Why was he doing this? Cole asked himself. Simply because Annabel Lowell was a pretty girl with the most compelling eyes he had ever seen? Well, that was reason enough, he supposed, but he was convinced that wasn't his only motivation for helping her.
Perhaps it had something to do with her claim that she was a lady fireman. Not that he really believed that for a minute. As he had told her, the only lady fireman he had ever heard of was in New York City. Besides, that scandalous overall-like garment she wore wasn't like any kind of fireman's uniform he had ever seen. But clearly, she was interested in firefighting, and since it was one of his lifelong passions, it was only natural that he would be sympathetic to her.
Besides, she was clearly out of her head, and if he left her alone to wander unattended around San Francisco, there was no telling what sort of trouble she might get into. The city wasn't as wild and rowdy as it had been in the old Barbary Coast days, but there was still plenty of sin in the city by the bay. Why, in Chinatown alone—
Cole stopped that thought with a tiny shake of his head.
He didn't want to dwell on his troubles with Wing Ko and the old man's boo how doy. He had enough on his mind right now with the mysterious Miss Annabel Lowell . . .
He felt her stiffen beside him, and when he looked at her, he saw something very much like terror in her eyes. She had gone pale again, too. She was staring out the open side of the cable car, but when he looked where she was looking, he saw nothing that should have provoked such a reaction, only the crowded sidewalks along Market Street. Perhaps she had seen someone she knew, someone of whom she was afraid.
"Miss Lowell?" Cole said, leaning closer to her. "Miss Lowell, are you all right?"
A little shudder went through her, as if his words had broken a spell of some sort. She turned to look at him and said, "March sixth, 1906?"
So she was back to the business of the date again. "That's right," he told her.
She pointed to a building several blocks away. "That's the St. Francis Hotel, isn't it?"
"That's right," he said again, trying to remain patient.
"And it was built . . . how long ago?"
He had to stop and think. "About two years, I'd say."
She pointed to another building. "And that's the Palace Hotel?"
"Yes, it is. It was built in 1875, in case you're interested. I know because that's the year I was born, and my mother used to tell me that she'd rather have me than dance in the Great Court of the Palace Hotel." He smiled at the memory. His mother had died when he was ten years old, but his recollections of her were still quite clear. "Of course, she managed to do both."
Annabel didn't seem too interested in his reminiscing. She leaned closer to the window and started peering around again. "No signs of fire damage," he heard her mutter.
"Of course not," Cole said. "We have the best fire department in the world. We have to, because the city has been almost destroyed several times by blazes. There's nothing San Franciscans fear more." He frowned. "You'd know that if you really lived here, Miss Lowell."
She settled back against the seat and sighed. "I suppose I should tell you the truth, Mr. Brady," she said. "I've never been here before."
That was even more puzzling. "But you seem to know your way around, at least to a certain extent."
"I've been told a great deal about San Francisco and its history. One of my best friends knows everything there is to know about this city."
"Oh. I see." Cole looked around and was glad to see that they were nearly at their destination. This conversation showed every sign of becoming even more odd and awkward than it already was. "Here's Montgomery Street. I know there are good tailor shops along here. Perhaps there'll be some ladies' clothing stores, too."
He stood up as the cable car came to a stop at the corner. Taking Annabel's arm again, he helped her down the step at the rear of the car. They joined the throngs on the sidewalks in the heart of the city.
Cole stopped in front of an impressive building with the name Halliwell's engraved across its front. "I sometimes buy suits in here," he said. "Perhaps Edgar might suggest a place we can purchase some suitable clothing for you."
Annabel was still distracted. She nodded without seeming to pay much attention to what he was saying.
Cole led her inside and immediately was struck by how dark and musty the store was. Odd, he hadn't noticed that before. It was as if the introduction of Annabel in her strange, bright yellow clothes pointed to just how drab these surroundings really were.
Edgar, the chief tailor, bustled up to them. Cole could tell the little man was trying not to stare at Annabel as he said, "Mr. Brady! How good to see you again! What can we do for you today?"
"Hello, Edgar. I was wondering if you might be able to tell me where I could buy some clothes for my, ah, friend here."
"For the . . . young lady?"
"Yes," Cole said firmly. "This is Miss Lowell. She's a visitor to our fair city, and she finds herself in a rather distressing situation."