Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4

by Jenny Wheeler

  The guests around the table stirred, and all eyes focused on her. She felt self-conscious in the elegant but very simple black and white gown set off with an ermine shoulder cape. A gold-coated fir cone around her throat, the only thing she had from her mother, was the only embellishment she’d chosen for that night.

  She’d sung on stage hundreds of times, but the raucous semi-drunk miners and gamblers who usually made up her audience were far less demanding than this small coterie and a famous impresario.

  She took a deep breath, stood and pushed back from the table. “Perhaps Mrs. Hayes would be kind enough to sing a couple of popular ballads with me? There is no way I could match, let alone rival, her superlative performance.”

  As Graysie walked towards her, she caught Pania’s eye and was relieved to see she was regarding her with a welcoming warmth. The opera star leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek, leaving a delicate orange blossom and cologne scent after her.

  Back at the table, Mrs. Keegan clapped her hands and cried, “So charming!”

  “Delighted, I’m sure,” Pania said, laughing as she turned to Graysie and whispered, “Monsieur Miller will love you. It’s like the old saying, we’re destined to make ‘the gay rich and the rich gay’, isn’t that right?”

  Graysie let out a long calming breath and thanked her lucky stars for this wise female friend.

  “Let’s do this favorite old folk song—I’m sure you know it.” She waved a sheet of music in front of Graysie’s nose.

  They launched forth, Pania’s rich depth underlying Graysie’s pure soprano, instinctively reading each other’s body language to exchange parts, Pania taking the verse and then sharing the chorus, and then Graysie taking over the solo on later verses.

  “And only say that you'll be mine, and in no others arms entwined, down beside where the waters flow, down by the banks of the Ohio.”

  It was as if Pania’s earthy, life-imbued accents were overlaid by Graysie’s angelic top notes. Experience and innocence, interweaving and interchanging, first one dominating and then the other.

  As they worked through the second song, Graysie felt happier than she had in weeks, even months. Singing with Pania felt good. Their harmonies soared, the ebb and flow of the sound blossoming and then fading away with a feeling of rightness.

  As the last note died away, they turned and smiled at one another, and then each did a spontaneous bow, first to one another and then the audience, acknowledging the deep satisfaction in their shared song as well as their excited reception from the table guests.

  Harvey Miller, who had been standing off to one side, stepped forward and embraced them, Pania under one arm and Graysie the other.

  “What a team!” He beamed and turned towards Sir John, rising from his seat. “Where have you been hiding these gorgeous women? That was truly wonderful. Rivalled anything I’ve heard from Jenny Lind. I think you should develop a duet program and do a Sacramento season. That’s just for starters. What a novelty! Two great talents together on stage, not just one. Audiences will love you!”

  Before she had a chance to respond, John Russell stepped forward.

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed hearing my house guests sing, Harvey,” he said deliberately. “We have been royally entertained, I agree. But I think you are jumping the gun to assume the ladies are in a position to take up your kind offer.” He adjusted the silk cravat at his neck, as if he was adjusting protective armor.

  “Mrs. Hayes already has a tour booked. And I believe Miss Castellanos has other plans and responsibilities that would preclude her being able to take up your generous invitation.”

  As Graysie stood, struck dumb by Sir John’s presumption, he edged Harvey aside and placed his hand on the back of her neck. It was warm against her skin. Despite herself, she couldn’t help drawing comfort from his strength. The impulse to let go and let him take over was strong. He had stamped a territorial claim on her. Was she just going to fall into line? She felt her cheeks flush hot with shame for even thinking that way.

  He bent down and whispered, “It’s time for the gentlemen to retire for port and for you to entertain the ladies. I’d be most grateful if you could be particularly charming to Mrs. Sherwood Sylvester. I need her husband to be amenable to my proposals.” He raised an eyebrow in a private gesture of collusion.

