“I’m not certain what you mean by that question,” Nathan said.
“I’m asking if you are not more concerned with what people will think to see me driving about by myself than with my safety.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Is it? I’m not so sure. It was brought home to me this morning that I am unlikely to be accepted by the matrons of Cripple Creek, regardless of my behavior.”
“What do you mean?” He stared at her, a frown between his hazel eyes.
Serena told him of meeting the mine owner’s wife on the road and the cut she had received.
“I am sorry if you were hurt by that woman’s behavior,” Nathan said, reasonably enough, “but that’s no reason to doubt my motives.”
“You are one of them, and I am an outsider. It’s never going to be any different.” To her horror, Serena felt tears rising to her eyes.
“Serena,” Nathan exclaimed, putting his napkin on the table and rising to come around the corner of the table toward her. “You’re upset. I didn’t realize I promise you things will change, but you can’t expect it to happen overnight. You must go out and meet people, give them time to know and love you, as I do. I promise you that within a year you will be the darling of Cripple Creek, admired and feted everywhere.”
He leaned over her chair, his hand on her shoulder, his thumb smoothing the creamy, blue-veined skin below her collarbone. Serena sent him a quick upward glance. “You are probably right,” she said on a tight-drawn breath. “I expect I’m being silly. I — I seem to be on edge tonight.”
“Understandable, I’m sure. You have been ill, and you overdid it today. We’ll have to take better care of you.”
“How can you say that? I’ve never been so cosseted and mollycoddled in my life.” Serena managed a smile as she tried for a light note.
“You know I would like to do more, much more.”
“Nathan, please,” Serena said, aware of the deepening timbre of his voice, the increasing pressure of his fingers on her shoulder.
“You know I want you I’ve made no secret of it. I promised not to try to influence you, or to rush you, but since then the situation has changed.”
He was speaking of Ward’s return. “Not — not really,” Serena said.
“I’m no fool, Serena. Today you drove into town, and tonight your nerves are overset. The reason is not hard to find.”
“I didn’t go into town to see Ward, if that’s what you are suggesting.” That much was true, as far as it went.
“Whether you are disturbed because you saw him, or because you did not, makes no difference. It’s plain he still has the power to cut up your peace. The best cure for that I know is to take you away from here. I have to travel up to Denver for a business meeting, and then east to New York. I’ll be gone quite a long while, even several weeks. The doctor tells me you are well, nearly normal. I want you to come with me, Serena.”
Ward had never asked her to go with him when he went away. He had been more intent on proving he could do without her than on worrying about her well-being. “I don’t know, Nathan,” she began.
“It won’t be a taxing journey. We will travel in my private railroad car in the greatest comfort—-”
Serena came to her feet so suddenly that she brushed the table, splashing wine from her glass onto the white cloth. As she stared down at the spreading red stain of the burgundy, the sickness of revulsion rose inside her. Blood, soaking into the dirt just as the wine soaked into the damask. Just as it had stained the brocade coverlet on the bed that night in Nathan’s private railroad car.
“Serena!” Nathan said, the dark glaze of pain in his eyes, evidence that he recognized the blunder he had made. Once, long ago, he had sent a basket of roast chicken and champagne to Ward and his lady friend aboard his private car, a lady friend who had occupied Ward’s rooms over the Eldorado longer than any other. “Serena, I—”
“No, please, Nathan,” Serena gasped, pushing away from the table, and from him. “I can’t. Really, I can’t!”
“Serena,” he called again, but she was gone in a whirl of skirts, running from the room.
The fire still burned under the marble mantel in Serena’s bedroom. She went toward it, dropping to her knees on the hearth rug, holding her shaking hands out to the blaze.
Poor Nathan. It wasn’t his fault. He had tried so hard. She wished she could make him happy. She didn’t mean to hurt him, but just now she could not help herself.
She was a murderess. It didn’t matter that the man had deserved to die; she had killed him, cut short his life. Thinking of Otto, of the way he had come after her, the things he had said, Serena had tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter, that he was little better than an animal, that he might even be the man who had killed the women on Myers Avenue. His huge hands, cruel in their strength, would have made it easy for him to strangle a woman, to leave her maimed and broken. There had not been a killing for some weeks now; still, if they stopped for good, she would know. If it was true, she might find justification for what she had done, and a measure of peace.
Peace. Peace of mind. That was what Nathan had offered her. She wished with sudden fervor that she could accept it. And yet, what kind of marriage would they have based on lies and deceit? She could tell him nothing, not that she had killed a man, not that she had seen Ward, not even that she had spoken to Consuelo. What kept her from it was not simply a lack of trust, or even fear of what he might do. As much as either of these was her dread of the judgment she would see in the stern lines of his thin face.
A sound caught at Serena’s attention. It was the clatter of hooves on the drive with the jingle of harness and the rattle of a rig. Pushing to her feet, Serena moved to the window. Drawing aside the curtain, she peered out.
