She graced him with a smile, then went to the stairs, paused and kept walking, going down the corridor past the stairs that led to the hotel's side door. Once outside, she shivered. She had left her shawl in the room. The warm sunlight did nothing to drive away the chill from wind whipping down from higher elevations. She hugged herself and walked to the end of the street, stepped into a doorway and waited to see if the man watching her knew of her deception. When he didn't appear, Amanda walked briskly to the railroad depot. She fumbled to rip open a small seam and withdraw a few dollars.
"I want a ticket on the next train out," she said.
"That'll be one going up to Manitou Springs." The ticket clerk eyed her. "You might put on a coat, ma'am. The town's at the foot of Pike's Peak and gets cold, no matter the time of the year."
"Thank you for your concern. How long until the train?"
"That's it out on the platform now. Can I fetch your bags, ma'am?"
"That won't be necessary. My . . . servant will be along with them soon enough." Amanda hesitated, then damned herself for not carefully planning her lie. "Here is money for her ticket." She slid across the fare. "She will pick up the ticket and join me on the train."
"I'll hold it for her. What's her name? So I can be sure to give it to the right person."
"Mathilda."
"This is a sudden trip, is it now?"
Amanda began to feel panic rising. The clerk showed far too much interest. He would remember and if questioned—when questioned—he would reveal everything to the man hunting her.
That phrase caused a new shiver. Hunter. Bounty hunter. She had been careful and thought she had left no clue to her identity, much less her whereabouts, but if a bounty hunter sought her, it might be for more than the El Paso robbery.
"Might I recommend the Navajo Springs Hotel? That's the best hotel in Manitou, right across from the sulfur baths."
"Why, yes, thank you. It will be so healthful to take the waters."
"Better hurry now, ma'am. The train's fixing to pull out. I don't see your servant anywhere."
The clerk left his box to come out, but Amanda raced for the train and swung on. Boarding this way was far superior to running alongside and having a derelict of a man pull her into an empty freight car.
She settled down on a hard bench seat, thinking hard. Getting out of town had become too complicated and she had left a trail. Where was her servant? How long would the ticket agent wait before he alerted the marshal that a woman was missing? A telegram to Manitou might alert the authorities there. She settled down, considering how to proceed. By the time she reached the small town huddled at the base of the snow-capped Pike's Peak, she had mapped out what to do.
Her first obstacle was overcome when no lawman waited for her. Catching a carriage to the Palace Hotel was easy enough. A smile crept to her lips when she saw the imposing structure high on a hill looking down on the valley. She knew nothing of the Navajo Spring Hotel, but this had to be much finer. When she walked up the broad travertine steps a liveried doorman bowed slightly and pulled the heavy carved oak door open for her.
Amanda swept into the posh lobby. She wanted to study the sculptures, the fine art, the Persian rugs on the floor, but she kept her nose slightly elevated and ignored the room clerk, singling out the manager for her mock wrath.
"My luggage is all gone. Lost! Those railroad cretins lost all my luggage. I have my maid looking, but she is as likely to run off with one of them as retrieve my belongings. I need a wardrobe."
"Ma'am?" The dapper manager looked up from his ledger.
"A room. I don't care what. Rachel always handles such things. Here. Take this. Have someone buy me suitable raiment." She thrust out a thick wad of money, most of what she had left.
"I'll have Mrs. Underwood tend to it immediately, Miss . . . ?"
"Evelyn. Miss Evelyn Hanover." She looked down her nose at him. "Yes, of those Hanovers. The Queen is my—never mind that. Is there any way I can keep my identity secret? There are always so many malcontents poking about after me. Guy Fawkes and all that, you know."
The manager placed the stack of greenbacks on his desk and never bothered to count them. He snapped his fingers and a bellman rushed over.
"Escort Miss Smith to the Aurora Suite."
"It is so good to find a man who knows how to treat roy— a lady," Amanda said, choosing her words carefully. She followed the bellman to an elevator that creaked and moaned and took her to the fourth floor.
