Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4

by Jenny Wheeler

  She hesitated, and then took a long drink of water. “Nothing much got past him. If anything was going on around here, there’s a good chance he’d know about it. But he didn’t seek out trouble. I suppose…” She paused and her eyes widened suddenly, as if remembering a past remark.

  “You suppose what?” asked Nathan.

  “Well, the only time he got riled up was when he felt the rich and powerful were deliberately cheating the powerless. Especially women left to bring up children alone. He was very protective of family, of seeing that children got a good chance at life. Ironic, really. He did his utmost for his family.”

  “And was there anything he mentioned along those lines? Where he suspected someone was being badly treated?”

  She held the glass cupped in her hands, seemingly relishing its coolness, as she considered the question. “He felt a lot of sympathy for Lisette Guilliame—losing her husband like she did and being left that struggling mine. I think he talked to Willie Watson about it. But from what I know that’s as far as it went… feeling sympathy for her.”

  The room had got even hotter since Nathan had arrived, and as their conversation lapsed, the children tumbled back to surround Anna’s chair, accompanied this time by a mountain dog big enough for the smallest of them to ride. One of them was doing just that, held in place by Antonio. As they halted by Anna’s side, he lifted the child down and she cuddled into his thigh.

  “Can I ask a question?” His thin little face creased in an anxious frown.

  “Sure you can.” Nathan smiled at the children. “That’s a big dog. What’s his name?”

  A dark-headed sprite of about four regarded him solemnly. “This is Neptune. He’s our guard dog.”

  “Really? That’s good.” He fixed Antonio with a steady gaze. “I am happy to try and answer your question if I can. What did you want to ask?”

  Anxious eyes darted to Anna. “If Uncle Vance did find out something about someone, will they come after us now he’s not here anymore?”

  In the silence that followed, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Nathan could see from a stiffening in Anna’s posture that she was as surprised by the question as he was. Did the boy know something they didn’t?

  Nathan had just taken a deep breath, considering how to answer when Neptune turned towards the door with a low growl. Two newcomers had arrived, carrying a large basket of food between them. Anna put a hand on the dog’s back to calm him and turned towards the entry.

  Antonio was regarding him gravely. “I guess it depends on what sort of thing you’re thinking of, Antonio. Is there something that is worrying you?”

  The boy held his gaze for a second longer, and then dropped his eyes to the floor. “No, no nothing. I just wondered.”

  “I am very sorry about your uncle. I know you will miss him. But we will do our best to see that you are well cared for.”

  He wished he sounded more convincing. At the door, Anna had greeted the visitors and was ushering them into the room. Hanging on Anna’s every word was Willoughby Martens. Alongside him stood another man Nathan didn’t recognize, but he could see Neptune still regarding the pair with suspicion, straining towards them against Anna’s hand, hackles raised all down his back.

  You’ve got good instincts dog, he thought.

  As Nathan moved towards the door, Martens recognized him. Nathan saw him say something quietly to Anna, and then stride across the room to block him.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Nathan Russell. Seems I can’t go anywhere these days without you turning up like a bad smell.” He regarded Nathan with blatant dislike and then sneered. “Don’t you have enough meddling to keep you busy at home, or wherever it is you hang out these days?”

  Nathan turned to Antonio and gently squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I think your mother might need a hand there son.” He gestured to the door, where another knot of mourners had flooded in. “Help show them where to go?” The pinched serious little face gazed at him for a minute and he turned towards the door.

  Nathan turned back to his fellow countryman. “Nice to see you too, Martens. So why are you sniffing around? Never knew you for the type to have any particular regard for widows and orphans—unless you could make money off them of course.”

  Willoughby Martens flushed red at the insult. “You don’t know a thing about me. As it happens, someone I’m working with had quite close ties to Vance Pedersen. So naturally we are very concerned to see the family is taken care of. And my partner has the means to ensure that will happen. Do you?”

