Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4

by Jenny Wheeler

  “I really only know what I’ve been told. After my mother died and my father remarried, my mother’s name was barely mentioned.” She let a silence hang in the air. She didn’t feel any need to elaborate.

  Just as she started to feel uncomfortable, Alycia Stockton said softly, “I imagine that must have been a very difficult time for you.”

  The change of mood took her by surprise, and Graysie felt tears well up behind her eyelids. She was furious.

  Crying here? Things really must be getting on top of you. You never cry.

  With fierce resolve she stuffed the sadness back deep down inside her, clenching her jaw as she did so.

  “Life in the West tends to be tough and unpredictable.” She felt her jaw setting in a tight line. “I’ve enjoyed more good fortune than many.”

  Alycia nodded. “And now I understand you have undertaken to raise someone else’s child. Rather an unusual arrangement for a single woman, would you not agree?”

  For the first time since this conversation began Graysie felt the urge to explain herself. She shuffled her weight on the ottoman so she was facing Mrs. Stockton full on and shook her head.

  “Unusual, I agree. But unacceptable? No. Minette’s mother, Francine, and I had a special understanding. Minette’s father has been pretty much absent since her birth, and Francine had no other family here in California. Her widowed mother in France has little means to give the girl support. It’s terrible that Francine died, but it’s a labor of love to care for her daughter. After my own life without a mother … Well, let’s say I know what it’s like.”

  “You had a father and a stepmother?” Alycia’s statement was a question.

  “Technically speaking. My father never recovered from my mother’s death, and my stepmother never forgave him—or her—for that. So their home was not a happy place to be.”

  Pania had been sitting quietly in the corner, but now she cleared her throat and said, “Graysie, it’s been a big night and it’s getting late. Maybe we should consider continuing this conversation in the morning?”

  Graysie felt her throat constrict. She might never see this woman again, and she had so much she still wanted to ask her. “Of course,” she said. “But do you mind—I have a lot of unanswered questions.”

  She turned back to Mrs. Stockton, who was gathering up a reticule which had sat on the floor by her side, as if getting ready to leave.

  “Mrs. Stockton, as I said earlier, I don’t remember ever meeting Uncle Eustace, and I don’t understand why he would leave me any of his estate. But I do have some questions of my own not the least of which is, why do you have a gold fir cone identical to the one my mother gave me, hanging around your neck?”

  Forty Four

  Thursday, July 23

  The chilled marble-floored gallery at Nobilo’s Italian Ice Cream Parlour on 10th Street was overflowing with family groups eager to avoid the soaring temperatures outside. The Sierras had been experiencing a heat wave, and even though it had barely reached ten in the morning, Graysie guessed it was going to be another 100-degree day.

  Nobby had been dispensing his icy confections from this spot on 10th Street for more than a decade, but the place was barely recognizable now from the canvas-walled caboose she’d come to as a child.

  Graysie marvelled at the changes since she’d last been there with her father. The packed earth floor had been replaced by marble tiles. Chilled air from the basement ice cellar—stocked with Arctic ice imported by the California Ice Company—gave the parlor a delightful coolness.

  As well as the family gallery, there were private rooms where ladies could sip on sodas or delicately nibble from dishes of ice cream undisturbed, but they had opted for the public seating. Minette was wriggling beside her with excitement; she had never had ice cream before, and this outing was a special treat.

  She was uncomfortably aware it might also be her way of assuaging her guilt for leaving Minette every night to go on stage, but she brushed the thought away. They were here, and they were going to have fun! Alycia Mountfort Stockton sat at the head of the table, coolly assessing the menu. Graysie had surprised Alycia with her invitation to accompany them to Nobby’s, and she was secretly amazed when Alycia had agreed.

  She figured she had nothing to lose. Alycia had already made up her mind about her, sight unseen, and she wasn’t about to waste energy trying to change it. She would just get on with what she needed to do, and Alycia could fit in. Or not. Either way it didn’t bother her, she told herself.

