Brother Betrayed

Three

ThreeCalifornian stage star Grayson ‘Graysie’ Travers Castellanos and her Sydney fiancée Nathan Russell stood arm in arm at the entryway to the Stockton dining room, their faces beaming welcome.

“We love having you here, Pania.” Graysie’s red gold hair fell around her shoulders in a shining flow. “The fire was a disaster, no one would suggest anything else. We all feel for John. You can stay here with us for as long as you like.” The child of Elanora Grayson Travers, an East Coast ‘prodigal daughter’ who eloped at 19, Graysie had inherited her mother’s well-born gentility and, by the magic of nurture, assimilated her Spanish stepfather’s bravura.

Pania had always admired her optimism, but she had never seen her as glowing as she was right now. Her joy lit up everything around her, not least the lightly bearded blond Australian at her side. Pania flushed with an infusing warmth just looking at them.

Nathan and Graysie had announced their engagement three days ago and were looking towards a December wedding. They were planning to visit Nathan’s mother and sisters in Sydney after the wedding, but for now were focused on business opportunities in California, including getting the Ophir, an old gold mine Graysie had inherited, up and running.

Nathan had worked tirelessly for most of the day helping his brother damp down and clean up after the Gold House fire, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at him. Lean, bronzed, and brimming with vitality, he had the look of a man who had discovered heaven on earth, and wasn’t about to let it go.

Despite her pleasure for them, Pania couldn’t ignore the sharp twinge that dug in under her ribs. Graysie and Nathan had weathered some big storms to arrive in this safe harbour, she’d give them that. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness for one moment. She just wished she could mirror it in her own life. An image of Nathan’s dark, intense half-brother, Sir John Russell, floated uninvited to her mind.

“Let me get you a glass of wine, Pania.” Nathan was gesturing to a comfortable arm chair. As a house guest, she was one of the first to appear for the informal house-warming party Graysie was hosting in recognition of Basil and Alycia Stockton’s generosity in lending her this big, pleasant home. The Stocktons were usually based on the East Coast but Basil’s business interests in California had led him to buy a home for them to use when they were here. They were only too happy to share it with Graysie and her ward, four-year-old Minette.

The doorbell chimed and for the next half hour the room was a flurry of new arrivals, greeting hugs, chatter and laughter. Last night’s tragedy at Gold House underlined the talk with a sombre note, but the joy evident in the house couldn’t be quelled.

Pania was settled in a corner seat next to impresario Harvey Miller, playfully discussing the pros and cons of undertaking a singing tour of Australia and New Zealand, when the room quietened and her attention was drawn to the doorway. Leaning on a cane, his dark hair looking uncharacteristically dishevelled, Sir John Russell surveyed the room with his extraordinary black eyes. They flicked from her to Harvey and back again. A brief grimace of a smile flashed across his face and he tilted his head in an ironic bow before making his way towards them with a halting gait. She could see he was trying to conceal his pain, but the leg injury he sustained last night was hampering his movement. Pania rose and caught a flick of annoyance in Harvey’s eyes as she gestured to him to make room for Sir John on the sofa.

“Mrs Hayes. Glad to see the night’s tribulations have not prevented you from being the life and soul of the party, as usual.” Pania wondered if she was being over-sensitive in detecting a hint of acid in the lightly tossed-off remark. And then she caught the quick sharp glare he gave Harvey Miller, and she knew she wasn’t imagining the barb.

She patted the vacated place beside her. “Sit here, John, and rest that leg. I really have not had a chance to properly thank you for saving my life last night. If you hadn’t aroused the household . . .” She let the sentence die as he waved it away.

“We were all very lucky. Except for the comprador and Beautiful Jade, of course.” His deep warm voice had a ragged edge. She studied the familiar strong lines of his face: the troughs down his cheekbones were deeper than usual. With a heart jolt she saw her debonair friend was looking haggard. His eyes were shadowed, and his dark eyebrows had sprung a few rogue gray hairs. Did that just happen overnight?

She had known him for nearly twenty years, since she’d been the young bride of Henry Hayes, a much older man. A singer with a pure Pacific bell of a voice, she was fresh off a boat from New Zealand then and John was desperately trying to live up to the role of young tycoon thrust on him, like the title, by his father’s sudden death. The knighthood was an unusual one-off hereditary honor, not the usual baronetcy, bestowed on Robert Russell in recognition of his spectacular brave rescue of a British diplomat from an angry Cantonese mob during the First Opium War. The son wore the honor lightly, but it had its uses with bankers and others in the early days when he was setting up the West Coast branch of Russell & Chung, already a wealthy merchant house in the East. Henry hadn’t minded when she’d trotted out with Sir John to public functions he had no desire to attend. He said it even added to her celebrity, and she and John had become fast friends.

The magnate was so intensely involved in his business he had little time for anything else. He didn’t seem to feel the need for a wife and was happy to squire Pania — her fast-rising career managed by her astute husband — if he happened to be in town.

But Henry had been dead for nearly a year, and Pania felt restless. That was one reason for the playful talk with Harvey about touring the Antipodes. She hadn’t been back to her homeland since she married Henry — who had been in New Zealand visiting his American missionary brother — and fled her family. And she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go back. Some things, she mused, were best left alone. Neither had she appointed a new manager, although Harvey was making pointed hints that he would be interested in taking her on. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to continue with the old touring life any longer.

