Tales From Drysdale House (1) The Master Returns

 

Tales of Drysdale House.

( This is just a reminder that I have invented whole parts of San Francisco to suit my fictional purposes. The Barbary coast and its wild past of brothels, crooked casinos, female slavery, and shanghaied sailors is not fictional)

The Master Returns

The Architectural San Francisco tour group got off the San Francisco Cable Car at the end of the line and gathered her charges.

“Welcome to McMurtry and Hathaway, the start of our tour. We shall do a quick climb up to Drysdale Avenue, or Drysdale Circle as that section is sometimes called to look at some of the Gilded Age Homes, then back down Mercado Street to look at the pre-earthquake Hathaway Business District. We are in front of the Hathaway Building, built in 1897 and recently restored. It looks much as it did in 1897 except for the ghastly Starbucks on the corner here.”

Mrs Salisbury led the way up the steep hill followed by the group of about a dozen tourists. Ms Winchester, a high school teacher working for Architectural San Francisco as a tour guide as a summer job brought up the year. The group climbed for a block; at some points there were stairs built into the sidewalk. To their left, there was a twelve foot brick wall which extended from the end of the Hathaway Building, a five story brick and stone structure.  Mrs Salisbury stopped at the corner. She pointed across the street and spoke to the group.

“As you can see, the Hathaway Business District with its turn of the century architecture ends abruptly here, and an upscale residential area begins.”

“Notice the Victorian three story wooden residences in the ‘Painted Lady’ style Like most of the structures on this particular hill of San Francisco they survived the earthquake of 1905 and the subsequent fires. This area was developed by the Drysdale and Hathaway Bank and its associated companies. Mr Drysdale and Mr Hathaway arrived in San Francisco in 1845, before the Gold Rush and were merchants and traders. With the Godl Strike in 1848, they were well positioned to aid, some would say, exploit, the miners of 1849 headed to and from the gold fields. These were the originally 49ers.”

A young man raised his hand. “Was this the Wild West? With gunfights and brothels and stuff?”

Mrs Salisbury answered. “It was certainly and wild and lawless time. Drysdale and Hathaway used armed guards to protect their valuable shipments. Those men were sometimes violent. It is a sad part of our city’s history that murder and robbery were frequent and the merchants would provide the miners and gamblers with alcohol and access to women of easy virtue. Those were different times, less enlightened, and we need not judge them by our own, higher standards.”

Ms Winchester came to the rescue of her older colleague. “This high wall to your left encloses the gardens of Drysdale House, one of the earliest and most elegant of the San Francisco mansions, easily the equal of any on Nob Hill. Because of their rough and ready beginnings, the Drysdale and Hathaway families were not welcome with those other rich folks of early San Francisco. The Hathaway Building-Drysdale House complex occupies two full city blocks and is protected as a cultural and historical area. The same young man raised his hand again. Ms Winchester, who was in her twenties and thirty years younger than the Senior Docent had trouble herself to learn the handsome young man ‘s name.

“Yes Nigel?”

“Is that the same as being a listed property in England?”

“Yes, it is.” Ms Winchester did not trouble herself to go into the nuances of the similarities and differences. “The Hathaway Building occupies about a third of a block, while Drysdale House is up at the top of the hill.” She pointed ahead another block to the top of the hill. The gardens, terraced on this steep hillside, run between the two. Due to the high walls, they are entirely private.”

Mrs Salisbury gathered the group together and the climb continued. At the top of the hill, the ground became more level, and a lovely park opened in front of them. Aournd the park were lovely residences, of some size and grandeur. Mrs Salisbury led them across the street.

“As you can see, except for a smaller area here, in front of Drysdale House, most of the park is fenced and is a private park owned and maintained by the residents of the area. This area is free for all citizens to use. And foreign visitors as well of course.”

Mrs Salisbury graciously inclined her head towards Nigel and his travelling companions Derek and Chloe. Anyone could see that they were students, and by their accents, English. Nigel was fair and handsome, Derek was dark and smoldering, and Chloe was very pretty. She seemed to resent the interest two girls in tight Oklahoma t-shirts took in Derek and Nigel.

Mrs Salisbury led them to the middle of block, in front of a white stone three story building with a mansard roof. She stood under a statue of a men in 19^th century uniform.

“This is a statue of General Fremont, the pathfinder. Fremont Park, where we are now, is named for him. Across the street from us is Drysdale House, built, unusually for San Francisco in a French Second Empire Style. It is now a consulate. The Main floor is especially elegant. Following the Earthquake (to San Franciscans, there is only one Earthquake), the interior was decorated in an American Arts and Crafts style. That is when the grand ball room, on your left was added.  There are two main corridors on the main floor. One runs from the Front door to the terrace overlooking the gardens. The other, which intersects with it, runs from the ballroom to the Porte Cochere at the right of the House as you are looking at it. There are two grand staircases where they meet. And that sadly, is all we know of the interior as it is a private residence.”