Amanda resisted the urge to drop to hands and knees and crawl along the impossibly soft carpet. The nap caressed her tired feet and gave her a spring to her step that had been lacking since she fled Colorado Springs.
The room was as sumptuous as she had ever seen. Again she resisted the urge to spin about and cry with joy at such splendor.
"That will be all," she said, not looking at the bellman.
"Mrs. Underwood will be up shortly to help you with your wardrobe. Is there anything else, Miss?"
"Champagne. Grand Monopole will do to wash the dust of travel from my lips. Be sure it is properly chilled." She made brushing motions to shoo the bellman away. Only when he was gone did she let out a yelp of delight and went to explore her new room and identity.
After a lengthy fitting, she had a wardrobe willed with finery and a staff who all called her "Miss Smith" and then winked knowingly. Amanda tried to guess how long it would be until she wore out her welcome. She had only a few dollars left, having used the bulk of it when she accosted the manager.
She shrugged this off as she stood at the rear of the elevator and pointedly ignored how the elevator starter wanted to stare at her and yet didn't. She swept into the lobby, looking for the restaurant. She had seen the menu. Oysters were on the bill this evening, along with a buffalo steak and new potatoes fixed with mountain greens. It had been so long since she'd eaten, a plate of beans would have suited her. But oysters! Champagne! She hoped she could continue this charade for at least a week.
As she went to the restaurant, the manager came up beside her.
"Good evening, Miss Smith," he said.
She tensed at his tone. Something was wrong. That week of luxury might be cut short by a stay in the town jail.
"There is a gentleman who has requested your company at dinner."
Amanda laughed delightedly.
"Of course. Who is he?"
"He is, uh, Mr. Smith."
"You're joshing me." The words slipped out before Amanda could stifle them. "I mean, who is he really?"
"You know him. He's the British consul general."
Before she could protest, a tall, distinguished man with sideburns flecked with gray and a neatly trimmed goatee came over, peered at her through a monocle, then bowed deeply. The tails of his coat whispered to either side of his hips. Amanda saw a belt fastened high around his waist, a small pistol tucked where he could reach it by brushing away his coat. She wished she hadn't left her own pistol in the room. There hadn't been any call to bring it to dinner.
She castigated herself for this lapse. Danger approached from all directions when living by her wits. Even when she had money, it wasn't honest money and drew lawmen like flies.
"Sir," she said, holding out her hand. Amanda began to worry when he took it in his, kissed it in the proper European fashion by bowing to the hand, not lifting the hand to his lips.
"Mr. Smith, please, Miss Smith. We both must conduct our business sub rosa." He cast a hard look at the hotel manager, who bowed his head and backed away, as if he was in the presence of royalty.
"Of course we must," she said. A quick survey of the room showed well-dressed dinners in parties of twos and fours. More than these innocuous people, she sought the way out. Double doors led to the kitchen. Windows overlooked the valley below. If it had not been so dark, she imagined the towering peaks of the Rockies would frame the sight.
"Please, allow me," the man said.
He kept his hand lightly on her elbow as he guided her to a table at
the rear of the room. He waited for the waiter to seat her, then settled in the chair next to hers, blocking any escape she might make through the kitchen. If she left through the doors into the lobby, she had a long way to run. In her elegant evening gown, running was out of the question.
"Do I know you, Mr. Smith?"
"You will," he said confidently. They were interrupted by the waiter. Mr. Smith ordered for them both and only when the waiter had disappeared and the others on the staff were out of earshot did he say, "I knew the instant you walked in you weren't any relative of Queen Victoria. Most clever of you to hint that you were, though. These people are such snobs. The only ones they kowtow to are European royalty, though an emperor from the Middle Kingdom might impress them."
Amanda listened to him, then laughed.
"Would you attempt being such a Celestial?"
