Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4

by Jenny Wheeler

  “They would have staked a carcass out in the forest and then waited to trap and rope it when it took the bait,” Nathan replied. “The bull will be some half-wild thing they’ve found roaming on the grass flats by the river and run down. They wound it before the fight to get it riled up.”

  Bull and bear spotted each other at the same moment. The bull launched forward, its treacherous horns aimed straight at the bear’s abdomen. It covered the few feet separating them in seconds. There was a heavy crunching noise as the bull’s horns tore open a wound low on the bear’s side, then the bear closed its mouth over the bull’s muzzle with an unnerving growl.

  The pair danced in a deadly circle, the bear holding fast, the bull powerless to escape, as with one great paw, the bear clawed its sides, opening fresh ribbons of flesh with every stroke.

  The bear was screaming; the bull bellowed intermittently through breathless pants of terror. Then the bear seemed to momentarily lose strength. It released the bull, which turned in a circle as if chasing its own tail before once again turning to face its enemy. Head down, horns glistening in the afternoon sunlight, it charged again.

  This time the bear visibly faltered on the crunching impact and, for a few seconds, seemed to sink to its haunches before again rearing up and advancing. The bull’s panting increased, and its tongue lolled out. In a second the bear had fastened onto it and ripped it out. The crowd which had flooded into the arena stood as one and roared approval.

  As the bull sank to the dust in exhaustion, Nathan saw that Graysie had turned very pale. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. He was distracted by another roar from the crowd. As they watched, they saw it had been a contest to the death. The bull lay dying in the dust, the bear sinking in a pool of blood beside it, also on its last legs.

  Graysie turned away sharply. “How cruel,” she gasped. “I’m so glad Minette isn’t awake to see this.”

  Nathan regarded her thoughtfully. “That’s frontier life,” he said. “Wild and cruel— and no place for a single woman with a child.” He knew he was pushing it, and her reaction was instantaneous, any sense of connection between them gone.

  “Can you take us home?” she said, turning away from the arena. “I’ve had enough. I am undyingly grateful to you for rescuing Minette, I really am. I know what I’m trying to do is hard—jolly hard, believe me. I don’t need you to tell me.”

  She turned and marched purposefully toward the exit. Nathan felt a pain in his jaw and realized he was gritting his teeth.

  Endeavoring not to wake Minette, he hurried to catch up. “Graysie, stop. Stop please.”

  She stopped abruptly and turned, hands on hips. “What?”

  “I apologize. I was out of line. But that doesn’t change anything important. I’m concerned for your safety—yours and that of this little poppet on my shoulder. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to her.”

  His stomach turned over as he stared at her. Unwanted, the image of Joshua, not yet one year old but already tottering around on two feet like a drunken sailor, rose. He hadn’t been there when the boy had needed him most. He shook his head to banish his son’s presence.

  “Look what has happened already. First Vance is killed. Then Minette lost—almost certainly abducted. How do you know it won’t happen again?”

  “It won’t,” she snapped. “Sir John will make sure of it.”

  “John? I’m just not sure any of us have much idea who or what we are up against, my brother included. That puts us at a distinct disadvantage.”

  The set look on Graysie’s face told him it was pointless to go on. If he was going to protect Minette, he needed to dig a lot deeper to understand who was behind the disappearance and if it had any link to Vance’s death.

  The heaviness that sat in the pit of his stomach told him without any doubt that he couldn’t walk away and leave this woman to work her own folly. It had nothing to do with the woman or how he felt about her. Or might feel about her, he corrected. He just couldn’t fail another child.

  “Don’t you understand you could be putting Minette at risk?” he said in an urgent whisper. “You’re entitled to compromise your own safety, but I’m darned if I’m going to step aside and let you take risks with the child.”

  “Chivalrous of you, Mr. Russell, but why do you feel the need to appoint yourself our guardian? The things that have happened? Just coincidence. Unusual, I agree, but I can’t see the link between Vance’s death and Minette going missing. How could they be related—we barely even knew the man. No, we’ll be extra cautious, but I’m not willing to give up.”

