Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04)

by Ann Parker

  They passed the women’s parlor, door ajar, equally quiet and deserted. Further down and nearly to the end of the hall, he paused outside a closed door where he pulled out a small carved box. He extracted a lucifer, struck the sulphurous head against the ribbed side of the box, and brought the small flame to the end of the cigarette, lighting it. Epperley inhaled deeply and exhaled, his sigh of pleasure curling up with the smoke. He sorted through a set of keys attached to his waistcoat by a silver chain, unlocked the door, and stood aside, offering Inez entrance with a languid wave.

  The first thing she noticed about the room was the bank of windows, their drapes pulled back to allow views of the garden and clinic behind the hotel. The room itself seemed to be set up as a game room. Several tables had checkerboards inlaid on their tops in exotic woods, decks of cards neatly stacked in open cases, and a glass-fronted base that displayed a magnificent array of silver and gold chessmen. However, there was also a bar, although no bottles to advertise whether it served merely ice creams and phosphates or something more to her taste.

  Epperley gestured to Inez to take a chair facing the gardens and began to rummage beneath the bar. Things began to look more positive as he set a tall glass on the bar, remarking, “Alcohol and tobacco are the two purest evils, according to Dr. P. Don’t let him catch you cozying up to the scotch. He’s liable to ring out the leeches and proclaim your humours dangerously unbalanced.”

  “Dr. P?” For a moment, she was lost.

  “Dr. Aurelius Pro-whatcha. I never could keep his bloody name straight. It was better before he arrived and the original hotel physician slunk off to hang his shingle in Colorado Springs. ‘Zuckerman’ rolls off the tongue with no problem.” He paused, squinting at Kirsten Pace’s bottle, which Inez had set on the table before her. “Don’t tell me Dr. P already has you taking some remedy or other. Pardon me for saying so, Mrs. Stannert, but you hardly appear the invalid.”

  “It’s not mine,” she said, then searching for a plausible target, added, “It’s for my sister, Mrs. DuChamps.”

  He pulled out two unmarked bottles from below the bar and deposited a scoop of fine ice into the tall glass. “Ah yes, the lovely Mrs. DuChamps. Charming woman. The climate here seems to suit her. Even more than that, she seems to thrive on the scenery and doesn’t mind the dust or heat.”

  Turning, he selected a cutting board and knife before reaching into a jar on the shelf and extracting two lemons.

  Epperley glanced around at Inez’s exclamation of disgust.

  “I abhor lemonade,” she said. “If either of those bottles are mineral water from the local springs…”

  “Never fear, Mrs. Stannert. I believe I have your measure, so to speak.” He prepared a plain lemonade as he talked. “Along with being the manager of this fine hotel, I’m the resident mixologist. You Americans are so inventive with your various concoctions, never afraid to toss this and that into a glass, top it with a bit of fruit, and see where it goes, even to the point where the talk devolves into nonsense and the barking irons are employed. But that’s the West for you. Endless entertainment and fascination for a remittance man as myself.”

  “A displaced son from Britannia’s shores? You have plenty of company here in Colorado,” Inez commented. “The state is crawling with remittance men.”

  The lemons good and truly squeezed of every last drop, Epperley added a judicious tot of sugar and mixed it all with a long spoon.

  Inez fervently hoped there was more to his recipe.

  He nodded. “There’s truth to that, indeed. Especially here, in Manitou and Colorado Springs. I’d heard of ‘Little London’ years ago and devoured Ruxton’s Life in the Far West as a lad, which pretty much convinced me that my future lay in the mountains and plains of the States. In any case, I just had to give it all a try. Banking wasn’t my interest, the homestead went to brother Harris, and then, I met this lovely lady.” He paused in his narrative and shook his head.

  Inez found her interest piqued. He came West for a woman? But Lewis said Epperley chased the cure to Manitou.

  Epperley continued, “For any number of reasons, it was time to ‘vamoose,’ as our local gendarme might say. I decided, well, why not make an adventure of it? So off to the land of buffalo, bubbling springs, and red savages came I.”

