Three San Francisco Homicides

Belle' Cora's Revenge -- Act 4: The Revenge

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Belle Cora’s Revenge

Act 4 --The Revenge

After hanging Charlie Cora and Jim Casey, the Vigilance Committee proceeded with their mission. One by one, all David Broderick's people were arrested, except for Ned McGowan, who fled San Francisco to an unknown destination. None were hung, though one committed suicide in jail because he so feared execution. The rest were banished, put on vessels bound for the Atlantic States. But when the moment came to act on Broderick himself, the Vigilance Committee balked.

The great man was invited in for questioning, purportedly about another person. But even this small move divided the Committee because a potent element had come to fear they had encroached too much on politics. Broderick had been the target of the Bulletin because he'd held such power in the City, yet he'd not committed any crimes. And the Committee slowly came to understand how much he had become a statewide figure. The rest of California would be outraged by his mere arrest, much less his possible conviction or, far worse, his execution by a patently illegal body. In fact, Broderick was likely to be elected U.S. Senator next year as the leader of those California Democrats that stood against the Southerners and slavery. So the Vigilance Committee quietly suggested Broderick leave the City to campaign throughout the state, and thereby drift beyond their jurisdiction.

The Committee lost its focus, but it couldn't find the gumption to dissolve. Then it found itself in trouble. The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of California, one David Terry, stabbed a Vigilance Committee officer with a Bowie knife to prevent him from arresting someone else. For weeks it seemed the man would die, placing the Committee in a most impossible position. By luck, the vigilante lived. But the prospect of being forced to try and maybe execute the state's supreme judicial officer so troubled the Committee’s leaders that they seized upon a citywide election to replace themselves with a reform party to run for legal offices.

The election was successful. The Vigilance Committee formally disbanded, and though legal city government resumed, that government was entirely composed of former vigilantes. The tidal wave receded, but it left behind a greatly altered San Francisco. The world that needed what Belle Cora used to offer in the way of social leadership had washed away. Men still needed women, but they no longer craved inclusion in Belle's universe or her lavish entertainments.

Belle had gone into seclusion after burying her husband. She turned the management of her establishment over to a trusted girl, who kept it open for the other women living there. Belle kept to her room. She rarely ate or slept. Through Charlie's first arrest and trial, his time in jail, and most of all, his shocking unexpected execution, she’d been hysterically intense. Now for an equivalent amount of time, she was depressed past all communication. She'd lost a lot of weight, her complexion had grown pallid, and she never went outdoors. She was obviously ill.

One day a doctor came to see one of the girls, and passing by Belle's room he heard her cough. The sound alarmed him and he knocked and offered to examine her. She made some effort to resist, but he insisted that he listen to her chest.

*  *  *

Belle at Charlie Cora's gravesite:

 "The doctor says I have consumption, Charlie. That I've run myself into the ground and now I'm dying. He told me if I want to even have a chance to live, I have to leave here for a warm, dry climate right away. He said to go down to Los Angeles. It might already be too late, but he's saying if I stay in San Francisco I'll be lucky if I last a year.

 "So it looks like I won't have much time to get revenge. At least it woke me from my stupor. I'm so sorry Charlie that I wasted all these months lying around!  But I'll make up for it, I promise! I've only got a little time and energy to play with before joining you. And if I use up too much energy at once, I'll just die sooner. So I've got to do this carefully.

 "But Charlie, I'm determined not to join you til I can bring you our revenge. I don't know what can possibly be good enough, and I don't know how to do it, but I do know it'll take a lot of money. The only thing that I can think of is to buy up information to destroy the reputations of the people who destroyed us. All those righteous businessmen have scandals that they're hiding. You always told me that, and I've heard many things myself. My girls have also heard a lot of things. But we need something big. The first thing is to get the money, 'cause my finances are really low. When I've got it, I'm pretty sure I can persuade some of these bastards to inform on their competitors. I want to turn these reptiles on each other."

*  *  *

Tom King in the Evening Bulletin:

Once our legislature, in an humiliating capitulation, elected David Broderick to represent us in the United States Senate, it was certain that the rats would venture back out of their holes.

The "Ubiquitous" Judge Ned McGowan, the notorious accomplice in the murder of the founder of this journal, has successfully resurfaced. After returning north from his apparent hiding place in Santa Barbara, he hasn't dared come back to San Francisco. But he managed to convince his friends in Sacramento to change the venue of his murder trial to Napa, where he's now holding court for his admirers. While we can still hold on to hope he'll be convicted, Ned has clearly won the upper hand. Our meager consolation is that, though he may escape the gallows, he will not pollute the streets of San Francisco anymore.