  But it seemed Alycia was willing to fit in. She was as supremely confident here as she had been last night in Pania’s dressing room, a relaxed elbow on the mosaic-topped table, deaf to the rising tide of chatter from nearby tables.

  “So, girls, what kind of ice cream would you like?” she asked in her slow, deep voice. “Do you like chocolate?”

  Minette brightened at the query and wriggled some more. “Yes, I like chocolate a lot, Madam. Do you like chocolate too?” Her blue eyes twinkled, and dimples showed on her cheeks.

  Alycia made a circular gesture with her finger and thumb—A-OK. Minette’s dimples deepened and she giggled.

  “Shall we both have chocolate ice cream then? What about you, Seraphine?”

  “Strawberry for me, thank you very much,” said Seraphine, licking her rosebud lips in anticipation.

  Graysie felt as if her control of the social occasion was slipping away. How did this woman seem to assume charge so effortlessly? She chimed in, “I think I’m a strawberry girl too, thank you. But let me order and buy.”

  Alycia shook her head. “No. This is my treat.” She beckoned the waiter who had been hovering nearby and, order completed, turned back to Graysie. “It will take them a little time to bring our order when they’re so busy. Why doesn’t Mrs. Guilliame take the girls to see the miniature railway until they arrive?”

  The miniature railway was the other big attraction offered at Nobby’s Parlour. Mounted on a big podium at the far end of the gallery, a scaled-down steam train wound its way over a mountain and through a gorge, down into a valley, offering a Lilliputian representation of the real thing under construction from Sacramento into the mountains.

  People talked incessantly of the Central Pacific project; how far it had reached, what bridges and tunnels were being built, when it would reach Donner Pass, the Sierras’ summit where the railway crossed over into Nevada on its way to Reno. The romance was irresistible for any child who dreamed of one day riding in a train.

  Minette got up and took Lisette’s hand without hesitation. “Let’s go see the train!”

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Alycia turned back to Graysie. “I feel I owe you an apology, Miss Castellanos. On reflection, I admit I have made unwarranted assumptions about your behavior which do not hold up to scrutiny. My only excuse is that such an unexpected bequest did seem to require an extreme explanation.”

  Graysie felt her mouth momentarily drop open before she regained control and snapped it shut. Alycia Stockton was apologizing to her?

  She hesitated before replying, “Please call me Graysie. And I do understand, Mrs. Stockton. Believe me when I say it was a shock for me too, when I got the letter from your brother’s lawyer.”

  Alycia leaned in closer. “Tell me, my dear, were you and your father close? Did he spend a lot of time with you?”

  Graysie was momentarily startled by the sudden change of tack. Why was Alycia interested in her father?

  “Not especially. I suspect my mother was the one and only love of his life. No one else came close. I always felt as if he escaped into his work after she died. He was away a lot with his mobile daguerreotype studio, and he left me at home with my stepmother. Having married her, it seems he found it hard to live with her, so he disappeared a lot of the time. That wasn’t good for me or my stepmother.”

  Alycia nodded and stared off into middle distance before rallying herself with a shrug of her shoulders. “I knew your mother when we were jus
t girls, you know. She was very beautiful, and you look so like her it’s unnerving.” She regarded Graysie and sighed. “She ruined my brother for any other woman.”

  “Um… sorry?” Graysie felt like a gauche teenager. “I don’t understand.”

  “He was crazy about her. We all expected he would marry her. Then my mother died very suddenly, and my father stepped in. Mother had always been indulgent of Eustace’s wishes. She protected him from father. But with her gone, my father decided it was time Eustace hardened up and learned the business. He sent him to the West Indies for two years to run things there and, within a few months, Elanora married your father. It was a surprise for everybody.”

  “I see.” Graysie realized she knew very little about her mother and Eustace, except for one embarrassing kiss she’d witnessed that she was certain she wasn’t supposed to see.

  “When he came out West, we were concerned he was going to make a fool of himself over her all over again. I still think that might have happened except for her untimely death. I don’t think he ever got over her.”