"No, of course not. A yellow man, even an emperor, could never equal—what was it you claimed to be?"
"I never said."
He nodded knowingly.
"That's the best way. Let their imaginations run wild. It saves you having to invent an elaborate story, as well. The more details you mention, the more likely you are to be tripped up on some detail."
"Who are you?"
"Oh, you are quite blunt, aren't you? It doesn't matter. You and I, we are cut from the same cloth."
"You are a swindler?"
"Of course I am. So are you. How did you expect to get that pile of money back? Or did you consider it a necessary expense to prime the pump? Are you angling for something more than a week of luxury at the Palace's expense?"
"You flatter me."
He looked as if he had bitten into something sour. He took a sip of the champagne, then a deeper draft. Amanda saw he used this time to think. He was inventing his own story as he went. That was important for her to know. She patiently waited for him to continue as she slid a knife from the table and held it in her lap. Against his pistol it was a pitiful weapon, but not if she used it before he could draw.
"I had hoped for more from you."
"Indeed, sir. That is most impudent."
"I meant that I hoped you worked some swindle and weren't simply trusting that the manager wouldn't inquire after your nonexistent maid and baggage. They are very efficient and solicitous of their guests, especially if they've been duped into thinking they are royalty."
Amanda bit her lip. She hadn't considered that the manager would send out inquiries about the lost baggage. That reduced her stay in this fine hotel to a single night. She did a quick mental inventory of the clothing she had hanging in the room's wardrobe. One or two of the elaborate outfits was all she could hope to take. This very night or perhaps before dawn since she wanted to sleep in that fine bed, at least for a few hours.
"I did so want to take the waters here. I have heard of their rejuvenating powers."
"You need me to get you out of here without the law breathing down your lovely neck."
"You think it is lovely?" She brushed back her dark hair and looked at him with as much overt lust in her blue eyes as she could muster.
"There is something even lovelier," he said. Before she could question it, he added, "Money. Lots of money. I can pull off my confidence game without you, but time is getting short. I want to wrap everything up as quickly as I can."
"How can I help you? You seem to think I am an amateur."
"You are. You don't plan carefully enough."
"So you're the expert?"
"Quite so," he said.
They fell silent as dinner was served by a small army of waiters, all dressed in white linen. Somehow, oysters appealed less to her now than before she had met Mr. Smith. She ate like a French clockwork automaton, barely tasting the food. All the while she turned over different ways of extricating herself from the man without drawing unwanted attention. He irritated her, calling her an amateur after all she had done. Amanda almost scolded him with a recitation of everything she had done just in the past month, but then she perked up when he gave the broadest outline of his own current project.
"I have convinced a railroad magnate from San Francisco that I own the Twin Springs." He saw her frown. "That's a soda spring reputed to be the finest in town."
"But you don't actually own this restorative spring?"
"Of course not. General Palmer owns much of the land he bought from General Chivington's son after the war. There was a court battle in 1867 that confused the title. That's all I needed to convince my mark I had clear title and would sell one of the most valuable properties in Colorado to him."
"How much?"
Smith shook his head and said, "That's of no concern. I'm offering you the way out of your mess. If you do your part well, I'll add in a few hundred dollars."
"Five hundred," Amanda said.
"Done."
She cursed herself. He had agreed too quickly. That meant the deal was for a great deal more.
"What do you want from me?"
"Bat those eyelashes, keep him occupied with possibilities while we finish the transaction."
"How are you going to get away if he pays with a bank draft?"
"Cash. He's paying cash to get a huge discount. I've told him there are gamblers after me that I need to pay off quickly or they will do unspeakable things to me. He knows all about gambling debts. He is a poor gambler himself. Once in a game at the Union Club in San Francisco he—"
"You have found out everything about him, haven't you?"
"That's what makes me a professional and you a rank amateur. But you're right. There's no need for you to know any of this. All you have to do is waltz into the room on my arm, then occupy him if he gets to asking questions I don't want to answer."
