Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04)

by Ann Parker

  Through her shock and disbelief, Inez kept her gaze on Harmony, trying to ascertain the truth before turning around. The widened eyes, the sudden flush accompanied by a guilt-stricken expression, and the previously confident, decisive young matron seemed to melt back into a child. Harmony’s response confirmed what Inez already knew in her heart of hearts.

  Harmony stepped forward. Her breath brushed Inez’s cheek as she whispered, “I thought she would be waiting for us in the dining hall, that I could tell you before we went down so you would have a chance to prepare yourself.”

  “Harmony Elizabeth Underwood DuChamps,” the voice was even closer. “You were not raised to whisper in front of others in such a rude manner. Nor, Inez Marie, were you raised to present your back to someone in their presence. Particularly if that someone is an elder. If I do not count as one of your elders, then you have forgotten more in this misbegotten corner of the country than your manners.”

  Inez arranged her features into a semblance of calm and agreeableness before obeying the implicit command and turning around.

  Agnes Underwood, older sister to Inez’s father, sailed forward, arms outstretched, beaming.

  Willowy, of medium height, she was clothed in a loose flowing gown, quite unlike anything Inez remembered her aunt ever wearing in public. Aunt Agnes, an aesthete? Well, she always did have a mind of her own. Her hair was still abundant and black, her blue eyes still as piercing as a knife but nowhere near as sharp as the words she wielded to fearsome effect over every member of Inez’s family for as far back as Inez could remember. As far as Inez could tell, Aunt Agnes hadn’t changed an iota in ten years. She kept her age buried as deeply as her strategies, all deployed from behind the calculated smile.

  Inez held out her arms in a returning embrace. “Dear, dear Aunt Agnes. Please excuse my rudeness. I must plead the shock of your unexpected appearance here in Manitou. You see, I was also not raised to present myself without notifying the host that I would be accompanying an invited party. Hence my momentary lapse of courtesy.” As she pressed her long-lost aunt to her breast, Inez murmured, “I never use the name Marie, nor do I ever refer to my maiden name of Underwood, so please do not do so here. My last name is Stannert and has been for more than ten years. I am a married woman, as I’m certain you recall.”

  Agnes broke away and held Inez at arm’s length. She smiled indulgently. “Of course I recall, silly girl. How could I forget, given the distress your untimely marriage caused the entire family. Why, Harmony cried for months and pined for years at your abandonment. Your father, as you probably know, refused to allow anyone to even speak your name, an order that stands to this day, I am sad to say. Your dear mother has never ever recovered from the neurasthenia resulting from your flouting of the family.”

  Agnes’ gaze sliced Inez top to bottom, dissecting hair, face, costume. “My dear, I will never understand how you young women put up with the cuirass bodice and tight lacing. You cannot even draw a breath in such an outfit, much less walk at a healthy pace.”

  Inez cocked her head. “Aunt, when did you embrace the aesthetic philosophy?”

  She waved an airy hand. “At my age, dear, I dress to please none but myself. However, that does not mean I stint on proper courtesy, deportment, manners, and conduct.”

  Inez could well imagine how Aunt Agnes enjoyed the bafflement of others as they strove to reconcile her devil-may-care outward appearance with her steely adherence to Hills’ rules of etiquette. At least, when it suited her.

  Agnes continued blithely, “As your sister knows, I decided long ago that your youthful error in marital judgment would not diminish my abiding affection for you, my eldest and most beloved niece, nor would it color our forever-looked-forward-to reunion. After all, the Stannert scoundrel is deceased, I understand. I would offer my condolences, but really, Inez, it is all for the best that he is gone.” She turned to Harmony, who stood, arms crossed, as attentive as an audience witnessing a drama on the stage. “Let us repair to the dining hall. We must not keep Mr. Jonathan DuChamps waiting. The dear man does hate to be kept waiting, does he not, sweet Harmony?”

  They moved down the hallway. As they approached the main staircase, Inez got a good look at Hermes in the daylight, watching over all who mounted or descended the stairs. He was impressively life size and did indeed sport a fig leaf. As she paused to examine the statue more closely, Agnes pulled her forward, remarking, “We shall take the ladies’ entrance to the dining room. As is proper.”

