by Kit Morgan
Dear Mr. Diamond
Mail-Order Bride Ink, Book Ten
Kit Morgan
ANGEL CREEK PRESS
Dear Mr. Diamond
(Mail-Order Bride Ink, Book Ten)
by Kit Morgan
© 2019 Kit Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or livestock are purely coincidental.
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License Note
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
The Pettigrew mansion, Denver, Colorado, June 1902
Fantine LeBlanc sighed and closed the romance novel she’d been reading. She hated when she finished a book. She loved the escape they brought and imagining herself as the beautiful heroine finding the love of her life. Too bad Tobias Lundstrom from the butcher shop didn’t look at her the way the heroes in novels looked at the heroines.
With another sigh she set the book aside and left her room. Her break over, she’d best check and see if her employer, Mrs. Adelia Pettigrew, needed her to do anything this afternoon.
“There you are,” Mrs. Pettigrew said as Fantine entered the woman’s office.
“I am sorry I didn’t come down sooner, Madame, but I was finishing my novel.”
“Another romance?” Mrs. Pettigrew inquired.
“Oui, Madame. It was most satisfying.”
Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. “Why don’t you consider a romance of your own one day? I would think it more enjoyable than reading about someone else’s encounter.”
Fantine blinked a few times. “Perhaps, Madame. But they are just stories – none if it is real. Like fairytales.” She hung her head. “Life is not a fairy tale.”
“Nonsense! The truth is often stranger than what writers make up.”
“Oh? How so?” She sat in her usual chair on the other side of Mrs. Pettigrew’s desk.
“Well, let’s see … do you remember Monsieur Vander, who married a murderess?”
Fantine gasped. “But she did not murder anyone. She was framed, remember?”
Mrs. Pettigrew thought a moment, then tapped her head. “Forgive me, you are right. My memory isn’t what it used to be. But you do remember?”
“Of course I do – that was a very interesting and suspenseful story.”
“And a true story,” Mrs. Pettigrew pointed out. “Not like those books you’ve been reading.”
Fantine blushed. “But I like them.”
“That’s all well and good, but also pay attention to the stories I’ve been telling you all this time. Fantastic stories – and all of them true.”
“Oui, Madame.” She knew her employer was working up to another one of those stories. But after her admission that her memory wasn’t so good, Fantine began to worry she’d leave things out.
“This story is about what happened after Monsieur Vander’s.” Mrs. Pettigrew waggled her eyebrows.
Fantine leaned forward in her seat. “After? You mean there’s more?”
“Of course, ma petite. There is a lot more.”
“Then why haven’t you told me?”
Mrs. Pettigrew shrugged. “You did not ask.”
Fantine fought the urge to roll her eyes. This was a problem with working for the eccentric matchmaker – she was a born storyteller, but gave you what she wanted when she wanted. If you wanted more, you had to wait. “How much more is there?”
Mrs. Pettigrew waved her hand in the air. “Oh, let me see … there is of course Monsieur Diamond’s story, then Monsieur Stone’s, and Monsieur Tindle’s …”
“Wait, Mr. Diamond the sheriff?” Fantine interrupted.
“Yes, Jace Diamond. Now there’s a handsome man.”
Fantine gasped. “You have met him?”
“No, but his bride sent a photograph of the two of them when she wrote to thank me for a good match.”
Fantine’s eyebrows rose as the story of Mr. Vander came back. Sheriff Diamond had arrested Fletcher Vander’s current wife, who wasn’t his wife yet. She’d sought Mrs. Pettigrew’s help in finding a husband, but her betrothed was murdered right there on the depot platform, minutes before Sophie Baxter stepped off the train. “What happened, Madame? Was somebody else murdered?”
“No, but it came close. Poor Katie … if not for Sheriff Diamond, someone would have done away with her.”
Fantine gasped again. She always did like a story full of derring-do and adventure – and a damsel in distress rescued by a handsome hero. “What happened?”
Mrs. Pettigrew sat back in her chair. “It was just a few years ago. Katie Haverdash came to see me only weeks after Sophie Baxter did.”
“And you sent her to Sheriff Diamond?”
“Yes and no.”
Fantine tilted her head to one side. “What do you mean?”
“It is true I sent Miss Haverdash to Sheriff Diamond, but the sheriff never sent me an application. It was forged.”
“What?!”
Mrs. Pettigrew nodded. “Sad but true. Someone sent in all of his information to get a bride delivered to him that he didn’t want.”
Fantine shook her head. “I do not understand. Who would do such a thing?”
Mrs. Pettigrew leaned toward her. “A murderer,” she hissed.
“But you said no one got murdered!”
“Oui, but I did say poor Miss Haverdash came close, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yes, you did.” Fantine picked at her sleeve. She wanted to hear the story, but knew she’d only imagine herself as the heroine, just like in her books. When the story ended, she’d be plain boring Fantine LeBlanc again, a nobody with no prospects who pined after the butcher’s son even though he didn’t know she existed.
“Is something wrong, child?”
“No, Mrs. Pettigrew. I am fine.” Liar.
“Then why do you look so forlorn?”
Fantine shrugged.