We cannot say the same about the equally notorious Belle Cora, for she has brazenly appeared back on our thoroughfares. After her purported husband was swung off and while the Vigilance Committee was in charge, she seemed to vanish from existence. But now she's back, though with a striking difference. No more catering to our refined elite, her doors are open to all men who show the dollar. No more fancy parties flowing with champagne and decorated by her beauties in their gorgeous gowns, giggling at the tipsy jokes of our top businessmen. Belle Cora's famous Pike Street parlor house is now a mere bordello, though to all appearances a highly profitable one. And in an obvious concession to her coarse origins in New Orleans, the lady is out advertising her reopening by circling the Plaza in an open barouche, surrounded by her laughing inmates. This is a comedown to be sure for someone who once postured as a duchess. And observers tell us that she's painting her once gorgeous face to hide the signs of aging and decay. So while we cannot celebrate her resurrection, we take comfort in the fact that both the lady and her business are both permanently past their primes.

*  *  *

Letter from Ned McGowan to Belle Cora:

Dearest Belle,

I presume you've heard of my acquittal. I've decided to remain in Sacramento because it's obvious I can't come back to San Francisco. People there might string me up right on the street. Some because they hate me and believe the lies about me, and some because they want me silenced so I can't expose the things I know about their past political behavior.

Which brings me to my point. I hear that you are out to get revenge upon these monsters, just as I am. I also hear that you are spending money to get compromising information on the stranglers that killed Charlie, the same men who have sought my life and chased me like a hunted animal. Together we could make a team.

My plan is now to start a newspaper. I'll publish all the dirt I can about the "purifiers." This alone will be ironical revenge on King of William and his brother because I'm sure the public will eat up my revelations just as much as they wolfed down the garbage that the Bulletin spewed out. If there's one that you learn from history it's that public sympathies are fickle. One day Robespierre is guillotining enemies in the name of public safety and the next day Robespierre is guillotined by people that so recently adored him. So I believe I have a chance to grab an audience, even in the City, though I'm sure they’ll try to confiscate my sheets.

But I'm very short of money. If you help me get this rolling we can work on it together. You have means to pay for information. My paper can provide the means to broadcast it, as you could never do yourself. And the paper can solicit information, especially if there's a promised cash reward. For any reasonable amount of money, a struggling San Francisco businessman will undermine competitors in any way he can.  Please let me know as soon as possible if this appeals to you, and if it does, please send me up at least a couple thousand dollars right away to buy a letterpress and type.

Your devoted admirer and friend,

Ned McGowan

*  *  *

Letter from Ned McGowan to Belle Cora:

My dear Belle,

Here's the latest issue of "Ubiquitous," containing all dirt we bought on Henry Bennett. Give me your opinion on the tone. I think it's hard enough, but you might well feel differently. I'm hoping he'll deny the charges publicly instead of just ignoring them, but he might not because he knows we can confirm them. Two men who used to work for him will give me affidavits that he caused that ship to founder in the harbor. That he pretended that the cargo had been lost to raise the price of flour, but had actually unloaded it the night before the "accident." The entire City paid the price. And read the part about him being in the group behind the Long Wharf shuffle.

This is a damn strong blow in my opinion, but I know it's not enough to satisfy you. And I know that Bennett was not personally involved in Charlie's murder. But I just might have come up with something big.

A man who recently came out from Washington called on me here in Sacramento with an astounding tale about Tom King. He swears it's true, and I promised him $5,000 dollars if he can confirm it to our satisfaction. So he's working on that now.

He says that Tom got into trouble back in Washington and lost his money in some swindle. This was a couple years ago. He abandoned his young wife without a word and came out here to find his brother, whom he knew had started up a paper. Brother James was definitely not pleased to see him, especially under the circumstances in which he left, presumably because it might embarrass his position as a moral censor.

This explains why he found Tom that job in the Collector's office and why he was willing to pay off the Collector with good notice in the Bulletin. No one understood before why he had done that. It also explains why they concealed that they were brothers, and also why big brother James became so outraged at Jim Casey for revealing it.