  Inez could feel a pounding headache beginning somewhere behind her right temple. I do hope the coffee is strong. It will have to be, if I am to survive this breakfast until I can excuse myself to see William.

  She shook her head, determined to settle one last thing before breakfast. “Aunt Agnes, you mentioned making plans to return ‘home.’ I assume you mean New York. However, the city is not my home and has not been for a very long time.”

  “My dear, there is absolutely no reason for you to stay here anymore, is there? I know you and your sister have been in correspondence for a long while. Indeed, I have been happy to accept the crumbs of information she has deigned to pass my way.”

  Inez could imagine the arm-twisting techniques Aunt Agnes had employed. Most likely, she had pestered Harmony nonstop on the train ride from New York to Denver until Harmony told all out of sheer exhaustion.

  “I understand you have been attempting to obtain a divorce based on desertion. But your suspicions are that he is dead, correct?” Aunt Agnes didn’t even glance at Inez to seek concurrence. “It is time you return to New York and your rightful family. Your son lives there, as does your only sister and the rest of the family. You can make amends with your father and tend to your mother. Return to New York, and there will be no censure in rejoining society as a grieving widow. Actually, your time of mourning would nearly be at a close, if we take into account the time that scoundrel’s been gone. That way, you need not pursue this divorce nonsense.”

  Inez stopped. Aunt Agnes continued a couple steps to the head of the staircase, hand still in the air as if resting on the ghost of Inez’s arm.

  “Our lawyers will take over, they will have Mark Stannert declared legally dead, and…” As if just realizing Inez was no longer beside her, Aunt Agnes turned. At last, a frown broke through the perfect porcelain surface, lines of disapproval dipping between her eyebrows and pulling down on her mouth. “Yes? What is it, Inez?” Impatience bled through her tone.

  Inez crossed her arms. “Declaring my husband legally dead may be difficult. Even for the family lawyers, Aunt Agnes, whom I am certain would find a way to declare the moon legally made of silver, spiderwebs, or green cheese, if Papa or you insisted it be done.”

  Staring down her aunt, Inez continued, “You see, Mark Stannert is very much alive. In fact, he will be here next week, so you will have the opportunity to meet him yourself.”

  Chapter Ten

  Aunt Agnes, who had lowered her hand to the banister of the women’s staircase, raised one eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, then. This situation will require a bit more labor to straighten out than I anticipated.”

  She sounded distantly disapproving, as if she were scolding a child for laying a dirty hand upon an expensive dress and leaving a smudge. She even glanced down at her flowing skirts and smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle. “We can discuss this later. We shouldn’t dillydally any longer.” She started down the stairs, adding, “Come along.”

  Inez glanced at Harmony who had come up beside her during the exchange. “What does she mean by that?” Inez asked acidly.

  Harmony lifted one shoulder. “Aunt Agnes is…impenetrable. We should talk further, when we can find a few moments alone. She usually rests for a spell in the afternoon. I can tell you what I know then. Come.” She took Inez’s hand, and gently tugged her to the staircase. “It’s time you met my husband.”

  The dining hall for the Mountain Springs House was flooded with morning light from east-facing windows and
the melodic hum of well-bred feminine voices, complemented here and there by a deeper harmonic line. White linen tablecloths blazed, and crystal-cut glassware, highly polished silverware, and fine china sparkled. Waiters in white jackets moved about with trays and silver coffee pots, prepared to pour or deliver on command. The corners of the room sported bronze statues that, like the one at the head of the main staircase, were mythical in nature, but far less massive. Inez readily identified Apollo and Athena, and spotted what she thought might be Hygeia, and Hermes yet again.

  The room held mostly women, dressed in light colors and summer fabrics that almost sparkled in the wash of sun. Here and there, an ensemble was sliced with darker contrasting underskirts and trim. Lace spilled from necklines, and pleats and flounces and fringe graced long skirts. Few in the dining room seemed dressed for a long walk or a day of vigor. The combination of high society in a resort setting reminded Inez of Saratoga Springs and long-ago summer days as a child. In her mind’s eye, she saw Aunt Agnes in hoop skirts, walking arm-in-arm with her father through the grounds of some nameless hotel, carefully circumnavigating other visitors wearing similarly wide skirts. Inez blinked her eyes to clear the vision.

