Hell's Belle

by Shannah Biondine

  "Follow that gentleman there in the carriage," he ordered, climbing in.

  "You mean the cowboy in the buggy?"

  Marquardt shot him a look warning that by now they should be used to these American ruffians translating the King's English into vernacular neither particularly understood. "Indeed, if you are referring to the large man in the two-wheeled conveyance."

  "That's what I said. The buggy."

  * * *

  Del almost couldn't believe his persistence had finally paid off. There stood Caramel, just as the stranger predicted. And if the rest of what he'd been told about Miss Adeline's place was anything close to accurate, Del couldn't imagine how Lucius Bell had ended up there.

  Whereas in Wadsworth Del had set tongues to wagging for a month just by having a couple whores at once with some chocolate syrup, that kind of foolery would be nothing here. What constituted high times or wild doings in Wadsworth wouldn't raise an eyebrow around this place. Miss Adeline's clientele would find Del's romp deadly dull.

  The train butch had confided that Miss Adeline had come from the Barbary Coast, with a flotilla of exotic fallen angels. She'd established a house of the darkest repute, frequented by jaded politicos and wealthy businessmen. A place where a man paid a woman to do things his wife would die in mortification even hearing about. A place where masculine amusements cost a lot more than a shop clerk should have available. Unless, of course, if said clerk had dipped into the shop's till or cheated at poker…or in some other way had scraped up more money than his regular activities should provide.

  Del drove into the alley along the back of the row of houses and found a place to tie up the horse and buggy. He strolled around the block, taking in the scenery. These were large stately homes. Which meant any of them could be the house of ill fame—with lots of bedrooms, plenty of parlor space, and room for multiple gaming tables.

  This block was nothing like the raucous, music spewing, rough planking enclave of Wadsworth's virgin alley. Nor that of most other western towns. Most saloons were little more than wood siding and batwing doors, with a cheap painted sign out front and a long hitching rail. Whiskey and dust.

  Del watched a cab slow and pull to the side several houses down. The first man to step down wore a bowler hat and traveling suit. His companion was similarly garbed. Now those two, Del thought, belonged here. They were in their forties or perhaps early fifties, with big side whiskers and fancy clothes. They could afford women who rented by the hour. They could afford the plush rugs, high-stakes poker tables, and watered-down gin. How the hell did Lucius Bell figure he fit with the likes of them?

  Del grew increasingly certain Lucius had rushed Twila out of town the other day because he'd stolen the emporium operating funds. If the damned fool thought to have Twila blamed for that thievery, he'd better think again. Broken dishes or spilled tea was one thing. Wasn't unusual for a boy to get into mischief, then blame it on some hapless scapegoat. Heck, Del and Jordy had torn up half of Wadsworth growing up, and rarely took the strap they had coming.

  Jordy…

  Maybe that's why his neck snapped. Maybe all the wrong Zoyer had done finally caught up with him in that one, fateful instant. It had been merciless justice. Swift and final. Gave a man pause just reflecting on that possibility.

  But Del walked on, his focus now turned to Caramel and the porch of the house he'd come to visit. A burly man sat on a bench. The house guard dog, Del knew. This was a fancy place. No one got inside if he looked like he couldn't pay, or looked to be itching for a brawl or looking to organize a temperance rally.

  Del could get past this watchdog. Maybe even charm some information from the bardog as he stood sipping whiskey at the bar inside. Del could get in, because he was the kind of prospective customer saloons and bordellos were invented for. Only he had an unfamiliar, sudden aversion to going inside.

  Maybe it was the very grandeur of the whorehouse. Too rich for even his own foolish blood.

  "Hey boy," he replied when Caramel whickered in recognition. He stood next to the rail, stroking the horse's mane, sensing that any second now the burly guard would amble over and inquire as to Del's business. Not that horse thieves often resorted to taking nags in front of witnesses, but it was his job to ask.

  Del almost wished the fellow would, so he could give the idiotic answer he deserved.