  He sighed and fell into step beside her as they turned to walk to the pony trap.

  “Promise me one thing,” he said. “Trust no one—not even my brother—until we have a better idea of what’s going on.”

  Ten

  Gold House was bustling with activity when Nathan and Graysie returned from the fair. Nathan had bought a newly wakened Minette a stick of candy floss as a final treat, and as they traipsed through the front door, she noticed the child’s rosebud mouth was ringed with a sticky brown smudge from its sugary remnants.

  She supposed they both resembled a couple of hillbillies after a morning in the open air, and she was just turning to make a brief farewell to Nathan and escape upstairs to tidy up when she caught sight of Pania Hayes in full sail on Sir John’s arm, heading for the garden.

  The Maori singer was impossible to overlook in a pale gold shot silk day dress which shimmered subtly as she moved, the gold complimenting her perfect olive complexion. On her head she wore a turban style wrap in the same gold fabric trimmed with black feathers.

  She carried herself with regal grace, head tilted as if to catch every word Sir John uttered, and as Graysie watched, she paused with queenly assurance to gaze at him, fascinated by his latest remark. One glimpse and you knew this was a woman with a presence few could rival.

  The housekeeper, who had been hovering in the hall, heard their footsteps and gave a welcoming cry. “Oh Miss Castellanos, you’ve returned!”

  Pania halted and turned, smiling broadly. “Miss Castellanos, I am so thrilled Minette’s come home!” She gave Graysie a light embrace and bent down to tweak Minette’s arm. “And how is this little treasure? I might have a wee surprise for you!” She delved into the bag that hung from her wrist and extracted a lollipop.

  Minette’s sugary mouth dimpled. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Sir John cleared his throat. “We were just going to sit in the garden. Why don’t you and Nathan”—he nodded to his brother who’d come into the room behind them —“come and join us for afternoon tea?”

  Graysie started to protest that she was dusty and travel-worn and needed to change but thought better of it. All the concert hall chatter indicated that, underneath the grand dame manner, Pania was a grounded, pragmatic woman.

  As they settled into seats in the garden arbor, she reached out and took Graysie gently by the hand. “I was so glad there was a happy resolution to your situation.”

  She spoke quietly so that Minette, who was stroking a plump tabby on the steps leading into the arbor, didn’t hear.

  Graysie grimaced. “It was horrible. Just horrible. But thanks to Nathan… Mr. Russell…” She felt herself flush slightly with awkwardness. What was she supposed to call him? It wasn’t as if they were really friends. She cleared her throat and focused on Mrs. Hayes’s sympathetic deep brown eyes. “As you say, thank God for a happy ending.”

  Sir John interrupted with noisy coughing. “I believe Mrs. Hayes knew your Uncle Eustace briefly many years ago, Miss Castellanos. Did you know that?”

  Graysie peered at Pania in surprise. “Really? No, I hadn’t realized. When was that?”

  The housekeeper brought in a tray set with blue and white teacups and a pile of steaming hot scones. As she left, she paused to pick the cat up under her arm. She took Minette by the hand and headed for the door.

  “Come, my dear, let’s take you to
the kitchen to give Whiskers some milk and get something for you to eat.”

  “Don’t let her out of your sight,” Graysie said, suddenly anxious. “Promise me.” Her eyes flicked to Nathan, who was sitting silently in the corner, mouth full of strawberry jam-topped scone. He caught her eye and frowned.

  “So you knew Eustace?” Graysie prompted, after the housekeeper had gone. With the ease of someone who was mistress in her domain, Pania Hayes took up the teapot. “Yes—only briefly—we all did. But first let me do the honors. Milk or lemon, my dear?”

  When she was satisfied everyone had been served, Pania sat back. “Eustace was utterly charming. Quite artistic, loved to dance, but he was also an astute businessman. I believe he worked for the family firm in the West Indies for a few years before they sent him out here. I think he much preferred the excitement of the frontier to the society salons his family favored.”

  “His family?” Graysie had to admit she hadn’t given a thought about any family. “Like who?”

