Letty could only nod in agreement. “What can we do when it all happened so far away?”
“How can we know he’s dead?” Millicent cried. “Who is this Garth Morgan? If he’s such a good friend, why didn’t he come here himself today? Why did he send an employee to give us the news?”
William nodded vigorously. “Where’s the gold Charles wrote that he sent? Didn’t his letter say Garth Morgan was going to bring it?”
Letty bit her lip. “What can I tell you? I’m as shocked by all this as you are. I don’t know the answer to any of your questions.”
Mother spoke up. “Letty, you saw the letter. Charles had just found that new vein of gold. He sounded happy and confident. Now, out of the blue, someone comes to our house and tells us he’s dead? Something’s wrong. I don’t believe him.”
“I don’t believe him either,” William declared with indignation. “Maybe Garth Morgan is a crook. Maybe he kept the gold for himself.”
Letty heaved a frustrated sigh. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions. Perhaps there’s a logical explanation.”
Mother drew herself up. “I shall pay a visit to this Garth Morgan. Surely he can tell us more about Charles’s disappearance. I’ll ask him to explain why he didn’t give us the gold Charles sent.”
“You can’t do that,” Letty said in dismay.
“And why not?”
“Because…” So many reasons.
No sweeter woman on earth existed than Mother. She saw only the good in people, never the bad, and the family had always gone out of their way to shelter her from life’s harsh realities. The well-ordered world of Margaret Tinsley consisted of warm family gatherings, tea with her genteel friends, church on Sunday, Bible study on Wednesday, and collecting food baskets for the poor. Boston’s grittier side—the murder, mayhem, and corruption side—was simply never discussed in her presence. Letty looked her mother in the eye. “I’m the one who will go see Garth Morgan, not you.”
“Are you sure?”
Letty heard the relief in her mother’s voice. “I’m positive. If Garth Morgan was such a good friend of Charles, he should be delighted to see me.”
“What if he’s not delighted?” Millicent asked. “You know how snobbish those Brahmins on the hill are. They think their piles of money make them better than the rest of us. Won’t you be nervous going all by yourself? Do you want me to come along?”
Letty lifted her chin. “That won’t be necessary. I can handle the likes of Mr. Garth Morgan. I don’t care where he lives or how much money he has.” She sounded bolder than she felt. After all, she, too, had led a life almost as sheltered as her mother’s. The thought of intruding into the home of one of Boston’s wealthiest, most prestigious families, filled her with uneasiness. She had to do it, though. For Charles’s sake, for the family’s sake, she had every right to face Garth Morgan and demand the truth.
Next morning, except for Molly and Elfreda, Letty was the first one up. She had plenty of time to get ready for her visit to the Morgans, since, after a family discussion last night, they had determined Letty shouldn’t pay her visit to the Morgan residence until the afternoon. “During proper visiting hours,” Letty insisted.
Millicent had asked, “Must you always do what’s proper?” She often scoffed at her sister’s penchant for doing everything according to the rules.
As usual, Letty insisted upon adhering to the correct visiting hours. Like her mother, she’d always been a creature of habit who found comfort in following society’s strict guidelines regarding proper etiquette.
In the dining room, Letty caught sight of the table and frowned with disapproval. Yet again, Elfreda hadn’t set the table correctly. How many times had she instructed their cook that the knife blade should be placed toward the plate?
She was turning the knives inward when Millicent walked in, saw what her sister was doing, and commented, “I see Elfreda has messed up again.”
Letty threw her an acknowledging smile but continued rearranging the knives. “I know you think I’m picky, but there’s a right way and a wrong way.”
“Far be it from me to interfere.” Millicent slid into her place at the table and sighed. “At least Elfreda’s a good cook. That helps, considering we can never get rid of her.”
Letty recalled the day, eight years ago, when her father brought Elfreda home and announced she was here to stay. A fervent abolitionist until the day he died, he was an active participant in the Underground Railroad, helping slaves escape their southern masters into the free state of Massachusetts. “This is Elfreda,” he’d said. “She’ll be staying with us as long as she wants.”