  Graysie cleared her throat: “Do you think…?” She hesitated and her voice came out in a whisper. “Do you think he left me those mine shares as some kind of memorial to my mother?”

  “It’s quite likely,” said Alycia. “And you’re not to blame if he did.” In the natural pause that followed, the waiter bustled up bearing a silver tray with an array of glass ice cream bowls and silver spoons.

  “Your order is waiting, Madam,” he said with a deferential nod to Alycia.

  Over Alycia’s shoulder and Graysie could see Lisette and two excited children were heading back to their table. Minette was swinging the hand she clasped in Lisette’s and was chattering nonstop, her face flushed with excitement. She slipped into her chair and clasped her hands together in a prayer-like gesture.

  “Oh, the ice cream is here,” she said. “This is the most perfect day ever.”

  They were scraping their bowls clean when a shadow fell across the table. Graysie half expected to see the waiter back to check on progress but with a shock saw Hector de Vile standing over them.

  “Mrs. Hayes suggested I might find Miss Castellanos here with you, Mrs. Stockton,” he said to Alycia with a slight bow. “I have had a most agreeable morning with your husband.” He nodded courteously. “Miss Castellanos? Delighted I’m sure. I’ve just been suggesting to Mrs. Stockton’s husband, Basil, that your mine could possibly be a good investment for us to join in partnership together.”

  Graysie felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “My mine?” she paused in confusion. Only a few days ago he’d been peddling a fake prospector’s report and talking down its prospects. Now he was talking them up again? “I thought you considered it a poor prospect? From what your colleague Mr. Martens said… I thought he was operating under your guidance?”

  De Vile returned her questioning gaze with bland, surprised expression. “Martens? Oh, he has his own opinions on these things; they aren’t necessarily mine.”

  Ten days ago, finding possible investors like Basil Stockton and Hector de Vile would have seemed like a dream come true. But now? Graysie had an uneasy feeling. De Vile’s new found bonhomie rang false.

  She wondered desperately how she was going to fend him off. How dare he? He’d been perfectly despicable when Minette went missing, and she’d vowed then that she’d never have another thing to do with him. She lowered her gaze and bit down on her lower lip.

  When she glanced back up, Alycia was watching her keenly. The older woman’s face registered brief surprise, and then she turned imperiously to de Vile, who was leaning over her chair like he was staking a claim on the space between them.

  “I’m sure there will be a good time for you to discuss business, Mr. de Vile, but we’re enjoying a little private outing at present. Now is not that time.”

  She flashed Graysie a look that said more than words could. You’ve got someone watching your back now, girl. You’ve come home.

  Forty Five

  Saturday, July 25

  Nathan was seated at the Sitka Ice House windows, cooling off with an iced coffee when he caught sight of Martens’s distinctive tall frame passing by. He gulped down the rest of his drink, slipped out and fell into step behind him, hanging back and dodging carts and other pedestrians, staying out of sight. They were moving farther and farther away from the prosperous stores frequented by the middle class burghers, towards the scrappy docks.

  Soon they were on a levee road on the north bank of the Sacramento River, and the crowds, which had made it easy to keep himself hidden, were thinning. It was a futile exercise anyway, he told himself. What did he hope to achieve with it? But while he was here…

  He could hear faint sounds of Chinese music coming from a building that was part Chinese temple, part community hall. Attracted by the sound, he started down the alley and was surprised to see Martens ahead of him, slipping into the building through a side door.

  From where Nathan stood, near the junction with I Street, he could see a large sign over the main entry in Chinese characters announcing the Canton Chinese Theater. Of course! Some of the girls at the Exchange had family who performed here, he recalled. He was about to follow Martens in when an iron-hard forearm locked around his throat, cutting off his breath. The cold steel of a pistol muzzle pressed against the side of his neck.

  “Turn around very slowly, mate. Now. Yer coming with me.” The Sydney Duck from the Wells Fargo yard hissed his instructions into Nathan’s left ear, and he felt spittle land on the side of his face.

