“That’s what some’d call a Mormon wedding,” Jeremiah said as he inspected a bolt-action rifle. Hettie wanted to ask Marcus more about his weapons, but Uncle interrupted. “Mighty generous of Miss Favreau to be giving us all this.”
“It’s on loan only,” the security man clarified, “and you won’t be carrying any of this on you. All provisions will stay with Miss Sophie’s other baggage. We’ll keep the weapons trunk with us aboard the train. You’ll be traveling in the passenger cars as her servants, and you’ll be expected to act the part.”
“Assumin’ you mean I should be bowing and scraping, don’t worry,” Uncle said, “I’ll just take my cues from Ling, here.”
Ling glared. Hettie gave Jeremiah a quelling look—she didn’t understand why he needled the man so much.
Unfazed, Marcus continued, “You’ll all be given proper household uniforms. Mr. Tsang will be a footman, while Mr. Bassett will play the role of valet. Miss Alabama will be a lady’s maid and will wait on Miss Favreau as needed, taking Jemma’s instructions.”
“What about me?” Walker asked.
Marcus cleared his throat. “Miss Favreau has insisted that you play the part of her … escort.”
Ling snickered, while Uncle grumbled something about young men’s luck. Hettie kept her face carefully blank as Walker resumed inspecting his weapons.
They departed for the train station the following morning, riding in a grand carriage, the horses tied to the back. Hettie was forced to sit in the car with Walker, Sophie, and Jemma, while Marcus, Ling, and Uncle rode up front and on top.
Ling and Uncle looked uncomfortably confined in starched black-and-white household uniforms, their hair slicked back with pomade. Hettie’s dress belonged on a taller, thinner woman, her collar too high and tight. What hair she had had been tucked under a white cap, exposing her scar. She’d argued that she’d be better off in boy’s clothes dressed as a footman, but Sophie had refused.
“They’ll be looking for a girl dressed as a boy, and pardon me for saying so, but you’re looking more and more like a woman as your hair grows out. Besides, you’ll be safer riding inside with me. We’re trying to hide in plain sight, remember?”
She wasn’t sure that was going to be possible, and she had the sneaking suspicion Sophie enjoyed having her glowing beauty magnified by sitting next to her. Walker certainly didn’t look away from her the whole ride.
The train station teemed with travelers. As they piled out of the carriage, Jemma barked orders at Uncle and Ling. The maid—though she was clearly more than that, considering her brawl with Ling—had emerged from the kidnapping quite sore and had protested her mistress’s involvement with their abductors, but in the end she’d had no choice but to go along with Sophie’s plan. Two station porters helped unload the trunks, and soon they were strolling along the platform, Sophie arm in arm with Walker, Jemma and Hettie a few steps behind. Marcus had forged ahead, sharp eye sweeping the area.
“I don’t like this,” Hettie heard Walker mutter.
“Does the outfit not suit you, darling? It’s the latest from France you know.” She lowered her voice. “And the only thing I could get last-minute that would fit.”
“There are sheriff’s men everywhere,” Hettie whispered.
“But they’re not looking for you, are they? They’ll be looking for a gang of common thugs. And you’re not common thugs,” Sophie tossed over her shoulder. “Trust me.”
Marcus returned to them with the train conductor at his side. The nervous-looking old man dipped his head in greeting, doffing his hat. “Miss Favreau, it’s an honor to have you here. Mr. Wellington just apprised me of your request. I’m afraid we weren’t prepared to have you aboard. Your private car wasn’t scheduled to come in, and—”
“Please, there’s no need to panic. All I require are two cabins. If I know my father, one of his private cars should be housed in Houston. We can pick it up there when the train stops.”
“But … that would delay the train…” Sophie gave him a beneficent, understanding smile, and the ridges of worry etched into his brow softened. “Of course, we can afford a few minutes’ layover. I’ll see that your car is ready when we arrive and get you those cabins.” He gave another little bow and hurried back toward the train, shouting orders.
“Must be nice to have so much power you can delay a train,” Ling murmured.
