by Iris Kelly
Lydia and Virginia exchanged a look. How much things had changed for Beatrice to be tended to by her own maid.
“If you don’t mind sitting, Miss, I’ll take one last look at your hair and make sure it’s pinned up good.”
Beatrice obliged gladly. She was starting to feel a little unsteady on her feet, feet that were supposed to gracefully glide through all of the new dances she had so recently learned. And not only with Avery, who might forgive any stumbles, but strange men. Gentlemen who needed to be impressed. Their wives, who needed to be charmed. And this beautiful gown, undoubtedly promised more sophistication than she could deliver.
“It’s all fine, Miss. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to go tell Grace you’ll be going down soon so she can have a peek as you go down the stairs.”
As soon as Evelyn left, Lydia pulled Beatrice to her feet again. “Oh, my dear. With any foresight, we should have hired the photographer today. You are a sight worth remembering.”
“Did you enjoy going to balls back in Boston?” Beatrice asked.
“Not especially,” Lydia confessed.
“I loved them,” Virginia said. “But then, I viewed each one as a fresh opportunity for conquest. Finding the right husband. Gaining admittance to a slightly higher rung up the ladder.”
“He wants to see if I can be a politician’s wife.”
“We all know that you can. Just stop trying to be anything. Enjoy yourself. Don’t be afraid to argue with people a little. I say that because it comes so naturally to you. Don’t be afraid to waken up the stale routine of their conversations,” urged Lydia.
“I’ll let Lewis and Avery know you’re ready to come down,” Virginia said.
Beatrice waited five minutes and then left her room with Lydia trailing. As she descended the staircase, which she had now done dozens of times, she was reminded of her first time, with Mr. Avery Martin waiting to meet her. Here he was again, standing right at the bottom of the stairs this time, and looking as spellbound as ever.
The dress was every bit as powerful as Beatrice had given it credit for. Avery was speechless and could only reach out and kiss Beatrice’s hand before taking her arm and leading her out to the carriage. There was such a loud buzz of whispers and curiosity as they made their way to the door.
“Who is she?”
“I think she’s from Europe.”
“Where can they be headed?”
Beatrice squeezed Avery’s arm, and they tried to keep a straight face in the midst of all this newfound celebrity.
Their entry into the Cheyenne Club’s ballroom was an even more show-stopping moment, if only because of the sheer size of the crowd. In a room full of colorful and fashionable gowns, Beatrice’s was still the only one that could turn every head in the room.
When they finally did notice the escort beside her, the level of interest was magnified immeasurably. Everyone knew who Avery Martin was. He was no member of the Club, of course, but he was still invited to almost every event. And more recently, there had been rumors that after statehood, he was going to step forward as a city leader. Or a state leader. There was no telling how high he would rise. But with such a ravishing creature at his side, it was easy to believe that this man would succeed at every effort. In other words, a good man to befriend.
Beatrice was not the only one having an incredibly unreal experience, for Avery had always been on the fringes of Cheyenne’s high society—necessary for their business dealings, but not a peer, not a member, not someone of power to be reckoned with. Tonight was the first step toward turning that around. All that was necessary was to intrigue and arouse curiosity. To project confidence and strength. To casually let his political ambitions be known and to let the supporters come to him.
Mrs. Preston was pleased to be so personally acquainted with Beatrice that she could greet her and introduce her to several of the other ladies. Avery ambivalently allowed Beatrice to be led away, knowing that she needed to mingle and to become known, but loathe to lose the warm glow he felt with her at his side.
He soon had his own hands full though, with the gentlemen of the Cheyenne Club eager to hear if a wedding was imminent, and to give him an opportunity to remember that they should be sent an invite. After all, what if this fellow should become governor one day? In the west, far stranger things had happened.