  The sounds of people going about their normal business on I Street filtered down the alley; shop owners bustling to get goods unloaded and on their shelves before the close of business, a newspaper boy’s cry above the rumble of cartwheels on the hard-packed dirt road, “Sacramento Cour-ier… On sale now!”

  He could smell dead fish and decaying water weed on the light breeze from the river. He turned cautiously under the pressure of his captor’s arm to face the slow moving water. The levee regularly flooded in heavy rains, but it offered a quick anonymous exit for anyone able to leave via the water.

  Stupid to try anything smart here, he’s got it all over me. How am I ever going to get out of this one alive?

  Nathan took a deep breath and started walking towards the river.

  *****

  Graysie stepped onto the boardwalk outside lawyer John Piedmont Fisher’s offices right next door to the courthouse and slowed to allow Alycia to catch her up. Eustace’s sister had insisted on accompanying Graysie to this appointment with the lawyer. In fact, she had arranged it.

  There was no other way Fisher would have been likely to make himself available at short notice on a Saturday, Graysie thought. But if Mrs. Stockton spoke, the world obeyed. Fisher’s office was all dark wood and austerity, and the man’s demeanor reflected the same restraint.

  Tall and thin, with faded blonde hair and skin mottled by faint freckles, his appearance showed evidence of too many hours spent at his desk, a model of rectitude. He appeared to have forgotten how to relax and breathe easy.

  Quite the opposite of Eustace, Graysie imagined. Alycia took the lead, as usual. She had exchanged letters with Fisher and addressed him as if he was already a valued acquaintance.

  “Mr. Fisher! So pleased to meet you at last. My brother’s death was distressing to us all, but it is reassuring to know his wishes are being impeccably executed. You have already met Miss Castellanos, I understand, one of Eustace’s beneficiaries?”

  Fisher acknowledged Graysie with a nod. “Yes, we have met. How is it progressing, Miss Castellanos? Have you had a chance to read the legacy documents in their entirety?”

  “The legacy documents? No… Should I have? I didn’t realize…” Graysie would have liked the floor to swallow her, she felt such a fool.

  “When I saw you last you seemed overwhelmed by the death of your friend and the child’s arrival. It didn’t seem like an appropriate ti
me to spell out certain conditions. And Eustace also left me with confidential instructions.”

  She sat very still and concentrated on making sense of what the lawyer was saying. What is he getting at? Certain conditions? Confidential instructions? Like what? But before she had a chance to frame a sensible response, Alycia cut in.

  “Mr. Fisher, I hope everything that needs to be said at this meeting can be said in front of both of us? There is nothing that is confidential to only Miss Castellanos or to myself—I mean that one may hear but not the other.

  “As you are well aware, Miss Castellanos’s share is just a small part of my brother’s overall estate, and there are still some loose ends I need to attend to as the executor appointed on behalf of the family.”

  Mr. Fisher steepled his fingers as he rested his elbows on his desk and considered. Right hand against his left—index against index, middle finger against middle finger… Graysie felt a strange calm descend as she watched his fingers play silent notes.

  “Confidential? He has left some sensitive material with me, I grant you. But it probably impacts both of you in different but equal ways, so it is doubtless best if you hear me out together.”

  At the word ‘sensitive’, Graysie sensed Alycia stiffening. The matriarch plunged in. “Sensitive material, Mr. Fisher? Can you explain further? I expect we may both be surprised to hear you use that term. I would have thought my brother’s life was pretty much an open book.”

  Fisher cleared his throat. He was plainly getting uncomfortable. “Not quite as transparent as you might have assumed, Mrs. Stockton. We find in our profession it’s not so unusual for our clients to take secrets to the grave…”

  He looked from Graysie to Alycia and then back to his hands, which he folded flat on the desk in front of him.

  “Mr. Mountfort left two documents of a personal, confessional nature, with instructions they were only to be delivered to the named parties if those parties came forward and requested further information. If no one came forward within a year of his death, these documents were to be destroyed. If someone close did ask, I was to make them available.”