But get ready for the kicker. According to this gentleman, Tom’s wife was left completely broke and was being dunned for debts she didn't even know about. She started taking in some boarders, and then accepting women from the demimonde. Then finally she turned the place into a real bordello. She was born in Washington and many people knew her, so the business started taking off. All the while, no one knew what had become of Tom, though it was generally assumed he'd gone to California.

The Vigilance Committee was covered in the press Back East, and Tom King's name was recognized from copies of the Bulletin. This brought publicity to Mrs. King’s bordello, as visitors to Washington dropped in to meet the wife who’d been abandoned by a San Francisco vigilante.  When our informant came to California, he read a copy of our paper and he wondered if we'd pay him for his information, as it appeared that no one here was yet aware of it. He hasn't been here long enough to fully comprehend the impact of his revelations, but I offered him five thousand dollars because we cannot let this slip away.

He's gone to San Francisco to find other men from Washington who can corroborate his story. We need to be on absolutely solid ground before we print this. But in the hope it will pan out, please confirm that you will pay the full $5,000. And think about exactly how to play this information, because we may have finally harpooned our whale.

Best regards,

Ned

*  *  *

From Ned McGowan's newspaper, “The Ubiquitous":

Belle Cora to Reunite a Lonely Husband with his Wife

The Ubiquitous has learned that Thomas King, editor of the Daily Evening Bulletin, was forced to leave his wedded spouse behind in Washington when winds of circumstance persuaded him to sail for California suddenly. The poor lady was compelled by the resulting stress financially to open a bordello, which has since seen much success. Nonetheless, we all can share her shame in being forced to such a terrible expedient, so inconsistent with her nurturing and background. And the loss of her beloved husband, from whom she's not since heard a word, has surely never ceased to torture her.

Upon discovering this tragic situation, we approached the celebrated San Francisco beauty and proprietress Belle Cora, a woman who can sympathize with Mrs. King's sad plight in many ways. Belle has generously offered to relieve the poor abandoned lady's circumstance completely.

On next Friday's steamer down to Panama, Mrs. Cora will dispatch a lawyer bound for Washington with funds for Mrs. King to come to San Francisco. He'll also pay whatever she deems fair for giving up her lucrative bordello. In short, the lovely Belle will bear the cost of reuniting the divided spouses here in California where, between Tom's profits from the Bulletin and the ample compensation paid his wife, they should lack nothing to restore their wedded bliss.

Should Thomas wish to thank his fairy godmother for this blessed intervention, he is invited to Belle's well-known Pike Street home at any time to call upon his benefactress.

*  *  *

In Belle Cora's Pike Street mansion:

Belle:

I don't believe we've ever met.

Tom King:

No, we haven't, Mrs. Cora.

Belle:

Am I as devilish up close as you expected?

Tom King:

Please, ma'am. Let's stick to business.

Belle:

To be sure. I thought you came to thank me, but I guess that's not the case.

Tom King:

I have no idea if the story you are peddling is true.

Belle:

Then allow me to convince you. Here are copies of the affidavits (I believe that's what you call them) of three gentlemen, all recently arrived from Washington. There seems to me no doubt at all that it's your wife they're speaking of. The wife of Thomas King, brother of James King of William who went to California back in '48. Your family was well known, it seems. And no one can forget a name like King of William.

Tom King:

You may not believe me, but I was completely unaware of this.

Belle:

I certainly believe you. I gather that your wife has never heard from you, and had no idea how to reach you. So of course I'm not surprised you didn't know.

Tom King:

What exactly is your aim, madam?

Belle:

My aim? I believe I made it clear in Judge McGowan's paper. You see, I'm from an Irish family, quite devout. My uncle was a priest. When we were young he taught us that the message of Our Savior was returning good for evil. Charity for harm. Comfort for cruelty. That, he said, was all a child need understand about the gospel. You and your brother took my husband. Took his life. I've suffered terribly in losing him. In being alone. I feared that it would make me hard, and in my pain I turned to my religion. Prayer didn't help. But when I heard about your wife, I remembered what my uncle said. You killed my marriage. In return I'm going to bring yours back to life. You killed my husband. In return I'm going to bring your wife back to your arms. Good for evil. Very simple.

Tom King:

Very simple.

Belle:

You're not pleased?

Tom King:

I'll be plain. The other papers are already riding this and I can see they'll burn me down if Emily comes out here. Or even if she doesn't come, but just confirms the story. The other papers hate the Bulletin because my brother made it so successful and took their circulation and their advertising. They'll all be ganging up together to destroy me.