“You hush your mouth,” Jemma snapped. “Footmen don’t talk about their masters. Certainly not in public.”
Ling shrugged and slouched away. “Never met such an uppity Chinaman,” Jemma grumbled, eyeing the healer. “Who does he think he is, putting on those airs?”
“Hettie.” Uncle nodded toward a group of men headed straight at them. Two of them carried shotguns. Each of them wore deputy sheriff badges on their breasts.
“Everyone stay close,” Sophie hissed through her smile. “Remember what I told you.”
Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t make eye contact. And don’t panic and run or draw any attention to yourself. Most importantly, Sophie had said, stay close.
The leader of the group was a tall, barrel-chested blond man with a handlebar mustache and twinkling eyes. He swaggered ahead and stopped in front of Sophie.
“Miss Favreau,” he drawled. He bent over her hand and kissed the air above her gloved fingers. “Mighty fine pleasure to see you hereabouts.”
Sophie fluttered. “Marshal Shaw, how lovely to see you again.”
“I heard you’d only arrived two days ago.” His elongated vowels made him sound drowsy. “I was going to come calling at your grandmother’s.”
Sophie gave a light laugh. “Ah, well, it is too late for that. You see, I was just passing through.”
“Really? Funny, that. I’d heard you’d encountered some rough folks on your journey through Hawksville.”
She gave a dismissive wave. “A silly rumor. I was merely given a bit of a scare and had my purse stolen. I took the earlier Zoom as a result, and my grandmother’s men overreacted and escorted me to her home. As you can see, I’ve recovered.”
“Hearty and hale as your grandmother in her heyday.” His white-toothed grin blinded Hettie. “Where are you heading?”
“Yuma,” she said. “We’re visiting a friend. You know Grandmère’s interest in the asylum there.”
“What a coincidence. We’re escorting a prisoner to Yuma. Perhaps we can take tea together on the train?”
Walker cleared his throat then, and the man’s blue eyes snapped toward him, as if only noticing him for the first time. He blinked rapidly. “I beg your pardon…”
Sophie faltered. “Marshal, this is Mr.—”
“Montcalme,” Walker said in an affected French accent. “Monsieur Michael Montcalme. I’m Sophie’s fiancé.”
That declaration had the whole group falling into a dead silence. Sophie’s cheeks turned bright pink. Shaw’s mouth opened and closed. “I … I suppose this warrants congratulations.” His smile wasn’t nearly so bright now as he shook Walker’s hand dazedly.
Sophie regained her senses. “Thank you. I … it was a recent development. We haven’t had time to tell anyone, and…”
“I’m sorry, marshal,” Walker interrupted, “perhaps we can continue this conversation later. The train won’t wait forever, and we wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties.”
“Of course.” The marshal gave him a crooked smile. “In fact, why don’t we have dinner together to celebrate? Then you can tell me all about how you two met.”
“Certainly,” Sophie said at the same time Walker said, “No.”
“We’d be delighted,” she corrected with a bright, vacant smile for her “fiancé.”
Shaw’s grin widened. He doffed his hat and gestured at his men, and they headed for the train.
“Why did you do that?” Sophie exclaimed once the la
wman was out of earshot. “I told you not to say anything. I could have kept you all safe.”
“I didn’t want him asking any more questions about you and how you got here, or why you’re leaving so soon. A man like him would’ve heard about the situation in Hawksville. Why’d you accept his invitation? We don’t need a marshal sniffing around us.”
“He’s an old family friend—I couldn’t brush him off. Why’d you say anything about being engaged?” she moaned. “What if this gets back to my father? I’ll be ruined.”
While the newly betrothed pair bickered, Hettie watched Shaw and his people board. Two men flanked a dark, lanky prisoner in manacles and helped him up the steps.
The prisoner paused. He turned his head and met her eye. Her blood ran cold.
“Hettie?” Ling prodded her gently. The others had boarded, and she was still standing on the platform. “What’s the matter?”
“That man was at the ranch the night my parents were killed,” she rasped. “That’s Hedley.”
