The Queen of Diamonds

by Moore, Juliet

  "Listen to your lady." Fred licked his lips. "You could always sell me her. It might cost you less."

  "Keep your mouth shut about my woman," Harrison said, boldly pushing her behind him so she was blocked from Fred's view.

  "It was just a suggestion. So do we have a deal?"

  "I want to know what I'm going to get out of this."

  The man running the auction had started talking, but Catherine couldn't hear him. She was too intent on listening to Fred.

  "I don't know where Marcus Watson is, but I can tell you what I know about what happened earlier this week and with whom. I think there's a good chance the two events are related."

  "I'm trusting you. You won't be happy with how I react if I'm disappointed. So I'm going to listen to the advice of my woman. I will do it if the price doesn't go too high. So be careful with your bidding."

  They all turned to watch the auction. Catherine wondered if she could leave, but she wasn't going to walk out alone. Harrison needed to be there to monitor the price, and frankly, she was a little bit curious.

  The man was standing in front of three women. Two of them were dark-skinned and one had the pinkish complexion of an Irish woman with red hair to match. They wore dresses that were quite rich, much nicer than what Catherine had on. They were eager for the attention of the men in the saloon, swaying on their feet and smiling becomingly. One of the dark-skinned girls was lifting up the hem of her dress and dangling out a slim ankle for all to see.

  The man said, "These beauties can be yours for the evening, but who wants them badly enough? What are you willing to pay?" He stepped next to the girl on the end. "This ebony beauty knows all sorts of tricks she learned from her tribe in the north. She'll knock your socks off and a few other things. Good for a long hump all night long."

  Catherine blushed and backed away, but Harrison grabbed her.

  "Stay close," he said with fervent intensity.

  She froze next to him and didn't move again.

  "And this beautiful girl with the fiery hair is quiet and gentle. I know some of you men like a little rough and tumble. This gal loves it. And guess what gentlemen? All of her hair is red!"

  The men in the room roared with laughter. The woman in question liked the attention, twirling around to show off her red hair.

  "How about this sweetheart in the middle. I know she seems a little too thin, like you might break her in half, but she's tough. You have no idea how tough, but I do. I had her last night." He pulled down the collar of his shirt. "Look at these bruises!"

  "That's right boys," she said. "I can take everything you got."

  "And although she doesn't have much of a rump, she has more than enough up top." With these words, he stepped behind her and yanked down the bodice of her dress to reveal large bosoms.

  The saloon erupted with cheers, catcalls, and rhythmic thumping on the tables.

  Catherine dropped her gaze to the floor, feeling as though her entire body was on fire. She wasn't naive enough not to realize that no matter how Harrison shielded her, some men in the room were looking at her, probably enjoying the fact that she was there to watch. She would certainly not cry in their presence, no matter how much she wanted to. She balled her hand up into a fist and pressed her fingernails sharply into her palm. The pain distracted her from her emotions and she focused on it. Still staring at the floor, she looked at the knots in the wood and wondered if she could mentally visit some other place and not even hear the rest of the so-called auction.

  "Let's start with girl number one. I think two sovereigns is a fair price. Who will pay?" The men shouted higher numbers until a total of ten sovereigns was offered. All throughout this, Fred was silent. She almost turned to ask him which woman he wanted and she shocked herself by the thought. As though they were picking out fish at the market.

  Had Marcus ever witnessed an auction like this? Had he ever participated? The thought made her want to vomit, so she dug her fingernails even farther into her palm and started mentally reciting French verb conjugations.

  "Now the ebony goddess. What will you pay for her?"

  Catherine was hearing even larger numbers yelled out. Then a man shouted, "Will she take it in the back door?"

  Catherine wasn't sure what that meant and she didn't want to guess, but the auctioneer said, "It's her favorite."

  She felt the tears coming back so she bit her tongue until it burned.

  Fred must have been waiting for this girl. He participated in the bidding, each time asking Harrison if he could continue. After Harrison gave his blessing, Fred put in another bid.

  Catherine realized the price on this girl was high, probably double the amount Harrison thought he'd be willing to pay for the information. She wanted to tell him it was all right, that she understood if they walked away. But she knew this was their best hope. If only she had some of her own money, she might feel she actually had a say in the matter. But this was Harrison's money, so it was his decision. Even though she intended to pay him back, she didn't know when that would be, and cash in hand was the only thing that mattered out here.

  "Twenty sovereigns," Fred called out and he won.

  Harrison nodded. "Now the information."

  "First the money."

  "I don't think so. It's your turn to trust me. I know how much you want that lady's company this evening. So you tell me what I want to know, and then I will give you the money so you can have her."

  His eyes narrowed, then finally he said, "Earlier this week, there was big talk about Trenton and how Marcus cheated him at cards."

  "Is that true?" Catherine asked, unable to help herself.

  "Is Marcus a cheat? Yes, everyone knows it. I don't know how much longer he thought he'd be able to keep it up. Now no one will play him."

  "So what did Trenton do?"

  "Trenton said that he'd kill him. That it wasn't just about his debt. He said he knew someone who would give him double the debt to see Marcus dead."