  That thought brought an awareness that Del was secretly damned angry. The slow, long-burning kind of pissed that might flare up in an instant and be misdirected. He didn't need a fistfight with a watchdog. Sometimes men like that kept stout hunks of wood or even handguns within easy reach. Del hadn't worn his pistol to come after Twila and Lucius. And in fairness, Lucius was one of the people Del was furious with. Lucius, and Jordan, and Betty Lee.

  Del couldn't hit a woman, and Jordy was dead. But young Lucius was alive and showing off inside this brothel. He should catch any punches to be thrown, not the guard paid to watch the front door.

  "Fine animal," came a deep voice. "Young pup who rode up on him doesn't look man enough for the saddle. Reckon you do, though. Your gelding, ain't he?"

  Del turned to the guard with growing respect. The man knew horses. "Yeah. Loaned him to my wife's cousin. No direct kin to me, thank Jesus. The young fool still inside?"

  A nod.

  "He was supposed to meet us at a home across town yesterday. She's been worried sick about him, and I've spent the whole afternoon hunting him and my horse. Ought to tan his hide for scaring my wife like that."

  The guard snapped one suspender. "Nope. You ought to take your horse and move along. Got an ordinance here about horses remaining on the public street overnight. Anybody sees fit to file a complaint, I'll have Johnny Law coming around. And neither of us needs that, do we?"

  Del grinned. Ordinance about horses on the street, his ass! But if he left young Lucius to make his own way home to Wadsworth, wasn't that just what he deserved? After running off without so much as a word, gambling or whoring his father's money, making Twila half sick with concern?

  Some dim part of Del's mind choked on that last part. Twila wasn't really all that worried about the boy. But he bet she'd be upset if she knew the truth, and he didn't need her upset. She was already a little green due to carrying, probably had too much fancy food and excitement at the social. She definitely didn't need any more hubbub. In fact, Del knew she needed exactly what he did—to get home to their cozy house with its big new hearth and just forget everyone else existed for a spell.

  "Well, we don't want any accusations that you allowed someone to steal this fine animal, so if you'd get me a pencil and some paper, I'll scribble out a note for my cousin-in-law. I'd go inside and talk to him direct, but—"

  "Your wife wouldn't much like it."

  Horses and people. This fellow as a genius. Who also produced a wrinkled scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil out of a grimy pants pocket.

  Del quickly wrote that he and Twila had taken Caramel and were headed home. He hoped Lucius wouldn't be terribly inconvenienced having to take the train or hire a ride back. He scrawled his name at the bottom, then "Lucius" on the outside after folding the paper over. "It's been a pleasure meeting you," he told the watchman, meaning it.

  "Couldn't have met me," the man returned with a slow smile. "You were never here to Miss Addy's."

  No, Del realized as he swung up into the saddle and rode Caramel around to the alley. He never was at Miss Addy's. He'd visited a porch.

  Pretty remarkable.

  So was the fact that as much as he'd resented Betty Lee telling him he couldn't go to Minerva's for the weekly poker games, Twila never asked about the place. Never so much as mentioned it, even when one time the boys kind of blurted out something off color at the supper table. He'd never gone back to Minerva's after the infamous whipped cream extravaganza. Hadn't played poker with his men in a bawdy house since he got hitched.

  Del tied Caramel's reins to the back of the buggy and stared up at the sky, wondering at the
cold truth he'd just come face to face with. Twila never forbade him to do anything. Had never said he couldn't go off with his men and play cards if he wanted. Somehow he'd limited himself. And he didn't resent it. He accepted it, knew he'd done it because he'd sensed a change approaching, a shift that had been coming on even before Jordy's sudden demise, accelerated after it.

  Del didn't want to play poker and wisecrack with whores anymore. He didn't care to spend his leisure time that way. He spent his evenings and days off with Twila. Reading or dozing in the front room. Sometimes walking the edges of his property, sitting on the riverbank and dreaming. Funny, but he'd been wanting to take her fishing.

  That was maybe going to have to wait. He didn't need her puking the first time he threaded a worm on a hook.

