Lucky in Love

by Barbara Cartland

  The more Waldo talked about silver and gold the more interested he became.

  It was obvious that all the mountains in this part of the State were worth prospecting, but he recognised how quickly a seam could run out and that, unless one was particularly lucky, it was far easier to lose money than to make it.

  ‘I shall certainly be cautious,’ Lord Harleston reflected to himself.

  By the time Portman had arrived from the Station with his luggage he was ready to go to his bedroom to have a bath and change for dinner.

  “I could have given a dinner party for you tonight,” Waldo said, “but, if I’m to take you round the town, I thought that any guests I invited would talk their heads off and we’d never get away.”

  “That was thoughtful of you,” Lord Harleston replied, “and personally I would prefer that we should be alone.”

  He realised with amusement that he had no choice but to allow Waldo to show him the town.

  He guessed that it was the height of entertainment for the young men to visit the parlour houses and, as Waldo was offering Denver’s best, it would have been churlish to ask for anything different.

  The bedroom that Lord Harleston had been allotted was large and the huge ornamental brass bedstead looked likely to be very comfortable.

  There was a profusion of carpets, curtains, chairs, objets d’art and plants that reminded him of the overcrowded mansion of the Vanderbilts and made him realise that the rich are always inclined to acquire too much and to suspect that simplicity proclaimed poverty.

  “Well, at least we don’t have to put up with a minin’ camp, my Lord,” Portman said with a grin.

  “That is certainly a blessing,” Lord Harleston agreed, “and I daresay we shall be quite comfortable until we move on.”

  He was giving Portman a warning as he spoke not to settle in for he was well aware that, like most English servants, he preferred to stay where he was rather than explore new places.

  By the time Lord Harleston had bathed in what seemed very modern and sophisticated surroundings, such as he had also found at the Vanderbilt house, and had changed into his evening clothes, he was in a mellower mood.

  While he was dressing, every sort of drink was offered him from whisky to champagne, but, as he preferred to be abstemious, he had only drunk a small glass of sherry before he went downstairs to find his host.

  Waldo was waiting for him and, when Lord Harleston appeared, he looked at him before he exclaimed,

  “Now I know what’s wrong with my clothes!”

  Lord Harleston realised at once that in England Waldo would certainly have appeared outlandish, while he was quite certain that his appearance was de rigueur for a young man about Denver.

  “Where can I get togged up like that?” Waldo asked him.

  “By coming to London.”

  “I have heard that’s what the swells in New York are doing, but I didn’t believe it!” Waldo replied. “Now I understand why they’re ambitious to look English, even though they resent you.”

  “Why should they do so?” Lord Harleston asked.

  Waldo hesitated before he told the truth.

  “Because we think you’re always looking down your long noses at us!”

  Lord Harleston chuckled.

  “I assure you it’s not true, but perhaps we may give that impression because we are more reserved in our natures than you are.”

  “You bet you are,” Waldo said, “although there are some exceptions. I met a regular guy, who might be one of your relations, recently when I was in Leadville. His name was ‘Harle’.”

  “Harle?” Lord Harleston repeated. “What was his first name?”

  “They call him ‘Handsome Harry’!”

  Lord Harleston frowned.

  He knew quite well who Waldo was referring to and was not particularly pleased to hear that he was in this part of the world.

  Every family has its black sheep and Harold Harle, who had been known as ‘Harry’ ever since he was a child, was a relation whom the older members of the family tried their best to forget.

  His father had been a cousin of Lord Harleston’s father and Harry had been the youngest of three sons.

  The oldest brother had gone into the family Regiment as was customary, the second had become a sailor and Harry had been destined for the Church.

  It was, however, quite obvious while he was at school and later at Oxford University that his inclinations were very indifferent to anything but the pursuit of enjoyment.

  When he had left Oxford, or rather had been sent down in his last year for rowdy behaviour, he had appeared in London and was accepted because he carried the family name.

  He had so much charm and was so excessively good-looking that hostesses forgave his somewhat outrageous behaviour and merely removed their daughters very quickly from his vicinity because he had no money and no prospects.

  Using his charm as other men used their talents and their brains, Harry Harle became involved in one escapade after another, most of which included a pretty woman who was the wife of somebody else.

  He also mounted up an astronomical number of debts which were settled by his long-suffering father and his older brothers simply because they could not allow the family name to be dragged through the Courts.

  When eventually things were almost at breaking point and there was even a family conference as to whether they should allow Harry to go bankrupt, to everybody’s relief he left England.

  That he took with him a very attractive young woman, who was within a fortnight of her Wedding to another man, was not so relevant as that he had actually disappeared.

  Later it was learned that Harry had gone to America and had married the girl who had accompanied him.

  Her father, who was furious at her behaviour, cut her off without a penny although he was a rich man and refused to have her name mentioned in his house ever again.

  But the Harle family gave a collective sigh of relief and hoped that it would be a long time before Harry reappeared.

  Thinking of him now, Lord Harleston remembered how over the years there had been occasional news of him filtering back from friends who came from New York, Chicago or further afield like Florida and other parts of the North American Continent.

