“Perhaps Nathan Russell was slow in telling you about his wife for quite the opposite reasons you have imagined. He didn’t care too little about what you’d think but rather too much. Maybe the poor man felt he was unworthy or was anticipating rejection. Maybe he’s dragging an albatross behind him. You know the poem?”
Pania smiled at Lisette. “Famous English poem about an old sailor who is cursed for shooting an albatross which had been a good omen for them. As punishment they hang the dead bird around his neck.”
Graysie felt a great weight lifting off her, like she’d been carrying a load of bricks without knowing it. Lightness flooded her. Perhaps he did care about her. Perhaps there was a possibility they could make a future together.
Graysie grinned broadly and did a little jig; her face was glowing bright pink with a joy she couldn’t mask. “Do you really think so?”
“I do really think so,” Pania said, a soft expression in her deep brown eyes. “And I think it’s imperative that you give yourself a chance to find out if I’m right.”
Forty Two
Nathan Russell banged his head on his pillow with frustration. Another sleepless night punishing himself over Graysie Castellanos. How did he always end up saying the wrong thing where that woman was concerned? He chewed his lip in frustration. He was perplexed at how he acted around her. One minute he was talking to her like a headmaster reprimanding a naughty pupil, the next he was fighting the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her. He shuddered with embarrassment.
Truth to tell, every time he thought of her getting hurt, his blood hardened in his veins. When he considered he might never see her again, his mouth went dry. He was a mass of contradictions where she was concerned.
She was right to mock him. He cringed for himself. She had told him more than once that she didn’t need his help, but he insisted on going back for more. He swung his legs over the bed and wandered to the window to look out over the garden.
It was going to be a scorcher of a day. The sun was already slanting through the windows, causing him to squint. He thought back to the previous day’s crazy escape. After the rocks had stopped falling around them they’d waited in silence for several minutes, hoping for some tell-tale sound indicating the whereabouts of their attacker.
Had he been injured in the rock fall? Was it possible there was more than one of them? Could someone still be buried under the rubble? Or was he a solo operator who had anticipated their movements and slipped silently out before the fuse lit the black powder?
They’d heard no cries, no footsteps. They had moved as quietly as they could to the newly cut shaft, Nathan going ahead of his hobbling brother with his gun drawn just in case their adversary had somehow circled around and was waiting for them up ahead.
But their ascent into daylight was uneventful. The shaft through which Nathan and Seb exited led upwards in a gentle incline and opened through a trapdoor into a tin shed on the Ruby claim, just as they suspected. But the site was deserted.
Proving who had cut the shaft, in particular proving that the Ruby’s owners knew of its existence, would be well-nigh impossible, Nathan guessed. Sebastian was quite right when he’d said yesterday it didn’t fall within a sheriff’s responsibilities.
Quarrels over mining licenses were complicated and usually ended in gunfire at dawn or drawn-out legal proceedings. The culprits could always play dumb and deny they knew anything about it.
As he sprinkled honey and cinnamon on the breakfast pancake Mrs. Snively had left out for him, he considered his options. He needed to put Graysie Castellanos well and truly behind him.
She was going to be off in Sacramento with Pania, and he needed to focus on the reason he’d come here in the first place. Irish Pete had offered to show him how a new stamper at the Allison Ranch Mine was working. That might yield him with answers for his own prospects back home. On the way, he’d drop in and check on Anna Santa Maria and family. Just to make sure they were getting on okay, as he’d promised.
*****
Antonio was watering horses when Nathan pulled up at the Excelsior. Shafts of early morning light shone through flecks of floating hayseeds and dust motes as the boy stroked down a black mare’s rump and murmured quiet reassurances.
Nathan had called on Anna on his way into town, but there was no sign of either her or the children, so he’d made his way to the stables in search of Antonio. At the Wells Fargo office next door, the air was full of the sounds of departure. Horses snuffled and snorted, drivers hollered. The passengers about to board the coach for Sacramento waited in a knot outside the ticket office, nervously checking their luggage and sharing stories.