  Catherine's heart dropped into her stomach. She struggled to catch her breath, pressing herself close to Harrison as though that would somehow help.

  "Here's your money. The information better check out or I'll be back." He grabbed Catherine's arm and led her out of the saloon without another word.

  Catherine stared at the ground, not knowing what to say. She opened her hands and looked at her damp palms. Her hands were sweaty, marked with the half-moon impressions she'd made with her fingernails. They looked dark red against her pale skin. She started to walk away from the saloon.

  Harrison followed and made a cursing sound beneath his breath. "I bet you think I shouldn't have given him the money."

  "Not at all. A deal is a deal."

  They both kept silent. Catherine watched the reddish dirt swirl into the air from her trailing skirt. Her breath was coming out in short little gasps, as much as she tried to pretend nothing just happened. It wasn't something she could think about without hyperventilating. She started to walk faster, as though the distance would let her escape the whole rotten situation.

  "Catherine, slow down."

  She simply shook her head and continued down alleyways and the makeshift streets that were a result of absolutely no planning. Just a village that cropped up out of necessity and industry and profit. She really didn't know where to let her mind go to, so her feet tried to escape. The auction was the most humiliating thing she'd ever been involved in and that wasn't the worst of it. Someone wanted Marcus dead. Maybe he already was dead.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Of course I don't want to talk about it!" If there was one thing that would make her mortification worse, it was talking about it. And talking about her husband… She couldn't do that either. Harrison was a realist if she'd ever known one. She knew exactly what he would say if she asked the question burning on her tongue. Was it possible this man carried through with his threats? Could Marcus actually not be missing, but dead? Harrison would say yes, that was a big possibility.
She wasn't willing to hear that answer, so she wouldn't ask.

  Her face crumpled from the bottom up, lips quivering. She tried to bite down on them, but still the tears escaped. They felt cool in the hot air of Kimberly proper, almost satisfying.

  She walked even faster. He would think she was a constant mess. He would never guess that these two times he'd witnessed her tears were the exception rather than the rule. She'd taken great pains to appear invulnerable. She considered running, but she had no place to run to.

  Harrison hurried to catch up to her, clearly no more of a quitter than she was. "I know that was humiliating. It wasn't exactly easy for me either."

  Even through the tears, she laughed, almost hysterically. "I'm waiting for the but."

  "There is none." He laughed too. "Sorry, sweetheart."

  "Don't call me sweetheart," she said, then coughed. "I've been thinking Marcus was in trouble. I though the worst answer was that he abandoned me. How ridiculous is that? You marry someone, take them to Africa, then just take off when things get tough." She gave another shaky laugh. "And it wasn't even that rough! I mean, what did he expect? We'd get off the boat, grab a shovel, and dig up a twenty-carat shiner?"

  "Maybe that is what he thought. How long did he court you?"

  If that wasn't enough of a thought to cause more tears, she didn't know what was. "He was an appropriate match for me. I thought we were compatible. Look, I really don't want to talk about this with you, of all people."

  "Why is that? What's different about me?"

  A lot. She realized this suddenly, then shook it off like a mosquito. She barely knew anything about him. David had always been kind to her as well, and he was an upstanding member of society, trying to make Kimberly a better place. Not a gambler, trying to take advantage of others people's weaknesses. "Are you telling me the truth that you have never played cards with Marcus?"

  "Honest to God. Let's just stop, please." He grabbed her arm.

  She didn't fight him. The tears were drying on her face. She had no idea where she had walked to and it seemed he'd let her lead him, also with no concern as to their destination. They were in a more expensive part of the town. She looked longingly at the home in front of them imagining how much cooler it likely was than inside their shack. "Where are we?"

  "North Kimberly. Not too bad?"

  She nodded. "But this isn't your aspiration, is it?"

  "No, this place is Godless. I'd rather be the rotten apple in a bunch of fresh ones than just another one of the sick rotten vegetables in the slop."

  "Maybe you could be a fresh one."

  He shrugged. "Why don't we go pay Trenton a visit and see what we can find out?"

  "I don't think I should go with you this time. Going to that saloon was a mistake."

  "You're stronger than you think. I want you to come with me. You'll go batty if I leave you in that shack by yourself right now. Too much time to think and too little to do."

  She imagined going back "home" and desperately tried to think of something she could do. He was right. She'd want to bash herself in the head with a diamond pick. At least this way she'd know whatever she needed to know as soon as possible, instead of waiting on Harrison to come back and tell her the news. "You are right. Let's go."

  "It couldn't get much worse, right?"

  Catherine shook her head sadly. It could get much worse.

  Her husband could be dead.

  Chapter Seven

  Catherine felt the first droplets of rain just before entering the bar. She looked at the sky and was rewarded with a big fat drop right in her eye. She rubbed it away and tried not to associate the darkening skies with her task. "Rain," she said, almost in awe. "It hasn't rained since I got here."

  "You're lucky then. It can be a curse as much as a blessing out here. Depending on whether you have a farm or a claim."

  "Why?"

  "Well, think about it," he said. It wasn't with any kind of arrogance. "The mine is essentially one big hole. Rain fills it up and turns it into a lake. Until you get the water out, you won't be finding any diamonds."

