That reminded him of the planned trip to Madam Henrietta's parlor house tonight. Celia would be making her first contact, her first visit to the place where the trouble seemed to be centered.
Landrum hoped that everything went well.
Considering the way things usually went for Powell's Army, in this case good luck might well mean that nobody would get killed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Celia Louise Burnett felt her heart fluttering as she stepped down from the carriage she had hired to bring her to Henrietta's. She was nervous, but she was determined to swallow her anxiety and proceed with the mission as planned.
"Are you sure this is where you wanted to go, miss?" the carriage's driver asked as he leaned over from his seat.
"Yes, I'm sure," Celia replied, her voice steadier than she really felt. She reached inside her bag and brought out a bill. Handing it up to the driver, she asked, "How difficult is it to find a carriage for hire along this street at night?"
The man laughed shortly. "On this block, not hard at all, lady. I'm probably doing myself out of some extra money by telling you that, but there's no need to hire me to wait, if that's what you're getting at."
"Thank you. That is exactly what I was getting at."
She passed another bill up to him. "I'd like for you to wait anyway."
The driver took the money and grinned down at her in the light of a nearby streetlamp. "Much obliged, miss. I'll be out here when you're ready to leave."
Celia nodded and turned away from the carriage.
The house was large and well lit, sitting behind a tall fence and a big yard on a broad street lined with trees. This was a highly respectable neighborhood, and Celia's destination looked more like the sort of mansion a wealthy businessman would build for his wife, rather than the most expensive and exclusive house of pleasure in the city.
The driver had been very dubious when she had hired his carriage in front of the hotel and told him where she was going. She had been forced to reassure him several times that she knew what she was doing and knew what kind of place Henrietta's was.
"All right, miss," he had finally said. "It's just that I don't recollect ever taking anyone except gentlemen there."
"Then I'm an exception to the rule," Celia had told him. It was only after she was settled in the carriage that she had blushed with the sudden realization the driver might think she was the sort of warped woman who was interested in other females.
Of course, she couldn't very well tell him that she was visiting Henrietta's to inquire about the possibility of employment. She didn't have to tell him anything. It was none of his business, and she shouldn't feel compelled to explain herself.
Now that she was here, there was nothing left to do but square her shoulders and go on in.
The gate in the fence was unlocked. She opened it and went through it into the yard. A walk paved with stones led up to the house, which loomed large in the early evening shadows. It had several stories, and a long veranda ran along the entire front of it.
Celia went up several steps onto the veranda. A lantern hung over the double doors leading into the house. The doors were thick panels of wood on the bottom, ornately engraved glass on the top. Such doors had to be expensive and were probably shipped out from the East somewhere.
Celia was just reaching out to grasp the highly polished brass knob of the right-hand door when it abruptly swung open. A man started through it, heading out, and nearly barged right into her. Celia stepped back quickly and could not stifle a gasp of surprise.
The man stopped in his tracks, equally shocked that he had nearly run into a very attractive young redhead. As he settled a fancy bowler hat on his carefully barbered head, a confident smile stretched across his wide face.
"Well, well, well," he boomed. "What have we here? My sincerest apologies, my dear. I didn't mean to nearly trample you like a bull buffalo!"
Celia smiled weakly. "That's quite all right, sir. I should have been more careful about watching where I'm going."
"Not that a collision would have been entirely unpleasant, eh?" the man smirked. "Are you one of Madam Henrietta's new employees?"
Celia forced her smile to become saucier. "I hope to be," she said bluntly.
The man moved to take her arm. "Well, come in, come in. Henrietta and I are old friends. In apology for nearly running you down, I shall give you my personal recommendation. How's that?"
"Why, thank you, sir." Celia wanted to shrink from the man's touch, but she controlled the impulse.
"Of course," the man said, lowering his voice and leaning closer to her so that his arm pressed against the side of her breast, "I shall want to confirm for myself later on that my recommendation was warranted."
"Of course," Celia murmured.
What would Amos Powell think of her now, Celia wondered. His orders had specifically said that she was not to degrade herself, and here she was making arrangements to sell her favors later on to a perfect stranger. She didn't intend to follow through on the situation, but still, Amos would probably be scandalized. She knew Preston Fox would be, despite the fact that he himself had become romantically involved with a prostitute on their last mission.
"My name is Warren Judson," the man in the bowler hat was saying to her now as they entered the building. He swept the hat back off and led Celia into a foyer. Two large men in expensive suits stood there.
"Back so soon, Mr. Judson?" one of them asked. Neither of the men looked overly bright, but they exuded strength. No doubt their job was to greet guests and keep the riffraff out.
"This young lady and I have some business to discuss with Madam LaBoeuf," Judson said. "I assume she is up in her suite?"
"Yes, sir," the other doorman answered. He, like his companion, was staring curiously at Celia. "If you and the young lady would care to wait at the bar, I'll inform Madam that you wish to see her."
"Thank you, Carl," Judson said solemnly. To Celia, he said, "Come along, my dear."
As they left the foyer and entered a large parlor, Celia reflected that she had been lucky to have almost run into Judson. The man was obviously important and wielded some influence here, and with his assistance she was going to be able to see Madam Henrietta almost immediately.