  Graysie was stunned to discover she felt flattered, even aroused, by the blatant declaration of interest in his glittering black eyes. Her eyes roamed back to where Nathan sat and she saw he hadn’t missed their exchange. He was watching with an unreadable expression, and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, she blushed again.

  *****

  Graysie lay back on her primrose yellow pillows and tried to make sense of the evening that had just ended. After the impromptu recital, she had joined the ladies in the drawing room for tea while the gentlemen continued with port and cigars in Sir John’s bachelor den. She’d deflected the shower of effusive compliments towards Mrs. Hayes.

  “She was the one who held it all together. I just added a trill here and there,” she told Mrs. Sherwood Sylvester, who had fluttered to her side. “Mrs. Hayes is just wonderful. It’s no surprise she has such a flourishing career.”

  But while she smiled and passed around the tiny madeleine supper cakes, she felt detached from the gaiety around her. The success of the music recital had created a cheerful camaraderie amongst the guests. After all, the famous impresario had been impressed, and they had been present to witness his approval.

  But as she enjoyed the afterglow of her shared triumph, part of her was somewhere else, trying to make sense of Sir John’s actions. Surely he couldn’t have serious intentions towards her? He’d been a bachelor his whole life and he was much older… She tried to think what age he would be.

  He and Eustace had been in business together many years, and Eustace was forty when he died. That would probably make Sir John around the same age, maybe even older. But it wasn’t just his age. He was remote, unreadable. Capable of being charming if he wished, but there was always the sense of some calculated purpose behind his actions. Was he ever spontaneous? More importantly, could he be trusted?

  Until the previous night, she had got the impression that he regarded her as a distracted uncle might a distant niece. Now she had no clue. John had some business to attend to after dinner and had returned late, so she hadn’t seen him. He wouldn’t seriously suggest she become his mistress?

  Her insides contracted at the thought. But if he was willing to help her… She could hardly trust herself to imagine how the world would open up for her with the support of someone like Sir John.

  He had the experience, resources, and business contacts to reopen the mine within weeks if he decided to do it. But would he? So far he’d dismissed the idea as outright folly. And he seemed to barely tolerate Minette as well. At the thought of Minette, she chilled. She could not imagine the girl being welcomed into this house. And there was still the pall surrounding her disappearance.

  She swung off the bed and began undressing. She knew next to nothing about the powerful, enigmatic man giving her shelter, and she wasn’t going to surrender her determination to live life on her own terms just yet—she hoped never.

  If Harvey Miller was serious about the Sacramento concerts, she was going to grab the opportunity with both hands, even if it meant risking Sir John’s displeasure. It wasn’t the life she wanted for Minette in the long term, but she had to make her way as best she could in the meantime.

  Twelve

  Monday, July 6

  Nathan Russell wasn’t surprised to find the Sixways Saloon tables already crowded when he rode up to the notorious gambling house at Town Talk on the Grass Valley-Nevada City road early the following afternoon. Named Sixways because it sat at the junction of six roads leading to mountain diggings like bustling Gold Flat, the rugged canvas-walled roadhouse was a popular haunt for weary miners who couldn’t be bothered to make the longer trip to town.

 
Some didn’t have enough money to warrant the journey, others couldn’t be bothered donning the clean jacket and tidy trousers which were the stipulated dress in Grass Valley’s gambling halls.

  Here they could turn up at the end of a working day in their mining gear. As long as their boots weren’t dripping mud and their hands were washed, One-Eyed Jack turned his blind eye to the dirty trousers. And there were always the undesirables who’d been banned from other haunts who found their way to the Sixways tables.

  It was the sort of dive where a man could end up dumped in an old shaft if he got into an argument; the ideal hangout for a woman who’d been tarred and feathered to lie low and regain her dignity. Nathan was intent on getting to the bottom of what had really happened with Minette’s so-called disappearance, and he was confident Madam Ring knew a lot more than she’d let on.

  It hadn’t been difficult to get the Exchange Hotel’s cellar man to cough up that she was most likely hiding out at Sixways after Nathan had threatened to bring Sir John’s wrath down on him if he refused to cooperate.

