9
Chauncey waited three days for Delaney Saxton to do something, anything. She saw him several times when she was shopping with Mary, but he merely greeted her politely and walked on.
“What is the matter with him?” she muttered, knocking a stone out of the way with the tip of her parasol. “Am I going to have to chase him down like a fox in the hunt?”
Mary didn’t reply to this, too intent on the splendor of Portsmouth Square. “That, Miss Chauncey,” she said, interrupting her mistress from her gloomy thoughts, “was the Jenny Lind Theater until just last year. Imagine that. All to praise the real Jenny Lind, but she never came here, you know. Bob, one of the porters, was telling me that it burned down three times! Finally Mr. Maguire sold it to the city. It’s now the city hall of San Francisco.”
“Doubtless good riddance,” Chauncey said ungraciously eyeing the touted architectural ornament with its American flag.
“What I want to do is go inside the El Dorado. A real gambling house,” Mary continued, pointing to the huge painted sign on the building next to city hall. She giggled. “It’s hard to imagine a gambling saloon next to the government building.”
“All right, Mary,” Chauncey sighed. “I’ll try to stop being an utter bore. Let’s talk about the weather.”
“So warm,” Mary murmured. “I cannot believe it’s February, and here we are wearing only light pelisses.”
“Marvelous,” Chauncey agreed. “Next you’ll be waxing eloquent about the beauty of the bay.”
“As sparkling as sapphires,” Mary said readily. “Come now, Miss Chauncey, all isn’t lost yet. You are going to a dinner party at the Newtons’ tonight. Surely Mr. Saxton will be there.”
“Yes,” Chauncey said sharply. “As well as Miss Penelope Stevenson.”
“Ah,” Mary said.
That evening, as Mary arranged Chauncey’s hair, Chauncey was cudgeling her brain for a likely strategy.
“Mayhap Mr. Saxton does love Miss Stevenson,” Mary said, a refrain that now came with depressing regularity.
“Bosh,” Chauncey said. “She has an insubstantial mind.”
“But she is quite pretty, doubtless laughs at everything Mr. Saxton says, and can keep house. What man ever cared about a woman’s mind, for heaven’s sake?”
“The voice of experience?” Chauncey asked, raising an ironic eyebrow. “You are a year younger than I. Besides, your Miss Penelope doesn’t even know when to laugh. It’s accidental if she hits it right. What I need is a foolproof plan.”
“You’re going to abduct him?”
“If Mr. Saxton doesn’t pay me proper attention this evening, I just might. Well, not quite, but—”
“Since Miss Stevenson will be present, you don’t wish to be totally outrageous. You can’t really expect the man to abandon his fiancée at the sight of you?”
“She is not his fiancée!”
“Yet.”
“We will see” was all Chauncey said, her voice stubbornly set.
“Did I tell you I met Mr. Saxton’s man this afternoon?”
“Mary!” Chauncey swiveled about on her dressing-table stool and gave her maid a wounded look. “How could you!”
“Lucas is his name and he’s a likable fellow. Introduced himself, bold as you please, and offered to carry my one little package. He has the look of a pirate with that black eyepatch and his one wooden leg.”
“Did you learn anything?” Chauncey asked with admirable patience.
Mary grinned. “Yes, miss, I did. He told me that there will be a big celebration for Mr. Washington’s birthday this month in Portsmouth Square.”
“Mary!”
“You’ve lost your sense of humor, miss. Very well. Mr. Saxton rides every