10
As it turned out, Valentina's hopes for finding suitable employment were dashed. After gaining the approval of Mrs. Windom's housekeeper, Mrs. Gibbins, Valentina was led into the bedroom and introduced to the dour Mrs. Windom. The elderly woman showed her disapproval of Valentina immediately and, nodding toward the door, indicated that Valentina should leave at once.
The housekeeper ushered Valentina out the door and into the entryway. "I'm sorry, miss. My employer seems to have her heart set on a certain kind of young lady. She has a strong dislike for anything British. Perhaps that is why she sent you away. I hope you won't take the slight personally."
"I need this job desperately. Is there any chance that Mrs. Windom might change her mind?"
"No, ma'am, but then, you see, the position doesn't pay that much anyway. Mrs. Windom was only offering three dollars a week."
Valentina shook her head. "I need more money than that to take care of my mother. That would hardly be enough to put food on the table at the high prices in San Francisco." Valentina extended her hand to the housekeeper. "Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Gibbins."
"For what it's worth, I think Mrs. Windom made a mistake in not hiring you, miss," the maid said, acting genuinely sorry. "You seem a very well-brought-up young lady."
"Thank you again. It is unfortunate for me that you don't have the last word in hiring me," Valentina said, taking her leave.
Her footsteps dragged on the way home. She had had high hopes for the job with Mrs. Windom. Now she would have to dance at the Crystal Palace for an indefinite period of time.
When Valentina arrived home, she sank down in a chair, feeling miserable. Salamar, with a concerned frown on her face, handed her a cup of tea. "I take it the interview did not go well?"
"No. It seems that the lady had an aversion to my being English. Perhaps I should have informed her I was half French."
"It may be for the best, Valentina. I doubt that the position would have paid all that well. Besides, who would want to work for a woman who condemns a whole race of people just because she does not like one or two of them?"
"You are right about the woman and the pay. We couldn't have survived on the meager amount, and I wouldn't have been happy working for her."
"What are you going to do?"
Valentina's shoulders drooped and she felt completely deflated. "I just don't know, Salamar."
"I believe you do."
"Yes, you are right. I will dance for Tyree Garth. I owe him a week of dancing anyway since he already paid me. I was just hoping a week was all I would have to dance. I do not know how we will keep Mother from finding out about what I'm doing."
Salamar stared into Valentina's eyes. "You could tell your mother that you got the position with Mrs. Windom. That will lend respectability if anyone inquires about how you are earning money."
"I cannot tell an untruth, Salamar. You always taught me to be honest. If it was wrong in the past to be untruthful, it's still wrong."
"What you say is true. We must weigh carefully what the truth would do to your mother. I do not think we are prepared to take the chance." Salamar sat down beside Valentina and looked at her with sad eyes. "If I could take your unhappiness in my hands and crush it, I would do so. If you can believe this, then know that the road to true happiness is often strewn with stones."
Valentina smiled. "Are you trying to tell me that at the end of the rainbow is a pot of gold?"
"Yes, something like that."
Valentina laughed uncontrollably as the tears streamed down her face. "What cannot be cured must be endured, Salamar. I must flaunt myself on a stage where men will gawk at me. My mother would die of shame if she ever found out. I will try to remember that I am doing this for our survival; otherwise, I couldn't go through with it."
Salamar felt tears in her own eyes, knowing Valentina was suffering from shame and heartbreak. She knew Valentina was being torn apart inside because she was forced to dance in a place like the Crystal Palace. Taking the girl in her arms, Salamar held her tightly, allowing her to cry out her misery. "This too, shall pass, Valentina. I swear to you that you will one day see the gold at the end of the rainbow."
The Crystal Palace was noisy and smoke filled. The sound of the roulette wheel was swallowed up by the sounds of murmuring voices and loud laughter from the men at the gambling tables.
Tyree glanced up at the stage where new red velvet curtains hung. Looking about him at the rough-hewn faces of the customers who frequented his establishment, he wondered if he had made a mistake in hiring the girl who called herself simply Jordanna. These miners might not appreciate her talent. They might be just as happy if Dora and Sadie, the two women who served drinks for him, climbed on stage and tried to dance. They would only be interested in a show of legs or a low-cut bodice. It was evident that Jordanna would show neither.
