There was a long silence. She was vaguely aware of Minette’s carefree chatter as she skipped up and down the path by the pond’s edge, calling to the ducklings and scattering little pinches of the bread Nathan had provided for them to eat.
She was aware of his eyes on her, as if trying to read her mind. Then he sighed.
“And what about Lisette? Would you leave her dangling?”
“Ah. There’s the rub.” She flicked her gaze to where Minette played, checking she wasn’t too close to the water. “I don’t know what to do about Lisette. I’ve been worrying about her and Seraphine all night.” She shrugged. “I suppose the fact that Weavers is dead is small comfort. It doesn’t mean they’re any safer.”
A lock of red-gold hair fell across her face in the light breeze, and she smoothed it back behind her ear as she gazed directly into his eyes.
He sighed and his eyes flicked to the meadow. “Graysie, why not just leave it a few days? I know what I said when we first met, but I’m not so sure any more. Maybe we’ve already stirred up the hornet’s nest so much that backing down now won’t help. Give Seb more time to flush something out. Let me help. You don’t have to do this alone.”
He took her elbow and turned towards Minette. A comforting warmth flowed into her. Maybe he was right. Perhaps she didn’t have to do it all alone.
They’d been ambling slowly in Minette’s wake as she patrolled the water’s edge where the ducklings swam. Now he took both her hands in his and drew her down to sit on a bench with a full view of the child playing. The sounds of the picnic faded in the stolen, private moment.
“I know we’ve only known one another a week, Graysie, but you’ve both become important to me. Very important. And it’s not just my well-known tendency to rescue damsels in distress.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “It’s more than that.”
He dropped her hands and gazed out over the pond.
“There’s a lot going on in my family. I’ve got responsibilities to my mother and half-sisters…” He watched Minette for a few more moments, then turned back to her. “I can’t just please myself, you understand. But I want you to know, I wish I could. And that you are a gem. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
He leaned in and kissed her very lightly on the neck.
Her heart thumped so loudly in her chest she suspected he must be able to hear it. She contemplated his artless, open face, the unaffected directness of him, and wanted to lean in and kiss him back, right on his sculpted lips.
Instead, she smiled into his eyes, minutely closing the space that separated them. “Well, you know you’ve passed the first test, Mr Russell. Minette adores you. As for me…” She drew back, giving herself a fraction more room to admire him. “I’ve never met anyone like you either.”
Twenty Two
Cressida Washington’s exclusive fundraising annual soiree had become one of Grass Valley’s most sought-after gatherings, showcasing the latest in mountain scene fashion, music, and food while supporting deserving community causes. The town’s citizens called in favors to get their hands on an invitation, and there was subtle vying among the single women for a chance to model Cressida’s creations. This year they were raising funds for the recently opened Sisters of Mercy Orphanage for Girls while sipping tea and scrutinizing the smartest fashions.
Nathan knew many people took little interest in fashion for 364 days of the year but fought for the chance to attend Cressida’s event. The canny dressmaker had cleverly followed the example of the anti-slavery bazaars that had raised thousands of dollars in support of emancipation in the previous two decades. The young women selected as models swanned around in Cressida’s smart dresses, serving tea and cake and staffing sales tables piled high with the fruits of a year’s activity for Grass Valley’s Ladies’ Sewing Circle.
A rainbow jumble of ladies’ cloaks, cuffs, bags, purses, and dozens of dolls in different national costumes tempted the town’s gentlewomen to empty their purses and treat themselves for a good cause. And, of course, Cressida was likely to find her order book full with requests for new season’s gowns by the end of the evening. A win for everyone, Nathan thought as he stood on the edge of the gathering, searching for Sebastian’s lean six foot four frame.
Seb was the exception, a man who would have preferred not to attend Cressida’s show unless he had to, but he’d been determined to come along to monitor local gossip. He’d confessed to his brothers that he hadn’t made much headway with his investigations and was ready to widen his approach.
