The Lightning Lord

by Anthony Faircloth

  “We thank you for your attempt but apparently these wayward Pinkertons are on official business and just wanted to meet and bid us farewell. They are debarking at Downingville.”

  “Kidnapping seems a little dramatic.” Johnny said.

  “Don’t I know it, Lord McKensie, don’t I know it.” Persi said, an edge in her voice.

  There was a knock on the door that made them all jump. “Thirty minutes to Downingville,” the conductor called through the door.

  “Johnny, we will pass any further information on your nephew’s death through appropriate channels,” Boots said.

  “Thank you,” Johnny responded with a tip of his top hat. “I believe I will wait on the roof and disembark a little before the station.” He reached for Persi’s hand and raised it to his lips. “It was an honor and pleasure to meet you. We shall meet again.”

  “I can only hope,” Persi said, giving the man a flirtatious eyelash flutter.

  Boots cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I’m in favor of that.”

  Both Johnny and Persi smiled at him.

  Johnny took Boots’ hand and shook it vigorously. “Boots, should you ever pass through the Aboriginal Territories again, please send word and I will plan such an adventure, epics will be written. Of course you are taken by this lovely lady, but I know several maidens ...”

  “Well, if it were in the name of cultural unity ...” Boots began but Persi’s kick to his calf cut off his words with an, “Ow!”

  “Perhaps I should go before the violence begins.” Johnny said smiling as he positioned himself on the open windowsill. “Farewell, my friends,” he said as he pulled himself to the roof.

  Boots closed the window and flopped into his char. Persi reached up under her robe and removed “Bridgette” her .38 caliber derringer then sat in her chair, laying her gun on the table between them.

  When she looked up, Boots was watching her. “What?” she asked.

  “How were you going to provide me with back up with Bridgette tight in her holster?” Boots asked.

  “Boots,” she said, eyes wide, “I had no opportunity to pull her from her hiding place.”

  “Darling, you could have reached it anytime.” Boots said, one side of his mouth quirked up.

  “My dear, removing Bridgette from her holster, in public, is so unladylike.” Persi said, then she smiled. “Would you think it imprudent if we dressed and went forward to watch the Pinkerton scoundrels leave the train? While I was in their suite, which was quite opulent I must say, I saw several large trunks in one of the rooms. I believe it must have been under guard within the room, for I heard bumps and movement from the room even when all four men where in my sight. One wonders what might be so important as to need a guard.”

  “I see. Yes, interesting. Perhaps we could take stroll, stretch our legs, and buy a local paper if one is to be had?”

  “Oh yes, a local paper. I’ve been wondering about corn prices and if Aunt Edwina ever got her goat out of the well.” Persi said straight faced.

  Her husband lost his composure and laugh out loud. “Get ready, my dear. We shall acquire this local paper and satisfy all your intellectual needs.”

  “And my other needs?” Persi said, raising her favorite walking dress over her head and allowing it to slide down around her.

  Boots stepped to her and began hooking the dresses back closed. “Well, I believe I can make time for that later. If you have a need, I am here meet it.”

  He kissed her neck as he finished and she turned and kissed him, holding it for several seconds. “Thank you for coming for me.”

  He smiled, slightly out of breath. “Well, you are my wife, and I had nothing else to do.”

  Persi smacked his shoulder. “Cad.”

  Boots held up a finger. “Exceptional cad.”

  Interlude Two - Queen of the Pearl

  One. Two. Three. Maggie counted the tiles in the ceiling along to the rhythm. Were there still 47?

  The rhythm increased.

  Not much longer now. Thirty-Six. Thirty-Seven.

  With a sound, something between a grunt and a strangled cry, it was over.

  He was quicker than most.

  Young and ashamed he scrambled off the bed, never meeting her gaze. He dropped a bundle of greasy, crumpled dollars on the faded duvet, then muttered something which may have been an awkward, “thanks” or worse, “goodbye.” She cringed for him, pulling her pink silk robe around her snuggly.