  Nathan waved away the challenge. “I will leave you to pay your respects, Martens..”

  As he made for the door, Antonio was ushering in some new visitors, his young brow crinkled in earnest concentration. Neptune paced beside him. Nathan paused and leaned down to him. “That’s it, Antonio. If Neptune’s happy, all’s good.”

  The boy’s face broke into a sunny smile, the first Nathan had seen during his visit. It lit up his whole countenance and made Nathan realize how seriously Antonio took the inherited role of protecting his family now Vance was gone.

  He wondered again whether the boy knew something he wasn’t ready to disclose. If Martens was sniffing around, he certainly hoped not. The man had the ability to contaminate anything he touched. He hoped Anna’s little family would escape the contagion.

  Five

  “But, of course, Eustace was always dramatic”—Sir John paused on the word and raised one eyebrow in mute criticism—“in the way he conducted his business. He always needed someone to keep him tethered to reality.” He poured steaming black coffee into a porcelain teacup so delicate it was almost translucent.

  They were sitting on a secluded terrace at the back of the house, overlooking a blooming rose garden. Bees were burrowing into the deep red flowers, sounding a low, steady hum in the fragrance-filled air. Across the valley Graysie could see the pine-covered slopes of the lower Sierra Nevadas, where she’d been just the day before.

  John’s servants had met her every need with invisible precision, bringing cinnamon muffins, cornbread, and molasses hotcakes in a flowing feast. The china tea service, linen serviettes, and delicious fare made it hard to remember they were in a mining town populated mainly by rough-skinned men who’d likely be breakfasting on days-old salted bully beef.

  Minette’s tinkling laughter floated up from the garden below. Under the watchful eye of the groom, she was playing with a little Capuchin monkey in a blue satin jacket and black cap. It was tiny—it must be barely weaned from its mother, Graysie thought—but it seemed as delighted by the child’s presence as she was with his, scampering up her arm and over her mass of dark curls to perch on the top of her head before tripping down again.

  She pushed back from the table contentedly. She’d been explaining her shock at the lawyer’s letter she’d received a few months prior. When she asked him what Eustace had been like, she was surprised at his answer, which seemed more measured than the enthusiasm he’d expressed the day before.

  “Did you like him?” She looked across the table directly into his eyes. She saw them widen in surprise, and then the mask came down.

  “Eustace?” He considered her question, returning her gaze. “He was very impulsive, and that sometimes got him into trouble. He had a good heart, but his enthusiasms often ran away with him. He could be persuasive though, so he often carried others along on his mad schemes.” He fixed his gaze on the silver tea service, and the tension that chased across his face told her there was more to it. She switched tack.

  “This town is so small you’ve probably already heard it from somewhere else—but I want to investigate re-opening the Ophir.” This morning Sir John was in a black velvet shooting jacket and slim matching trousers with shiny black boots. She tilted her chin to emphasize her determination. “The preliminary assay reports I got from Eustace’s lawyer show there’s a good chance there is still quality gold there. Vance considered it promising.”

  She paused as s
he thought of Vance. Sir John had reported that Nathan had gone out earlier that morning to pay his respects to his family.

  Russell regarded her silently for a few seconds and then gave a dismissive laugh. “You’ve no idea what you are suggesting, my dear,” he said. “You need capital to run mines these days. And Eustace always was a dreamer. I wouldn’t put too much faith in any assay report he commissioned. Likely the prospector who wrote it told him what he wanted to hear.”

  She took a deep breath. There was no doubt Sir John had a lot more mining experience than she did. But his response seemed altogether too glib. “I accept that you know a lot more about mining than I do,” she said with a submissive nod. “I wondered if there was any chance you would be willing to act as my adviser? As my godfather by proxy—wasn’t that how you described yourself last night? I’d be grateful for your expertise.”

  She gave him an ironic little smile; figured it couldn’t hurt to lay claim to the relationship that he himself had suggested on the first day she ever recalled meeting him.