  Pania hesitated. “Quite honestly, Miss Castellanos, I don’t know. I think he had a sister. I just got the impression he was glad to escape his family.”

  Like me and my stepmother, Graysie thought.

  “He was very fond of your mother—I think they knew each other back in New York. I guess that’s why he’s left those mine shares to you?”

  “I suppose…”

  “So are you still planning to try and do something with them? Why not just sell them?”

  Graysie shook her head. “The mine is considered washed up. To sell now could be giving someone else a fortune, if it comes good. No, I have to get it to the point where its true value is recognized. Then I guess I would consider selling.

  “That’s why I’m here in Grass Valley. To try and find out more about it and decide what to do. I know it’s not what is expected, but if I could even get it to the stage where it was shown to be a worthwhile investment, I’d deem it successful. I’d have a more solid foundation to work from.”

  Hoping for a supportive comment, she turned to Sir John and caught an impatient scowl crossing his face.

  “Work the mine?” said Sir John. “Graysie, anyone who knows anything about the substrate in Grass Valley knows the Ophir wasn’t ever much cop, and it’s now exhausted. Run out. It’s a fool’s errand to think it’s worth re-opening. Eustace was always one for chasing dragons. I hope he hasn’t filled your head with unrealistic dreams of getting rich from gold.”

  She felt her face flush at the bland assumption that she was easily duped. She took a deep breath, told herself to stay calm, and said, “I’ve had a look at the prospector’s reports the lawyer gave me, and there seems to be good evidence for another rich seam running along the western wall. The question is how difficult it might be to reach.”

  Sir John gave a grudging nod. “I am happy to take a look at the reports for you and give you an opinion, if you wish. But I think Eustace had completely unrealistic ideas about that mine, and I’m sorry you seem to be have been influenced by them.

  “Regardless, it’s hardly likely investors would back a young woman—charming as you are, my dear—for such an operation. You’d be much better considering marriage. That’s the only way a woman of station is going to be able to secure her future.” He leaned in and topped up Mrs Hayes’ wine glass.

  “Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Hayes?”

  Pania took a sip of her wine. “Do you know, John, as a woman who has made her own fortune—a modest but good fortune—for the last fifteen years, I’d have to disagree. Much as I valued my late husband, knowing I don’t have to rely on anyone else does something for a woman’s soul.”

  Graysie saw his face darken with annoyance and felt a surge of gratitude to the woman bold enough to stand up to him. Maybe she’d just found her first ally.

  She flashed a smile at Pania and studiously observed the leaves in her teacup in the uncomfortable silence that followed. Maybe despite the Russell brothers’ disapproval, her dreams weren’t so nonsensical after all.

  Eleven

  Sunday, July 5

  Exchange Hotel

  Graysie was seated at an oak dining table in a large private room in the Exchange Hotel, sandwiched between Mrs. Marjorie Keegan, a mousy older widow whose conversation was limited to household matters, and logging magnate Sherwood Sylvester, who was as silent as his trees.

  She felt a rush of nostalgia for her days as a saloon singer, when she was free to choose to chat to whosoever she pleased, though it wasn’t at fine dinners like this one.

  Candlelight from two six-armed candelabra sparkled on the silver cutlery. Crystal vases of red and yellow roses from Sir John’s garden stood between them, the candles’ warmth stirring a subtle fragrance from the cut blooms.

  A comforting aroma of roast meat hung in the air, and as the guests tucked into buffalo steaks, a contented murmur filled the room. Sir John certainly knew how to host a dinner party.

  Mrs. Hayes filled the role of hostess admirably, greeting the guests at John’s side as they arrived, and then taking her place at the opposite end of the table from him, deftly volleying conversation, a shining star in a crimson gown with winged shoulders and a scooped neckline which displayed her sensuous ripe beauty to perfection.

  Harvey Miller, the fabulous impresario—and John’s biggest social triumph of the night—sat at Pania’s right. Anyone who knew anything about entertainment knew he’d introduced both the ‘Swedish Nightingale’ Jenny Lind, and Lola Montez, controversial countess and Spanish dancer, to the West.