  In a few minutes after he had gone, Beulah the maid toddled in and gave her a genuine smile. “Miss Margaret, you just give me a bit of time and I get this placed cleaned up real nice.”

  The kindest person Maggie had ever met, Beulah disregarded her liaisons with her clients. She saw to her every need, and treated her like a proper lady. “Thank you, Beulah. I’ll step out while you do. Maybe I’ll make an appearance in the saloon. You know how Mr. Sturgess likes it when I stir up the crowd,” Maggie said with a wink.

  “You a handful, Missy” Beulah said through wheezy laughter. “A right handful.”

  Beulah helped Maggie dress before starting on the room. Maggie wore a deep blue satin dress with a black brocade corset she wore on the outside, a new style that some found quite risqué. Maggie had naturally taken to it. She snatched up a little silver circlet and placed it on her forehead. It had been a gift from Sturgess several years ago.

  “You look just a like a queen, Miss Margaret,” Beulah commented, hands on her hips. “That’s what I think I’ll call you from now on, Queen Margaret.”

  Maggie smiled and gave a little twirl finishing in her most regal pose before slipping down the stairs in her bare feet and dipping behind the bar. She nodded to several of the regulars. The smell of opium hung thick in the air, swirling against the long colorful silk cloths draped against the walls. “This is not a common saloon, my dear,” Sturgess had once told her. “At what I charge them, I want my customers to think they have stepped right into the orient.”

  She grabbed a glass of whiskey in one hand, placed the other hand on the counter and swung her body lightly over the bar. She noticed a group of men in fine evening suits sitting in one of the more private alcoves, pipes lit and smoke spiraling up to cling to the ceiling. One with bright blue eyes watched her intensely. She batted her lashes and then ignored him in the way of a tease. Pretense was an art form in Sturgess’ brothels. Not as with the small saloon in Cedar Rapids where she had started and learned the trade, this was The Pearl, one of the finest brothel and opium dens in Chicago. This was where Sturgess sent only the best girls.

  Maggie observed Sturgess, now in his late forties, approach the men at the bar, followed by several bodyguards, and speaking graciously with them. He was dashing and charming, and though he could be ruthless, for him it was all business. The night her father had sold her, he had taken her back to his brothel in Cedar Rapids, turning her over to Madam Annabelle to be washed, clothed and fed. She had helped the cook for a couple of weeks until she looked healthier, then one night he had her dressed in a night gown and sent to a room where an older man was waiting for her. She remembered the pain, and again the next night, and the next, but it had faded with time, and she was rewarded with nice clothes and nice dollies.

  He wasn’t a complete monster, she thought, remembering the time Sturgess had walked in on a naked city official beating her with a broom stick. The next day the paper reported the official had accidentally stepped in front of a brace of draft horses and was killed. Maggie knew that was not the case because she had witnessed Sturgess beat the man to death with a fireplace shovel. The other girls worried the man’s death would affect business but Sturgess said it would ensure his women stayed healthy and making money. Maggie smiled to herself. He was all business. Shortly after the beating incident, she realized her best chance at survival was to learn her trade well and ensure her men felt like they were in power. Even when they wanted her to take control, she knew they actually always wanted to feel like they had the p
ower.

  She watched as her boss made his way around the room and since she had no desire to speak with him, she sauntered over to the alcove across from the finely dressed gentlemen. This one had deep red silk and filmy gauze across the entrance allowing her to sit back against a low oriental style cushion without being noticed. The upper class often frequented The Pearl, looking for a clandestine place to have their fantasies met. Fantasies that would have them ostracized if the public became aware.

  She slid further into the silk veils until her back hit a wooden beam holding up the copious veils. These men across from her were unnerving. They are not the usual slack-jawed opium addicts I normally see.

  Suddenly the front doors swung open and a loud group of men swaggered in, already intoxicated with the obvious intention of becoming even more so. Maggie leaned forward, pulling some of her curtain aside. By their clothing and jewelry, she deduced that these men had money to burn. They laughed raucously, grabbed several of the ladies, and pulled them not-so-gently to the bar. Maggie noticed the man she had teased earlier, shifted his attention to the new group. She followed his gaze as it targeted one man, when he turned she saw his face. Her heart stopped. He was much grayer and much paunchier than he had been that night in that hotel room in Cedar City, but it was him. Her father.

