by Jane Peart
A pale moon shed a milky sheen over the hotel grounds. It must be very late. There were no lights on in the main building.
It was then she saw something move outside the cottage. A shadowy figure standing under the palm tree at the end of the path. Or was it her imagination? Addie leaned on the sill and peered out. There was no breeze stirring, nothing moved. Was someone standing there? Instinctively she shrank back, afraid the light in the room behind her might have silhouetted her in the window frame making her visible to anyone lurking about.
Who was out there? A prowler? Burglars? An involuntary shiver passed through her. She pressed her arms tight against her body, cupping her elbows in her palms, and waited until the shuddering stopped. She had not yet recovered fully from the experience of the robbery. That's what made her so fearful, so easily frightened.
She looked again. Maybe it had been one of the hotel guests, restless, sleepless, out for a stroll on this moonlit night. Back to the window, she cautiously pulled aside the curtain and looked out again. A cloud moved across the moon momentarily blocking her view. When it passed, the place under the palm was empty. Slowly Addie let out her breath. It must have been a shadow, a trick of the moonlight.
Meantime the wind had risen slightly, blowing some refreshing cool air into the room. She still felt tired, unrested. She would get undressed, get into bed properly. Now that her headache was gone, perhaps she could sleep well.
Addie awakened suddenly, as if someone had shaken her. Gray light slithered through the slotted bands of the shutters. She sat up in bed, looking around, feeling as if there was something she should remember, something she should do.
She fell back against the pillows. Why did she feel so depressed? She'd had a troubling dream. Was it the dream that had bolted her so abruptly into wakefulness? She tried to recall it but couldn't. It had seemed so real. But now the details were blurred, confusing—events, people all so mixed up, she couldn't piece it together.
Lying there a minute longer she felt strangely disturbed. Something was different. Something out of place. Things were not quite the way they were last night when she had blown out her lamp.
Her gaze traveled the room to where she had draped her clothes over a chair the night before, too tired to hang them up, then to the window from where she thought she had seen someone outside. Had she opened the shutters? Left the curtains drawn? She couldn't remember.
Then she saw an envelope propped against the bureau mirror. Where had that come from? How had it gotten there? Had one of the maids slipped in and placed it there while Addie was still asleep?
Addie threw back the covers, got up, and went over to the bureau. Her name was written on the front of the envelope. Reaching to pick it up she saw a small suede bag behind it. She set the envelope aside. Her hands fumbled as she undid the leather drawstrings, opening it. When she saw what was inside, she gasped. She put her hand in and slowly drew out . . . her small gold watch, the cameo brooch, the garnet earrings, and, lastly, the narrow velvet box containing her mother's opal necklace and earring set!
Her heart thudded. She took up the envelope again, ran her fingernail under the flap, and opened it. She took out the letter inside and unfolded it. She had only seen that handwriting once, but now she recognized it. Suddenly her knees felt weak. She backed up to the bed, sat down on the edge, and began to read.
My dear Addie,
By the time you read this I will be far away, because I cannot come back. I have to go on—there are too many bridges I've burned behind me. My debts have mounted; even my tested methods of getting cash, when all else fails, have not been able to meet the amount I now need. Not enough to cover my enormous debts. Many would say I took too many risks, expanded too quickly. Now, I have to admit, they were mostly right. I have to relinquish the dreams I had for Calistoga and Silver Springs Resort.
I had no idea you would be on that stage. I would never have taken your jewelry except I didn't want to single you out from the rest of the passengers and so align you with me in any way.
At least Gentleman Jim is enough of one to return your family heirlooms.
In many ways I wish that our paths had crossed earlier in my life—but even when you were coming of age, I had already misspent my youth!
Believe me, I will always be glad for meeting you and coming to know you. I want you to know how much I valued your friendship and often wished it might be more. I never told you I loved you, but now that it cannot hurt either of us, I can. I don't claim to know much about love except that the only kind of love that lasts is unrequited love. So, I shall love you always.
