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Not Quite an Angel (Decisions Book Four)

By Shirley Kiger Connolly

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Chapter One


April 17, 1906
San Francisco
At the Palace Hotel

"I should not be here." Daphne Jordan eyed Prissy thoughtfully.

"You are still worried."

Worried was not the half of it. From the moment she and Prissy Murphy stepped out of the Grand Opera House on Mission Street, Daphne's apprehension increased.

Matthew had given his blessing for her to see Carmen but no permission to attend the after-performance gala at the Palace Hotel. Daphne lost track of how many times her brother told her why.

Any proper young woman would understand how it might look to attend an evening gala unaccompanied by a gentleman. For Prissy, whom Daphne had become acquainted with at the newspaper office, it evidently did not matter.
Daphne regarded the elegant lobby, the brilliance of the chandeliers casting their lights throughout the hall, the dazzling lights announcing every person who came through the double doors. Her eyes flickered as she stared down the corridor leading to the elevator. Caught off guard, she twitched at Prissy's pat on her shoulder.

"It can't be that bad. Your brother the parson will be fine once you explain." Prissy shrugged. "Religious folks like Reverend Jordan would have to be forgiving. Isn’t this a requirement for people of the cloth?"
Daphne ignored Prissy's remarks. With her growing sense of guilt, she did not want to think about Matthew.

She looked around again, instead, more captivated by the elegance of the renowned establishment. Everyone knew about the Palace Hotel. In a place as rough and tumble as San Francisco, there was nothing like it.

Blood red carpets blanketed the floor; gold-embossed coverings adorned the walls. Even with the crystal and copper-laden chandeliers draped low from the ceiling, amber and brass electric-lit sconces marched along each side of the large vestibule. It would have been impossible to be any brighter.
God need not have tried to cast light on her darkness, if that was his intention. All her life God had been there for her, reminding her of his presence, even when she thought she did not need him. A lame prayer wouldn’t change that. Besides, Daphne knew what she was doing.

Matthew's last words forced their way into her mind once again.

"I give my consent to your attending the opera, sis. The opportunity to see the famous Mr. Caruso might never come again. But a woman with your upbringing has no business attending some late night social event after without an escort. The hall could very well be filled with a number of potentially unscrupulous entertainers."

Whether what her brother said was true or not about the scruples of entertainers, or the lack of an escort, Daphne knew she should have thought twice about coming.

She had been raised to be refined. She was the sister of the minister who ran the Crossways Faith Mission and anything she did would reflect on her and him.

Later, when she worked up the nerve to tell him, Daphne would just have to explain why tonight was so important. Matthew would have to realize this kind of gala would be a once-in-the-lifetime event for his younger sister. She would be traveling to Europe soon; tonight would be something she could remember. In a few more months, Daphne would be nineteen. Certainly, she was old enough to make her own decisions.

The elevator stopped and a metal latticed door slid open. A number of female guests with their escorts who'd been standing in front of Daphne and Prissy smiled at the young capped operator and crossed the grating one at a time. Moments later, the operator in his multi-buttoned gray jacket and striped trousers pushed the door closed.

The elevator made its ascent out of view of the mezzanine, while several more couples milled about the lower level in their evening finery. Not taking too much notice of them, Daphne's gaze lingered on the elevator.
She had seen other large and innovative edifices back in Washington, but none so elaborate as the one here at the Palace Hotel. While she continued to admire the surroundings, her stomach churned.

Prissy glanced over. "Are you sorry you came?"

"Not necessarily," Daphne whispered, though this wasn’t true. She pressed her fingers against her middle.

"You're still okay with coming to my place to stay the night, I hope."
Daphne gazed the room before looking back. "Matthew knew I was not keen about going to the mission after an evening at the opera. He didn’t want me traveling on the ferry alone late at night, either. Staying at your place suited him fine. I'm okay with it, yes."

Prissy patted her arm. "When we get to my place, I'll make us some lemon-honey tea. We can talk about all this." She stared dreamily around the massive lobby. "Won't it be fun?"

Daphne returned a haphazard nod. Lemon-honey tea was the farthest thing from her mind now.

"My place is up the hill from the Ferry Building; we'll get you to the boat in plenty of time. Just like you, I would rather go home than to go to that mission church." Prissy's eyes sparkled.

Daphne muffled a chuckle. Prissy Murphy would never be interested in going to Matthew's church. She was only seventeen and coming to a fancy gala was not her usual practice; nor was going to any religious function. Little wonder she was excited to be here.

No surprise her interest did not include darkening the door to Matthew's mission. Since the day the two had become acquainted, Prissy's voiced thoughts traveled in every direction but heavenward.

As a fur clad woman passed by, Daphne stepped to the side and toyed with her glove then reached up and stroked the large garnet gem resting modestly above her hidden cleavage. Altering diamonds and smaller gems inched up the slender chain to meet at the lobster clasp at the back. Her mother had recently passed it down to her. From that day on, this necklace had become Daphne's favorite.