  He set out for the Vogel place, scanning the passing surroundings for shadows. He hadn't brought his pocket watch, either, but estimated it was now quite late in the afternoon. Maybe too late to set out for home. Could be Twila wouldn't feel up to a buggy ride and they'd be forced to stay over another night. Del frowned, hoping that wouldn't be the case. He'd dearly love to leave young Lucius stranded, not linger another night and give the whelp the chance to turn up on the Vogels' doorstep and save face.

  Del also admitted there was more to it than that. He wanted to go home to their place, cuddle, together on the settee by the hearth or under a pile of blankets in their warm bed, and tell her again how much he loved her. How proud he was to have married her, and how he looked forward to the bright future with their coming child. Pick her some wildflowers, maybe take a stab at silly poetry. Or hum aloud so they could dance together again—this time with Twila in her nightgown.

  For some reason, he had a particularly fond image in his mind. Of Twila's bare feet dancing alongside his in the light of the front room fire. She'd think he'd gone loco, and that was just fine. He was indeed crazy. In love with his bride.

  CHAPTER 17

  Lucius accepted the folded note, frowning as he carefully laid down his cards. "Just a second, gentlemen." He saw the terse words his new cousin-in-law had scratched out for him and shrugged. He threw the paper to the floor and took up his hand again—a straight. His rare streak of luck continued.

  So he really didn't care that Twila's husband had reclaimed the horse he'd left hitched out front. Or that the Mitchells were going home to Wadsworth without him. He'd be returning in a day or two, far better off than when he left there. Fletcher Bell would sit up and take notice of his son's talents then, by God.

  The man seated directly across from Lucius folded. The fellow to that one's right decided to raise. Lucius grinned and was anticipating how much higher he'd hike the stakes when the front door opened to admit Plague and Pestilence, the two Englishmen who'd been dogging Lucius. It couldn't be pure coincidence that they' turned up first in Wadsworth, and now in Sacramento. They'd obviously followed him…Dammit!

  He was mentally scrambling to figure out how to elude them when the madam intervened, her plump figure blocking the view the newcomers would have of Lucius' poker table. It was enough, just barely enough, to allow him to slink down in his chair and play out his hand, winning the pot once again.

  "You're doing terribly well for yourself tonight," one of the losers grumbled.

  "Well, I'd been losing all last week. I'm afraid I'll have to wish the rest of you good fortune and be on my way, though," Lucius replied, scooping up folded notes along with gold and silver coins. He slipped away from the gaming area toward the back exit, and was just exhaling the breath he'd been holding when the madam's burly "assistant" seized the back of his collar.

  "Hey! Front door's thataway. You wouldn't be trying to sneak out without paying for your drinks, now would ya?"

  "I paid for the rum I had earlier. And I was actually enjoying a bit of luck with the cards, but Miss Adeline has just taken up with a pair of no-accounts I recognize from…a previous association. I'd rather not get into another political debate with them…if you take my meaning."

  This seemed to flummox the big man. He chewed his cigar from one corner of his mouth across to the other. "You don't want to trade insults. That it?"

  Lucius nodded. "They'll start trouble if they catch sight of me."

  "Hmph. Still, Addy don't like men sneaking out the back. You'll need to go out the front entrance once they take seats at a table or go upstairs with some of the girls. Course now…" More cigar chewing and repositioning. Lucius wished the brute would hurry and reach whatever brilliant conclusion was coming. His collar was already half frayed.

  The big man's face split into an ugly grin. Considering that most of his teeth matched the coloration of the cigar, it could fairly be termed a ghastly grin. "Why don't you give me some of that money you won, and I'll make sure they goes upstairs with some girls?"

  Lucius would pay for those bounders to have some sport? Not very reasonable. But then he had his own flash of brilliance. He remembered the harlot back at home who'd showed him a few interesting variations to basic coitus. She'd described several others. Rather appalling activities. Which might indeed be worth paying for…He fished into his trouser pocket, grabbed some cash and shoved it at the big fellow.

  "Their names are Cookson and Marquardt. They're English blokes, with tastes that run to the, er…eccentric."

  The big man released Lucius' shirt collar as he began counting out the money. "We don't got that here. Candles and gas lights."