"How far should I take this . . . distraction?"
"That's up to you. Hell, for the money he's paying, I'd take him to bed." Smith grinned like a wolf spying dinner. "With you there, that won't be necessary."
"I should hope not. But you will give me the five hundred dollars? Partner?"
"Yes, I will, and no, we aren't partners. You are a subcontractor, nothing more."
Amanda remained silent. If he wanted it that way, fine. She felt an obligation to her partners, unless they sought to double-cross her or treated her poorly. Canfield had badmouthed her and thought she was nothing more than a pretty face. Worse, for him, he had never come out and called her his partner. If anything, she had been nothing more than a servant doing his bidding, in spite of how she had planned the bank robbery. The only thing she regretted was not warning Arthur of how dangerously mean Canfield could be.
Even then, Arthur had been an employee. She didn't consider him a partner. And Smith had refused to take the step to declare her his equal in this swindle.
In a way she didn't blame him. He had set it up and only required her for a few hours at the most. It had been clever how he maneuvered her into helping, and he had offered some money for her. But they weren't partners.
"Finish your meal, and we'll go meet Crockett."
"That's the railroad man?" She frowned, wondering if the similarity in name to Crocker meant Smith was on the receiving end of a flimflam, though how gaining the deed to a soda spring could be turned against him was a poser.
"I checked him out. He's for real. And no, he's not thinking to get the deed and turn around and sell it to someone else."
"If he wanted to do that, he could do as you have done and get forged documents."
"Exactly. He could eliminate me as a middleman in a swindle. I am thorough in preparation." He sneered at her. "That's why you need my help. Shooting from the hip the way you do will only land you in jail." He leaned back, sipped his champagne and got a distant look in his eye. "Preparation, attention to detail, those are the elements that make an imaginative swindle work."
Amanda listened with half an ear. Her own life had been determined by luck as much as skill. Her pa had been a mean drunk and her ma had left her when she was twelve, not realizing Amanda had frame
d her pa for murder. If she had known her ma was going to abandon her, she would have added evidence to incriminate her, too. Seeing her pa kicking feebly with a noose around his neck had killed something in her, even as it had sparked determination to never be under anyone's thumb again. She had the bruises—scars!—and not all of them were on her small body.
"I'll need a suitcase. Or a carpetbag for my clothing."
Smith stopped his lecture on the value of finicky planning and looked at her.
"You won't be able to take it all."
"I need something more than this gown," she said.
"We will need to travel fast. To Colorado Springs when I get the money. From there we can go our separate ways."
"Is that what you want? For us to separate?" She read the answer on his face. He used her and then he would discard her. "I was on my way to Denver. You can go south."
"Of course."
Amanda read him like a book. Smith intended to get a horse and ride due east. Or a stagecoach, but it wasn't going in any direction she knew. She pushed the food about her plate, then put the fork down. Her appetite had been stolen from her by the way Smith commandeered her talents. Her pa had used her. Smith tried.
"Why are you smiling?"
"Nothing, sir. I am preparing myself to meet your Mr. Crockett."
"Good, because there he is." Smith rose and greeted the man.
Amanda gave the mark a quick once over. He was younger than she anticipated but had all the characteristics so easily exploited. He swaggered when he walked, thinking himself above everyone in the room. Play to that and anything was possible. His clothing showed he attended to his own vanity more than business, but he considered himself a genius when it came to money. The sly look he gave Smith added to that feeling. He was the sharper taking the poor rube's valuable property for a song and a dance.
"I would like you to meet my companion, Miss Hanover."
"Of the English Hanovers," Amanda said. She saw Crockett's small raised eyebrow, the tightness around his lips turn slack and the way he turned from Smith to take her hand and tug it toward his lips.
"I am delighted to make your acquaintance." He reluctantly released her hand. Amanda held it out for just the right time to show her pleasure at his touch.
4 Lives Page 7