  She nodded, glad, at least for that moment, she was done with mining. Another reason to be happy with her decision to cut her losses. She followed Harrison inside, as silent as ever. This was not her element and he knew how to handle himself. It was the kind of place where the tables were no cleaner than the floors and the prostitutes were likely cleaner than the men who bought and sold them.

  Harrison took a quick look around before his gaze stopped on one table in particular. It was the one with the most activity surrounding it. Without advising her in any way, Harrison walked over.

  Nearly the entire table looked up, but nobody said anything. Then one of the few men who didn't look, said, "I'm Trenton, but if you want to talk, you have to play. I've just about emptied these men's pockets."

  Harrison seemed taken aback. "Listen, I only have a few questions."

  "Questions, too?" He laughed heartily. "Then you not only have to play me, but you have to win."

  This time Harrison laughed good-naturedly. "How about twenty pence and we can cut to the chase?"

  "Maybe for a hundred," Trenton replied in a toneless voice.

  "You can't be serious."

  "I'm dead serious," he said, still deadpan.

  Harrison shook his head and backed away without another word. He took Catherine aside, far enough so that the men at the table would be unable to hear. "Did you happen to be listening to any of that?"

  "Of course. He wants you to play him for the information. What do you think? Is he known to be a good player?"

  "I seem to remember he has a reputation for being shrewd at the table. But that is not the worst of it."

  "What is?" Her stomach turned over.

  "Mr. Trenton is playing whist. That means I would need a partner. Do you play?"

  Her heart skipped a beat. "A bit."

  "I know enough about the man to know he isn't kidding. This is our only shot at getting information."

  Catherine looked around the room feeling exceedingly conspicuous. "I will do whatever I must, of course. It seems hopeless, though."

  "Are you that bad?"

  "It's not that I'm bad. It's more the realization they are professional gamblers and I'm not."

  He chuckled. "You give them far too much credit."

  She noticed the men were watching their conversation. "Let's give it a go, then. No use delaying the inevitable."

  Harrison held her back. "Wait just a moment there. Have you ever played for money?"

  "Of course not. That wouldn't be very ladylike, now would it?"

  "It may not be, but at this moment, I find myself wishing you were less proper."

  She thought for a moment, then said, "At the luncheons my aunt would organize, we would play for prizes."

  He nodded. "That's something, I guess. Did you play to win?"

  "Of course. Everyone likes to win."

  "Perfect. We're ready."

  He led the way back to the table, pulling out a chair for her to the right of Mr. Trenton. Then Harrison sat in the chair across from her.

  Mr. Trenton and his partner looked at her, evaluating, judging. "Hello there. How wonderful to have a lady join us! Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Mr. Trenton."

  "Yes, please meet Mr. Trenton," Harrison said before she could speak. "Mr. Trenton, meet Catherine Claremont."

  Catherine realized what Harrison had done. He didn't think it wise to use her real name. They hadn't discussed it beforehand, but it made perfect sense. She nodded to him, grateful. Although she agreed with it, she probably would have spoken her true name without thinking. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Trenton."

  "Welcome to the game. I think whist is a much more dignified game than what is being played in most saloons around here. Poker is for deviants and Americans."

  "I'm glad you wish to play whist because it is the only thing I know how to play," she admitted.

  "Feeling optimistic?" M
r. Trenton asked, removing a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He shook two out and offered her one.

  "That's very kind, but no thank you."

  He then turned to Harrison, sitting across the table from Catherine, and he accepted.

  The men lit their cigarettes and Mr. Trenton started to shuffle the deck, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and dribbling ash onto his vest.

  Catherine watched Harrison smoke carefully and deliberately, not once dropping any ash except for into the tray at his right hand.

  Mr. Trenton tapped the cards laid down in front of Catherine with his pinky finger, dropping more ash onto them. "Cut it."

  "So, Mr. Trenton," Harrison started, "I heard you know a few things about a man named Marcus Watson."

  "Is that what you heard?" Trenton asked, taking the cards back after she cut them, then dealing.

  "Is it true?"

  "Keep playing and you'll find out."

  Catherine looked down at her cards. She had lucked out with many face cards and the two of spades. She went first.

  Mr. Trenton nodded with approval, even though that part of the game was pure luck.

  The game moved quickly and Catherine surprised herself by being able to keep up. They didn't use any special tricks or sneaky techniques that she wasn't familiar with. She quickly became at ease and got into the game. By the third hand, she and Harrison were winning.

  Harrison hesitated before playing his card when it was his turn to lead. "I understand Marcus Watson is an enemy to you."

  "Marcus wasn't my enemy," Trenton replied.

  The rain had seemed to have picked up already, punctuating the conversation. Catherine glanced up at the ceiling of the saloon. Against the tin roof, the rain pounded like the sound of a thousand drums. It pounded like her heart as she listened carefully to the men talk, while at the same time feigning she didn't really care about the topic.

  "Not your enemy? That isn't what I expected to hear," Harrison said.

  "Believe it. Watson was merely an insignificant gnat I wished to swat."