It therefore couldn’t hurt to try and get a feel for his political priorities, find out if he was going to be helpful to their own business interests, and to generally see which direction he was headed in. Avery was a master of the English language and had done his homework to perfection. He knew the business concerns of everyone present. He had kept his ears open at cigar hours and wine tastings, theatre intermissions, and industry conventions. He knew the difficulties facing the cattle, mining, construction, and farming industries. And he knew how to appeal and sympathize with every single individual. The evening’s social agenda was an incontestable victory.
There was still the small matter of dancing, for he had looked forward to that as well. It was a rare opportunity to slide his arm around Beatrice and pull her as close as he dared. What a wonderful invention the waltz was. It felt as intimate as a kiss. Beatrice herself was struck by how very different this dance was than her practices with Lewis. Another woman’s husband was like a brother, or just two friends joking about. But Avery Martin! She could feel his heart pounding and wondered if he was able to feel hers.
During one of their separations, when Avery prodded himself to dance with the wife of a desirable ally, he was abruptly approached by Raymond Winters, the mine owner.
“What do you think you’re up to, Mr. Martin?”
“I see you’ve been notified about the lawsuit against your company.”
“My company! My company!”
“You’re not the only one who has the right to sue, Mr. Winters, though your lawsuit against Sebastian Knight will drain you of some hefty legal expenses and amount to nothing. It’s the weakest case I’ve ever seen. On the other hand, the suit against you, for fatal negligence, will have witnesses and evidence that will turn the jury into a mob. You knowingly chose to cut costs when the most probable outcome was a catastrophic loss of life. Defend yourself as best you can.”
“I have friends here. The business community sticks together.”
“Your reputation and your bank account are about to take a beating. If you have any friends afterward, treasure them. Have a good evening.”
“You haven’t heard the last of me.”
“Of course not. See you in court.”
His first real enemy. A fact of political life. But he truly had no desire for Winters’s friendship or support. He wanted to put a stop to him before the next cave in. Avery smiled. Beatrice would approve. If his moral compass ever broke, that would be a surefire test.
With only about an hour left in the evening, Avery could say mission accomplished and devote himself to Beatrice’s comfort and his own. For Beatrice, the most harrowing portion of the evening had passed with little incident. She had recalled several bland platitudes of small talk from attending to ladies’ luncheons, and she had been able to sprinkle them here and there to good effect. She had also remembered Lydia’s advice—and if Mrs. Preston hadn’t minded a rousing discussion earlier on social issues, perhaps these ladies wouldn’t mind either.
It proved to be a winning strategy. Beatrice asked several of them what sort of changes and improvements they would like to see in their city, and everyone seemed gratified to have their opinion solicited. They also believed they might be addressing the future wife of a man who could make things happen, which was a thrilling proximity to political power.
There was a shocking shortage of schools for the growing population of children, as Beatrice herself had taken notice of. There was very little progress being made on the creation of a city hospital. There weren’t enough churches. There needed to be a city library. And there was an excess of brothels in town, endangering the moral fiber of the town.
> Beatrice had to maintain a sympathetic façade for that last complaint. She gently suggested that girls of a certain age might be given some kind of public shelter and guidance until they were able to obtain honorable employment. The suggestion was received with great interest. Beatrice had to jot down a multitude of social invitations and appointments that she received for the next few weeks. The toast of the town. Just like that.
She wanted to tell Avery about all her successful connections. Wouldn’t he be surprised to hear about ladies talking politics instead of fashion at a ball? But it was the end of the evening, and she had reached the same conclusion as Avery on this one matter—the waltz was a wonderful substitute for having someone’s arms around you.
When Avery returned Beatrice to her hotel door, the power of the fairytale evening still hung over them. Was it the dress, the dance, the ball, the evening’s heady victories, or just the certainty that their lives were destined to be entwined? Avery planted a soft, gentle kiss on Beatrice’s lips and was rewarded by the biggest smile as she fled for the safety of her hotel room.