Nathan surveyed the room, which was filling quickly. On a small podium to one side, Pania Hayes and Graysie Castellanos stood, completing a set of popular songs together. Their voices complemented one another beautifully, Pania’s mature vibrancy underlying Graysie’s lighter, sweeter cadences. The largely female audience responded with warm applause.
Even he, as a man untutored in the ways of fashion, could see Cressida had been clever in the contrasting way she’d dressed the two; Pania was in black and white with a white turban that highlighted her imperious majesty, while Graysie’s natural freshness shone in a cream chiffon dress with a ruffled neckline that framed her face perfectly. As soon as the last notes of the final encore died away, Willoughby Martens swooped from nowhere, offering Graysie his arm.
Nathan saw Graysie hesitate then sharply pull back, clearly unwilling to accompany Martens anywhere. Martens was talking loudly at her, crowding her with his bulk. In half a dozen big strides, Nathan was across the room at her side, dodging other guests as he went. He was vaguely aware of Sebastian following behind, and before he could speak, Sebastian planted himself in Martens’s path.
“Mr. Martens. I’ve been wanting to catch you for a chat. You’re a difficult man to get hold of.”
Martens was fractionally shorter than Sebastian but substantially broader. He reared back, plainly unused to being challenged by someone so close to his own size. He took in the deputy’s badge pinned on the shoulder of Sebastian’s old dark blue army jacket.
“So you are…?” Martens eyed him arrogantly. “Not another Russell? God forbid.”
Seb regarded him coldly. “Can we find somewhere private to talk, Mr. Martens? Might be best away from the crowd.”
“Talk about what? I’ve done nothing wrong.” Martens thrust out his chest aggressively and stared Sebastian down.
“I’m not suggesting you have, Mr. Martens. Just routine.”
“To do with what? I’m just a boring businessman. You can ask Sir John.”
“I will do that. But for now…” Sebastian gestured to Martens to move across the floor towards the door.
“Hold on. Hold on. I wanted to talk to Miss Castellanos.” He flashed an over-confident smile in Graysie’s direction and made a move to step around Nathan to get closer to her.
Nathan put a protective arm around Graysie’s waist and drew her more closely to him.
Martens glared at him for a couple of seconds and then pointedly switched his attention to Graysie.
“I’m prepared to offer you a good price for your shares in that mine of yours, based on a prospector’s report that’s come into my hands.” Martens drew a folded document from his inside jacket pocket with a dramatic flourish. “Prepared by a very experienced man who’s been working these mountains since forty-nine. Take it and look at it in detail. He thinks the Ophir has only very modest prospects. Some possibilities, but not riches galore. And his considered opinion is that to extract what little ore there is would take significant investment and expertise.”
Martens screwed up his face to emphasize the difficulties. “It is well-nigh impossible for someone with no working capital or engineering expertise, Miss Castellanos. But I am looking for a challenge, and I would be willing to take it off your hands. I’ve got the contacts to make it work.”
Nathan’s stomach soured at the man’s bland expression, the attempt to look guileless. Here I am, the simple businessman looking for an opportunity to make money, for sur
e, but willing to play fair.
“I am very happy to take your report and consider it, Mr. Martens,” Graysie said, all business. “Who is the author, by the way?”
“Oh no one you would know,” Martens said carelessly. “Just a fellow I’ve done other mining projects with in the past.”
“And his name is?” Nathan asked.
“His name is Lightening Bill Whitlock,” Martens answered after a reluctant pause. “Worked around Sonora most of his life, but knows this region as well.”
“Worked?” asked Nathan, his emphasis on the past tense.
“Yes. Sadly he was killed in a rock fall just a month ago, not long after he finished this report actually.”
“What a coincidence.” Nathan didn’t bother to conceal the cynicism in his voice.
“Look, I don’t know what you are hinting at, but drop it. Mining’s a dangerous business, you know that. You just can’t help yourself, can you? Always meddling. The only time you didn’t step up like some blessed saint with all the answers for the world’s problems was when your own wife was dying. Didn’t want to know too much about that, did you?”