After sliding her fingers along the side of her form-fitted dress and resting her left hand at her hip, she gazed down at her mauve gown where the silk swirled gently around her legs. Daphne lifted her eyes and viewed the hall again.

"There you go again. Worry, worry, worry. Golly sakes. Don't mind the parson, Daph." Prissy cocked her head. "He'll get over it."

Daphne chewed on her lower lip. Nodding toward the elevator, the two stepped up and stood behind a few more tastefully dressed couples.

"Is this your first time?"

My first time?

"Doing something daring." Prissy grinned.

The comment deserved no answer. Daphne's response sidestepped the remark. "We have elevators back home."

"I mean doing something risky." Prissy played with a loose curl. "Proper ladies like you ... well, you folks are different. But then things are different out here in the West too. Women here get to make up their own minds. We do chancy things all the time." She lifted her large round eyes. "Independence. I love it."

Daphne glanced off. Prissy was so like Lillian, Daphne's second cousin, it was unsettling. No telling what she might say or think about next. To both, life was very much a dream.

Many young women wanted to think autonomously these days, not in San Francisco alone, but most everywhere. Daphne had begun exercising the habit back in Virginia. Unlike Prissy and Cousin Lillian, Daphne stayed careful not to go too far.

Most Jordan females, like her, whether cousins, aunts, or sisters, had no fear of taking bold chances as long as they didn’t act independent, in a way which might upset her father.

This was the first time Daphne was taking this kind of risk, going against her beloved brother.

Prissy leaned in. "He'll forgive you; him being religious and all?" she asked again.

Daphne flicked her eyes. I'm religious, too, Prissy. Surely she would have been aware of this. But was she?

In truth, Daphne was not so much religious, but she was a woman of faith. She'd believed in God all her life. She had not thought it necessary to declare it openly ... until now. Her brothers had discovered long ago she was the black ewe in the family, but only mildly so. Mama knew it but continued to do her best to keep it from Papa. She had not been too successful in her endeavor.

Matthew and Christian had learned early to make allowances for Daphne's occasional and rather intentional misdeeds and sometimes misplaced aspirations. Her whimsical thoughts had an uncanny way of veering off when they had a mind to. Until now, it had not mattered.

Until now.

After staring across at a couple of distinguished looking women dressed in their finery, Prissy twisted her fingers and gazed down at her dress. "It's my very best one, you know." She stared over at Daphne's silk beaded gown. "It's not near as nice as what everyone else has on, or you."

"You look lovely in the dusty peach gown with the lace at your throat. Your pearl choker necklace was an excellent choice, too, Prissy," Daphne answered her.

Prissy's attractive dress had been passed down, but with her trim figure Prissy carried herself beautifully in it. No one seemed to be looking their way, anyhow.

Prissy reached up and played with her pearls. "My daddy gave me these after Mummy died. Da passed over a while after she did. That's why I got brought here and now I find jobs where I can. I'm trying to make enough money to get back home someday."

Daphne gave her a tender smile. "You've never mentioned your family before or your home."

Prissy looked off, so Daphne left it alone.

Fifteen minutes earlier, they had arrived at the Palace Hotel's Grand Hall and had stepped out of their chauffeur-driven motorcar now parked behind dozens of other black and shiny engine-run vehicles and plenty of fancy horse-drawn carriages.

How Prissy had managed to get invitations to the gala and tickets to see Carmen at the Mission Opera House, Daphne had no clue. When Prissy had announced they would ride to the event in style, Daphne had not expected this. How did she do it?

A low-level worker at Western News -- a small newspaper company in San Francisco -- Prissy's job was to clean up the offices after the regular employees left for the day. Only on occasion did she happen by the paper during office hours. Then, it was to deliver the office mail.

Prissy did not attend galas and operas. Daphne knew she did not have the means to purchase tickets to events like this.

The two of them became acquainted when Daphne had gone to the paper to speak with the editor about writing an occasional feature article. If a woman wanted to find a position to show off her talents, San Francisco was the place to try.

Daphne tapped her foot nervously on the soft carpet. The longer she stood there, the more she realized she should not have come. She had been taught from youth to avoid unrestrained worldly gatherings -- uninhibited revelries like this one would likely turn out to be.

She watched the dwindling crowd. With or without gentlemen to accompany them, she had not been able to resist the opportunity to attend such an unforgettable affair. This was to be an evening out on the town in San Francisco ... something Daphne could write stories about some day.

Naturally, she was familiar with impressive gatherings. Colonel Palmer Jordan, IV, Retired -- her beloved father -- had begun working in Washington, DC years ago. He spent less time up there these days than in the past, but he would always be considered one of the elites.

Because of Papa and his papa before him, the Jordans for decades had been considered one of the foremost families on the east coast. Their attendance at balls and galas was expected. Since Daphne and Trevor had begun spending time together, many of the elegant affairs included her.

She glanced around. This was different. After seeing a few seductively dressed women in the lobby, Daphne did not expect this event to be like those back home.

The elevator bumped to a squealing stop; the metal door screeched open in front of them. "Welcome folks," the operator with his spherical gray and red cap said with a bow. He held out a gloved hand to assist an older couple who stepped across a metal grate first.