  Several moments passed before she could tear her eyes away but once the shock passed all the fury of her six-year-old-self came flooding back, breaking through levies of so carefully constructed over the past ten years. Levies designed to hold back the flood of pain she had endured through her early years of neglect and abandonment. She leaned forward unconsciously, exposing her position, and she felt eyes on her. It was the man with the bright blue eyes again. He stared as if he had opened her up and knew all she was thinking. She shivered.

  Jeanette flung herself onto the couch beside Maggie. “Those men are just impossible. We cannot move quickly enough to keep from being groped and pinched,” she whined, flipping her golden curls prettily. “You must distract them.”

  Maggie’s gaze with the blue-eyed man broke and she snapped back against the wall, almost as if a rope had once held her but had suddenly been released. She gave Jeanette a dark look but the young blond woman and grabbed her arm, simultaneously displaying the loveliest pout. “Oh please, Margaret, you always have such a way of entertaining the lads. Your flair for the dramatic is so captivating.” Jeanette’s specialty was flattery which usually nettled Maggie terribly, but at the moment it was a welcome return to normalcy.

  Jeanette took her silence as acquiescence, stood and pulled her along by the arm. Her stomach turned as Jeanette led her into the throng toward the new group of men which included her father. She wanted to run, to hide in her room, to tell Beulah everything and have her say, “Don’t you worry, child, I’m here and ain’t gonna let no man lay a hand on you. Not if he knows what’s good for’m.” The thought of her large maid thrashing her father was rather poetic and made her smile.

  Before Jeanette could drag her to the group of new men, a strong hand gripped her shoulder. She spun around sighing in relief when she saw it was Sturgess.

  “I know you saw him,” he said.

  “Who?” Maggie asked, not fooling her boss.

  “Don’t pretend like you don’t know. Circumstances have changed for you both. He made something of a fortune after you left …”

  “Left,” Maggie asked. “Did you say I left?”

  Sturgess ignored her. “And I don’t need you making my paying customers uncomfortable. You do not have a hard life here, and I know you have the money to buy your … contract, if it came to that, but you remain, why?”

  Maggie dropped her gaze, not knowing the answer to that.

  Sturgess gently lifted her chin. “My dear, let the past stay in the past. Do I make myself clear?” He smiled even as his hand tightened uncomfortably.

  “You have nothing to worry about, I was just going to my room,” She smiled tightly.

  He nodded. “With you away I may lose some income, however, I will allow it this once. See that you stay there. If I need you I will send a girl after he is gone.”

  Maggie turned and saw her father watching the exchange. He set his drink down and began to make his way to them. Maggie turned from Sturgess, walking away quickly. She had almost made it to the stairway when the blue-eyed man stepped in her path, spilling his drink down the front of her dress.

  “Please, excuse me, Miss,” he said, making no attempt to move out of her way. She tried to move around him but it was too late. The delay was all her father needed to catch up. She cast a scalding glare at Blue-eyes as the other man cleared his throat behind her.

  She turned and there he stood. He had not changed much except his hair was grayer, his belly was bigger and his clothes were finer. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. For a moment you looked like someone I knew once,” he said then leaned in and looked deeper into Maggie’s face. “But her eyes were dark.”

  He thought I was my mother! Maggie thought in disbelief. My mother, probably long dead from disease or murder, not the daughter he sold like livestock.

  “Maybe I could buy you a drink?” He said, running his index finger down the length of her sleeve.

  She snatched her arm back, but caught Sturgess watching them and quickly recovered. “Forgive me, sir. I am not myself. You see, some idiot spilled his drink all over me,” she glanced at the blue-eyed man who stood a pace to her right. “and I simply must change. Perhaps later?” She finished with her most charming smile.