Ms Winchester spoke up. “There are the tunnels.”

Mrs Salisbury sounded exasperated. “Yes, Miss Winchester, there are the rumours of tunnels. A sort of tunnel was discovered in the business district during construction of some new building in the 1950s.” It was evident that Mrs Salisbury did not approve of new buildings.

“Some conjectured that these were the remains of tunnels connecting Drysdale House and the Hathaway Building with the waterfront for shipping. Most dismiss such claims.”

Ms Winchester would not be squelched. “The romance of the Barbary Coast! Thinking of the bars, the houses of ill-fame, opium, shanghaied sailors, white slavery! The Drysdale-Hathaway money had to come from somewhere, and there was a reason they weren’t allowed on Nob Hill.”

Mrs Salisbury preferred a more sanitized view of the past. “That can all be explained by honest trading and hard work. No need for fanciful stories.”

One of the Oklahoma girls asked, “What’s a Porte Cochere?” Her accent was surprisingly good.

Discussing architectural details were more to Mrs Salisbury’s taste.

“It is a door, an entrance really with a covered area under which coaches and now cars can drive up with the passengers being able to enter the house without being affected by inclement weather.”

“Yeah, the Tulsa Holiday Day has one of those.” The second Oklahoma girl was less sophisticated than her companion. The group moved on.

“The Porte Cochere is behind those gates, so we won’t be able to see it, it is only the front of the house that has these cast iron railings, the rest is concealed by the high brick walls.”

But the gates were open and a car stood under the Porte Cochere. Mrs Salisbury quicky snapped some pictures with her phone. It was only the younger members of the group at the end of the gaggle that saw what happened next. As they walked past, a naked woman came out and collected luggage from the trunk of the car and took it into the house.

The more sophisticated of the two Oklahoma girls assured the other, “I am sure we did not see what we thought we saw. They dress differently here in San Franciso.”

She gave Nigel a cheeky wink as she hurried her friend past the open gate.

Nigel whispered to Derek, “I would like to see a lot more of what we didn’t see.”

Chloe nudged him in the ribs, “Hush you.”

As they followed the group, Chloe pointed to a paperback that was shoved in one of the side pockets of Nigel’s cargo shorts. For his trip to America, he had decided to dress like his idea of an American.

“That Barbary Coast sounds like that city in that nasty book you are reading.”

The cover of the book had a picture of a great galley running towards the wind with a woman hanging secured from the prow.

“Oh, are you interested in that kind of city?”

Chloe denied any interest. Nice girls were not interested in that kind of book and certainly did not have dreams of being taken to such a place. They certainly did not sneak the book and read it while their boyfriend was in the shower or running an errand.

The group turned the corner and continued down Mercado Street back to Hathaway Avenue. Mercado to Hathaway was much like McMurtry had been. Residential for a block and then commercial. The commercial building across Mercado street from the Hathaway took up a whole block.

“But it is not as big as it seems; it is hollow, the centre is a loading area. The building was constructed before electric lighting was common, the light from the windows in the hollow center gave illumination to work by. If you look by the arched entrance into the hollow center, you will see the famous Scaramouche Restaurant run by Chef Sabitini.”

 They stopped for tea at a shoppe in the Hathaway Building at the corner of Hathaway and Mercado. Chloe sipped her tea and daydreamed about Port Kar. They then left to continue their tour of the old business district, and for now at least, out of the story.

The narrative of Slave Juli, a branded slave of Drysdale House.

Master is coming home. I have so longed for this. He has been away so long. When I was collecting the mail from Master Gerry Reiss to take back to the house, he told me to prepare for my Master’s return. I was so excited. My Master will return and take me in the furs. I am so excited. I am sure I dripped as I walked up the hill back to Drysdale House. The chip in my collar unlocked the door, of course I am not permitted to carry keys at all, or money past what I need for the cable car when I am sent on an errand.

Once I was sent on an errand, and I did not have enough money to complete a purchase Master demanded, and I had to convince the man at the counter to ‘take it out in trade’. Such is the life of a slavegirl!

But Master is coming back. I put two bottles of his favorite beer in the small concealed refrigerator in his Library, and some cheeses and snacks. When the time for his arrival was approaching, I took the two items I had been sewing by hand and took them with me to the foot of the grand staircases where the two main corridors meet. I was not sure which door we would come in by, so I knelt where I could see both doors: the main front door and the side door by the Porte Cochere.