  It was sultry and hot, but thunderstorms threatened, and men looking for an excuse to finish work early were already casting their bets at the faro tables. He tied his horse up on a hitching post outside and called over a small boy who was standing in the middle of the crossroad kicking stones with the toe of his boot.

  “Watch the horse for me. Anyone makes a move on it, come and get me straight away.” He pressed a gold coin into the astonished boy’s hand.

  As he entered the saloon, some of the chatter died away and men turned to look him up and down. He knew he looked more like a reverend than a miner in his charcoal coat and tidy trousers and reproached himself for not thinking about how he’d fit in.

  Damage done now, he thought, and continued to the back of the room where a rough-looking man with a patch over one eye perched on a stool surveying the hall.

  “Waddya want? Not going to cause trouble, are ya?” the man said in a surly tone, while his good eye wandered everywhere but to Nathan.

  “Not at all. Just wanting to look up an old acquaintance. Madam Ring.”

  The man glared and finally gave him his undivided attention. “Who wants to know?”

  “Nathan Russell. Sir John’s brother.” He wasn’t sure if name dropping would be an advantage or not, but he plowed on. “I had dealings with the Madam when she was running the Exchange. Helped advise her on certain aspects of her business.”

  He didn’t mention he’d tried to ensure that the girls in the Madam’s establishment—many of whom were Chinese with little English and no one to defend them—were being treated and paid fairly.

  The man tugged on his right ear lobe, as if straining to hear inaudible voices. “So One Eyed Jack is asking himself what you want with her now—not that I’m saying she’s here, mind. But if she was here, I don’t think she’d be wanting visitors from Grass Valley.”

  “Yes, well, it’s in connection with dealings in Grass Valley that I’m wanting to talk to her. Thought she might be interested in getting her revenge on folks who maybe didn’t treat her fairly.” Nathan dipped his hand into his silk-lined coat pocket.

  “A pint would go down well while you’re at it. I’m happy to recompense you for any inconvenience in getting a message to her. One for you and one for her.”

  He settled on a stool at the bar and watched as One-Eyed Jack poured him an ale and then shuffled to the rear doorway and hailed a bald-headed big bruiser of a man. They talked for a few minutes and then disappeared together out the back.

  Nathan sipped the beer and waited while the noise of the saloon swelled around him. He’d almost finished his drink when the muscle-bound heavy reappeared alone.

  “You the fellow who wanted to see a lady?”

  Nathan thought the description debatable, but he didn’t argue. He got up and followed Muscle Man through burlap drapes covering a door in the back wall to a second canvas-walled shack. Daylight streamed from greased paper windows into a small room comfortably set up with a bed, table, and two chairs.

  Bloated and red-faced, the Madam lay slumped in one of the chairs beside a rumpled bed. One side of her face drooped, and she dribbled from the side of her mouth. But it was her eyes that captured Nathan’s attention. They burned with hate, and she made no effort to disguise it.

  He crossed the room and attempted to shake her right hand, but she stiffened and glared at him. He retreated to a chair placed on the other side of a low table on which sat a tray with a water jug, a glass, and various medicines.

  “I’m sorry to see you are unwell, Madam.” Nathan broke off as she snarled something incomprehensible. “I wanted to ask you about the other night. I don’t believe you were fairly treated.” He might as well have been delivering a divinity lecture to a rabid dog.

  “Worried about your girlfriend, are you?” she retorted. The words were distorted but still understandable. “You’ve got good reason to be.” She let out a cackling laugh. “He’s not going to let anyone pinch that mine from under his nose.”

  Nathan was unsettled by her bitter mirth. Who was she talking about? Not his brother, surely? Had the woman been affected in the head by the beating she’d gotten?

  “Pinch the mine? I don’t understand. What mine? And who are we talking about?”