Daphne and Prissy moved forward. Prissy gave the young operator an extravagant grin; her cheeks flushed when he reached over to clutch her elbow.

"If you need anything ... anything at all," he smiled at her, "I'll be here to assist you."

"Why thank you, kind sir." Prissy twittered.

Daphne took note of the elevator operator again as he gave Prissy a wink. Pressing her lips together, she rolled her eyes before the two of them pushed into in the small crowded enclosure and he stepped back and slid the door shut.

Within seconds, the edifice jostled back and forth and made its slow ascent. By the twitching of jaws, and widened eyes, many in the rickety elevator looked a bundle of nerves.

"I told you it would be exciting," Prissy whispered again, ogling the uniformed hotel employee. She patted Daphne's arm, her eyes flashing. "Isn't he a looker?"

Daphne lifted her chin. Removing her fingers from her lips, she smoothed a small wrinkle in her elbow-length glove. "We'll talk later." She reached for the bar at the side of the elevator as it wobbled along. "I will be expecting you to explain when we get upstairs how you managed all this," she whispered back to Prissy. An elderly couple pushed against them both. Daphne edged aside.

"I promise I'll tell you."

"Will it make it easier for me to enlighten my brother of the worthiness of this endeavor?"

Though Daphne would not have to face Matthew 'til tomorrow on the morning ferry back to Oakland, she knew she had to be prepared to hear plenty from her brother's loyal housekeeper. The elderly Mrs. Smith felt it her duty to watch Matthew's younger sister with the eye of an eagle. She made that clear.

Matthew did not request it, but this was irrelevant to his meddlesome housekeeper. She doubtless savored the moment she could be his informant when Daphne ventured out on her own. She did not sound convinced anytime Daphne explained she would stay alert whenever she went to the city.

Forcing herself to set aside her concern about Mrs. Smith, Daphne listened to the rattling of the door as the elevator jolted to a stop. She clutched tighter to her tiny rhinestone purse. As the handsome operator slid the creaky door open, Daphne gazed across the hall.

"That's the Tapestry Room." He extended a hand to Prissy first. Prissy's mouth dropped open with Daphne's grin.

The large hall sparkled with its effervescent chandeliers and flocked walls. Ivory carpets draped the floors of both the room and the corridor.

Strikingly handsome men, many with lovely ladies beside them, sat around finely-decorated tables. Who wouldn’t stand in wonder at the elegant gilt banquet hall and passageway with its glittery lights?

"Just look at that!" Prissy pointed toward the open doors. She cupped her gloved hand over her mouth. "Look at all those men! Do you think Enrico Caruso will come and talk to us?"

Daphne arched a brow. Doubtful.

The affair was coordinated for Mr. Caruso, believed by many to be the greatest operatic tenor of all time. The celebration was to acknowledge his success. He would be there ... but come and talk to them? She had to smile.

"Don’t expect it."

Prissy pursed her lips and shrugged. "I just wondered."

"Do you recognize anyone?" Daphne asked her. Back at the newspaper, Prissy boasted of all the famous people she'd read about in the newspaper.

Prissy touched a finger to her chin. "The ones I pointed out down in the lobby -- they were the ones I recognized. They wouldn’t have known me. I bet we see some politicians with their wives here ... maybe some without their wives." She chuckled. "On the Society Page, I read about some of the famous folks who come to these things." She leaned in and cupped her mouth.

"Alone."

"Alone? You mean without their wives?" Daphne repeated under her breath as she considered the first comment.

"Men with, you know ... other ... women." Prissy gave an exasperated groan. "Your daddy would understand about things, even if you don't. I keep forgetting you are innocent. But I'll bet he works around people who do that sort of thing over in Washington. I've heard talk."

Daphne blinked. What sort of thing? As the daughter of a respectful family of moral character and with God-fearing principles, Daphne was appalled at what Prissy was referring to. If there were words, she could not find them.

At the family dinner gatherings, politicians and people of notoriety often came to discuss the problems of the world while their wives gathered in the parlor to chat. Unless a gentleman other than Trevor came to the house alone, she did not remember ever seeing any male guest without his wife.
She and Prissy stepped up behind a gentleman in a fitted black waistcoat and white bowtie, his companion in rich green silk with tiny beads hemmed along the edges at the opening of her gown.

Once Daphne finished admiring them, she viewed the room again. Lowering her gaze, she rearranged her gauze wrap before her eyes traveled down to her thinly veiled gown also adorned with beads layered over fine netting barely visible to the natural eye.

Prissy tapped her arm. "I can't wait 'til we see an English duke or earl. I saw one sitting down toward the front over at the opera house. He was the same one I read about on the Society Page. He is very notorious."

Daphne narrowed her eyes. "You said nothing to me about anyone, Prissy."

"I only saw him from the rear. I think he is an English lord or one of those fellows who get knighted or something like that. I didn’t even know that sort of thing happened anymore, did you?"

"Never thought about it."

"Maybe he or one of the others will come up and speak to you. You never know." Prissy shrugged.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Don't expect it," she murmured.

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