  Aunt Agnes in the here-and-now came back into focus. Inez could make out her aunt in her “pre-Raphaelite” artistic dress costume, moving with girlish grace through the room to a long table, nearly full, in the center of the room. The only figure she recognized was Susan, seated between an older and younger man.

  “The dining room arrangement encourages guests to get to know each other,” Harmony said, drawing Inez along. “Very quaint. Although, as you might have guessed, Aunt Agnes thinks it’s quite barbaric that she must mix with the hoi polloi.”

  Both gentlemen stood at the women’s approach. To Inez’s surprise, Harmony bypassed the younger man and advanced to the older man on Susan’s left. She bestowed a tender smile on him, before turning to Inez. “Dear sister, allow me to introduce to you my husband, Mr. DuChamps. Mr. DuChamps, my sister, Mrs. Stannert.”

  Inez smiled, trying to gauge the decade of the man who bowed far enough to reveal an endearingly bald spot on the crown of his head.

  “It gives me great pleasure to form your acquaintance at last,” he said.

  An older gentleman sitting next to Mr. DuChamps had also popped up when Inez approached and now said, “Madam. You are a relation of the DuChamps? Allow me to introduce myself.” He placed a hand to his chest, over a full salt-and-pepper beard of luxuriant and well-tended proportions, and bowed. “Dr. Zuckerman, a physician now practicing in Colorado Springs. I am also a colleague of Dr. Prochazka’s, and a great admirer of the Mountain Springs House as a whole. Those at the helm of the house have a vision of the future that I embrace wholeheartedly, professionally, and personally, as I have explained to Mr. DuChamps in some detail these past days.” He smiled. At least, Inez assumed that a smile lurked beneath the smooth waves of whiskers, given the sudden gathering of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  Inez inclined her head and murmured politely in reply.

  “And this,” Harmony turned to the younger man, whom Inez judged to be somewhere in his twenties, “is Mr. Calder.”

  Calder smiled, displaying brilliant teeth. He had the dark good looks of poet Robert Burns and the robust constitution of a man who reveled in the out of doors. In fact, Inez caught a whiff of the stables about him, as if he had spent the morning riding hard. Calder executed a deep bow and said with a soft Scottish burr, “Mrs. Stannert, charmed. Miss Carothers has told me much about you.”

  Inez raised speculative eyebrows at Susan.

  Susan had the grace to blush. “Mr. Calder was inquiring as to how long we planned to stay here at the hotel. I was explaining the nature of my business, and that I’ll be staying with Mrs. Galbreaith at Ohio House, after today.”

  Inez noticed that Calder, after his initial bow and smile, had immediately refocused his attention on Susan. He listened to her with great intensity as if her every comment held secrets he was eager to unravel.

  “Perhaps we can plan a group outing to the Garden of the Gods to capture its wonders on plate and canvas,” he said.

  Two spots of color rose high on Susan’s cheeks. She said quickly, “Mr. Calder is an artist specializing in en plein air painting. We’ve been talking about the extraordinary landscape around here, perfect for photographers and watercolorists. I’m particularly looking forward to the Garden of the Gods. Mr. Calder says he has explored the area extensively. They have the most interesting names for the various rock formations in the Garden—Montezuma’s Temple, Tower of Babel, the Gateway, the Kissing Camels…”

  Aunt Agnes, standing by Jonathan, tapped her fingers on the unclaimed dining chair next to his. Her expression made it clear that she was waiting for him to seat her, and that she was not happy at being ignored.

  “It is wonderful for a young woman to have a hobby,” she interjected. “Although I do confess, photography strikes me as a touch bohemian. Mr. DuChamps? If you would?”

  Attention refocused, Jonathan DuChamps hastened to comply before escorting Harmony to the chair beside Calder. Aunt Agnes patted the empty seat to her left, with a meaningful look at Inez. “Come here, dear girl. It has been far too long, and we have much to discuss. Mr. DuChamps, please assist your sister-in-law?”

  Much to Inez’s amusement, Aunt Agnes batted her eyelashes.