“Hey, Antonio,” Nathan called, his heart warmed by the sight of the boy, who stood with sturdy confidence attending to his task. His shoulders were pulled back, his chest was high, his chin up, and when he heard Nathan’s call he turned and grinned. “Mr. Nathan! Buenos dias.”
“Buenos dias, Antonio. I called to see Anna, and she wasn’t at home—is everything alright?”
“Yes, we are all fine. She has gone to spend the day with her sister. She’ll be home later. We’re getting by. We have enough food and the little ones are okay.”
“And you? How is it going here at the stables, Antonio?”
The boy glanced over his shoulder, Nathan suspected to check whether his boss was within earshot. “Yes, good. Old Hank treats me well. Gives me spare bread to take home, and he is teaching me a lot about horses.”
“Good. That’s very good.”
The black mare raised her head, water dripping from her muzzle, and shook it vigorously, splattering their trousers.
“Had enough, girl, have you?” Antonio asked and patted her again. “Come on then, back to your stall for some feed.”
He was leading her by the halter across the yard to the stalls on the other side of the building when they heard shouting coming from the Wells Fargo yard next door.
“Stone the crows, woman. Shut yer mouth, will ya?” The voice was rough and threatening, and the accent took Nathan right back to Old Sydney Town. He could have been on The Rocks’ cobbled streets, haven for so many of the colony’s freed convicts. It sounded like one of his countrymen was either in strife or dishing it out.
He turned to Antonio. His elbows were clenched at his sides. He seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible, but his hands were trembling. His lips were clenched tightly together, but a small whimper escaped as he stood rooted in terror.
“Antonio…” Nathan was about to ask the boy what was wrong but he stopped himself. It was clear that whatever was going on next door in the Wells Fargo yard had triggered a deep terror in the boy—and he knew with a sudden clenching in his gut what that meant.
He took control of the black mare and led her into a stall, then went back and guided the boy onto a pile of straw nearby, pushing him down gently and shutting the stall gates so he was completely hidden.
“Stay here until I come back,” he instructed, and sprinted across the yard into the coach-loading bay next door. The Sacramento coach was harnessed up ready to depart. The driver was stowing baggage, momentarily distracted from the argument unfolding beneath his nose.
A bulky red-faced man stood over a sobbing, scrawny blond woman, a horse whip raised threateningly over her cowering back. “I told yer. Yer not coming. Now scarper! Vamoose! Git going!”
He wanted rid of her. She raised her arm as if to ward off a blow and scrabbled sideways in the dust, dangerously close to the hooves of the coach team that was hooked up ready to depart. The horses stamped and snorted. The one closest to the woman tossed its head, and the metalware on the harness jangled. The coachman jumped down from the running board and rounded on the dark-headed brute.
“Oi! Stand clear. Both of you! Stand clear.”
The driver was a big man with a shock of white hair and side arms in plain view on his belt. He grabbed the woman by the back of her dress and, in one flowing movement, effortlessly swun
g her clear of the horses and stood her on her feet in front of him. She gasped and rubbed her dirt-streaked face, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, the crying silenced.
“Madam, unless you are boarding this coach, be on your way,” he said in a voice which brooked no argument. “Right now.” She melted into the passing crowd and was gone.
The bruiser who had been threatening her stepped away without a backward glance. Nathan moved back into the shadow of the fence, reluctant to draw attention to himself. He was about to return next door when there was a sudden commotion of horses pulling up in the yard. A late comer for the coach, he presumed.
Dismounting from a smart gentleman’s hansom cab were Hector de Vile and Willoughby Martens. As they stepped down, the Sydney crim—because Nathan was now certain that was what he was—rushed forward and took de Vile’s suitcase.
