone to her words when she said, “Well, maybe your crystal ball can tell me if Will Tate will be easy to trick into marrying me, Aunt.”

“Will Tate, dear? Are you marrying a gentleman named Will Tate? I don’t believe I recall who he is.”

“You haven’t met him, Aunt Gertrude. And I was only teasing about marrying him. Sort of. He’s coming over to take dinner with us tonight.”

Gertrude brightened immediately. “Oh, how lovely, Emily. A gentleman caller. What a treat for you. Is he a young man?”

“Yes, Aunt, he’s a young man. I expect he’s about thirty.” Emily had actually not put an age to Will before this. She hadn’t much cared how old he was once she found out he was “Texas Lonesome.”

Gertrude placed a warm, plump hand over Emily’s. “I know how difficult it is for you to be confined to this house with us two old people, dear. You have your writing to keep you busy, but I still think it’s wonderful that you have a young man to call on you.”

Emily’s fond smile wavered slightly at the reference to her writing. Aunt Gertrude simply could not be made to understand the only thing standing between herself and poverty was Emily’s newspaper column. And her writing just barely paid for their food and the services of Mr. Blodgett, and their cook, Mrs. Blodgett.

The possibility of her aunt investing in another one of Mr. Pickering’s ill-fated schemes and losing everything was a daily worry for Emily. One more disaster like those imaginary Chinese horse herds would find them all out on the street. Her uncle’s dachshunds were, literally, eating up the meager interest earned on her aunt’s few remaining solid investments. She knew it was useless to talk to her aunt about any of these things, however.

“Well, I’m trying very hard to make a good impression on Mr. Tate, Aunt Gertrude,” was all she said.

Gertrude looked puzzled. “Oh. Well, I’m sure you’ll do that, Emily. You’re perfectly well-mannered, dear, and you’re quite a lovely girl.”

“I just hope Uncle Ludwig will behave himself,” Emily said very softly, fussing nervously with the ribbons tied at her waist. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground here, but she couldn’t help but be concerned.

Gertrude’s face crumpled up into a sad little frown. “Oh, Emily, how can you say such a thing? You know your Uncle Ludwig is a wonderful man.”

Emily felt like a beast, but she still persisted. “Yes, I do know it, Aunt. But you have to admit he can be embarrassing sometimes.”

“Now, now, Emily darling. Ludwig is a man with strong interests and opinions. And if you’re thinking about that time at the Woodward Gardens, dear, you know that wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.”

Emily had actually forgotten about Ludwig’s run-in with the chief horticulturist at the Woodward Gardens until now. She cringed as memory flooded back. It had taken all of her charm and an enormous amount of wheedling to prevent the offended horticulturist from having Ludwig arrested for eating the shrubbery.

Ludwig claimed he had been conducting an experiment. The fact that he was telling the absolute truth didn’t make the incident any less embarrassing for Emily. Nobody else’s relatives ate the plants in public gardens, she thought gloomily.

“Well, I don’t suppose there will be anything for him to get into tonight. After all, we’ll be here.”

Emily wondered suddenly if it was such a good idea for Will to visit. Still, it couldn’t be helped. If he was as naive and innocent as he appeared, perhaps he wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary about her aunt and uncle.

She peered wistfully at her aunt, whose attention had again wandered to her crystal ball. Gertrude now stared into tit with rapt concentration.

“I believe I’m beginning to see something, dear,” she told her niece in a happy trill as she passed her hand mysteriously over the globe.

Then again, maybe even a shy, innocent Texan would be able to discern a certain off-centeredness about Emily’s family. Heaving a deep sigh, Emily rose from the sofa and left the parlor to Gertrude and her spirit friends.

As she trod up the stairs to her room, Emily decided she would use all the feminine wiles at her command on Will Tate tonight, whether such tactics were honorable or not. With any luck at all, he wouldn’t even notice Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Ludwig.