Martens sneered and flashed Nathan a look of mean triumph.
Graysie’s spine stiffened at Martens’s words. She drew away from Nathan’s protective arm, a reaction that didn’t escape his fellow Australian.
“What, he didn’t tell you that sad story?” Martens’s mouth curled in a taunting smile. “Oh, yes. Saint Nathan was so busy sticking his nose where it didn’t belong he wasn’t there when his wife needed him most.”
Graysie drew herself in tightly, her backbone ramrod straight. There was a long silence. “You didn’t tell me…” Her voice fell away to an embarrassed whisper, and Nathan was uncomfortably aware of Martens’s smug silence.
He had almost forgotten Sebastian was present, but his brother now stepped up with an authority that brooked no resistance.
“I think you’ve delivered your message, Mr. Martens. Now can you come with me please.”
Martens tossed a last contemptuous look at Nathan and walked out, leaving a shocked silence behind him.
Graysie cleared her throat. “When you asked me the day at the fair if I’d ever been married, why didn’t you mention you’d been married yourself?”
Nathan’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t get his mouth open, let alone get any words out. His eyes locked on hers for what felt like an eternity. Then he spoke slowly and clearly into the vacuum, “My wife’s death will forever be a source of grief to me. If I could do anything to reverse the events of that night I would. But it has nothing at all to do with the matters we are discussing here. And Martens has a particularly embittered view of what happened.”
He stared into her stricken face. “But that doesn’t really answer your question, does it? Why haven’t I mentioned it? I guess it’s partly because we’ve hardly had time for that kind of private conversation, we’ve been too busy staying alive.”
He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest.
“But the real reason is I’m not proud of how I handled it. I feel as if I deserve to be punished… and I can’t blame Willoughby for what happened. It was a natural disaster, but she got caught in it because she was chasing after me. I was never at home, always away on business. When she needed me most, I wasn’t there.”
The skin bunched around his eyes, and he gave her a painful stare. “Willoughby Martens was my wife’s brother, is still, I suppose, my brother-in-law. He feels he’s got a right to feel aggrieved. And maybe he does.”
Her eyes were deep wells of sadness. “Not good enough is it? And it’s impossible for me to go back and change it.”
Twenty Three
Thursday, July 9
As soon as it was decent to get up without appearing tragic, Graysie slid out of bed, put on her practical serge riding skirt and boots, braced her shoulders for the day, and started for the kitchen. She’d heard John and Nathan discussing an old prospector named Willie Watson who knew rocks. They seemed to think he knew the Ophir well, and he lived on one of the dead end forest roads near Gold House. The thought had crept in overnight and she couldn’t shake it off. If she was going to decide on what to do about the Ophir, maybe she needed to talk to someone like Willie.
Besides, she wanted an excuse to avoid bumping into Nathan over breakfast. Seeing him was just about the last thing she could handle just then. She took a deep breath; her chest felt sore. Was this what it was like to have a bruised heart? He’d seemed so open, and yet he’d kept such secrets from her.
She tiptoed to the pantry and quickly assembled an impromptu breakfast: bread rolls, jam, fruit, and cheese. Then she took the stairs two at a time to Minette’s room and roused her.
She was back to trusting her own instincts, relying on herself. She’d go and see Willie Watson and show him the prospector’s report Martens had given her. But first she’d drop Minette off to play at Lisette’s. She had to get her life moving again, regardless of the distractions, and Nathan Russell was proving to be a distraction.
By mid-morning, Minette was happily dressing paper dolls with Seraphine, and Graysie had savored a coffee with Lisette and Irish Pete, who’d called with a brace of game birds for the pot. The Herculean red-bearded miner had worked for Lisette’s husband and was so incensed at finding Minette in the cellars that he’d taken to checking on Lisette and Seraphine when he was passing.