  Apparently satisfied with the lemonade, he extracted a shot glass from beneath the bar and opened the first bottle. “Imagine my disappointment to find most of the savages and nearly all the buffalo gone. Ah, well. Wandered around a bit, and pulled up here. As for the liquid part of my employment, it all started as a hobby, then became a bit of an obsession. Can’t say I mind tweaking the good doctor, what with the small portion of notoriety I’ve brought to the Mountain Springs House as a result.”

  “By the ‘good doctor’ you mean Dr. Prochazka?”

  He pointed the stirring spoon at her. “World-famous physician Dr. P, got it in one. ‘Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult. The physician must not only be prepared to do what is right himself, but also to make the patient, the attendants, and externals cooperate.’”

  He added a measure from each bottle, stirred again, and placed the glass on a saucer alongside a spoon and a sprig of mint. “First aphorism of Hippocrates. I tinkered with the field of medical arts at one point, but it all just seemed like too much effort and not enough fun.”

  He came around the bar and brought the glass to Inez. “Now tell me if this doesn’t meet with your approval and if it isn’t a jot more refreshing than whiskey neat at noon.”

  She took a spoonful and tasted sweet lemon overlaid with…

  She looked up. “Is that gin and bourbon?”

  He grinned, all teeth below his ferociously pointed mustache. “Bulls-eye, as they say. You have, Mrs. Stannert, most excellent taste.”

  She took another spoonful and allowed the iced concoction to melt in her mouth. “I shall have to remember this.”

  Resting his back against the bar, he had picked up the cigarette again and was staring idly out the window as he inhaled, then exhaled. The word “yes” hissed out like steam from a mineral spring. “You are welcome to add it to the repertoire you offer up at the Silver Queen,” he said, knocking ash onto the floor with the flick of a finger. “Say, you could even name it after me. The ‘Epperley’ has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

  The frozen ice dripped from her spoon. “How did you know?”

  His gaze switched to her and his lips twisted into the shadow of a smile. “You obviously knew a high-class brandy when presented with one and held your liquor admirably well for a lady. I was curious, so made a few discreet inquiries this morning. It’s a small and well-connected group of displaced, disowned, and dissolute Brits in Manitou, any number of whom pilgrimage religiously to Leadville every month with their allowances, returning with empty pockets and ‘barrel fever’ from over-imbibing. The Silver Queen is well known, as is her proprietress, Mrs. Stannert.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated that her efforts at keeping a low profile amongst the guests might all shatter like a mirror whose nail had given way. “Well known, you say?”

  “A slight exaggeration, sorry. Well known among my colleagues who are wastrels and wretches. You needn’t fear that I’ll say anything to our guests and so on.”

  She tapped the table with her spoon, lemonade forgotten for the moment, as she regarded him. “So all this bonhomie, chit chat, airing of personal stories is professional courtesy?”

  “Quite. I have nothing but admiration for another practitioner of the art of mixology.”

  “I see.” She stirred the half-consumed icy slush, thinking. “I’m curious. You’ve been here in Manitou, how long?”

  “Three years.”

  “What do you think of the hotel’s prospects? Would you advise me to invest?”

  He laughed heartily and unexpectedly. “Oh ho. Don’t even think of bringing it up to Lewis. If you are interested, you
’d best get your husband, your father, or your uncle to front for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh dear, Mrs. Stannert, are you going to force me to spell it out? Here I thought you were so perceptive.” He waved the nearly consumed cigarette around in a vague figure eight. A good inch’s worth of ash fluttered to the linoleum. “I personally have no problem with the thought of you joining our merry band and making buckets of money when the area takes off. But Lewis runs it pretty much as a gentlemen’s club, if you get my drift.”

  “How unfortunate,” said Inez. “I’ve a bit of pin money of my own, and I’m not averse to investing where I can see an excellent return.” She sighed theatrically. “But it’s true that I’m not that well-versed in the hotel or spa business. Since Mr. Stannert will be joining us later, perhaps you might give me some information I could pass along to him.”