I suspect your love lies elsewhere and with a more worthy man; I hope you will make the choice that will bring you great happiness in your life.
You have touched my life with sweetness and goodness, a radiance I can only admire and perhaps even envy—
When Addie finished reading, her hands holding the letter began to shake. Gentleman Jim? Brook was Gentleman Jim!
She never knew how long she sat there, stunned, holding the letter. Finally Addie stood up and began to dress. Her fingers moved numbly, fastening buttons, doing up her hair. She picked up her watch and smiled wanly to see that it was set and ticking—how like Brook to do that! The tiny hands pointed to a little past six in the morning. Mechanically she pinned her watch to her bodice.
The dining hall opened for breakfast at six for early risers. She decided to slip out of the cottage and go there to get some coffee. She threw a shawl over her shoulders, inched the door open, and went out. Brooding clouds hung in the clay-colored sky. Addie shuddered. What was she to do with what she knew?
In the dining hall, huddled at a corner table, she drank two cups of black coffee, hoping it would bring clarity to a mind muddled by disbelief. Addie was torn by her contradictory feelings. Half of her mind told her that Brook was Gentleman Jim; the other part argued it was impossible. She longed desperately for it not to be true. Little by little things began to add up: his wild spending, elaborate parties, his long absences. Finally she stopped denying the terrible truth.
Whom should she tell? Should she go to the sheriff? How would she explain her returned jewelry? Had the jewelry of any of the others been returned? When the waiter came to refill her cup, she waved him away. She must keep her nerve, be calm, be careful.
The dining room began to fill up with other hotel guests. With a start Addie realized an hour had gone by. She must get back to the cottage. Mrs. Amberly would be up by now, ready for her "logger" breakfast, impatient for Addie's arm to lean on as she made her way stiffly over to the dining hall. Hastily Addie rose and left. She was hurrying across the grounds when she heard Mrs. Amberly's shriek. Startled, she picked up her skirt and ran the rest of the way, dashed up the cottage steps and into the house.
Mrs. Amberly was standing in the hallway. When she saw Addie, her face turned a purplish-red, her eyes were bulging, her mouth hung open. One of the hotel maids stood by looking scared out of her wits.
Addie's first reaction was horror. Her eyes darted toward her open bedroom door. Addie felt her face get hot. Her cheeks burned, but her tone was ice cold. "What's going on? What were you doing in my room?"
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady," Mrs. Amberly said spitefully. "I don't think you'll be so high and mighty once the sheriff gets here. How do you account for this, pray tell?" Mrs. Amberly advanced toward Addie threateningly, shaking the jewelry bag left on Addie's bureau.
"Whatever the reason, Mrs. Amberly, you had no right to go into my room."
"I had every right to," Mrs. Amberly said savagely. "I waited and waited for you to come to help me get over for my breakfast, and when you didn't, I thought you might have overslept or something, so I knocked and knocked. When you didn't open the door, I thought you might be sick, so I did!" Mrs. Amberly lost all visible control. Her voice rose to a pitch. "And that's when I found these! How do you explain this, Miss Pride?"
Addie struggled for control, to keep he
r voice steady. "That happens to be my jewelry."
Mrs. Amberly's lips curled back in a snarl. "This is stolen property! And if you claim it's yours, you're no better than a thief—an accomplice to a gang of highway bandits!" she snarled with a venom that caused Addie to draw back.
By now Mrs. Amberly's voice was so loud that other guests, coming from their cottages and passing by on their way to the dining hall for breakfast, had stopped to see what all the ruckus was about.
As upset and angered as she was, Addie made two quick decisions. She would not try to defend herself. The woman was too far gone. And she would not betray Brook.
His note was safely hidden in the pocket of her skirt. However unjustified her action of invading Addie's privacy was, Mrs. Amberly's discovery had made disclosure on Addie's part unnecessary. Addie could protest ignorance of how the jewelry had gotten into her room. That much was the truth. How or when she had no idea. Was it Brook, or had he paid one of the employees to do it? Could it have been put there yesterday even when she was gone during the afternoon? Had she been too distracted over Louis's proposal to notice it? Or had someone with a key to the cottages slipped in silently while she slept and put the bag and note in her room?