Graysie could sense Lisette growing more cheerful and confident under his kind attention, and she set off up a gravel road to Willie’s cabin with a lightened heart. She loved the Sierras in July. The cloud of betrayal that had enveloped her since the night before gradually lifted like morning mist in the sun the farther from town she went. The mountains were especially lovely in the morning before the air got so dry it tickled your throat.
Willie Watson had a long, gray beard which belonged on a much older man. Though she guessed he was into his fifth decade, he had a light step and looked a lot younger. After she explained who she was, he welcomed her into his modestly furnished bachelor’s cabin and offered her tea. Willie’s dog—a red and white spaniel with a fine curly coat—ambled over and slumped down on the floor beside her chair with an audible “humph.”
“Meet Argus. Been out chasing squirrels,” Willie said with a smile. “It’s tiring work.”
As he put a kettle on the hob and stoked the wood fire, Graysie basked in the calm order of the one-and-a-half-room living space. Through an open archway she could see a tidily made up bed covered in a plump feather eiderdown and flowery quilt. The main room was fitted out with a small hand hewn table and chairs and a couple of easy chairs, one of which she occupied. On the pine bench under the kitchen window lay freshly picked salad greens—apparent bounty from a garden plot. It was the picture of homely comfort.
The kettle whistled, and Willie poured a steaming hot cup of tea for them both before settling with a satisfied sigh in one of the straight-backed chairs at the table.
“So you’re the young lady Mr. Eustace Mountfort left the mine to.” He paused and took a slow sip. “I saw him not long before he died. Wanted to talk to me about the Ophir, just chew the fat.”
“Wait!” Graysie was stunned by his casual announcement. “You saw Eustace? Spoke with him? Where? Where did you meet him?” Excited bubbles rose from the pit of her stomach.
“In Sacramento. I was there visiting a friend and bumped into him. When he was a young prospector we shared a tent on the banks of various rivers. I always liked him. He was a real gentleman. Not so suited to the outdoor life perhaps…” He paused and smiled. “He was a good businessman, but he didn’t have the killer instinct.”
Graysie licked her lips reflectively. “Funny thing. Someone else said exactly the same thing a few days ago.”
Willie gazed into his cup. “Mmmm…You could never say the same thing about Sir John!” He gave a laughing cough. “Another funny thing was that those two did a
lot of business together over the years, but Eustace didn’t want Sir John to know I was investigating the Ophir for him. Made me promise I wouldn’t mention it. Seemed a tad strange to me, but I just thought it was none of my business.”
Graysie leaned down and stroked the spaniel’s soft floppy ears. “Curious. I haven’t seen Eustace since I was a child, and I’d never met Sir John until a few days ago—well not that I remember. So I don’t know much about either of them.”
“When they were younger they were very good buddies. Went everywhere together. As they aged, not so much.”
Graysie had the sense he was holding back, uncertain of how to continue. “Do you think they were still close when Eustace died?”
“Hard to say, but from a few things Eustace said, I’d think probably not. He was feeling his years, and he was in quite a soulful mood. Said he had regrets about things he’d done and if he had his time over he’d make different choices. Even joked about seeing a priest and making his confession. I don’t think Sir John is a man for that kind of talk.”
Graysie’s hand slowed on the dog’s silky back. “Did he say what kind of regrets? Any idea what he meant?”
Willie shook his head and finished his tea. “None at all. I suppose one conclusion you might draw is that he’d never married or had a family. He was a caring sort of man, so that was surprising really. He had a great sense of humor. And when he was younger could he play the fiddle… Used to storm heaven with his music at the Sunday dances. Had a fine singing voice, too.”
Graysie’s stomach clenched with a pang of loss at not knowing him. She still hoped the inheritance he’d left her might provide for her future. If it ever all worked out, she’d have him to thank.
“I’m very grateful to him for remembering me in his will—although a little bewildered by it. I understand he was very close to my mother when they were young. Maybe they even entertained ideas of getting married, but his father sent him off to the West Indies to grow up. By the time he got back, Mother had already married my father. Anyway… enough of ancient history.”
Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4 Page 13