  Epperley shook his head, mouth thinned as if restraining unspoken words. He drew on his cigarette one more time, before putting it out in the shot glass, and extracting a second from his cigarette case. “The prospects for an excellent return are there.” He spoke cautiously, without looking at her. “I’ve invested myself, so I’ve got my hopes, to say the least.”

  “You’re invested in the hotel?”

  “A part owner, actually. One-third in.” He lit the cigarette and inhaled with vehemence. The smoke uncurled as he spoke. “I’m not one to play at games of chance, but I do see a likely future for Manitou in general and the Mountain Springs House in particular. After all, the consumptives have been flocking this past year, clamoring for Dr. P’s miracle cures.”

  She regarded him, thinking that there was more than a tinge of distaste in his mentions of the doctor. “Mr. Lewis said you came to Manitou to take the waters for consumption.”

  “Stuff and nonsense.” He managed to sound irritated and amused at the same time. “A little fable he likes to trot out to encourage and comfort the tourists and invalids. I don’t know why he insists on saying that. There are many who have improved during their stay here, without having to resort to tall tales.”

  Inez thought back to Harmony’s comment that her husband was considering investing. Too, there was Mrs. Pace’s statement that not all was as it seemed at Mountain Springs House.

  Slowly, as if approaching a half-wild animal, she said, “So, you are saying the hotel has a solid future. But you are also saying don’t trust Lewis. You’re even suggesting I not trust the doctor. However, you seem to indicate I should trust you.”

  “That is correct.” There was a studied indifference to his tone, a “take it or leave it” air.

  Looking for a way to pierce the artifice and see the truth in him, she said, “So, why did you really leave England? A second son seeking adventure or a lothario breaking one too many hearts?”

  She meant to shock him. To see if she could freeze the shifting mercurial façades he kept pulling up before her.

  Something tightened in his demeanor, and for a moment she glimpsed anger, flickering like a dark flame. “Oh, I didn’t break her heart. She broke mine. Utterly. I could have turned to the law, I suppose. Sued for divorce, thrown my family into total shame and humiliation.” He drew hard on the cigarette before exhaling and releasing another long plume. Finally he said, “I caught her in flagrante delicto, and even had my pistol in my hand. I could have saved myself much grief by pulling the trigger and ending it all.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Leadville

  After leaving her lawyer’s office, Inez set out for Evan’s Mercantile. Striding down the Harrison Avenue boardwalk toward Chestnut Street, Inez clutched her parasol in a furious fist, as tight as if she had Mark’s neck instead of the handle in her grip.

  One of the fringed tips of her open parasol brushed against the top hat of a passing gentleman. He caught the tumbling topper with an exclamation of annoyance before it hit the dirt and tobacco-juice-splattered boards.

  “My apologies,” said Inez unapologetically.

  Coming to the corner of Harrison and Chestnut, she closed the parasol, hoisted her hems an added inch, stepped nimbly off the boards and into the street. Parasol at the ready, she started to run the gauntlet of Harrison’s wide rutted street, dodging wagons, carts, horses, scattered bits of dried or steaming manure, and other pedestrians. As she whacked the rump of a too-slow burro with her parasol so she could lunge through the moving gap between two ore carts, Inez was glad that the streets were at least dry and not knee-deep in mud and offal. Of course, there was always the danger of twisting an ankle and going down—a dangerous prospect and all too real, especially for those unused to navigating the busy thoroughfares of Leadville.

  Safely on the other side, she used her closed parasol as a cane to steady herself on the steep stairs up to the boardwalk level of Chestnut. After tapping the parasol on the boards to loosen the burro dust that clung to it, she walked a half-block before making a hard left into Evan’s Mercantile or, as it announced on its windows, “Leadville’s Lead Purveyor of Fine Goods, Firearms, and General Merchandise—Anywhere.”

  She’d often thought, on entering the store, that the “Anywhere” might be a tad over the top, but she was not about to correct the grammar of one of the most steadfast and loyal players at her Saturday night poker games.

