Stephan nodded.
Alden stood up, his hands trembling. “They were on my ship to San Francisco.” Back in Virginia, he’d waited too long to help Benjamin, but he wouldn’t make that same mistake with Persila’s life. “Where is Mr.Webb staying?”
“At a boardinghouse on Seventh Street.”
“If you’ll excuse me”—he stepped back—“I’m going to pay the Webbs a visit.”
Stephan stood up beside him. “I’m going with you.”
Alden eyed the man for a moment and then nodded. “First, I need to speak to the judge.”
He and Stephan found Judge Snyder walking between the oilcloth walls of a corridor, heading toward a back door.
“Excuse me, Your Honor,” Alden said. “I would like to request a retrial.”
“On what grounds?”
“Neither Persila nor Miss Labrie had proper representation during the first trial.”
The judge straightened his top hat. “Miss Labrie chose to represent herself.”
“Because she didn’t have time to secure an attorney.”
When he reached the door, the judge turned toward him. “Are you an attorney?”
He shifted his hat in his hands. “I attended Harvard Law School.”
“Have you passed the California bar?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Once you pass the bar, you can bring any case you want to my court.”
Alden stepped back. “I will do that,” he assured the man.
He and Stephan left the building to find the Webbs. If the courts wouldn’t protect Persila, they would have to find a way to do it themselves.
Chapter 32
Sacramento City
July 1854
All Isabelle wanted to do was escape into her bedchamber and pull the covers over her head, like she’d wanted to do after her son died. Persila was out there tonight with a man who hated her yet refused to let her go. It wasn’t about the money. It was about power—a power that refused to be satiated, no matter what Persila did to subdue it.
Instead of returning to the hotel, Mr.Payne and Stephan had gone to visit Mr.Webb. What they planned to do next, she didn’t know. She only prayed that Stephan would be safe. And Mr.Payne—she wasn’t sure what to think about that man.
He’d unnerved her this evening with his determination to help Persila. A slaveholder attempting to rescue a slave. It didn’t make sense.
Maybe her resolution not to trust him was about power for her too. Even if he feigned kindness, she wouldn’t give him or anyone else who owned slaves an ounce of power over her heart. She’d learned early never to trust a slave owner. No matter what Mr.Payne did, she couldn’t trust him either.
She’d expected to find Sing Ye and Isaac at the hotel when she returned, but she hadn’t anticipated Ross waiting for her in the kitchen. She hadn’t seen him or Fanny since they left her hotel, though she’d heard he used his gold to buy a boardinghouse about six blocks away.
Had he come to revel in her misery?
She didn’t invite him into her sitting room, choosing to speak with him in the front lobby while she sat behind her desk—above the vault that held the deed for the hotel and the money she needed to pay the judge.
He leaned against the counter. “I heard you’ve had a hard day.”