The sights and sounds of the parlor were enough to take Celia's breath away and distract her thoughts from the plan she and the others had worked out.
The room was large and high-ceilinged, and sparkling crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the merrymakers who filled the parlor. There were high-backed armchairs and low, heavy sofas arranged around the room, and at the far end was an open space where several couples danced to the music provided by a group of musicians on a low bandstand.
There were more women than men in the room, but the mix was fairly even. The men were all prosperous-looking, sporting fine suits and pomaded hair. The women were all young and beautiful, dressed in stylish gowns with necklines that plunged daringly. Black waiters in tight red jackets circulated through the room bearing trays of drinks brought from a long mahogany bar on the other side of the parlor. An arched doorway led on into another room, this one full of tables where couples dined on food that looked delicious.
A pleasant mixture of conversation and laughter filled the air. The women were all smiling and laughing, Celia saw, evidently having the best time of their lives. Perhaps it was all a sham, but the men dancing and talking with the women didn't seem to mind. They gratefully accepted the pretense of elegance and glamour and romance.
And perhaps it was not all pretense. Madam Henrietta's looked like a much nicer place to ply this particular trade than any Celia had ever seen.
It was infinitely better than the pigpens of Dodge City and Fort Griffin. A girl could do much worse for herself out here on the frontier.
Warren Judson led the way across the crowded parlor to the bar. Celia felt herself the object of several stares along the way. The men in the room were looking at her in frank appreciation. Her suit
was cut much more modestly than the gowns worn by the inmates, but it did nothing to conceal her lush red hair, worn up on her head in an intricate pile of curls, on her equally impressive curves.
The women watching her were simply jealous, Celia told herself.
"Well, my dear, what would you like to drink?" Judson asked when they reached the bar.
Celia would have liked a glass of bourbon, but brandy was more in keeping with the image she was trying to project. "Perhaps some cognac," she said to Judson with a smile.
"Very good." He boomed the order to one of the red-jacketed bartenders, who brought two snifters of the liquor.
The glasses held more brandy than Celia really wanted. She knew she had to keep her wits about her this evening. But it would look strange if she did not drink, and she didn't want to draw any extra attention to herself.
She picked up the large snifter nearest her and raised it slowly. Judson lifted his and clinked it against hers. "To fortunate meetings," he said.
"To fortunate meetings," Celia echoed.
She sipped the brandy and let her eyes roam around the crowded room. She had seen no sign of Landrum Davis yet, and he had said he would be here tonight. In fact, she had seen him at the hotel earlier, and he had set out for Henrietta's first. He should have already been here.
Celia wondered suddenly if he was upstairs with one of the women. She had already seen several couples going up and down the broad, curving staircase that led to the upper floors. There seemed to be a steady traffic to that area of the house.
"Excellent brandy, eh?" Judson asked, breaking into Celia's train of thought.
"What? Oh, yes, indeed. Excellent."
That would be. just like Landrum, she thought. He was all business most of the time, but when he got a little too much to drink, or when he decided he was old and lonely, his professionalism slipped. When you got right down to it, for all their fancy dress and manners, these women were whores — and Landrum had a soft spot for whores.
Whether he was here or not, Celia would have to go through with her part of the operation. She was already on the verge of accomplishing her first goal; this was no time to worry or back out.
She suddenly felt Judson's big hand on her body. He had moved closer to her and put his snifter back on the bar, and now he had that hand on her back, pressing gently but insistently against her firm flesh. Instinctively, she stiffened.
"Madam Henrietta certainly knows how to make a man feel at home," he said softly. "You'd do well to remember that, my dear, if you wish to work for her." His tone was gently chiding.
Celia made herself nod and relax. "Yes. You're right, Mr. Judson."
"Call me Warren. And you haven't told me your name," he reminded her.
"Of course. I'm so forgetful. I'm Celia Burnett . . . Warren."
"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Celia Burnett." Judson's hand moved up her back toward her shoulders, the fingers moving in a sensuous massage. Suddenly, his fingers dipped down toward the flare of her hips. This time she managed not to flinch. The smile on her lips didn't waver.
If she had to let this man paw her to get the job done . . . Well, there were worse things. As she looked more closely at what was going on in the parlor on the long sofas, she saw that indeed worse things were going on right under her nose.
Suddenly, she spotted a familiar face. A lean man in a white coat was moving through the crowd. The last time she had. seen Oliver Blaine had been on the train coming into Denver the night before. Evidently the gambler had decided to stay in town for a while.
Celia hoped Blaine wouldn't notice her. He might speak to her, and she didn't want to have to explain to Judson or Madam Henrietta why she had been involved in a poker game and a shooting on the train. She was supposed to be a well-bred young lady who was unfortunately down on her luck at the moment. She didn't want the madam knowing that she was actually less innocent than she seemed.
Blaine moved on, taking a deck of cards from his pocket and riffling the pasteboards. He stopped and spoke to several men along the way, and a few of them joined him. Together, the small group went through the dining room and exited through a door in the far wall. Evidently Blaine was getting another game started.
