A Bitter Draught (Ravenwood Mysteries #2)

Land's End

 "For all evils there are two remedies - time and silence." 

 —The Count of Monte Cristo

Wednesday, February 14th, 1900

HIS LINE WENT TO the edge of the world, then it dropped right off into freedom. J.P. Humphrey glanced towards the looming rise as his streetcar began its final climb. In the two years that Humphrey had operated the Park and Ocean line, the expectation of what waited over the hill never dwindled. There were never two sunsets alike, never the same two clouds in the morning, and the taste of fog over a calm sheen of grey was a constant comfort to the aging conductor. In San Francisco, fences did not hem people in; the city was one step away from the world.

The streetcar reached the hill's peak, the fog parted over the moonlit sea, and for the first time in two years, Humphrey didn't notice. There was a young woman on his line. She sat on an outer bench, on the edge of the runner, and had not so much as uttered one word, or even looked at the conductor. She had a neat little hat, and her hair was done up, but a few tendrils had escaped. It reminded Humphrey of the sunset—all fiery and bright, even in the dark.

The streetcar tilted, beginning its smooth descent. Humphrey glanced at his operator Simon who was no help at all with women. The large man was good with turntables and rough passengers.

Humphrey cleared his throat, summoning courage. "This is the last line, ma'am," he said to the woman's back. "There's no other cars that run til morning."

On the weekends, he expected a few late night beach goers to be waiting at the station, but on a Wednesday night, it was uncommon. So was a young woman traveling to the ocean at night.

"I know," the woman said. Her voice was faint, she might have said more, but even those two words made his ears strain.

"Are you meeting someone, then?" Humphrey ventured, hopefully.

She tilted her head, as if bending her ear towards his words. "The sound of the surf is soothing, don't you think, sir?"

"That it is, ma'am." This close to the shore, he could hear the rhythmic wash of waves. He looked at the water, surprised that he'd missed that first sight. But the woman was right, Humphrey could sit and listen to the tides all night.

That was what the woman needed, he decided. Fresh air and space, as every San Franciscan craved—to be left alone to live their own lives. Humphrey decided to keep his own to himself instead of bumble his way where he wasn't wanted. So the conductor said nothing more.

At the station, the streetcar stopped, and Simon stepped down to walk his customary circuit of the trolley.

"End of the line, ma'am," Humphrey said, stepping down to offer his hand. The redhead accepted, keeping her eyes on the street. When she stood on solid ground, she looked at Humphrey for the first time. The conductor blinked. The young woman's hair might look like the sun falling into the sea, but her eyes looked as if the light would never rise again.

It took Humphrey a moment to realize that she had a little envelope in her gloved hand. "Would you mail this for me, sir? It's important."

"No trouble at all." He accepted the envelope, and the task. "Can I help you with anything else, ma'am?" he blurted past his mustache, breaking his silent promise to mind his own business.

"Just that," she replied, smiling. Rather than reassuring, her smile put him on edge—it looked like a pair of fishhooks had twitched the corners up. Before the conductor could think of anything else to say, the woman turned, and walked towards the end of the road, to the long stretch of lonely shore.

There was no one waiting on the platform, just as Humphrey had suspected. He blew a breath past his lips, and consulted his pocket watch as Simon stepped into the car. Both hands pointed to twelve, on the dot. Another perfectly timed shift.

Humphrey squinted at the envelope, tilting it towards the light of the streetcar. The address was bold, addressed to—the city of San Francisco. He frowned. No name, no number, or even a street. The postmaster wouldn't do a thing with the letter. The young lady must have forgotten to address it, but when Humphrey looked up, searching the darkness for the lone passenger, she was gone. The street was empty.

Humphrey glanced at the envelope again. Muttering under his breath about redheads and their strange temperaments, he opened the envelope, hoping he wasn't going to get arrested. It held a neatly folded slip of paper. When he unfolded the slip, a single line of elegant words ran its width. A cold prickle pierced Humphrey's neck and crawled down his spine, producing a shiver that no San Franciscan wind had yet managed.