Despite their plush surroundings, Hettie couldn’t sit still, knowing one of the men responsible for her parents’ murder was aboard. When Marcus had left to patrol the corridor, she explained to Uncle what she’d seen.
“Never thought I’d see the day when Isaac Hedley would get caught.” He sat back and contemplated his cup of tea with a deep frown. “That two-bit sack of pig shit has raped more women than the law can count. Fancies himself a Casanova, too. He curses his victims after the fact and makes ’em believe they weren’t forced so they don’t go to the authorities until he’s well out of town and the spell’s run out.”
Hettie didn’t point out that Uncle had done something similar to the Gunnersons. “Why do you reckon he’s here?”
“You don’t think this is coincidence,” Ling concluded.
She nodded. “Zavi wants me to bring him Diablo, and the Crowe gang works with him, if not for him. Teddy said he’d left the gang, but he didn’t mention anything about the rest of them. And when Hedley got on the train … he saw me and smiled.” She shuddered.
“A smile don’t mean anything from that sick bastard,” Uncle said. “He’s always thinking the same thing.”
“He has to know where the hideout is,” Hettie said. “He’ll know details—how many men guard it, what’s going on in there, where Abby is. I want to know what he knows and find out why Zavi’s so interested in Diablo.”
Uncle didn’t say anything at first. He was studying the tips of his boots. “This ain’t right.” He rested his fists against his hips. “None of it is. If we were smart, we’d turn right around and get you and that infernal gun away from this warlock.”
“Abby’s alive. You can’t tell me to give up now. What would Pa say if you gave up on his youngest and turned away a chance to help Patrice Favreau?”
He sighed. “You’re bent on interviewing Hedley, then.”
She nodded. “But I can’t do it without your help. Both of you.”
Ling folded his hands in front of him. “The prisoner car will be the one farthest from the other passengers, five cars toward the end. Marshal Shaw’s men will be there, armed to the teeth.”
“We’ll need to distract them.” Hettie thought hard. “Do you know any sleeping spells?”
“A few. But I can only perform it on one person at a time, and I’ll need a nap myself after that.”
“Uncle?”
“Not a chance. For one, I’m way too old to do something quite so widespread. Second, I’m a little busy keeping us under cover. Maybe Woodroffe can do it.”
“I need him to keep Marshal Shaw occupied during dinner. That’ll be the best time for us to strike.”
“Maybe you need to go for a more direct approach,” Marcus said, startling them all.
“Nothing you have to concern yourself with, English,” Uncle said dismissively, giving him the briefest of looks. “Pretend you didn’t hear us say anything about assaulting no officers of the law.”
Marcus inspected his nails. “I heard no such conspiracy. I’m simply stating the fact that the rapist Isaac Hedley is chained and at the mercy of the law just now. Those men will be sworn to protect him all the way to Yuma. They’ll be sore about that. Seems to me they won’t need much convincing to let a young lady who might’ve suffered at his hands have a few words with him.”
At dinner Hettie made sure Shaw was firmly seated in the cabin with Sophie and Walker before embarking on her mission to see Hedley. Marcus promised to distract the lawman if he tried to return to the prisoner car too early.
“I should be going with you,” Walker said when she’d told them their plan. “That son of a bitch would talk a lot faster if I beat it out of him.” Uncle had informed her that the train car would likely be made of iron and would negate any truth spells he tried on him.
“You need to play this thing through. You’re the one who came up with the fiancé charade. Make a good show of it, Monsieur Montcalme.”
Uncle and Ling trailed her through the cars. The other passengers took little notice—no one ever looked twice at servants, after all. They reached the prisoner car and found a guard by the door, a double-barreled shotgun slung across his chest. “Hold it right there. This car’s private.”
Hettie drew herself up, going for a brave face on a small, broken girl. It wasn’t that hard. “Is the prisoner you hold named Isaac Hedley?”
He gave her a critical once-over. “What if he is?”
“Isaac Hedley raped my sister. She was so ashamed she flung herself and her unborn baby off a cliff.” She forced tears to her eyes. “I want to look this bastard in the eye and spit on him, tell him what grief he’s caused me and mine.”