  “Of course, I will help in any way I can,” Russell said expansively. “But really it’s a damn fool idea for a young woman to be thinking she can operate a mine. I agree with Nathan. Mining is a very dangerous business. It’s the domain of engineers. And then there are the problems with the superstitious Cornishmen. You’d be better advised to marry a mine owner than think of trying to run one yourself.”

  Graysie felt heat rising up her neck. She ploughed on regardless. “I do understand it is unusual, but I don’t accept it is impossible, not if I find the right business partners. Continuing on the stage with a young child to care for, is not the life I want for Minette. I promised her mother I’d look after her like my own child, and I am not going to let her down.”

  She was angry that the last part of her statement sounded more like a plea than a declaration. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak or begging.

  He considered her. “You could sell the mine to someone who would be better equipped to work it. I might even be interested myself. And of course you have no need to be concerned about your present care. You are welcome to be my guest here at Gold House for as long as you need. You and the child,” he added as an afterthought.

  She guessed he was only tolerating Minette because he knew she would not agree to any other arrangement.

  Minette. It was a few minutes since she had seen or heard her. She half rose from her chair to survey the garden below. She couldn’t see Minette or the groom.

  “Minette. Where is she?” She jerked her head towards Sir John, her breath suddenly short, her chest tight.

  “I suggested to Nelson, the groom, that he take her to the stables to see the ponies,” Sir John said casually. “No cause for alarm.”

  “The stables?”

  He pointed away farther down into the woodland that edged the Gold House orchard. “Down through the trees. There’s a path that takes you to the stables. I’ve got several ponies there. I’m sure Nelson is perfectly capable of looking after one four-year-old on a pony. But why don’t we go and take a look?”

  As they sauntered along the path in the hot late morning sun, he took her elbow and ushered her down a gentle grassy slope to the orchard and stables. She momentarily stiffened, unused to being so closely handled by any man, and especially one she had not known just twenty-four hours prior.

  She debated whether she found his paternal gesture intrusive or reassuring. She didn’t really know how fathers operated. Much as she had loved her own, she’d always given him more care than he’d given her. Was he simply reassuring her she was safe, or was he making a more subtle claim?

  As they neared the stables, she could hear childish squeals of delight, and they rounded the corner to see a shaggy-haired white pony snuffling at Minette’s outstretched hand, ingesting apple pieces as fast as the little girl produced them. The pony’s rubbery dark lips muzzled her flattened palm, and she could barely stand still for giggling.

  “It tickles,” she said, bending over with laughter and drawing away her empty hand. Minette’s head popped up and she saw them walking into the yard just as the groom placed his hands on either side of her waist, ready to lift her into the saddle.

  “Sissy! This is Starlight, and Nelson says I can go for a ride.” Her face was as bright as sunshine until her gaze fell on John Russell. The smile faded. The little hands which had eagerly reached out to Starlight tightened involuntarily into fists at her side.

  “Is it alright if she sits on the pony, Miss Castellanos?” The groom had picked up on the tension sparked by their arrival and stepped back. Sir John made as if to lift Minette onto the pony himself, but as soon as his hands touched the child’s sides, she cringed away from him.

  “Minette, don’t be silly darling, Sir John just wants to show you the pony.”

  Minette stared at the ground, not speaking.

  “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” Sir John chided.

  Minette raised her eyes, took one swift look into his stony face and burst into tears.

  Great. The perfect houseguests. She sighed. “I think she must be still upset from the accident yesterday. She’s not her usual self,” she excused, scooping Minette up and turning to go back to the house. “She probably needs a nap.”

  As they meandered back to the house, Graysie reflected on how unpredictable children could be. Minette adored Nathan Russell after just one meeting. But for some reason, even with the sweeteners of pet monkeys and shaggy-haired ponies, it was taking her a lot longer to warm to Sir John.