  Lord Harleston remembered that once or twice there had been frantic requests for money, which Harry’s father had sent, because he was still fond of his youngest son and he could not bear to think of any child of his being imprisoned for debt or on the verge of starvation.

  Then, as far as Lord Harleston knew, there had been silence for some years. In fact thinking back he realised that it must be at least five or even more years since he had heard Handsome Harry’s name mentioned.

  “What is this man Harle doing?” he asked Waldo somewhat stiffly.

  “Gambling,” Waldo replied. “If he’s a relation of yours, my Lord, I can tell you one thing, he has the quickest hand and is the smartest dealer of cards in the whole State!”

  Lord Harleston’s lips tightened.

  It did not surprise him in the slightest that Harry had become a card sharper.

  He only hoped that he would not be involved in any scandal while he was in Colorado.

  Deftly he changed the subject and over dinner they talked once again of cattle, gold, silver and coal mining, which had only recently started in a big way.

  The food was plain, the beef superb and the wine imported from France at enormous expense was drinkable.

  Waldo Altman drank bourbon, but it was a spirit that Lord Harleston had no liking for and he had already decided that, if it was all he was to be offered on this trip, he would manage without alcohol.

  The brandy offered him at the end of the meal was French and he accepted a glass before he asked Waldo,

  “Have you had any trouble with the Indians lately?”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that question.”

  “Why not?”

  Waldo looked uncomfortable for a moment, />
  “I don’t want to frighten you.”

  Lord Harleston smiled.

  “You will not do so.”

  “Well, my father and some of the local authorities are worried about the Utes.”

  “Who are they?” Lord Harleston asked.

  “They are a tribe in the North,” Waldo explained, “and their hunting grounds are on the other side of the Rockies.”

  “What is happening there?”

  “It’s not really their fault, at least my father doesn’t think so, but after fifteen years of peace with the white man, the younger Chiefs are being upset by an Agent from the White River Agency.”

  “What is he doing?” Lord Harleston enquired, thinking that this was not particularly interesting.

  “He’s been obsessed with the idea of attracting the Utes away from hunting to farming. He has antagonised them, especially by ploughing up the track where they race their ponies.”

  “That sounds a stupid thing to do,”

  “My father’s afraid that, if the soldiers intervene, there will be another war. We’ve had quite enough of that sort of disruption in the State already and especially we want no trouble on the Plains.”

  “No, of course not,” Lord Harleston agreed.

  He had thought that all the fighting with the Indians was over, although in some of the books that he had read there were descriptions of settlers being killed, their farms burnt and the Indians scalping those they murdered.

  However, when dinner was over, he realised that Waldo had no desire to go on talking and was becoming anxious to show him the town.

  A comfortable carriage drawn by two horses was waiting for them outside and, as they climbed into it, Waldo said,

  “The first place I’m taking you to is The Palace!”

  Lord Harleston raised his eyebrows and Waldo laughed.

  “Not your sort of Palace, my Lord, but the best our King Ed Chase can provide.”

  He went on to explain that The Palace was the first of the really elegant gambling mansions and Ed Chase was Denver’s most spectacular gambling operator.

  King Ed, he told him, had already opened a smart gambling games Club, called The Progressive with fifteen hundred dollars he had won at poker while working as a railroad brakeman.

  “It owns Denver’s first billiard table,” Waldo boasted proudly, “hauled across the Plains by ox cart.”

  When Lord Harleston laughed, he said,

  “Ed also introduced a three-headed freak at another gaming Club and gave the first great ball in honour of the Nymphs du pave.”

  In case Lord Harleston did not understand, he translated,

  “‘The frail sisterhood’ some folks call them. One person who doesn’t like them is the second Mrs. Chase. She tried to shoot Nellie Belmont and then divorced Ed because he kept her in a cosy little love nest.”

  With such an introduction Lord Harleston looked at Ed Chase with interest when they met him at The Palace.

  Prematurely grey with steely blue eyes that missed nothing, he usually sat at the Progressive Club on a high stool with a sawn-off shotgun across his knees.

  The Palace was as fantastic as its owner. It had room for two hundred players and a bar decorated with a sixty-foot mirror. It was not only a gambling hall and a saloon but a theatre as well.

  When Lord Harleston and Waldo arrived, there was an extremely bawdy comedienne on the stage and the programme had a verse on it that started,

  “Palace of Real Pleasure and Voluptuous Art

  Where lovely women fascinate the heart – ”

  Waldo pointed it out and said,

  “The Dean of St. John’s Cathedral calls this ‘a death-trap for young men, a foul den of vice and corruption’.”

  After watching the female entertainment, Lord Harleston decided that the Dean might have a point.

  The Palace girls were certainly enticingly alluring and, as Waldo explained, preferred gold dust and nuggets to flowers!

  He also described in detail how a friend of his, having won sixty thousand dollars in a lottery, had showered jewels and furs on one of the dancers.

  However, when he found out that she was married, he shot her from his box while she was performing on the stage!