Holding a cigar between his teeth, Tyree scraped a match across the edge of the bar, watching it ignite with the accompanying sulphur smell. Touching the match to his cigar, he heard Hubert run his fingers over the piano keys and fill the room with a soft melody. The song he was playing reminded Tyree of summer skies and bluebirds he had seen long ago in his boyhood. The music stopped and he knew it was time for Jordanna to appear.
The men who were drinking and gambling did not even glance up as the curtain opened and the slight figure of the woman glided forward. Tyree watched in shocked surprise and more than a little anger. Jordanna was not wearing the red gypsy skirt she had worn the day he had hired her. She was draped in filmy white material that hung down to her ankles. Her hair was covered with a white veil, which fell across the lower half of her face, concealing her identity. She was not barefoot, but wore the white satin toe shoes of a ballerina.
His teeth clamped down on the cigar, and he swore under his breath. He had gone to the expense of redoing the stage and having the dressing room decorated to the woman Salamar's specifications. He damned sure hadn't hired her to do some damned fancy toe dance. This was the West, not some luxurious salon in Europe. He was so angry he decided to go backstage and order Jordanna either to dance the Gypsy dance or leave the Crystal Palace at once.
Valentina eased up on her toes and began swirling around in a circle. Tyree was halfway to the stage when a strange sound met his ears—the sound of complete silence! The roulette wheel wasn't spinning, and there was no laughter or murmuring. Turning around, he glanced at the faces of the men only to find their eyes glued to the stage. Awe and reverence were written on the weathered faces of the old men. A look of adoration graced the faces of the younger men. Jordanna had them all completely under her spell.
Tyree leaned back against the wall, poked his hands in his pockets, and watched Jordanna with a smile on his face. The soft music filled the room and she whirled, she spun. She danced on her toes; she gracefully moved like poetry across the stage, her white gown always modestly hugging her ankles. As she danced, each man was reminded of eternal youth and beauty. Tyree watched one old, hard-bitten miner with a white beard dabbing at his eyes. Others were crying openly and unashamed. They were witnessing something so lovely, so unbelievable, they would never forget it.
The music built up in tempo and Jordanna leaped into the air as if she had taken wing. In her graceful broad leaps, her legs swept out into perfect splits. The music slowed and she spun around and then dropped into a deep curtsy.
With one last glance at the audience, she arose and disappeared backstage. For what seemed an eternity, silence reigned in the Crystal Palace. Then, all of a sudden, the men went crazy. Bedlam swept the crowd as they applauded and called for the dancer to return. Voices were raised in tribute to the goddess who had just blessed them with a glimpse of undeniable beauty.
Tyree felt a jolt at his elbow and smiled into the laughing eyes of Julian Mathews, a reporter for the Missouri Republican, who had been sent to San Francisco to write articles about the gold rush.
"You have been holding out on me, Tyree. W
ho was that lovely angel?"
"Just that—an angel."
"Introduce me to her. Damnit, she is the most graceful and talented dancer I've ever seen, and I've seen plenty. It isn't fair to keep her for yourself; she's too beautiful for just one man."
"How could you tell she was beautiful when her face was covered?" Tyree asked lazily.
"I could just tell. Are you going to introduce me to her or not?"
"Not."
"Then I'll just go backstage and introduce myself."
Julian Mathews turned in the direction of the stage only to be yanked back by Tyree. "I can't let you do that, Julian. See Bob Taylor over there nursing that rifle? His orders are to allow no one backstage. As you know, Bob is a stickler for following orders."
"Why won't you allow anyone backstage?" Julian asked, his reporter's nose smelling a story. "What's the big mystery about this dancer?"
"The mystery is that this is the way she wants it. I don't know her story. I only know that if she keeps dancing for me, she'll make me a wealthy man. If she doesn't want anyone to see her face, that's the way it'll be. If she doesn't want anyone backstage, that's the way it will be too."