  It was said he could make or break careers with one stroke of his purple-inked pen. A flamboyant bear of a man with a well-trimmed beard and spiky sandy hair that stood out from his head, his broad shoulders strained the seams of an immaculately tailored deerskin jacket. He bubbled with joie de vivre, lifting his glass at regular intervals to offer random good-natured toasts.

  Graysie, on the other hand, was feeling like a faint reflection of her normally resilient self. She’d been tempted to dodge this dinner altogether because her head ached. The events of the past couple of days had taken their toll; she was exhausted.

  She wondered whether she could ever really fit into this kind of life, playing the respectable townswoman, observing convention. Years of being out on her own had left her out of practice as a charming, biddable companion.

  The desserts were being served when it dawned on her that the people around her might hold the answer she was looking for. Many were wealthy, and it sounded like most of them—with the exception of the flamboyant impresario—had a wide range of business interests—from mines to railroads, real estate to ranching. They were the shakers and movers of the Mother Lode region—and she needed to find a way to interest one of them in her project.

  She stole a look to where Nathan Russell sat, way down the table out of conversational reach. It occurred to her that he’d cheekily asked her why she wasn’t married, but she had not gotten around to asking him the same thing. And he was a few years older than her, she guessed. All the more surprising if there was no wife back home in Sydney.

  A pretty doe-eyed brunette was patting his arm, drinking in his every word. He appeared to be more interested in the businessman seated on his other side, darting quick looks at him and listening in to the man’s remarks whenever Miss Doe Eyes fell silent. She could overhear snatches of their conversation. It seemed the fellow had made a lot of money in San Francisco real estate. For the first time that night the tight band across her forehead eased.

  Mrs. Keegan had just launched into a long complaint about the shortage of fresh vegetables when she was cut short by Sir John’s strong baritone. “Miss Castellanos here”—he gestured vaguely in her direction—“has inherited shares in the Ophir mine, but I’ve been trying to tell her there is no future there. All the ore was worked out years ago.”

  She briefly calculated whether it was worth disagreeing so publicly, and then saw a golden opportunity. “I fully respect your op
inion, Sir John. Of course I do, but the prospector’s report the lawyer passed on paints a brighter picture than you’ve indicated. Vance Pedersen suggested this mine could hold promise, given the right management.”

  Sherwood’s brother Stephen Sylvester, a prematurely white-haired, beefy man who sat opposite her, stirred in his chair. “Vance Pederson, ay? Such a shame. He was pretty astute when it came to reading rocks.”

  She smiled in acknowledgement: Sir John’s foray had silenced other talk, and all the dinner guests now sat watching the debate play out.

  “I am hoping to spark interest from investors to get the mine working again,” she said with a rush of enthusiasm. “I don’t accept that it’s washed out. I want to push it further before I give up, anyway.”

  Graysie was aware of Hector de Vile’s look of cool calculation. As if sensing their host’s resistance, Sylvester nodded but said nothing more.

  Sir John interjected, “Time for our surprise entertainment before the gentlemen retire for port and cigars.”

  On cue, Pania Hayes rose and made her way to the corner of the room where Graysie saw a small podium and music stand had been placed. Mrs. Hayes looked around the seated guests.

  “Sir John and I have been friends for a very long time,” she said with a brief smile. “I am delighted to be able to bring you this modest interlude.”

  Pania’s dark eyes rested on Harvey Miller, and Graysie was struck again by her allure. Then assuming a confident singer’s stance, her hands clasped just above her waist, she launched into a set of popular ballads. Her voice had a lovely resonance, and the guests clapped enthusiastically. She followed up with a tragic aria, the jilted lover lamenting her loss before dying, demonstrating her dramatic range.

  Harvey Miller, she could see, was impressed. At the end of the aria, he gave her a standing ovation before stepping forward to escort her back to her seat. But before he reached her, Sir John interrupted. He clapped his hands for silence, and then inquired, “Miss Castellanos, I know you sing too, indeed I understand you sing very well. Won’t you grace us with a song?”