The woman he brought home was of indeterminate age, maybe her forties. She had a sturdy build, scowling face, and skin as black as black could be. She never changed her clothing style, always a long cotton, high-neck gown covered by an apron and her hair covered by a bright colored turban. The family had welcomed her with open arms. Although she worked hard and did as she was told, she stayed aloof, never smiled, and to this day kept to herself.
“Why isn’t she more friendly?” Letty once asked her father. “Must she always have that frown on her face?”
“Perhaps you’d frown, too, if you’d been stolen from your village and forced into slavery,” he’d replied. “Imagine not having your freedom, forced to do your master’s bidding, and if you ran away you could be brought back in chains.”
Letty never forgot her father’s words. She was always nice to Elfreda, despite her sullen attitude.
“So what will you wear for you visit?” Millicent asked.
Letty finished rearranging the knives and sat at the table. “The blue silk, I think, the one with the puffy sleeves, and my burgundy satin bonnet with the big bow.”
“Have you figured out what you’re going to say?”
Millicent’s question caused a heaviness in Letty’s heart. She’d hardly slept last night for mulling over how best to approach the formidable Garth Morgan. “I shall be polite but firm. If he’s evasive, I shall produce Charles’s letter and demand he explain what happened to the gold shipment.”
“Will you show him the map?”
“Certainly not. It’s none of his business.”
“What if he refuses to answer? Gets mad and tells you to leave?”
Letty had considered that very possibility. “Then I shall leave, of course, but I won’t give up.”
“Really? What else can you do?”
“I can handle the likes of Mr. Garth Morgan. He won’t get the best of me, I assure you.”
Chapter 4
In the library of his home on Beacon Hill, Garth sat behind the ornate mahogany desk and nodded with satisfaction. His business here was finished, altogether a successful trip. Gold shipment safe in the bank, investments in excellent shape, and Mother appeased and relatively content, despite his lack of interest in the empty-headed Miss Becket. Mathew had just completed arrangements for their return by ship to California. Those treacherous sixty miles across the Isthmus of Panama were nothing to look forward to but by far the shortest route and well worth the risk. At least they would set sail in the new steamship, Mirabello. With its new, double paddlewheels, they’d get to Chagres, Panama, in no time. According to what he’d heard, the Mirabello had one hundred thirty first-class, luxury cabins. Thank God, Mathew had managed to book Honoria’s cabin at one end of the deck, and he as far away as possible at the other. He’d made sure Mathew was booked in a quite respectable cabin in second class. No one could say he didn’t treat his employees well. Not so Honoria, who treated her maid like dirt and had booked the poor creature into the horrors of steerage.
A quick knock on the library door interrupted his musings. A maid poked her head in. “There’s a lady to see you, Mr. Morgan, Miss Leticia Tinsley. She said to tell you she’s Charles Tinsley’s sister.”
Charles. Ever since he arrived, he’d intended to visit his friend’s family but had been so busy he
hadn’t found time. Now he heartily wished he had done so. No excuse, he should have made the time. “Please show her in.” He stood and waited.
Leticia. Charles called her Letty. He’d always spoken of his younger sister in the most glowing terms.
A fairly tall young woman with a graceful walk entered the library. She moved toward him with ease, not the least unsure of herself, as if she’d been here before. He wasn’t up on lady’s fashions but suspected her blue silk dress with the bell-shaped skirt would meet the criteria for Boston’s latest styles. Nice, how the small buttons down the bodice curved a beguiling path over her full bosom, ending at her tiny waist. Except for the blonde ringlets that circled her face, he couldn’t see much of her hair hidden beneath her bonnet. Charles hadn’t exaggerated when he said his sister was pretty. Wide-set gray eyes…small up-tilted nose…full red lips.
