In the employ of wealthy men she found a role as an organizer of elaborate parties, with the service of beautiful females she always seemed to know how to procure. In the late ‘60s she operated a prosperous house of assignation where the Bonanza kings were often to be found: William Ralston, Darius Mills and William Sharon, as well as Thomas Bell, who had become a financier of considerable means. In 1869 she opened a Pleasure Palace at the junction of the Geneva and San Jose Roads called Geneva Cottage. Parties were limited to ten; the fee was $500. Financiers, politicians, bankers and mining kings visited Geneva Cottage for stag parties. A popular amusement was a game of Nymphs and Satyrs, with Nymphs shedding garments as they fled into the darkness of Geneva Cottage’s park, and aging Satyrs puffing in pursuit. There were rumors about harsh treatment of the girls, and at least one troublesome Nymph dropped from sight. Such rumors were not pursued by the police because of Mrs. Pleasant’s connections.
In the ‘70s she purchased a new “boardinghouse” at 920 Washington Street, where the opening revels were presided over by Governor Newton Booth and his Secretary of State, Drury Malone. William Sharon, William Ralston and Nathaniel McNair were on hand for the event.
Out of her party organization and procuring facilities, Mrs. Pleasant progressed to matchmaking. A beautiful young woman of her stable became engaged to, and later married, Thomas Bell. India Howard, who had been the chief ornament at Geneva Cottage, also married well. Another of Mammy Pleasant’s girls was Sarah Althea Hill, who took up residence in the Grand Hotel that was paid for by Senator Sharon. In the current trial of Sharon v. Sharon, Mrs. Pleasant is the chief witness for Miss Hill, or Mrs. Sharon, as the case may be.
In the early ‘70s Mrs. Pleasant held San Francisco real estate of considerable value and, advised by Thomas Bell, had also prospered in mining stocks. These were lost in the crash of the Bank of California in 1875. Many considered William Sharon responsible for the Bank debacle and Ralston’s suicide. Mammy Pleasant may blame her financial downfall on Senator Sharon, and her active participation in Sarah Althea Hill’s claim on the Sharon fortune may be motivated by revenge.
After the Bank crash Mrs. Pleasant moved into Thomas Bell’s mansion on Octavia Street as his “housekeeper” presumably under the direction of his wife, Teresa Bell, once one of the Geneva Cottage attractions.
Bierce didn’t seem much interested in what I had collected, staring out the window frowning. Probably he was disappointed that I had found no Railroad connection. The fact was that the Big Four seemed not to have participated in any of the Geneva Cottage revels presided over by Mammy Pleasant but remained faithful to their wives and husbanded their money.
“She knows who the Slasher is,” Bierce said. “But she does not see any ‘gain’ to helping us. But I will get it out of her!”
And he took the occasion to deliver a lecture concerning the usage of “shall” and “will,” as though he could not pass on a piece of my writing without commentary.
“In the first person a mere intention is indicated by ‘shall,’ ” he said. “I shall go. Whereas ‘will’ denotes some degree of compliance or determination. I will go—as if my going had been requested or forbidden. In the second and third person, ‘will’ merely forecasts, but ‘shall’ implies something of promise, permission or compulsion by the speaker.”
“We shall track the Slasher down,” I said.
“That is correct,” Bierce said.
I sat with Amelia Brittain in the pergola behind the Brittain house. Squares of sunlight fell through the interstices of the laths of the roof onto the table, the pitcher of iced tea, our glasses, my hat and Amelia’s hand, fingers spread on the table before her. She wore light blue with tricky sewn ridges of material that made little epaulets on her shoulders. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the smooth flesh of her neck. Her pink lips smiled at me. She had greeted me as her hero, but she seemed sad today.
Constable Riley, her day-guardian, sat on the stoop above us with his chair tilted back against the wall behind him, and his trousers stretched over his fat knees.
“Do you remember the clock in Vanity Fair?” Amelia asked.
I sipped iced tea. “Remind me.”
“In the Osbornes’ house there was a clock decorated with a brass grouping depicting the sacrifice of Iphigenia.”
“Sacrificed so the Greek fleet could set sail against Troy,” I said, to prove I knew my mythology.
“The daughter of Agamemnon,” Amelia said. It was as though she was assisting me with answers to the questions of an examination. “Because the winds were blowing the wrong way, preventing the fleet from sailing.
“In the novel the clock is tolling. Mr. Osborne is wearing a kind of military suiting, brass buttons and so on. Something is wrong. The daughters ask what is wrong. And one of them says, ‘The funds must be falling.’ ”
I didn’t remember.
“The winds were unfriendly,” Amelia said, watching me. “One of the daughters would have to be sacrificed.”
I was irritated that she should have read more into Vanity Fair than I had.
“Sacrificed?” I said.
“To a marriage for economic reasons. A girl’s girlhood ended before she is ready for it, because the funds are falling.”
She looked disappointed because I had had to be prompted.
I could feel my heart beating. “And the funds are falling?”
She plucked up her damp-glistening tumbler and cooled her cheek with it. She nodded.
I could hardly say it. “Beau McNair?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Poppa will not have that.”
“What does he have against Beau?”
“Beau reminds him of my uncle. My Father has a twin brother who is always off somewhere writing back for money. He’s a rake and a drunkard and charming. He’s in the Hawaiian Islands now. I don’t think Beau is like him at all.”
I didn’t care what her father had against Beau, but I cared that her face had been naked with relief when she had realized it could not have been Beau who attacked her on the porch, because he was in jail. I cared that she cared for Beau.
“Did you want to marry Beau?”
She smiled at me. “I was not ready for my girlhood to be ended.” She looked down at her hands spread on the tabletop, striped with sunlight.
“Who will you be required to marry, then?” I asked. I couldn’t believe that I was having this conversation with my True Love.
“Someone very wealthy. I don’t know yet.”
My jaws ached. “It is terrible,” I said. “It is medieval. It’s like the Middle Ages. It is a terrible thing to do to a—lovely young woman.”
“Oh, I think it is a comedy. Except when it happens to you it is not so comical.”
“Will you run away with me?”
She shook her head, smiling still. “Thank you, Tom.”
I made a business of picking up my own tumbler, and examining the contents and sipping the sweet tea. On the stoop Constable Riley sat sweating in the sun, gazing into the distance.
“Do you love me?” she whispered.
I closed my eyes. “I thought you were my True Love. I’ve never—” I stopped myself.
“It’s not the way it should be,” she said. “You saved me from the Minotaur, so the king should give you my hand. But the funds are falling.”