"What if I find a way to meet her?"
"I would ask you not to do that. If you succeeded, I believe she would disappear and none of us would ever see her dance again."
Julian ran a hand through his sandy curls as his eyes lit up with an idea. "I've had a change of heart. I don't want anyone to know who she is. I am going to make that little lady famous. Everyone loves a mystery. I will fight as hard as you to protect her identity, because she is going to provide me with whopping news stories for a long time to come. The folks back East will eat this up."
Tyree nodded. "I'm glad you see it that way." To himself he murmured, "I wonder who she really is and what her story is."
The next morning's newspaper headlines hailed the mystery lady that graced the stage at the Crystal Palace. It mentioned something about her being the golden Venus, hiding her face because she was too beautiful for mortal man to look upon.
Marquis and one of his Indian vaqueros, Tomico, rode up the rocky slope toward Valentina's father's mine. Halting their mounts in front of the mine opening, Marquis called out in English, "Hello, is anyone here?"
When there was no answer, Marquis got off his horse and motioned for Tomico to draw his rifle and remain mounted. Walking cautiously toward the cabin that was just past the face of a cliff, he called out again.
This time he was rewarded by a grumbling voice and a man pulling up his suspenders came out of the door. He looked at Marquis suspiciously and would have drawn the gun he wore crammed into the waist of his trousers had he not spied Tomico's rifle aimed at him.
"What you want around here, stranger? If you came to rob me, you'll find poor pickings," Samuel Udell said, his eyes moving from the Indian to the dark-eyed Spaniard.
"I have come to inquire about a man named Ward Barrett." Marquis knew this man with his white beard and mustache and a distinct American accent could not be Valentina's father. This man was too crude, too uneducated. Ward Barrett would be a much younger man who spoke English with a clipped British accent.
"Have you now? And just what in the world would be your interest in my partner?" Samuel Udell looked over the fancily dressed Spanish man carefully. His appearance proclaimed him to be of the landed gentry— probably some aristocratic grandee, he thought. He could not imagine why the man would be inquiring about Ward Barrett. "Why would you want to know about a dead man?" he questioned.
"I made Ward Barrett's daughter a promise that I would find out about her father. I am told that you were the last person to see him alive."
The old man scratched his head. "Now that would be a fact. We was digging down in the mine, and there was a fearsome cave-in. He were buried so deep in that there mine that they'll never find his body."
"I would like you to show me where the cave-in occurred so I can tell his daughter that I saw where her father was buried."
"Now I ain't likely letting no strangers go poking around in my mine. How do I know you haven't come to rob me? A man can't be too careful these days. There's plenty of claim jumping going on."
"But, senor, you have intimated to me that you have nothing to steal. Did you not tell Senora Barrett that the mine was nonproducing. As far as I can see, that would bring up another question to be answered. If you have not found gold, why do you continue to dig here?"
The old man's eyes became hooded and he laid his hand on the handle of his gun. When he heard the click of the Indian's rifle, he held out his hands. "I don't have nowhere else to go. I sunk all my money into this mine. I have to stay with it, come rain or hell."
"It would be wise for you to speak the truth, senor. I would not want to believe that you have cheated the Barrett family," Marquis stated flatly, the merest hint of a threat hanging in the air.
Samuel Udell eyed the Spaniard, sensed he did not make idle threats, and saw he was a dangerous man to cross. There was something in those dark eyes that made his words ring with sincerity. "Now, I wouldn't go cheating a partner. How could you even think I would? Ward Barrett was my friend as well as my partner."
"If that is so, then you have nothing to fear. You will show me the place where Ward Barrett's body is buried. Then I will be on my way and you can go back to your digging."
"You can't see nothing back there but the cave-in. The air's so thin the lanterns won't burn."
"I was not born without a brain, senor. Take me to the place where you claim Ward Barrett died."
Samuel Udell licked his dry lips and glanced again at the Indian with the gun. "I'll take you in, but I ain't going in with no Indian."