“Miss Tinsley.” He came around the desk and extended his hand. “How nice to meet you in person. Charles often spoke of you. I’ve been meaning to come visit and extend my condolences for your tragic loss.” That didn’t sound right. Too stiff and formal, and didn’t begin to convey how truly sorry he was about Charles.
“Mr. Morgan.” She had a cautious look in her eye as her small, gloved hand disappeared into his large one. “My brother referred to you as his good friend. When I heard from your employee, Mr. Hastings, that Charles had disappeared, I…” Her voice broke. She could not go on.
Damn. Why had he not paid that visit? “Please do sit down.”
He took her elbow and guided her to one of Mother’s prized Italian giltwood armchairs. She looked pale. No tears, but plain to see she was fighting to compose herself.
“Can I offer you some tea? A bit of brandy perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” She sat down and laid her beaded reticule carefully beside her. Fluttering incredibly long, dark lashes, she looked him in the eye. “I came here because I wanted to hear about Charles.” With her spine arrow-straight and shoulders stiff, she sat coolly waiting for his reply.
“But of course.” He sat in the matching chair that faced her. “I’m so sorry about your brother. He was a good friend. I admired him tremendously.” He hoped she understood how truly he meant his words.
She nodded, but didn’t smile. “How long had you known Charles?”
“Since shortly after he arrived in Empire. Did he ever mention me in his letters?”
“Only briefly.”
“I own the Alhambra Hotel in Empire.” He left out the “Saloon” part. Boston ladies were inclined to believe anyone connected with drinking and gambling was going straight to hell, and that included Mother. “Charles came in one day, and we got to talking. I was immediately impressed with his knowledge of flora and fauna along with just about everything else. After that, he stopped by often and we talked of many things. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed our conversations. Charles was both witty and wise.”
“Was,” she repeated, her eyes growing damp.
For a moment, he thought she might break down, but she drew a swift breath, blinked back the tears, and continued on.
“Even though we—my family and I—hadn’t heard from him for a while, we assumed he was doing well. And then… We were all so shocked. Mr. Hastings told us what happened, but I’d be grateful if you could fill me in on more of the details.”
“But of course, Miss Tinsley. I’m happy to oblige.” He earnestly bent forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Here’s what happened…”
As best he could, he described Charles’s excitement when he discovered that rich vein of gold and called it Golden Hill. “By then he’d moved from his boarding house and was living in a tent on his claim. He got to storing bags of gold in his tent, even though I warned him how foolish that was. Finally, I persuaded him to store the gold in my safe. I implored him to leave the tent and move back to town. I don’t know how many times I warned him of the dangers of living not only alone but without a weapon of any kind. Sheer insanity, but he wouldn’t listen.”
She nodded with understanding. “He could be quite stubborn.”
“Indeed, he could. He liked living alone among—how did he put it?—the beauties of nature. Trees, animals, and all that. When he wasn’t working, he painted the most fantastic sketches of birds. He gave me several that I treasure.”
At his praise of her brother, her shoulders lost a bit of their stiffness. Her eyes lit. “Charles was extremely talented.”
“Yes, he was. I can only wish he hadn’t been so trusting. I’ll never know for sure what happened, but I suspect he was keeping bags of gold in his tent even though he knew how dangerous it was. When he hadn’t come to town for a while, Mathew and I went to investigate. You know the rest. We looked everywhere, I can assure you. He had simply disappeared without a trace. There was only one conclusion we could come to, and that’s as my employee told you.”
For a time, she sat silent, as if she had something to say and wasn’t sure she should say it. At last, she cocked her head to one side and nailed him with a sharp, assessing gaze. “Is that all you have to say, Mr. Morgan?”
He was so taken aback that for a moment he couldn’t think what to answer. “Why, yes, Miss Tinsley, I believe so. What did you—?”
“I have a question for you.” She reached for her reticule, pulled out some folded pages, and held them up. “This is a letter from Charles I found in his belongings. Did you know about it?”
“No, I did not.” What was she getting at? Why did he have the feeling this conversation wasn’t going well?