  Before the Madam could answer, Nathan heard a flurry of movement outside and saw a man’s shadow on the canvas walls. Madam Ring’s eyes widened in terror.

  “I knew he’d send them,” she whispered. “I knew it.”

  A shotgun blast reverberated, and Nathan heard a guttural cry as a big man toppled across the threshold, partially blocking the entry, half his head blown away. The section of scalp that remained intact gleamed with an oiled sheen. The man who’d shown him in here must have been hovering in the entry, eavesdropping.

  Nathan reached for the revolver he carried in his boot. It went against his grain to carry a gun, but John had been adamant; it was plain dumb not to be armed in Gold Country, even if it was just for protection from snakes or bears.

  The Madam sat petrified in her chair, and Nathan realized the seizure had affected more than her face. She could not move; frozen and angry, she sat staring up at the intruder.

  “You!” she screamed. “He sent you?”

  A big black-bearded man loomed in the entryway, holding a double-barrelled shotgun aimed squarely at Madam Ring.

  The man pulled the trigger and as the blast reverberated Nathan dove behind the wide-armed leather chair he had been sitting in a second before. He heard the snap of the shotgun being reloaded. He jerked upright, using the chair back for partial cover, and shot straight at the man’s chest.

  Blood bloomed like an evil flower, and the man staggered. Nathan ducked as the man waved the gun wildly and he shot again. The noise in the confined space made Nathan’s ears ring, but the charge flew over his head and peppered the canvas with holes. His attacker crashed like a big tree and did not move again.

  Nathan remained crouched behind the chair for another minute, waiting for someone to come running, but no one did. Three people dead or dying in as many seconds. And one of them at his hand. He felt nauseous. He bent over and retched several times. Sweat tricked down his neck and back, but his hands felt cold and clammy.

  He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to dying. One thing was clear. Madam M had known her killer, and Nathan was pretty sure he’d been on the man’s hit list too. As the minutes ticked by and his breathing calmed, he reflected on the past few minutes. Had his visit precipitated this attack, or would it have occurred anyway?

  He felt a surge of manic energy, followed by breathless desperation. He’d been left with no choice but to try and decipher what was going on here or he was sure more people would die. Saving his family’s fortunes had just taken a big back step. He’d worry about that when he’d found a way to stop the killing. He hoped his brother Sebastian had a better idea than he did about where to start.

  Thirteen


  Nathan pulled up outside the Excelsior Livery Stables in Grass Valley’s main street and dropped from his saddle. His legs felt like lead as he hit the ground. He’d ridden hard to get back to report Madam Ring’s execution, and his horse stood, head down, nostrils flaring, and sweaty sides heaving. He needed someone to walk and water the animal to cool it down safely while he went to the sheriff’s office.

  A rooster and chickens scratched in the dust. The sun was still hot on his back, but in the shaded stalls he could see horses resting contentedly. He was about to call for attention when a wiry, dark-headed boy slid out from behind some hay bales.

  “Antonio.”

  Nathan felt a spike of sympathy and guilt. It had been a few days since Vance Pedersen’s funeral and, despite his assurances, he hadn’t been back to check on how the family was making out.

  “You’re working here now?”

  The boy nodded and stepped forward to take hold of Nathan’s reins. “I can cool him down for you. How long do you want to leave him?”

  “Not long. Just got some business next door. How are things at home? Neptune still keeping you all in order?”

  It was a jocular remark, aimed at establishing common ground, but as soon as the words were out, Nathan realized he’d made a mistake. A big one.

  The boy’s head jerked up, and he stared into the yard with devastated eyes. After a long silence, he shook his head and said in a flat voice, “Neptune’s dead.”

  He took up the reins and started to walk the horse away.

  “Hey, hey, wait a minute. Hold on there.”

  Antonio paused mid-stride but kept his eyes averted.

  “What do you mean Neptune’s dead? When did that happen?”

  Antonio shrugged, as if the world was unfathomable, so how could he be expected to know. “He vanished while we were at Uncle V’s mass.”