The rig was the buckboard from the carriage house, the vehicle used for a runabout by the housekeeper when she went into town to shop, or the coachman when he met the train to pick up supplies for the house and outbuildings. Neither of those two was handling the reins now, however. It was Nathan who sat on the seat, sending his horses at a swift pace down the drive, sweeping beneath the stone arch on his way to Cripple Creek.
If there had been any doubt as to Nathan’s destination that night, it was soon dispelled. Late in the afternoon of the following day, Serena had a visitor. Mrs. Anson came to Serena where she sat in the sitting room, playing with Sean after giving him his bath before the fire and making him ready to be put to bed, she hoped for the night. Serena looked up from the baby, nestling against her breast with his eyelids irresistibly dropping over his gray-blue eyes.
“Yes, Mrs. Anson? What is it?”
“There is a person to see you, madam.”
A person. That did not sound good. Serena nodded at Mary, sitting on a stool nearby, her rapt face rosy with firelight as she watched Sean. Holding the sleepy baby out to her, Serena got to her feet. When the nursemaid had slipped from the room, Serena turned back to the housekeeper.
“What kind of person?”
“A woman of the streets, if you ask my opinion,” Mrs. Anson said with a sniff, her complexion reddening only slightly as she met Serena’s eyes. “A Spanish-looking female.”
“Oh.” Serena turned away, standing with her hand on the white marble mantel. “Show her in, if you please.”
“Yes, madam.” With her back stiff, the housekeeper left the room. In a few minutes she was back, ushering Consuelo into the sitting room.
“Tea, please, Mrs. Anson,” Serena said pleasantly, “and whatever you can find in the way of cakes.”
The older woman signified her understanding, and swinging sharply around, took herself away.
“Consuelo,” Serena said, holding out her hand, a smile curving her lips. “I’m so glad you came. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Nor was I,” Consuelo answered, moving forward, “That is remarkable, because I have long wanted to see the inside of this house.”
“Would you like a
tour? I will be happy to show it to you.” Serena started toward the door as she spoke.
“No, I’ve seen enough,” Consuelo reassured her hastily. “Some things it’s just as well not to know, and really, I haven’t the time.”
“Come and sit down, then.” Serena returned to the chair where she had been sitting, indicating a petit-point-covered Eastlake chair beside it.
“First, let me give you this.” Consuelo handed over a small package tied up in brown paper that she held in her hand, adding awkwardly, “It’s for the baby.”
“How thoughtful! Would you like to see him? I’ve just sent him up to bed, but Mary can bring him down again.”
“Another time, if you don’t mind, Serena. I would rather not stay long. To be honest with you, I would rather not have Nathan find me here.”
“Oh yes, I see.” Serena undid the paper on the gift quickly. It was a small spoon of sterling silver, the size just right for a baby’s tiny mouth. “How lovely, Consuelo. Thank you.”
“It was nothing.” Consuelo sat on the edge of her seat with her ankles crossed and her hands folded on the drawstring purse in her lap. Her sharp black gaze flicked over the tea gown of draped chiffon printed with lilacs that Serena wore with a pale-green cashmere shawl. Her own costume was her usual severe black. On her hair, dressed in a figure eight at the back of her head, was a flat little hat banded in crimson ribbon.
Serena put the spoon and its wrappings to one side. “We didn’t have time to say much to each other yesterday. How have you been? I see you have recovered from your fever.”
“As you see, I am well enough. I was never as ill as Nathan — pretended.”
It was an odd choice of words. Serena did not pursue it, however. “I have often wished that you had been home the night — that night. Do you know what I am speaking of?”
“Yes. I’ve been told,” Consuelo answered shortly. “I am sorry that I didn’t send you word that I was coming this afternoon, It was a sudden decision.”
“It wasn’t necessary,” Serena began.
“I am here not just to deliver my gift for your baby, but because Ward asked me to come. He wanted me to give this to you.” Pulling open her purse, Consuelo drew out an envelope, extending it to Serena.
“Ward?” The envelope was stiff, but thin, containing only a single sheet of paper.
“Yes.” The Spanish girl got to her feet. “That is still not the end of my reasons for wishing to see you, however.”
Serena looked up dazedly from the sealed missive in her hand. She watched Consuelo move to stand in the opening to the tower room, staring at the drooping green ferns on their teakwood stands. “What?”
“Nathan came to visit me last night. I came to you today, Serena, because I had to ask you, to find out, what you are doing to him?”
“I — don’t know what you mean.”
Consuelo swung about. “I said once that you had a devil in you, Serena, one whose danger was great because you were unaware. I think you must know your devil now. I think it is this inside you that is killing Nathan.”
“What are you saying, Consuelo? I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you? He is a tortured man, Serena. He was always thin, but now he is skin and bone. He bleeds for you, he cries, and it breaks my heart. Why? Why are you doing this, lacerating his soul by allowing him to move close, then pushing him away? Is it because of what he did, of how he made you come to him? Is that it? If it is vengeance you want, then it is yours; he hates himself for deceiving you, for causing your illness, more than you possibly could.”