He lugged it up to the coach and rearranged the load to fit it on top. A traveling party of De Vile, Martens, and a thuggish Sydney Duck. Interesting. Nathan slipped through a gap in the stable fence before the coachman had time to mount his driving station.
Antonio was where he had left him, hands jammed under his armpits, tiny beads of sweat glistening on his hairline.
“He’s gone,” Nathan said. “You don’t need to be frightened anymore. He’s gone to Sacramento, and I’ll ensure he won’t be back. Ever.” He didn’t know how he was going to keep that promise, but it was what Antonio needed to hear right now, and he’d do his darndest to fulfil it. “Are you scared he was he one of the kidnappers?”
“I don’t know.” Antonio began shaking uncontrollably. “I didn’t see his face. He had a scarf over everything except his eyes. But he sounded the same. Talked the same funny way. Not like Americanos.”
Not like Americanos. He thought of Graysie and Pania’s plans to be in Sacramento in the coming days for their concerts. Was it simply a coincidence that de Vile and Martens were headed there with an enforcer—probably an ex-convict enforcer—in tow?
He doubted it. He could and would report all of this to his brother Sebastian, but even if he drew the same conclusions, Nathan had no proof and no way to stop them from going about their legitimate business.
But Graysie exposed to danger was something he couldn’t bear to think about. He had to warn her. If she wouldn’t listen then he’d try to get Pania to talk sense to her. He wrapped an arm around Antonio’s shoulder.
“Come on, boyo, let’s go see Old Hank. I think he’ll be happy to let you finish up now—the coach has gone and there’s not too much else happening today. Let’s get you home.”
He’d wait around with Antonio until Anna got back from her sister’s and explain to her what had happened. Then he’d visit Sebastian and ask him to keep an eye on the Pedersen family, and he’d be on the next stage to Sacramento himself.
What was it the Bible said? Go out like “sheep among wolves”? If he was going to ensure no further harm came to Graysie or anyone near her, he was going to have follow the advice of the Good Book and be as shrewd as a snake and as innocent as a dove.
Forty Three
Wednesday, July 22
Challenge number one met and conquered. Graysie sank into a chair offstage at the Orleans Hotel and sighed. Her ears were ringing from the thunderous applause peppered with piercing whistles that had greeted the final curtain of their first night of their Golden Queens Show.
Pania was still out front, soaking up the acclaim, always happy to play the diva receiving homage. Graysie was collapsed, relieved to have got through their first performance without any disasters. She and Pania had not had much time to rehearse together but they shared a drive for perfection, and it had worked its magic that night.
It wasn’t just their appearance that provided a charismatic contrast: Pania, majestic, dark, and exotic; Graysie, fair, slender, and, she hoped winsome. Their voices seemed to blend and complement each other in ways the audience apparently found spellbinding. Graysie shivered.
The convent school had taken summer break and so she was not required to teach. It was a relief to have the break, but the few days around the theatre had reminded her all over again why life as a stage performer wasn’t ideal for a single woman with a small child. She thought ruefully of her dreams of an alternative life. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
Minette loved having Seraphine with them, but both children missed the fresh mountain air and the chance to run and ride. They got restless spending hours in their hotel room drawing pictures. And although Graysie toyed with the idea of asking Eustace’s Sacramento lawyer whether he’d had any known enemies, she hadn’t had time to pursue it.
Sacramento had really changed from the wild gambling town it had been when she was growing up. Merchants, politicians, and businessmen with wives and families now outnumbered the throngs of gun-happy, heavy drinking miners, and with their arrival had come a swing in public opinion towards curbing the more reckless excesses of grog and gambling.
A ban on Sunday trading passed by enthusiastic temperance supporters had been overturned within a month by the California Supreme Court, but signs of the ‘moderating’ influence of family life were to be seen everywhere, most notably in the growing taste for entertainment from something other than a roomful of card tables. That worked well for the Golden Queens.
At the Orleans, women could comfortably meet and eat with friends without necessarily having a male escort, and the hotel provided a separate entrance for women, so they did not have to enter through the noisy public bar.