  “If you ask me, you are too trigger-happy in Denver,” Lord Harleston remarked.

  “In this country it’s often a case of kill or be killed,” Waldo replied.

  After watching the gamblers for a short time, Lord Harleston backed his lucky number on the roulette table, let it run three times and then picked up his winnings and suggested to Waldo that they go somewhere else.

  “Do you mean to say you’re not going on?” he asked. “You’re on a winning streak!”

  “I never push my luck,” Lord Harleston replied, thinking that he had not had much luck lately.

  Outside The Palace, Waldo said that they would begin by visiting Mattie Silks, keeping Jennie Rogers as the final pièce de résistance.

  When Lord Harleston saw the Red Light District, he certainly thought it was sensational and it was larger and different from anything he had seen before.

  As Waldo had described, the crib girls were leaning out of the windows looking for trade, their customers being some very rough and dirty miners who were already drunk and a number of over-exuberant cowboys.

  Mattie Silks herself was certainly a surprise.

  Having previously operated parlour houses in the wild cattle-shipping towns of Kansas, she had arrived in Denver ten years earlier after a successful tent tour of the mining towns. She brought with her several lovely boarders and a tent big enough for business.

  She, however, soon owned a classy two-storey brick house in Market Street with long windows shaded with awnings.

  Richly gowned even for a Society lady, she was small, plump and rather pretty.

  She had naturally curling light brown hair with gold streaks in it and, as Waldo greeted her with a kiss on both her rouged cheeks, she laughed and teased him before he introduced Lord Harleston.

  Because she was obviously extremely impressed with a Lord, she took him into an elaborate over-decorated parlour where ‘the girls’, as she called them, sat about on stools while the customers lounged comfortably on sofas.

  There was dancing in another room and music, which was surprisingly well played, but Waldo insisted that they were not to stay long.

  After he had paid what appeared to be a large sum for some very dubious champagne, which neither he nor Lord Harleston drank, they moved on to Jennie’s house, which was only a little way down the street.

  By this time, having heard so much about Jennie Rogers and having seen her driving the four-in-hand, Lord Harleston was feeling quite curious.

  At least, he thought, he would rather talk in Denver to an experienced madam than to a strait-laced worthy, who was certain to bore him even more than Mrs. Alva Vanderbilt had done.

  As soon as they arrived at Jennie’s house at 2009 Market Street, he could see that it was extremely well run. She employed a large staff of servants and a piano player who would not have been out of place on any London stage.

  There were also additional musicians who played violins and other musical instruments all with an expertise which showed that they had been chosen with care and good taste.

  But what was more musical than anything else was Jennie’s laughter.

  Six foot tall she had a wild exuberance in her eyes and it was echoed in her laughter, which seemed to ring out with a note of defiance as if she dared anybody to criticise her.

  Everything in the house was opulent, plush and new since it had only been opened in January.

  The girls too, who Lord Harleston realised had come from St. Louis with Jennie, were exquisitely dressed in ballgowns and behaved in a way that would not at the moment of his arrival have shocked Marlborough House.

  Their job was to amuse and they were obviously past masters at it, especially their madam.

  Lord Harleston found himself relaxing
for the first time since he had left England and laughing unreservedly at some of the outrageous things that Jenny said and the quickness of her wit.

  He had not met many American women and he had no idea they could be so sharp that they could turn the serious or dull with a turn of phrase into something uproariously funny.

  As they talked, other customers arrived and Lord Harleston was interested to note that they behaved with good manners that he doubted he would find in the ‘houses of pleasure’ off St. James’s Street.

  It amused him that Jennie was making a place for herself in Denver almost as if she was a Society hostess rather than a madam of a bawdy house.

  As the evening progressed, Waldo went off to dance with a very attractive girl with red hair and Jennie, looking around the room, which since the dancing had started was somewhat depleted, said to Lord Harleston,

  “Is there anyone I can interest you in? Zaza is an expert in the joys of the Orient and Renée is French.”

  He shook his head.

  “On this occasion, you will understand, I am an onlooker. I have only just arrived after a long journey and I intend to go to bed early. And alone.”

  She laughed.

  “Good resolutions are only there to be broken!”

  “There I agree with you, but not tonight.”

  She smiled at him without any rancour and he proposed,

  “But you must allow me to buy champagne for your girls, if you permit them to drink it.”

  “I can’t prevent them from doing so.”

  Lord Harleston put quite a large amount of dollars down on the table and it vanished as if by magic.

  Then Jennie set out to amuse him by telling him of her struggles in St. Louis, of the way she had started to get her own business going there and to decide to come to Denver because it was the largest and richest City in the State.

  She told him of her difficulties with her ‘boarders’ who were well paid, well fed and whose bedrooms were fashionably furnished.

  Some, however, were moody and frequently so depressed that they took laudanum, which was liquid opium. It could be bought at any drugstore, but in large quantities it was the route to suicide and lethargy.

  They also talked about horses and Lord Harleston found it surprisingly agreeable until, when Waldo returned after his dance, he realised that he was very tired.