The lawman’s impassive expression didn’t change. “No one sees the prisoner.”
“I need to do this,” Hettie insisted. “I just want five minutes with him.”
He gave a shake of his head. “For your own sake, miss, I don’t recommend it. He’ll be brought to proper justice in due course.”
Uncle notched his chin up. “C’mon, deputy. You can’t seriously think that. A man like him deserves to be hung by his balls and flayed alive. If we announced to the rest of the train’s passengers the crimes this man has committed, I’m sure the mob would agree.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t threaten me, old man.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?” Uncle got into the guard’s face. “I’m Mr. Montcalme’s valet. That’s right, Michael Montcalme, who’s getting married to Sophie Favreau, the same one your dear Marshal Shaw is supping with tonight. Now, he told us explicitly we could see the man to assuage this poor girl’s conscience and free her of her nightmares. I know she’ll fare better just seeing that he’s locked away and in your capable hands.”
The deputy pursed his lips. “Wait here.” He ducked into the car and returned a moment later. “You get five minutes. But you have to wear these.” He held out large iron bracelets that suppressed magical abilities the same way the manacles had. They grudgingly agreed and let the guard lock them on. He searched both Ling and Uncle but didn’t check Hettie, which was just as well since Diablo was in her pocket.
He opened the door for them. Within, two more deputies lounged at a small card table, their sidearms dangling from belts slung on the chair backs. A row of iron cages was bolted to the floor in the center of the car. They were all empty except for the smallest one, barely large enough to hold a stool and the buzzard-thin rapist Isaac Hedley.
He sat hunched, elbows on his wide-set knees, forehead resting against steepled fingers as if in prayer. The outer door shut with a clang, and he peeked up. He sat back as much as the small space allowed and smoothed a hand over his oily hair. “So they sent me a little entertainment after all.” He broke into a lascivious grin, red tongue darting out to lick his cracked lips. “Accommodating, this railway is. I’ll have to look int
o investing in it.”
Hettie glanced at the lawmen, who were engrossed in their poker game. They didn’t seem too concerned with what one maid could do. Maybe the guard outside was the only one who cared. She stepped forward. “You know who I am?” she asked Hedley lowly.
He gave her a long, leisurely look that made her skin crawl. “Not in the biblical sense, but we can correct that. Lots I can do through bars, girlie. Just lift up your skirt and come here. I can show you a good time.”
Ling grabbed Hedley by the back of his collar and yanked him hard so his skull cracked against the bars. The lawmen looked up, smirking, and went back to their game. “Your tongue will be civil, or I will cut it out,” he hissed in the man’s ear.
“Mighty loyal, ain’t he?” He leered. “Must be a hell of a ride in the sack. Tell me, how big is he? ’Cuz I guarantee you mine’s bigger.” Hedley rubbed the front of his pants suggestively. “The ladies all love it.”
Hettie trembled with fury and disgust. She’d be doing the world a favor by blowing a hole through his gut. Perhaps it was a good thing the bracelets kept Diablo from jumping straight into her hand. “I want to know where my sister is.”
“Thirty miles north-northeast of Yuma, in an abandoned underground Zoom station,” he answered without hesitation. “Can’t tell you what room exactly—they didn’t want me seeing her. Shame, really. She looked awfully lonely, and I never had me a retar—”
Ling bashed the man’s forehead against the bars and wrapped his hands around the man’s throat. The deputies got up from their game, but weren’t too swift about it, and dragged Ling off. Hedley coughed and spat, gave a wheezing laugh. The men let go of Ling after giving him a halfhearted warning, then sat and resumed their card game.
“Tell us about the compound.” She knew he wanted to goad her into a reaction. Maybe he was trying to get her to shoot him—alerting the Pinkertons now could be disastrous.
“What’s there to tell? Home sweet home.” Hedley’s teeth were a mess of jagged yellow tombstones arrayed every which way in his mouth. “Got ourselves a whole happy family there. Not much in the way of entertainment, though. Not what we got.” He sighed wistfully.
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