The applause faded and Graysie’s reflections were interrupted by Pania, who slipped into the room and gave her a light hug.
“You did wonderfully tonight,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I think we can be very happy with our reception.”
Her hand was warm and reassuring on Graysie’s shoulder, and she squeezed it in appreciation. “Thank you so much, Pania. You made it all so easy. But now I probably need to slip away and check on Minette.”
Pania sank into a chair beside her and shook her head. “She’ll be in dreamland by now. Why not take a little time to relax and unwind? Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
She gestured to her to follow and led Graysie down the corridor to her suite. She followed without protest. Pania’s Orleans sitting room was like an opulent cave, furnished with deep gold velvet sofas lit by gilded lamps that set up a mellow intimacy. The room seemed to wrap itself around you and embrace you.
It took a few seconds for Graysie’s eyes to adjust, and then she saw with a start that they were not alone. An elegant woman in an emerald green and white striped silk dress reclined in a wing chair in the middle of the room. She exuded the confidence of someone who expected to be obeyed.
Her white blonde hair was caught in a plaited chignon at the back of her neck. With a peculiar little leap in her heart Graysie noticed a tiny gold-coated fir cone exactly like hers hanging from the fine gold chain that encircled the woman’s neck.
The stranger leaned forward in her chair, fixing Graysie with a searching look for longer, surely, than was polite. Graysie didn’t know how to respond. Should she keep holding her gaze or defer and look away? Pania raised an eyebrow at her in a theatrical caution and gestured towards the occupied chair.
“Graysie, I’d like to introduce Mrs. Alycia Mountfort Stockton. Mrs. Stockton, this is Graysie Castellanos, your brother Eustace’s beneficiary.”
In the shocked silence that followed, no one spoke. Graysie was aware of Mrs. Stockton making a cool appraisal of her. When she spoke her voice was unusually deep for a woman.
“Miss Castellanos, I don’t know what tricks you played to win my brother’s good regard, but I will be a lot harder to beguile, I assure you.” She patted the ottoman beside her. “Come and sit here and tell me about yourself. As your benefactor’s sister, I believe I have a right to know a lot more about you.”
Graysie felt her heartbeat surge. Her head snapped back, and her shoulders tensed. Her fists were curled
tight. She was taking a fighting stance. She didn’t want to be confrontational, but neither was she going to lie down and meekly accept this woman’s unfair assumptions about her.
Tricks to beguile indeed.
As far as she knew, the last time she had laid eyes on her ‘Uncle’ Eustace she’d been nudging five. She couldn’t bear to think what Mrs. Stockton was imagining, but that was all it was, vain imagining.
She took a deep breath and settled on the ottoman. She was uncomfortably close to the imperious woman in the wing chair, but she felt a new rush of indignation; she was quite capable of staring her down.
“Mrs. Stockton, I am not at all sure what you mean to imply, but I am as much in the dark about your brother’s intentions as anyone. I do not remember the last time I saw him, but I can swear I would have been no more than five years old. And I’m sorry to say, whatever encounter we might have had then left no lasting impression on me. None at all.”
Alycia Stockton gazed at her, as if waiting to catch her out in a lie.
“You haven’t seen him since you were a child?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “How very peculiar. I thought…” Her voice trailed off.
Up close, Alycia Stockton was mesmerizing. Her skin was flawless with few signs of the aging you might expect in a woman reaching midlife. Her eyes were a deep hazel with amber flecks that made Graysie think of gold mines. But it was her steely poise which made the biggest impression.
Someone you’d definitely want on your side, Graysie thought.
She sensed Mrs. Stockton was a woman who, despite her wealth, had endured a lot; she apparently had little time for frivolities. “Your mother and my brother were close once. Of course you knew that.”
Under her intense gaze, Graysie was quarry scrabbling to escape a hawk circling high overhead on the lookout for prey.
Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4 Page 23