Belle:

I don't see what I can do about that, Mr. King. All I'm doing are good works so far as I can see. I'm not seeking reimbursement. I'm simply making you and Mrs. King a present of the cost of reuniting you. If there are business consequences for you in my doing this, I fear these must be your concern to deal with.

Tom King:

The Bulletin will be destroyed. I see that. I'm prepared to make an offer.

Belle:

I'm not looking for an offer, Mr. King. This is a simple act of charity. There's no business side to it at all. There couldn't be a business side because I'm dying.

Tom King:

Dying?

Belle:

In the not so distant future. But most certainly. My doctor says I can't last that much longer. I'm already much too sick to go on running this establishment. So that will end right now. In any case, I have no reason to consider any offer.

Tom King:

What if I went away?

Belle:

Went away? My God, what for? Don't you want to be united with your wife?

Tom King:

Please drop the pretense, Mrs. Cora. I see I'm facing checkmate. It's the only move I've got to play.

Belle:

What exactly are you saying, Mr. King? I'm not sure I follow you.

Tom King:

I'm saying that you've got me. If your lawyer goes to Washington, my wife will likely come to San Francisco. If she does, the other editors will make the Bulletin into a laughing stock and I'll lose every cent I've got. Right now I can sell it while it's still got circulation. I'll have money to leave California. That's what you're really after, isn't it?

Belle:

You're speaking to a dying woman, sir. The widow of a dead man. I'm incapable of motives beyond doing some good works before I pass away.

Tom King:

Let's say I sell out for whatever I can get right now and leave on the next steamer. If I've sold by then, and I'm on board that steamer, will you agree to not send out your lawyer?

Belle:

You're asking me to give up my big chance to humiliate you? To show you up to all of California as a stinking hypocrite who mocked my bond with Charlie while abandoning his wedded wife? Who condemned me as a prostitute, while forcing his own wife into the demimonde? I can't believe you'd ever think I'd cut you any slack. You couldn't be that stupid. I've paid for this revenge with my own life. I might have lived if I had moved away to somewhere warmer, but I stayed here only to avenge my Charlie. I’ve never thought of saving my own life.

Tom King:

Okay. There's nothing to be said. I'll be on that steamship, come what may. And I'm never coming back to California. If you choose to send your lawyer out, he'll see that I'm on board with him, and so he'll have to tell my wife that I'm no longer here in San Francisco. She'll have no reason to come out. If she does, well, I won't be here. Do what you will, but I'll be gone before I lose a chance to sell the paper.

Belle:

If that's your plan, I can do nothing to prevent you. You can expect the other papers to make something of you fleeing from reunion with your wife. A reunion in the flesh. I can only dream that I'll be reunited with my husband in the spirit. 

*  *  *

Belle at Charlie Cora's grave:

"He sold the Bulletin to someone he owed money to. I don't know how much he got. Then he sailed off on the steamer like he said he would. He was right. I wouldn’t bother sending anybody out if he wasn't going to be here. But the other papers have all had a field day because it's clear the story of his wife was true or else he wouldn't have sold out and fled the coast all of a sudden. He's been made into a monkey.

"So I've managed to get us the revenge I promised, sweetheart. Nothing can be good enough, but this is all that I could manage with the time I had. Now I want to be with you.

"But Charlie, I have to tell you something. Sometimes I'm afraid that you're not anywhere at all. That maybe, when I'm talking to you now, I'm only talking to myself. That when I die, which will be pretty soon, I won't be anywhere. We'll both be nothing.

"Visiting your grave has been my only comfort because I can pretend you're here. Or pretend that I can talk to you from here and that you hear me. Maybe even that you see me. If you can't see me then at least look at those darkening pink clouds, floating on the sunset, and see love bleeding from my heart. Every minute they turn grayer, like a charcoal burning out. The sky turns black and soon we won't see any clouds at all. But then the stars come out. The little lights up in the heavens. I don't think they ever die, so maybe there's some hope for us. Our souls have suffered too much pain to disappear.

"But I guess that I would rather just be nothing than alone. If both of us are nothing, then at least we'll be together in some way.

"So Charlie, if I never make it back here to your gravesite -- because I really am too sick now to go out  -- I'll try hard to hold on to your memory for every day I can. I'll remember how you looked when I first met you. How you smiled at me and looked me over, and how excited I felt then. 'Cause I was just a girl. When I die, my memories will disappear forever, and no one will remember you the way that I do. But I suppose that's for the best, because I’m the only person who deserves those memories.”

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