  Bob Evan himself was behind a counter in the dry goods section, talking to one of the earnest young clerks who seemed to come and go with the Leadville seasons: here in the brilliant summers, gone in the brutal winters. Inez heard Evan say, “When Mrs. Warner returns, tell her of course we can obtain the Valenciennes lace she is looking for. Never send her to another store. We can always get what the customers want. Especially now that we have the railway to town, it’s a simple matter of…” Evan broke off his earnest dissertation when Inez laid her parasol on the countertop, and his square face broke into a smile.

  “Mrs. Stannert! What a pleasure to see you.” He adjusted his wire-rim glasses and turned his full attention to her. The silent clerk took advantage of the storeowner’s change in focus and slipped away to help a woman dithering among the bolts of calico.

  “Good morning—oh my, it’s afternoon, isn’t it—Mr. Evan. I’m here to replace my pocket pistol. Alas, it didn’t survive the house fire, and I’ve been slow about getting a new one.” She glanced toward the gun case, which was a judicious distance from the fabrics and laces portion of the store.

  Evan came from behind the counter. “I heard about the fire. I’m glad that you managed to escape. Anything you need to start anew, let me know. I’ll provide a first-rate discount on house goods.”

  She murmured her thanks as they walked to the firearms portion of the store.

  Evan continued, “I said the same to Mr. Stannert when he came by this morning and bought that little Smooth Number Three. In fact, he just returned it not an hour ago, saying you had something else in mind.” He referenced Mark as neutrally as if he were discussing the expected arrival of a wagonload of flour.

  Inez stopped by the gun case, and gripped the wood-bound edge of the glass top, attempting to tamp down her irritation at Mark and reply in equally neutral tones. “I’d prefer the model I had before—Remington Number Two, Smoot’s Patent.”

  Evan slipped behind the case saying, “Certainly, if that’s what you want. But the Smoot Number Three is a beaut, chambered for .38 caliber. Thought you’d like the pearl grip on the one I sold to Mr. Stannert. Anyhow, there’s also the Smoot Number Four. I have a dandy specimen, if you’re interested.”

  Inez held up her gloved hand, fingers spread wide to stop his enthusiastic patter. “I want a Smoot Number Two, as close to my original as possible. For sentimental reasons, you understand.”

  “Oh sure, sure.” His head bobbed, and he smoothed his brown hair absently, running his hand over the top of his head as he turned his back to the case and looked at the shelves.

  “Here we go.” He reached high and retrieved a small hard-leather case. He set it on the glas
s top and opened it, remarking, “I guess this was just waiting for you, Mrs. Stannert. Took it from a fellow who needed the money for a ticket out of town. Guess he thought he’d come to Leadville and become a bonanza king just picking the silver up off the ground. Told him he was way too late, that most of the mining district was all staked out and he ought to test his luck elsewhere.”

  Her heart gladdened at the sight of the pocket pistol, sister to the one that had been lost in the flames. She extracted the gun from its resting place, pulled out the cylinder pin, and removed the cylinder to examine the chambers and the barrel.

  Evan leaned one elbow on the counter. “Clean as a whistle. No rust or corrosion. She was well taken care of, Mrs. Stannert.”

  Inez nodded her approval and placed the revolver back in its red-velvet lined case.

  “Excellent. I’ll take her and a box of the appropriate cartridges, please.”

  As Evan set the box of bullets beside the leather case, Inez opened her purse asking, “How much will that be?”

  “Oh, no problem. I’ll put it on Mr. Stannert’s line of credit.”

  Hand frozen in the purse, she fixed him with an iron gaze. “What?”

  Evan retreated a step, bumping into the shelves. “Oh. Well. When Mr. Stannert came in and we talked about the fire and all, and how he wants to rebuild. We discussed it, and like I told you, I’ll give you a first-rate discount on goods and so on. So, of course, he wanted to have a line of credit sufficient to…Well, the saloon is going gangbusters, I know he’s quite impressed with how you and Mr. Jackson handled all the business while he was gone…”

  She withdrew her money purse and smacked it on the glass. “I’ll pay cash.”

  He looked startled, and a bit shocked, as if she’d offered to do a dance on the gun cabinet. “Really, Mrs. Stannert, that’s not necessary.”

  “Then I would like to start a line of credit that is separate from Mr. Stannert’s.”