“Deceiving me?” Serena repeated, her voice stiff.
The Westminster chimes of the brass-and-walnut Tiffany clock on the mantel began to sound, each soft and melodious note dropping into the silence.
“You didn’t know,” Consuelo said when the last echo had ceased.
“Know what? You may as well tell me.” Serena’s voice was unnaturally calm. Her face pale, she watched the other girl as if she had never seen her before.
“I — I can’t,” Consuelo said brokenly.
“If you don’t, I’ll only have to ask Nathan.”
“He’ll never forgive me.”
“Whatever it is, he won’t learn from me that you told me.”
Consuelo lifted her head. “It makes no difference. I’ll know.”
She stopped, then went on in jerky sentences. “Nathan was Pearlie’s partner in the Eldorado until Ward came back. He bought into the place with the understanding that Pearlie would see that you left at a date and time specified by him.”
“He knew I would go to you.”
“And so he hired a nurse to give me laudanum, and he waited. The time, the night, was chosen quite simply because I was so conveniently ill. Por Dios, Serena, don’t look so.”
“I might have been killed. I might have lost my baby.”
The Spanish girl moved in a rush to Serena’s chair, going down on her knees beside it. “But you weren’t, you didn’t. Think, Serena, he made you his wife, gave your baby a name. He brought you here as mistress of his home, gave you furs, jewels, and a thousand other things. He has done everything he can think of to make it up to you. And he has suffered, thinking you might die, fearing for you, hoping for your love. Oh, Serena!”
Footsteps sounded outside the door. By the time the housekeeper entered with the tea tray, Consuelo was standing before the fireplace, a smile pasted on her lips. “Your Elder Greer,” she was saying, her voice brittle with false gaiety. “He is much respected by certain of the women from Eaton Avenue. They are inclined to forgive him his polygamous habit in the past for the sake of his stand against the women of the red-light district, and unbeknownst to their husbands, I’m sure, make small donations to his cause from the treasuries of their clubs.”
Gathering her composure, Serena pointed to the table where she wanted the tray placed before turning back to Consuelo. “How interesting. Has he made any converts yet?”
“In a manner of speaking. There was one girl that he caught outside her crib. He made her kneel in the mud while he stood over her praying with his hands clenched in her hair. They say she went quite mad after the experience and had to be locked in the town jail to prevent her from destroying herself. After a time, her family came from the Midwest and took her away.”
“It looks as if I am going to have to disown him,” Serena said unsteadily. “He is definitely not my Elder Greer.”
“The man is a bastard,” Consuelo said, her voice dispassionate. “If he isn’t careful, somebody is going to give him a coat of tar and feathers.”
“An idea with merit,” Serena answered, picking up the teapot in one hand and a cup on its saucer in the other. Her face like stone, Mrs. Anson left the room, closing the door behind her.
Serena started to hand the filled cup to Consuelo, then as the liquid began to quiver, set it back down abruptly. “Sugar or cream?” she asked.
“Sugar.”
Serena picked up the tongs and dropped two lumps one after the other into the tea. This time when she picked up the cup, she was able to pass it without mishap. Lashes lowered, she poured her own, added sugar, and picked up the fragile china cup to sip at the steaming brew.
“What are you going to do?” Consuelo demanded, stepping to seat herself once more in the chair she had vacated earlier, leaning toward Serena.
“Do? Why, nothing. What can I do?”
“Don’t be cruel, Serena. You know what I am asking. Are you going to forgive Nathan and be a wife to him, or are you going to go on as before, giving nothing of yourself?”
“You must love him very much,” Serena said, staring into the fire.
“What has that to do with anything? Please answer me.”
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to make myself believe what he has done.”
“It was a great betrayal, I know, but truly he meant it for the best.”
“Did he mean it for the best when he sent you to Manitou Springs to
get you out of the way? Did he mean it for the best when he came to you for comfort last night? You are so concerned for his happiness, but has he thought of yours?”
“It is you he loves, you he wants.”
“I can’t help that, Consuelo. I’m not responsible for how he feels. I wish I could give you my place. You should be sitting here as his wife. Not me.”
“It was you he asked to marry him.”
“Did he? I don’t remember. I don’t remember agreeing, though I suppose I must have.”
“Out of compassion, Serena, can’t you pretend?” Consuelo asked, a shade of desperation in her voice, one hand knotted into a fist.
“Would that suffice? Would Nathan be satisfied with so little?”
“Ah, damn your scruples, Serena! Have you no heart, no feelings?”
“Yes! Yes, Consuelo, I have, but they belong to another man!” Serena stared at the other girl, the glitter of tears in her eyes.
Consuelo sat back, her face blank. “Oh,” she said. “I should have known.”
Serena looked away, her throat aching. She sipped her tea which was fast growing cool. When she looked back, Consuelo had set her cup back on the tray and was rising. The Spanish girl placed the strings of her purse on her arm and began pulling on the glove she had removed while she drank her tea.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2 Page 121