She unfolded the pages. “I won’t read you the whole letter, just the pertinent part.”
What did she mean by pertinent? “Please do go on.”
She read from the letter, “I left a considerable deposit at his hotel yesterday. Garth is leaving for Boston tomorrow with his own gold shipment, and has kindly offered to take mine, too.”
She dropped the pages to her lap and skewered him with a probing gaze. “Well, Mr. Morgan?”
Outrageous. He, the most honest and trustworthy of men, had just been accused of stealing by this audacious female. But he must stay calm. He’d learned long ago never to let his emotions show. Several moments went by before he trusted himself to speak in a reasonable manner. “Do you honestly think I kept your brother’s gold for myself?”
“I don’t know what to think.” With great precision, she folded the letter and tucked it back in her reticule. “I was hoping you’d come up with a reasonable answer but apparently not.”
How dare she? A curse, which he caught just in time, nearly fell from his mouth. “I did not steal from Charles, Miss Tinsley. That you would think so is not only insulting, it’s beyond my comprehension why you would make such a ridiculous accusation.”
She bit her lip, obviously uncomfortable but not the least deterred. “Among his possessions, I also found his diary. The last few pages had been ripped out. Why was that, do you suppose?”
“I have no idea.” He was close to shouting. He made an effort to calm himself, but his heart raced totally out of his control, and his face had heated and no doubt turned red. “Where is this diary you speak of?”
“I don’t have it with me, but if you care to pay us a visit, I’d be happy to show you.”
“Are you implying…? Do you honestly think I have something to do with Charles’s death?”
“No, I don’t, but the rest I’m not so sure about.”
He was beyond fury. All he wanted was to get this woman out of his library, out of his house. He stood, walked to the door, opened it wide, and glared across the room to where she sat. “Please leave. You and I have nothing further to discuss.”
Other than a slight flinch of surprise, she gave no indication of distress. With great deliberation, she picked up her reticule. As she arose from the armchair, her skirt raised enough to reveal small feet shod in blue satin slippers and shapely ankles above. Taking her time, she crossed
the library to the door and looked up at him. “I’m sorry I’ve made you angry. I didn’t come here to accuse you. I came hoping you could give me a reasonable explanation as to what happened to the gold Charles said he gave you for safekeeping. Obviously you cannot, so what am I to believe?”
“Good day, Miss Tinsley.” Get out of my house, Miss Tinsley. He caught a whiff of lavender as she exited with her shoulders back and nose in the air. When he heard the front door close, he headed for his desk where he flopped in his chair and tried to bring his breathing back to normal. My God. Never had he been accused of such dishonesty. If a man had made such an accusation, he would have been bodily tossed out on the street.
For a long while, he sat quietly, waiting for his pulse to return to normal. Was that a lingering whiff of lavender he smelled? Must be his imagination. Those trim ankles…that line of tiny buttons curving over her bosom…
For God’s sake, forget about that awful woman and get on with your day.
* * * *
That night at dinner, Letty made a pretense of eating, but her anger at Garth Morgan had killed her appetite, and she could hardly manage a bite. She didn’t want to talk about it, but her family was full of questions.
“Why was Mr. Morgan so rude?” Millicent asked. “Were you not being polite?”
“I was the very soul of politeness, as well as fair and reasonable, but he just wouldn’t listen and threw me out.”
Mother clucked with sympathy. “How absolutely dreadful. Do you really think he took Charles’s gold?”
Letty nodded emphatically. “Of course he did. Why else wouldn’t he allow a reasonable discussion?”
Her little brother had been listening with rapt attention. “Were you hurt when he threw you out? Did you land on your head?”
She had to smile. “He didn’t literally throw me out, William. That’s a figure of speech. He demanded that I leave, though, and that’s just as bad.”
“What does he look like?” Millicent asked. “I picture him as fat and bald with thin lips and beady, mean little eyes.”
Gold Rush Bride Page 3