  Harmony’s husband smiled indulgently at Aunt Agnes and pulled out the chair for Inez. Inez sat, preparing herself as best she could for the skirmish she was certain was coming.

  Aunt Agnes wasted no time. Unfolding the fluted napkin pleat by pleat, she said, “Your son, Inez, is a handsome child.” She made it sound as if he was a particularly unusual specimen of butterfly, pinned for display in an exhibit. “Your father is quite taken with him. The son he never had, you understand.”

  It was exactly what Inez feared most to hear.

  “I don’t think…” Aunt Agnes picked up her crystal water glass, turning it left and right. Sunlight flashed from the facets and shattered into rainbows on the blinding white linen tablecloth. “…given William’s precarious constitution, the state of his lungs and so on, that he will allow your son to return to you here in Colorado.”

  “William is my son.” Inez said. “Papa has no say in his future.”

  “So, what is your intention?” Agnes put the glass down and faced Inez. “Do you and this husband of yours—I don’t even want to say his name—intend to spirit William away at the end of this visit? Are you and he in collusion? Would you really take your child back up to a place that could kill him?”

  “Of course not!” snapped Inez.

  “Of course not,” Agnes agreed. “I’m glad to see we are in absolute agreement. I assured your father that we would be.”

  A polite cough to Inez’s left drew her attention.

  A waiter dressed all in white, reminding Inez of the ghostly figure from the previous evening, hovered with a silver coffee carafe.

  “Please!” she said fervently. He filled her bone china cup. Inez inhaled the fragrant aroma of freshly ground coffee, and mourned the lack of any strong spirits to get her through what was proving to be one of Aunt Agnes’ standard cat-and-mouse conversations.

  Her thoughts turned to William and the worrisome development to his future as well as the increasingly complex present. Perhaps I should excuse myself and wait out front, to be there when he and Lily return. She glanced at the dining room entry, her grip on the cup tightening, her desire to see William so fierce it was almost as if she was willing him to materialize out of thin air.

  The waiter approached Agnes, who nodded languorously. After he had vanished, Agnes continued in a matter-of-fact manner. “I have tickets for us all to return to New York in two weeks. If it were up to me, I would exchange them right now for tomorrow’s train. We have been here a week, and honestly, that is a week too long for me. What passes for culture here is…” She waved dismissively. “Charade
s, chess, checkers, hops. I hear one of the nearby hotels, the Cliff House, proclaims it has a billiards hall for both men and women. Most unseemly. Burro rides to explore waterfalls, and the top of, what is it called, Pike Mountain?”

  Inez lifted her coffee cup and sipped, to give herself time to calm down before answering. She was gratified to find the coffee tasted as good as it smelled. “Pike’s Peak, Aunt Agnes. There was a gold rush in Colorado, twenty years ago. Don’t you recall? I was only eleven, but even I remember the ‘Pike’s Peak or Bust’ talk, and Papa’s speculations about whether the gold was a true bonanza or simply the over-promotion of a few zealots.”

  Agnes shook her head. “I recall nothing of the sort. I always decried your father’s inclinations to let you listen to all that folderol. He would insist on reading items in the newspaper to you, and even let you read it yourself. I warned him that it would not do, in the end. I was right. Look where you have ended up.” She rolled her eyes toward the bank of picture windows, facing the hotel’s back gardens and the landscape beyond.

  “You might as well be on the moon,” she continued. “This place. Saratoga of the West, indeed. I know Cara Bell finds this place enchanting. I wrote to her as soon as our plans were set, and we have been in communication since. She came to visit us when we first arrived and positively filled your sister and Jonathan’s heads with nonsense about this place. On top of it all, what with doctor what’s-his-name Pro-something-or-other and our hotelier Mr. Lewis, I do believe Harmony and Jonathan are bewitched and seriously considering summer residence. Yes?” This last was addressed in an irritable tone to the waiter, who had reappeared without the carafe.

  He cleared his throat. “Pardon mesdames. Mrs. Stannert?” He directed this to Inez.

  “Yes?” She set down the coffee cup.

  “Monsieur Lewis wishes to speak with you.” He looked to the dining room door. The hotelier, stood just inside, gazing in her direction.