  “Of course, madam. I’ll hold you to that,” her father said, before smiling at the blue-eyed man, as if he had just won some sort of competition.

  Maggie ran up the stairs in a most unladylike fashion and shut herself in her room. Sadly, Beulah was gone, but it was a hidden blessing in that it gave her time to think. Unfortunately, a fuming Sturgess burst through the door seconds later.

  Without hesitation he crossed the room and slapped her across the face, sending her to the floor. “I gave you one simple order,” his voice was frighteningly calm, but fury lay behind his eyes as he stood over her. “Was I not clear? Was I not specific enough? Please tell me where you misunderstood, because I’m pretty sure I gave you this life,” he said, grabbing her by the chin. “and I can take it away.”

  “He didn’t recognize me,” Maggie said quickly.

  “What?”

  “He thought I looked like my mother, but realized I wasn’t and has no idea who I am.”

  Sturgess threw his head back and laughed in his particular short barking laugh. “Well, isn’t this your lucky day? Your own father doesn’t remember you.” He walked out the door and shut it still chuckling.

  Maggie regained her feet and rubbed her swollen cheek. Men liked to hit women, but they didn’t like to see their handiwork She would have Beulah grab her a cold compress. Opening the door to call for the maid, she but jumped in surprise seeing the blue-eyed man, his hand raised to knock.

  “What do you want?” she said tersely.

  “To help you,” he replied.

  “You’ve already helped me plenty with that drink stunt of yours.”

  “I needed to know if he knew you like you knew him.”

  “Why on earth are you so interested in me and who I know?” Maggie asked defensively.

  “May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the room. Not really knowing why, she opened the door a little wider for him and he stepped through. She thought to close it as she normally would when a man was in her room, but left it open this time. There was something about this man, both exciting and horrible. She began to follow him when the door slammed behind her causing her to turn and throw her arms up defensively as she had learned from many years of angry customer beatings. No one was there but a feeling fell about her. The feeling of being a trapped animal.

  The man approached her pink over-stuffed chair, another present from Sturgess. He turned, unbuttoned his coat and sat. “I have studied you, Margret, and th
ere is no part of your life I do not know. For instance, I know you want revenge on your father, even more than my employers want it, and I can make that happen.”

  Maggie sat in the matching chair opposite him, arranging her dress as if they were merely two cousins speaking in the parlor.

  He brushed a piece of lint from his waist coat, the leaned in conspiratorially. “And I know you will help me.”

  “How?” The question slipped out before she knew she meant to ask it.

  “Your father has become a wealthy man, but he is a fool. In the past, he gambled the money he made from selling you, and won, but my employers suspect cheating. He invested it and made more money, but these are not the kind of men you should cheat and they have long memories. But they are patient men too, intent on playing the long game. They have hired me to take care of the problem but this man, whose seed you are, has contacts with certain officials that are useful to my employers so he is safe, for now, but I am confident that there will come a time in the future when I will be told to eliminate this problem.” He smiled and slapped the arms of the chair. “Which brings us to the present.”

  “Yes? What does any of that have to do with me? I haven’t seen him in years. I hate him, it’s true, and I would like to see him meet his end but I can’t help you.”

  “But you can help me.” The blue-eyed man said. “You may very well be the only one who can.” He leaned back in the chair, tugging at the bottom of his waistcoat to smooth the wrinkles. “Initially I thought your connection with your father would help me, but now I see it is the very fact that he doesn’t know who you are and wants to bed you that will help me.”

  What does this idiot want? she thought, then laughed. “Look, just get out. Deal with your own problems and let me deal with mine.”

  “I know how you father abandoned you, sold, and how it burns, how it eats at your very soul. I know how powerless you feel and how you have been made to feel inferior by men your whole life, but it has not broken you. There is a desire, a fire in you that you can use to burn them,” his eyes blazed with intensity. “I’m giving you the opportunity to be free, to do what you want and go where you please, to see the world if you have the desire to do so.” He reached up gently touching her bruising cheek. “In short, I am giving you the chance take back the life that was taken from you. Come with me and truly live,” he finished.