I hoped my two garments would this time pass muster. Master insisted that I must sew any garments I will be permitted in the house. The problem is that he demands hand-sewing and I never learned to do that propertly. I have been practicing all the time he has been away on that dreary court case in Pittsburgh. I hope he approves these, not because I crave clothes, but because it will mean I have pleased him.

We kajirae are not like slaves in Harry Potter, if our masters give us clothes, it does not mean we are free. It means that master will allow us to wear clothes that like us, belong to him. He owns us, and he owns what we wear. We own nothing, not even our collars.

I hope Master comes home soon.

I hear a door opening! It is by the Porte Cochere. I run, with tiny steps, as I was taught are appropriate for a kajira. I clutch the clothes I have sewn. Just inside the door, Master is standing. I kneel at his feet, my hands on my thighs, my thighs opened muchly wide; my sewing in front of me. He looks at the clothes I have presented, a short tunic which covers my brand, which I can wear out of the house, and a scandalous camisk, short and open at the sides. He examines my stitching.

“Very good, you will be permitted these.”

“Thank you master.”

“Now fetch the luggage from the car. I have paid the Uber driver.”

“Which garment shall I wear, Master?”

“Must an order be repeated? Fetch the luggage as you are.”

“Yes, Master.” I hurry out the door, I do not want to keep the driver waiting. He is a free man.

The driver is standing by the car. He grins when he sees me. I am a naked girl, and men like to look at naked girls. He does not help me get the luggage out of the trunk. By the fact that I am naked, he can tell I am not due the courtesies given to a free woman. He stands close behind me as I bend over into the trunk to retrieve the suitcases. Slaves do not have the expectation of personal space that a free woman does. We have nothing, not even our own space. The driver touches me. Of course he does. I am a slave.

He does not help me carry the luggage. As I stagger to the door with my burden of my Master’s possessions, I see that the gates have been left open. I see people staring at me. Three girls and two men. One of the girls look scandalized. I keep moving towards the door and enter. The car drives off, and I hear the gate electric mechanism close behind him.

Narrative of Patrick Masters.

Juli’s welcome was all that any man could want. I will have to chastise her later though. The books in the Library, although she got them all unpacked, are not shelved in any particular order. All will have to be organized properly, but that is a task for another day, perhaps I will engage a professional librarian. The house needs cleaning too. I know it is a big house and she had many duties, but it is not up to the standard I desire. Although completing all her tasks was impossible, still she was not perfectly pleasing. That however, is for morning, for the night, I shall put her to a slavegirl’s main use which is in my bed. I will even let her remain in my room, sleeping in the basket at the foot of my bed, secured by a chain to her left ankle.

In the morning I received a packed from the Frick Family Lawyer, J Augustus Frick IV. It contained the main points of the ‘agreement’ forced on Vincent VanRijn by Wyandotte Frick. It is savage. In effect he is deprived of three quarters of his large fortune.

Three quarters of his fortune is hundreds of millions. He will still be rich, but he will not be among the very rich.

Wyandotte has arranged things very well.

1.     The lawsuit against Frick Steel will be dismissed with each side paying its own costs. This is the public part, it will not attract any attention.

2.     All of VanRijn’s western land holdings will be put into a new company based in the Bahamas called Dragonwyck Investments. Naming the company after VanRijn’s house in Northern California is just Wyandotte twisting the knife. VanRijn will lose his dream of being a big land baron like Ted Turner or Bill Gates.

3.     A very large sum of money is to be added to the investment vehicle.

4.     In a piece of misdirection, the law firm VanRijn hired in Pittsburgh, Barbara Quigley and associates are to be paid their fee in total, and even receive a bonus. This will set VanRijm’s two law firms against each other. It was Vansittart and Co, his usual counsel who messed up and accidentally gave us the ammunition to force this agreement, but this will raise suspicion and finger-pointing. VanRijn will suspect he was sold out by Quigley.

In a separate note, Augustus Frick explained some things that were not explicit in the Agreement. The Fricks will rapidly drain all the money out of Dragonwyck Investments into a separate account of their own. Soon the account will be empty, and not traceable to the Fricks or taxable. The Fricks will purchase the western lands at above market prices, this diverting any outside suspicion that they are involved in it in any way. All any investigator will see is that the Fricks purchased land from an investor at above market prices, so they could not be involved in Dragonwyck. When the money disappears, they will be above suspicion.

The other Gorean North American Families will not know about this increase in the Frick’s standing, and Wyandotte can continue working his way back onto the council without alarming any of them.

All in all, an elegant solution. I worry only that VanRijn might be planning some revenge. He has not been above violence in the past, and still had significant resources.