CHAPTER NINE
Beatrice no longer had to agonize over whether she was disturbing Avery in his office. Her visits were always welcome, and Avery actually had to admit that he was disappointed if he did not receive his daily visit. The day after the ball, Beatrice was brimming with news of how productively her evening had been spent and how many social engagements she had lined up. Avery was genuinely impressed, not that he had doubted her. He was not the only one susceptible to her unique charms.
A loud sound of running along the wooden plank sidewalks caught their attention. Ajax Harper appeared at Avery’s door; he was a young deputy sheriff.
“Settin’ off on a posse. Can you let Aunt Mabel know? In case I’m not back tonight.”
“Of course,” Avery said. “What happened?”
“One of the whores . . . oh, I beg your pardon, ma’am . . . one of Zachary Scott’s girls was just killed. He’s got an hour and a half jump on us, but . . .”
Ajax leaped aside as Beatrice went barreling past him. She lifted her skirts and ran toward the saloon as fast as she knew how, her heart pounding, filled with dread. She barged through the swinging doors without hesitation. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but all around her, she could hear weeping.
A tear-stained Harriet appeared in front of her. “Beatrice. Beatrice, what are you doing in here?”
Beatrice wrapped her arms around the young woman, unbearably relieved.
“I thought it was you, Harriet. I was so worried that it might have been you.”
Harriet’s face was dumbstruck for a moment with gratitude. Then she glanced over at her boss, Zachary Scott, who watched the proceedings with obvious distrust.
“Why don’t we step outside?” Harriet urged.
As they pushed the door outward, it smacked right into Avery, who was anxiously on Beatrice’s heels.
“Miss Warner. I’m very happy to see you alive and well. We both are, of course,” Avery said.
“It was my friend, Daisy. He stabbed her. Over and over again.”
Harriet burst into tears, and Avery and Beatrice gently led her away. Brothel owner, Zachary Scott, stood at the entrance of the saloon, watching furiously. What did these people have to do with Junebug? He recognized the lawyer, of course. He’d had an office in town for quite a few years now. But who was the lady? He had discouraged his girls from having any kinds of social ties outside the saloon—not even with their own families. They had to be willing to leave those lives behind. Having no outside friends made it easier to keep everyone in line.
These people were interfering with his domain. Bad enough that all the girls were blubbering so hard that none of them could concentrate on business. Not that any customers were likely to come in today after they heard what happened. What a bloody mess up there. How had things gotten so out of hand?
*****
The following day, Beatrice passed the town cemetery as poor Daisy’s funeral was being held. There were about ten women in the audience—likely all of the other brothel girls she had worked with. Beatrice spotted Harriet in the group, head bowed and shoulders heaving with sobs.
Harriet had returned to the saloon that night, against Beatrice’s objections. Zachary would just turn the town upside down until he found her. And she sure didn’t want to get Beatrice and Avery in any trouble.
Beatrice agonized over the unfortunate timing of the tragedy. If only Harriet could be assured of her inheritance and had the money in hand. They had never really discussed what she would do next, but she had to leave the saloon. She just had to. It could just as easily have been her that was being buried today, and the thought made Beatrice ill. As Beatrice left the scene, she couldn’t help but notice a conspicuous absence. Apparently, the death of one of his girls was not enough of an occasion to disrupt the brothel owner’s day.
She had asked Avery what could be done, and he told her that Zachary Scott was a notoriously mean-spirited character. He kept his girls on a tight leash and didn’t allow anyone to leave his employ. Also, Avery and Harriet had not made much headway in resolving her inheritance claim at the time the tragedy occurred. Zachary would be keeping a tighter eye on her than ever before.
One small bit of good news—Ajax had caught up with the killer, who was sitting in a cell in the sheriff’s office awaiting a quick trial and hanging.
Two days after the funeral, Beatrice received a note at the hotel, from Avery, asking her to make her way over to Miss Mabel’s house, and he gave very specific directions, making sure that she didn’t cross the visual path of Zachary Scott’s saloon. The directions were easy enough to follow. About half an hour from the hotel, and only ten minutes off Main Street. At the boardinghouse, a large gathering had already assembled: Miss Mabel Harper, the stout and gruff older proprietor of the establishment, Deputy Ajax Harper, her nephew, as well as Avery and Harriet.