She wouldn't lie. She would simply tell the facts as she knew them. But she would not volunteer any information. The jewelry had simply been returned. When or how, she did not know. She had no explanation.
Behind her she heard the rumble of murmuring among the people now crowding around the cottage. Then she became aware of shuffling behind her. She turned to see Louis pushing his way through to reach her. With him was the sheriff.
While Mrs. Amberly continued to shout accusations at her, the sheriff, accompanied by Louis, closed the front door upon the curious crowd and requested Addie and Mrs. Amberly to go with him into the cottage's small parlor. Here the tall, ruggedly built sheriff silenced Mrs. Amberly by saying, "Please, Ma'am, just hold your fire. Let's just have the facts," he said firmly. He listened patiently while Mrs. Amberly spouted off her furious charges. Without making any comment, he then halted her with a raised hand and turned to Addie. "Now, you, Miss Pride, please."
Louis stood behind Addie's chair as she recounted how she had found the jewelry that had been taken in the stagecoach robbery. During her account, although guiltily conscious of the note in her pocket, she did not mention it. Addie's father had been a lawyer, and Uncle Myles still practiced in a small, musty office where hardly any clients ever came, so Addie was somewhat familiar with the law. She realized that legally she could be charged with concealing evidence. But most of what Brook had written was personal. She could not turn it over to be read and misinterpreted by hostile eyes.
While pulling at his handlebar mustache, the sheriff kept his steely gaze upon her as he listened to her explanation. His expressionless face would have done justice to a poker player. It gave Addie no indication of his reaction, whether he believed her or not. When she finished he got to his feet and said, "I see no reason to suspect Miss Pride here with anything—collusion, conspiracy, or any of the things you've accused her of. This Gentleman Jim is known to be unpredictable and also known to have an eye for a pretty lady—as we can all see Miss Pride is. It's just like him to do something unexpected, like returning her jewelry—as some kind of compliment." The sheriff shook his head. "Nobody's yet figured out the fellow."
As he moved toward the door he spoke directly to Mrs. Amberly. "I know you're upset, Ma'am, but I assure you, we're going to bring this gang to justice. We're forming a posse, and we'll be searching the hills around here where they may be hiding out. Gentleman Jim's band—seems to have inside information. This coming Friday the vineyard's payroll comes through. They may be waiting to rob it. We have plans underway to trap the fellow, but, of course, I can't go into detail." His hand on the doorknob now, he turned for a final say. "Don't fret, ladies, we'll round him up and soon."
Dead silence followed the sheriff's departure. It seemed the session had left even Mrs. Amberly speechless. Her face had gone slack. She pushed herself up out of her chair. Her mouth worked like one of those comic rubber dolls children squeeze to change their expressions as though she wanted to say something more to Addie.
Perhaps to avoid another possible diatribe from Mrs. Amberly, Louis stepped over to the door and opened it for her. After giving Addie a scathing look, she left the room without a word. Addie listened tensely to her employer's shuffling footsteps go down the hall; then she heard the sullen slam of her bedroom door.
After a moment Addie stood up, hands clenched, heart thundering with rage. The anger she had suppressed before rushed up in her now. She looked at Louis expectantly. Why? For some possible explanation of why he had not risen to her defense. The woman to whom he had proposed marriage was accused of being an accomplice to a stagecoach robbery, and he said nothing! It seemed unnatural, to say the least. Did he have some reason? She waited, but when nothing happened she demanded, "Why didn't you say something, do something? You heard what she said about me!"
Louis met her outraged look with some surprise. "What could I say? The woman's upset; that's all." He shrugged. "A real tempest in a teapot, my dear Addie. It will all blow over—"
"But she accused me of being a thief, an accomplice to a stagecoach robbery! Don't you care?"