  "Not electric," Lucius clarified. Why had they ever left Omaha? "I meant strange."

  This brought no glimmer of recognition. Lucius took a deep breath. "You know, peculiar. The sort of things maybe not all the girls might be willing to do. Smothering, domination, discipline. Tools and accessories beyond a mattress."

  Now the brute grunted, nodding. "We got a couple gals who specialize in weird. Big busted thing, for the man who likes his pulse pounding and air cut off. A little slip of a gal who's got a whip up in her room, some wrist restraints. That's what they'd be after?"

  "My treat and a peaceable exit. They can enjoy themselves. I'll be on my way." Lucius dug in another pocket, pulled out a couple of ten-dollar gold pieces. "Here are two eagles, besides what I gave you there. Get them upstairs and occupied. Give me the high sign when the coast is clear, and I'll waltz out the front, pretty as the madam pleases."

  * * *

  "Cecil, isn't that the Bell imbecile over there?" Marquardt tried to nudge his friend, but it was difficult with the voluptuous proprietress sandwiched between them. "In the back hallway yonder. That him?"

  The woman heard and squinted, peering through the smoky gloom. "That's my man over there, Knutsen."

  "No, the other—that's odd."

  "What is?" Now Cookson seemed to realize a bit of nonsense was taking place. He strained to look over the madam's powdered white shoulder.

  "I thought I saw that young bounder with the large fellow. Perhaps he's gone to the privy round back, and—"

  "Addy! Listen to this!" At that very second, the large man she'd called Knutsen rushed over and began whispering excitedly in her ear.

  "I say," Cookson said. "Maybe we should just have a look about." He tried to pull free of the woman's restraining hand on his arm, but the madam would have none of it.

  She beamed at them both. "Oh, my! You gents are having a time of it at Miss Adeline's tonight! Your young friend has purchased an evening of decadent delight for you both. Now come along! We can't dawdle. It's all I can do to keep Melissandra and Tweak free for a couple of hours. They're that much in demand. But luck for you it's early."

  "Who are—wait a moment! I say, we're not—Cookson, do something!"

  But protesting was a complete waste of time, as the burly house employee began pushing them toward the staircase even as the madam began caterwauling at the top of her substantial lungs for a pair of harlots from abovestairs. Before Marquardt or Cookson could do anything to prevent it, they found themselves ushered to the long hallway at the top of the staircase.
Another muscular fellow joined the throng bustling them away from the ground floor gaming area.

  Melissandra turned out to be a most substantial woman, who quickly drew Cookson into her boudoir, slamming the door behind them. Marquardt tried to protest again to his benefactor that this kind of amusement truly was unnecessary, that they'd only come in for a couple of drinks. But the two men grabbed his arms and took him to the end of the hall. To the last little room, occupied by the girl they called Tweak.

  Once she'd had the men strip him and chain his wrists to the dangling manacles suspended from her ceiling, he found out how she'd earned her nickname. He howled and flinched and pleaded that there had been a terrible misunderstanding. She assured him that if anyone could "straighten things out," she could.

  Marquardt's nose burned, verifying his suspicions. Young Lucius Bell was responsible for this.And he had means…clearly enough means to pay for this ridiculous misadventure and then some. When they got out of here—several other parts of Marquardt's anatomy began stinging and burning, too. As though he were being flayed alive. He howled and Tweak just smiled and plied her little whip again, to a new spot.

  Damn that insolent snot, Bell! He'd regret his jolly jest. Oh, indeed he would! They'd find him again and make him pay. Dearly.

  * * *

  Twila roused and glanced around. Night was fast approaching. Del slowed the buggy and veered off the main roadway. "Where are you going?" she asked with a slight yawn.

  "Be dark soon. There's a logging camp up this path. Sold the men some horses couple years ago. We can probably borrow a tent or cabin for the night. Feeling any better?"

  Thank goodness it was already gloomy out and her face was obscured by the shadows of the buggy's top. Twila had never been much good at prevaricating. Especially with Del, the man who could look right through her.

  "I'm all right," she replied without gazing at him. He grunted and leaned forward as the trail narrowed.