A man came down the staircase alone. He wore a plain suit and had a thin face and pale hair. Round, rimless spectacles made his blue eyes seem larger than they really were. He wove through the crowd skillfully and came up to Judson and Celia.
"Good evening, Mr. Judson," the man said in a soft voice. "Madam LaBoeuf had a message that you wished to see her."
"That's right, Roland," Judson replied. He squeezed Celia's arm. "I want to introduce this young lady to her."
The man called Roland let his gaze play over Celia for an instant. His eyes were intense, and Celia felt as if he had seen everything there was to see about her in that brief glance.
For a split second, she had even felt naked under that gaze.
Then Roland nodded. "Yes, indeed," he said slowly. "I believe that Henrietta will certainly want to meet the young lady. If you'll come with me, please."
He preceded them across the room, moving with an easy grace. There was something slightly dangerous about him. Judson seemed massive and clumsy next to Roland's slim menace.
The three of them ascended the staircase. At the second-floor landing, Roland started down a long hall. The corridor was lined with oil paintings and reminded Celia more of a museum than a parlor house. Roland stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and rapped lightly on it.
"Come in," a female voice called from inside.
Roland opened the door and held it for Celia and Judson. Celia felt a momentary surge of trepidation. She wanted to cut and run and say the hell with Amos Powell and his assignments.
But then the professional within her took over, and she willed her steps to carry her into the room. Judson's firm grip on her arm made it impossible for her to do anything else.
She stepped into a room that was part office, part sitting room. A huge desk took up most of the space on the right side of the room, and a beautiful woman with brunette hair sat behind the desk.
The left side of the room was furnished with another of the long, low, heavy sofas, and a man in a blue uniform was sitting there, his attitude casual. He stiffened suddenly, sitting upright, and his jaw tightened as his eyes met Celia's.
She wondered, her head suddenly spinning dizzily, what Major Devlin Henry was doing here.
CHAPTER SIX
Madam Henrietta LaBoeuf laced slim fingers together and rested her chin on them, smiling slightly at Celia. To Judson, she said, "Why, Warren, who's your little friend? She's quite lovely."
Celia tried to keep her breathing under control as she forced her eyes away from Devlin's. Working as an undercover agent had given her plenty of opportunity to polish her natural acting skills, and she needed all of them now to cover up her surprise.
Judson said, "Henrietta, allow me to present Miss Celia Burnett. Celia, this is Madam Henrietta LaBoeuf."
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Celia," Henrietta said in her throaty voice. "What brings you to our little establishment?"
"I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am." Celia's voice was much stronger and calmer than she had expected it to be, giving the tightness of her throat and the state of her nerves. "I've heard a great deal about you."
Celia regretted her choice of words as Judson laughed boomingly. "And most of it true, I'll wager," he said heartily.
"I . . . I didn't mean — " Celia began haltingly.
Henrietta waved a beautifully manicured hand. "Don't worry about it, my dear. When one is something of a celebrity, one must get used to the fact that people talk. Now, why are you here?"
Celia glanced at Devlin, who had not spoken so far. He seemed to be totally absorbed in the pattern of the wallpaper. Celia sensed that he didn't want her saying anything about the fact that they knew each other.
That was fine with her. She had no idea why Devlin was here,
but whatever the reason, it was none of her business.
Abruptly, she realized that there might be a very good reason for him to be visiting Madam Henrietta. He might be here as a customer, of course.
For some reason, Celia felt a surge of resentment at that thought. It had never occurred to her that Devlin might be the kind of man who would patronize such an establishment. He was young and virile, though. Like all men, he would have needs that must be met.
But women had needs, too, and Celia realized she had begun thinking of Devlin Henry as the kind of man who might meet some of hers.
Henrietta was waiting for an answer to her question. Celia smiled again, and said, "I would like to discuss a business matter with you, ma'am. If I could talk to you in private . . ."
"Don't worry about the major, darling. He's an old friend. Aren't you, Devlin?"
"Of course," Devlin replied smoothly. He stood up and went on, "But I have to be leaving anyway. It was nice seeing you again, Henrietta." He took the hand she extended to him and lifted it to his lips for a moment. Then he turned to Celia, nodded, and left through the door, clutching his hat in his hands.
"Such a dear boy," Henrietta purred, gazing after him. She switched her attention back to Celia. "Now, Miss Burnett, I believe you were going to tell me why you've come to my house. Pay no mind to Warren here. He is an old and valued advisor, as well as a customer, and Roland is my right hand. He's privy to everything to do with the house. So you can speak in front of them."
"Very well." Celia felt better now that Devlin was gone. She was sure from the way he had acted that he had come to Madam Henrietta's as a customer. Since he had never been to Denver before, he must have known her from somewhere else and, hearing that she was in business here, looked her up to renew acquaintances. That clear in her mind, Celia went on, "I've come to see about the possibility of employment, ma'am."
Henrietta's smile became more smug. "That doesn't surprise me, Miss Burnett, but I must say I'm pleased. As soon as you came in I thought to myself that here was a lovely girl." Her voice became harder. "Just one thing before we continue this discussion. Don't call me ma'am. I'm not that much older than you, dear."
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