Read In The Face Of Death for Free Online Page B

escorting me?” asked Madelaine.
    “Perforce,” answered Sherman with a faint smile.
    “But what of the gossip you always warn me about? And your wife is still with her parents.” Madelaine noticed that the theatre-goers had all but disappeared from the street. She glanced at Sherman. “Are you really set on seeing Racine?”
    His face did not change but his voice softened. “No.”
    “Nor am I,” said Madelaine, who had seen Phedre more than twenty times in the last sixty years. “Surely there is somewhere we can go that will not cause tongues to wag?”
    Most of those going to the theatre were in their places; the few that remained on the street hurried to reach their seats before the curtain went up. They paid no attention to Madelaine and Sherman.
    He coughed once. “There are rooms at the casinos, private rooms. Men dine there in private. Sometimes they are used for assignations.”
    “Would that bother you?” asked Madelaine. “Going to such a place?”
    “It should bother you,” said Sherman sternly. Then he made up his mind. He took her by the elbow and started to lead her in the direction away from the French theatre. “My carriage is in a livery around the corner on Pine Street,” he said.
    “I wish you would not hold onto my arm in that manner,” she said to him. “It’s uncomfortable.”
    He released her at once, chagrined. “I meant nothing unsuitable, Madame.” He put more than two feet between them. “You must understand that I sought only to guard—”
    “Oh, for all the Saints in the calendar!” Madelaine burst out, then lowered her voice. “I meant nothing but what I said: I dislike having my arm clutched. But I am glad of your company, Mister Sherman, and your protection. I know these streets can be dangerous.”
    He paused at the corner of Pine Street. “I will take you home.”
    “Yes, please,” said Madelaine amiably, “take me home; after we have our own private discussion.”
    This time there was an eagerness in his eyes as he looked down at her. “What did you mean by discussion, since you are clarifying your meaning, Madame?”
    “That, in large part, is up to you,” said Madelaine, regarding him steadily. “I will not seduce you, or demand what you are unwilling to give; I want no man who is not willing to have me.”
    He laughed abruptly. “What man would that be? One who is dead or prefers the bodies of men?”
    Madelaine answered him seriously. “I do not mean only my body, Mister Sherman. If that is all I sought, it is there for the taking, all around us. I mean one who is willing to see into my soul. And to let me see into his.”
    Taken aback, Sherman straightened up, and stared down the dark street. “Let me make myself plain to you, Madame, and if what I say is repugnant, then I will deliver you to your front door post haste. No matter what you may stir in me, I cannot, and I will not, compromise my obligations to my family. I am in no position to offer you any advantage, Madame. I am married, and that will not be changed by any desire I may feel for you.”
    “I don’t recall asking you to change, or to hurt your family,” said Madelaine as she put her hand through his arm. “I only remember suggesting that we spend the evening together.”
    “And that I may have you if that is what I wish,” he said, as if to give her one more chance to change her mind.
    Madelaine’s smile was quick. “I am not challenging you, Mister Sherman. I am seeking to spend time with you.”
    “Whatever that means,” said Sherman.
    “Whatever that means,” Madelaine concurred.
     
    San Francisco, 16 June, 1855
    . . . Tonight will be better.
     
    The sheets were fine linen, as soft as antique satin, and there were six pillows and a damask comforter flung in glorious disarray about the bed. In the wan spill of moonlight from the window, Sherman was standing, wearing only a loosely belted dressing-gown, and smoking a thin cigar as he gazed out into the darkness.