"Don't worry. No one would possibly believe her."
For a long minute, Addie stared at him in disbelief. What kind of man was he? Then suddenly she felt drained. She passed a hand across her forehead, swaying a little. "You'll have to excuse me, Louis, I'm not feeling very well. I can't go out with you today. Give my apology to Estelle."
With that Addie swept past him, out the parlor door and started down the hall.
"Addie, wait." He followed her. She paused outside her bedroom door. Louis's voice was apologetic. "My dear, please. Of course, I understand. Do rest. I know you're distraught, but it will pass—all of this—you'll see."
"Good-bye, Louis," she said stiffly.
"Addie—" He started to say something more, then, as though thinking better of it, finished lamely, "I—I'll stop by tomorrow."
Addie did not reply. She just went in her bedroom and shut the door. Once she was alone, Addie felt the weight of her secret press down upon her. Was Brook hiding somewhere in the hills, as the sheriff suspected? Would he then be hunted down by men with rifles like a wild animal or a fugitive? But wasn't that exactly what Brook was—a criminal? Robbing stagecoaches? Addie shook her head, it was so hard to comprehend. The dapper, elegant, fastidious Brook Stanton—with his immaculate linen, gold cuff links, and silk cravats—a common thief? Had he been so desperate for money? Or had it been some kind of crazy aberration of his personality? Acting out in reality some childish fantasy like children playing bandits or pirates?
Addie took out the note again and sat down on the edge of the bed to reread it. What she read between the lines was even more confusing than the words themselves. To think Brook had fallen in love with her but had been afraid to speak because of the double life he was leading! It was incredible.
Addie crumpled up the note. Perhaps she should destroy it? But would that incriminate her further if it became known that there was a note with the jewelry? Oh, dear God, give me light! If ever she needed wisdom it was now. What was the right thing to do?
Feeling frantic, she paced the small room, literally wringing her hands, torn by her contradictory feelings. Those vague suspicions that had puzzled her during the robbery seemed to be validated by the note.
Addie longed desperately for it not to be true. The Brook she knew seemed such an unlikely stagecoach robber. From the way the yellow journals and Wild West "penny dreadfuls" pictured stagecoach robbers, they were vicious outlaws, ruffians, bandits of the lowest kind, preying on helpless passengers—women and children. For the Brook who had impressed her with his fine clothes, his good manners, his quixotic personality, his familiarity with poetry and literature—surely he could not be the leader of a
band of stagecoach robbers.
Yet the very same traits attributed to the notorious Gentleman Jim could also fit Brook Stanton: flamboyant, dashing, risk-taking, a gambler.
Wearily, Addie sat down on her bed and leaned back against the pillows. She felt drained. Her brain was confused she could not even think anymore. Disjointed, inarticulate prayers sprang into her mind, but she could not even finish them. What should she do? What was going to happen? She felt overwhelmed. She wished she could go to sleep and wake up to find it had all been a nightmare!
Addie awoke with a jerk. She thought she had only lain down for a few minutes, but in spite of everything she had fallen asleep. But it had been an uneasy sleep, and she felt hot, fuzzy-headed, and unrested. She sat up, her pins had slipped out, and her loosened hair was tumbling down over her shoulders. Pushing it back with both hands she got stiffly to her feet.
She had just sloshed her face with water and was patting it dry when a tap came at her door.
"Yes, who is it?" she called.
"The maid, miss; you have a caller."
"I don't want to see anyone."
There was a pause, a murmur of voices, then another gentle rap.
"Addie, it's Freda, please let me in."
Addie hurried to the door, opened it and the two friends embraced.
"Oh, Freda, I'm glad you've come. You don't know—," began Addie, feeling a rush of tears stinging her eyes.
"I know. I heard. It's all over town," Freda said quietly, coming into the room and shutting the door.
Addie almost said, "About Brook?" but stopped before the words slipped out. She asked, "About me?"