  Six

  The mastiff reared up in the dark doorway, teeth bared, in a barking frenzy. Martens raised the revolver and felled it with two shots. The beast’s momentum carried it forward a few more feet. It collapsed in a shuddering heap, its gaping jaw resting on the toes of his boots. In the silence that followed the gun blast, he smelt blood and felt its warmth leaking onto his sock.

  Behind him Weavers giggled nervously and Martens tensed, anticipating that the commotion might have aroused a neighbor, but a deep quiet seemed to cloak them as the dog lay bleeding on the bare wooden floor. Everyone in the street was at Vance Pedersen’s Requiem Mass at St Mary’s, and the platform where his body had lain just a few hours ago was empty, though the room was still fragrant with the mingled scent of flowers, candle wax, and the strange sweet smell of death.

  It was late afternoon, and although it was still light outside, it was dim in the cave-like room with its thick walls and small windows. Martens stepped over the dog’s remains, paused to light the candle in the pierced tin lantern he carried, and beckoned Weavers to follow the flickering light. They couldn’t risk being there any longer than the time it took to do a thorough search; the family would be back to continue their grieving within the hour.

  “You take the bedrooms. Look under the beds, in any trunks that might be stowed under them, check anywhere he might have stored papers.” He grabbed Weavers by his lapel with one hand and drew his face into the tight little radius of light that spilled from the lantern. “Don’t muck this up.”

  He pushed the lantern into Weavers’s hand and lit one of the candles left behind on the bier, then by its light moved to the sideboard that had been set up as an informal altar. The house was big enough for the man’s large family but furnished very simply; he’d checked on likely hiding places when he’d visited earlier in the day and noted there seemed to be no desk or storage chests and few cupboards apart from the modestly fitted kitchen shelving.

  If a man with a sprawling family like this one had a document he wanted to keep private, where would he put it?

  Martens rifled through the two drawers and cupboards in the sideboard and found only the usual cups, plates, cutlery, and table linen. No papers. He moved on to the kitchen with the same result. Pots and pans, cooking utensils, and chopping boards. Nothing resembling documents of any sort. Weavers stumbled back into the main room, shaking his head. “Nothing in there. Just kids’ toys a
nd clothes.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here then. Check if anyone’s about and we’ll get rid of the dog. No point in shouting to the world that we’ve been here.”

  Weavers ducked out the front door and returned soon after. “Nah, they’re all at the church. Let’s move.”

  He bent down and picked up the dog’s back haunches while Martens took the front, and they swung it up between them like a butchered pig.

  “Let’s ditch it behind the outhouse and leave them to wonder,” Martens said as he pulled the front door closed behind him. “If it takes them a few days to find it, all the better.”

  *****

  Hector De Vile reclined in a luxuriously cushioned armchair, his feet resting on an ottoman, arm extended, as a pretty Chinese girl tended his nails. Willoughby Martens watched in fascination as the girl massaged each finger with a warm, sweet smelling oil—almond oil he guessed—and then dried it off again with a soft towel. De Vile was the only man he knew who was rich and eccentric enough to have regular manicures and not care what people thought of it.

  One day, Martens vowed, I’ll have the power to just please myself.

  “Don’t tell me about the dog. I don’t want to hear. Dogs have no place inside anyway. Just tell me you found what we were looking for.” De Vile took a satisfied gulp of whiskey from a tumbler he clasped in his free hand and set it down again.

  Martens squirmed on the hard-backed wooden seat de Vile had motioned him to when he’d arrived. How to break the bad news?

  “We had a very thorough look around. We found nothing. How sure are you that there is something to find?”

  De Vile picked up the whiskey and nursed it against his chest as he contemplated the question. “I can’t say for certain, but I don’t have a good feeling about this one—and my intuition usually serves me well. Didn’t you say Weavers has heard whispers that Pedersen was onto our interest in the Ruby?”

  Martens gave him a hard look and then flicked his right hand dismissively. “Don’t think we need to worry about Pedersen. He won’t be talking to anyone.” He forced himself to grin.