John was now fending off inquiries about his injured leg. “Just give it a couple of days and it will be fine,” he was saying to mine manager Irish Red. “It’s just a knock.”

“Strange that the fire seemed to start upstairs in the bedroom,” said Pania, “when there’s no fires lit in the house at this time of year. Did someone forget a candle?”

John looked at her sharply. “We’re not sure how it started,” he said, giving her one of his searching stares. “Deputy Hale seems to think it was simply rotten bad joss. Nothing untoward.”

She searched his eyes for what he wasn’t telling her. “Harvey’s been cruising the Sing Song Clubs talent-spotting. There’s a lot of unrest out there. The bite is going on for protection payments.” She edged forward in her seat. “It’s said a Nevada City club owner who refused to pay up had his throat cut. The girls are terrified. They are reluctant to tour with Harvey even if the money is good — they’re frightened of retribution if they leave. That’s what they’re saying, isn’t it, Harvey?”

John frowned. “You haven’t taken Mrs Hayes out with you, have you, Miller?”

“Not yet. But I was thinking of it. They might feel more relaxed if there was a woman present.”

John gave Harvey one of his impenetrable stares. “I’m not happy about that, Miller. It could be dangerous, really dangerous. There is some sort of turf war brewing among the Six Societies, and I don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”

Harvey’s natural flamboyance deflated under John’s penetrating gaze. He was a big-shouldered man, built like a lumberjack but always dressed with understated elegance. Tonight he wore a fashionable cream mid-length sack coat over a subtle, ivory-striped waistcoat — a combination designed to be noticed but not showy. With his spiky hair, neat pointed goatee, and bon-vivant sparkle, Harvey was always the first to raise a toast.

He made a humphing sound as he cleared his throat in irritation. “Russell, you’re overreacting. I’ve been dealing with the Sing Song clubs for years. We’ll be fine.” He reached out to clasp her hand. “She knows a lot of the girls, and they revere her.”

Pania quietly withdrew her hand and looked up at John. “There’s something you are not telling me. I can sense it. Something bad. Cough up.”

He shook his head and looked away for a second. “Nothing. Nothing at all, Mrs Hayes. I just don’t want you out there.”

“John, have you forgotten I’m an entertainer? I work the clubs. All right, not the Sing Song Clubs exactly, but some that are not all that different. I can’t stop working because you’re getting anxious in your old age.”

It was meant to be a light-hearted remark, intended to break the intensity of the encounter, but as soon as she’d said it she knew she’d struck a dissonant chord.

He reared back from her as if she’d slapped him. “You never take no for an answer, do you? I don’t know how Henry put up with it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if warding off a headache. “It’s dangerous, I tell you.”

A taut silence stretched between them, broken only when a buxom woman rustled up in a flurry of bronze satin skirts. “Well, my goodness, here he is! Just the man I was looking for.”

The fulsome dress did nothing to enhance Huldah Wilmington’s puffball profile, but she seemed oblivious to the picture she presented. She planted herself in front of John, fixed him with beady-eyed enthusiasm and reached out and pumped his hand vigorously. “Sir John. Delighted to catch up again.”

She perched on the arm of the sofa beside Harvey, blithely unaware she was cramping his space, and leaned across him to engage John’s full attention. “While you’re laid up like this, what could be nicer than to relax at my little luncheon tomorrow? You can just rest yourself in pleasant company, no troubles. After that dreadful fire you need a break.”

A German widow left a comfortable fortune by her Boston sea-captain husband, Huldah amused herself holding popular match-making events several times a year for a wide circle of acquaintances and associates. As one of the state’s most eligible bachelors, Sir John Russell had long headed her list of desirables.

Pania waited for the explosion. A lot of eager women on the make? It was the kind of event John despised. But the eruption never came. The weary entrepreneur glanced around him, tossing his head like a cornered animal, and his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “I do have rather a lot on my plate,” he said weakly. He shot an appeal to Pania, willing her to come to the rescue. She raised a querulous eyebrow and played dumb.

Huldah either didn’t notice the silent exchange or chose to ignore it. She nodded and smiled. “A lot on your plate. Of course you do. But you can’t go far until that leg recovers. And I’ve got the nicest people for you to meet.” John shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.

Surely not. If Pania hadn’t seen the evidence with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it. Sir John Russell was feeling mortal. Maybe he is fearful he’s left his run too late? Watching your youngest brother get engaged could do that to a man. That and the sudden death of someone you loved.

She felt herself blush at the direction of her thinking. John was looking straight past her, seeking who knew what? A younger woman? Good old Pania apparently didn’t have a part to play in his next domestic drama. She felt herself stiffen and placed her hand affectionately on Harvey Miller’s arm. The poor man had been squeezed by Huldah’s generous proportions. She took a deep breath and edged even further forward, relieving the pressure of his thigh against hers.

“Time for us to go, don’t you think, Harvey? Didn’t you want to check out a few more clubs?”

Harvey gave her a warm smile. “I did, my dear. And I’d be delighted if you’d accompany me. With the crowd there is here, I’m sure we won’t be missed.”

Pania shot a quick glance in John’s direction, but he was rising — leaning on his cane in obvious discomfort — to greet some new arrivals. He winced. “You’re not leaving?”

“I think we are, John. Don’t you worry about me. All the best with getting back on your feet — literally and figuratively. And enjoy Huldah’s party.”