"Tomico will do you no harm unless I tell him to. But no matter; I will go into the cave with you alone. However, I feel I should warn you not to try anything funny. If I don't come out in one piece, Tomico will slit your throat without thinking twice about it."
Samuel moved toward the mine opening, grumbling under his breath. Once inside, he waited for Marquis to join him. When they moved away from the front of the mine, it became pitch dark. Marquis waited for Samuel Udell to light the lantern. The old man then motioned for him to precede him into the dark interior. The flames from the lantern flickered across the cave wall, distorting their shadows. As they moved deep into the bowels of the mine, it was as quiet as a tomb, with only the occasional sound of dripping water breaking the silence.
As the tunnel veered off to the right, Marquis happened to glance up at Samuel's shadow and saw him raising a pickax over his head, ready to strike him down from behind. In one quick motion, Marquis jumped aside and at the same time grabbed the pick handle and easily wrestled it from Samuel's grip. Pushing the miner onto the ground, Marquis straddled him and pushed the pick handle against his windpipe. Applying pressure, he watched Samuel's face redden while he gasped for breath, clawing at Marquis's hands, trying to free himself.
"You had better talk, old man," Marquis hissed through gritted teeth. "What happened to Ward Barrett?"
Still Samuel clawed and groped at Marquis's hands, trying to push him away. By now his eyes were bulging, and blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. Finally Marquis released the pressure and the miner grabbed his throat to draw in a deep breath.
"Are you ready to give me some straight answers? What happened to Ward Barrett?" Marquis asked, standing up and placing the heel of his boot against the frightened man's throat.
"I'll talk," Samuel whispered in a tight voice. "Move your foot and I'll tell you everything."
Marquis stepped back and leaned against the wall of the mine, casually folding his arms across his chest. "I am listening, Samuel Udell. Do not think I won't know it if you speak falsely."
The old man crawled across the cave floor, grabbing a loose beam and pulling himself up. Still gasping for breath, he leaned against the wall for support. "What if I was to tell the truth, and you don't like what I have to say? What wou
ld you do with me?"
"Your fate hangs entirely on what you did to Mr. Barrett," Marquis said in a deadly tone.
Samuel looked uneasy, and his eyes shifted away from Marquis's. "It wasn't none of my doing. I felt bad about getting rid of Ward. He were a good man and a mighty fine partner."
"What did you do?" Marquis held his breath. He hoped for Valentina's sake that her father was still alive. "Speak up," he demanded. "Where is Ward Barrett?"
Samuel stared down at the toes of his scuffed brown boots. "I had heard tell that in San Francisco most ship captains was paying top dollar for sailors to man their ships and weren't asking any questions as to where they came from. It seems that there are so many seamen deserting their ships and lighting out for the gold fields that there ain't enough men to sail out of port."
"You mean you had Ward Barrett shanghaied? Is that what happened?"
"Yep, it pains me to say I did. I have since had regrets, but the deed was done. As far as I know, he ain't no worse for the wear."
Marquis wasn't convinced of the man's sincerity. "Why did you decide to shanghai your partner?"
"It weren't an easy thing to do. I guess greed got the better of me. When we struck gold, I guess I just went a little crazy. Suddenly half a gold mine wasn't enough. I wanted it all."
"What is the name of the ship that took Ward Barrett aboard?"
"The Southern Cross. She's a three-rigger ship out of Boston."
"This will take time to check. If I find you have not told me the truth, I will be back. You can depend on that. I'd better find Mr. Barrett unharmed, or you will pay dearly. I will see that you are placed behind bars for what you have done to the Barrett family."
"If you did that, what would happen to my mine?"
"You should have thought of that before you cheated your partner. When I return, Samuel Udell, it would be best if you were gone."
Marquis walked out of the mine into the bright sunlight feeling lighthearted. If Samuel Udell was telling the truth, there was a good chance that Valentina's father was still alive. He could hardly wait to reach San Francisco so he could find out if the Southern Cross was still in port. If it wasn't, there was nothing he could do but wait until she returned to California.
Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) Page 13