“Miss Kirby, this is Miss Mabel. She is kindly allowing us to use her place,” Avery said.
“Hmmph. Don’t know that I had any say in the matter.”
“Miss Mabel. My cousin Virginia, and Aunt Lydia have told me such wonderful things about you,” Beatrice said, anxious to appease.
“Yeah, Mr. Martin here said you were kin to those two. Don’t know why it’s the first I hear of it. But for their sake, you can make yourself at home.”
“It was me who asked for you and Mr. Martin to come,” Harriet said. “I did somethin’ very foolish, but I was just so angry. That man who killed Daisy—everyone knew about him. He’s roughed girls up before, but Zachary just let him keep comin’. Anyway, Zachary was real mad at Daisy. I don’t know why. He sent her to that man as a punishment. He knew somethin’ would happen. And now the deputy is tellin’ us . . . he’s sayin’ . . .”
“This fella is sittin’ in his cell,” Ajax said, “Blabbin’ like it’s gonna do him any good. But he says Zachary told him to teach the girl a lesson, make sure she knows she’s in for it if she ever got out of line again. So, he took a knife to her and she fought back, and he got mad.”
“All ’cause Zachary wanted to teach her a lesson,” Harriet cried.
“You can’t go back, Harriet,” Beatrice said.
“I know. Especially now. I didn’t know everything, but I knew that Zachary should have stopped takin’ that man’s business a long time ago. So I yelled at him for it, and he hit me the way he always does—so the bruise ain’t too visible. And I waited till he fell asleep, and I grabbed my box of money, and I’ve been hidin’ out here all day. ’Cause you had once said that we should meet here. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Mr. Martin?” Beatrice pleaded.
Avery shook his head. Because he knew exactly what needed to be done. But it was a tall, tall order. Everyone waited in silence for him to deliver the plan.
“She is going to Kansas City, on the very next train available.” Avery shot an uneasy glance at Beatrice.
“And I have to go with her.”
“What!” Harriet said.
“There are too many things that can go wrong when you try to claim your inheritance. I’ll see to it that you get your money. And then we need to select a city for you. A place that Zachary Scott will never think to look. A place where you can start a new life. We can telegraph a bank at your new location and have the money transferred there.”
“But . . . what will I do when I get there? What will I do when the money runs out?”
“It won’t run out, because you’re going to open your own business,” Beatrice declared.
“My own business?”
“Yes, your own dressmaking shop.”
Harriet’s face slowly lit up. “You really think I could do that?”
“I know it. I know that you can have a wonderful life. A shop. A home. A family.”
“No. Not that. I know I can never have that. Men don’t marry whores.”
Avery cleared his throat. “As it so happens, I know two gentlemen who knowingly did just that. And doubtless, there have been many more.”
He rose to his feet. “Stay here and I’ll send word about what time to be at the train station.”
“I’ll walk her over,” Ajax said, “Just in case Zachary Scott gets wind of us.”
“And after we leave, if you could keep an eye on Miss Kirby for me.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
“And Miss Mabel . . .”
“Yeah, yeah. She can stay the one night.”
“Thank you. Miss Kirby, may I see you outside for a moment?”
They walked outside, both a bit stunned by the swift turn of events.
“I could actually be gone for a couple of weeks.”
“Oh, Mr. Martin. I can never express my gratitude for what you are doing. Not as long as I live.”
“I don’t wish to be given too much credit, Miss Kirby. I do this for our best interests as well as hers. I do understand and admire your compassion for her, but it is better for us that it be exercised from a great distance. We cannot be seen consorting with prostitutes. That association would have destroyed our prospects. You must forgive me for being pragmatic in these matters. It is a natural reflex.”