“Well, then, I will tell you the story and you will be smiling at the end.”
Fantine smiled now. Anything to get her mind off of Tobias Lundstrom. She hoped the story was a long one. “All right. I am ready. What happened?”
Mrs. Pettigrew grinned. “Well, it all started when C.J. and Rufi Branson’s daughter Beryl went to visit the Haverdashes here in Denver.”
Fantine shook herself. “What? The Bransons had a daughter?”
“Beryl Marie Branson was born in 1880. She and Katie Haverdash a
re the same age, and both were eighteen when I helped them. Marriageable age, you know.”
“Yes, of course. And they both married?”
“Yes, but let’s stick with Miss Haverdash at the moment. Miss Branson’s is a very different story.”
“Oui, Madame. Go on.” This was getting more interesting by the minute.
“As I was saying, it all started right here in Denver when Miss Branson came to visit Miss Haverdash …”
The Pettigrew mansion, July 1898
“I’m so nervous – should we be doing this?” Katie asked her best friend. She’d always admired Beryl Branson, who had a confidence and strength that Katie had never managed to achieve. Not that she was a wallflower – she spoke her mind. But she had to – when one was only five feet tall and petite besides, bluster made up for size. That and a lot of well-chosen words. Katie was good with them and could brandish them like a weapon.
Beryl, on the other hand, simply walked into a room and had everybody’s attention without so much as opening her mouth. Why, Katie couldn’t guess, but it happened every time. They’d known each other since childhood, as their fathers were good friends. The Bransons lived in Baltimore but had business dealings in Denver, and Beryl’s great-grandfather had lived here at one time.
Those business ties, however, weren’t what brought the two girls to Adelia Pettigrew’s doorstep.
A very old gentleman answered the door. “May I help you?”
“Yes, Miss Haverdash has an appointment to see Mrs. Pettigrew,” Beryl said before Katie could.
“Very good. Do come in.” The man stepped aside to let them through.
They entered the mansion’s grand foyer and saw the eccentric splendor Mrs. Adelia Pettigrew was known for. There was a beautiful chandelier and rich paintings on the walls, reminiscent of Beryl’s home back east. “Wow,” Katie whispered.
“This way, ladies.” He waved them toward a drawing room.
They followed him inside, took a seat where indicated and waited. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Katie asked again. She’d been asking it a lot.
Beryl rolled her eyes. “Will you stop? Besides, as I see it you have two choices – the same two as last week and the week before and the week before that. Either you marry Ronald Finch, or take the plunge and become a mail-order bride.”
Katie put her face in her hands. “My father’s going to disown me, I just know it!”
“Trust me, once he finds out you went to such desperate measures to escape an unwanted arranged marriage …”
“You make it sound so dramatic,” Katie cut in. “Like something out of a bad novel.”
Beryl giggled. “I almost wish it was. But the truth is, your happiness is on the line and I’m not going to see you throw it away on someone as boring and awful as Ronald Finch.” She shuddered. “He’s not only dull, but he’s creepy. Do you really want to spend the rest your life with that?”
Katie thought of Ronald – tall, skeleton-thin, with oily black hair he wore parted down the middle, beady dark eyes, a hooked nose and ears so big they were almost wings. She made a joke about his ears once and thought he’d hit her.
“Ah, you’re speechless. That tells me all I need to know,” Beryl said with a satisfied grin.
“All right, I’ll concede that Ronald isn’t a good match. But who knows what I’ll wind up with doing it this way? What if all Mrs. Pettigrew has to offer is some seventy-year-old man in a ramshackle cabin in Alaska Territory?”
Beryl took her hand. “Mrs. Pettigrew’s reputation is impeccable. She brought my parents together. I know she’ll find you a good match. You can’t marry Ronald – he’ll ruin you.”
One thing about Beryl, she was very protective. “Thank you,” Katie replied. “I guess I try so hard not to think about the problem that I forget it’s there.”
“That’s called denial,” Beryl informed her. “You can’t live your life like that, Katie. You have to open your eyes, see what’s happening around you and take action.”
Katie smiled. “I wish I was brave like you. You’d stand up to your father. You’d be able to tell him no.”
“But you did tell your father no – he just didn’t listen. I was there, remember?”
Katie sighed and nodded. The Bransons had been dining with Katie’s family when her father made the announcement that he’d arranged her marriage to Ronald Finch. Of course everyone knew who Ronald was – his family had a small stake in the railroads, but that small stake was still worth a lot of money, and they also dabbled in textiles and a few other things. They weren’t nearly as successful as the Bransons but, she had to admit, on equal ground if not more successful than her own family.
Papa saw it as a step up and of course gave her the speech that he only wanted the best for her. Never mind about love and happiness – who needed that? She’d have a good foothold in Denver high society marrying a Finch. There was even talk of the Haverdashes and Finches merging parts of their businesses. To him, she was the glue that would hold it all together.
“Maybe wherever you end up will have a library,” Beryl said cheerfully.
Katie smiled weakly. “Mrs. Brown will be upset when I tell her I’m leaving.”
“But you mustn’t – secrecy is your best ally,” Beryl argued. “You can’t say a word to anyone.”
“What if my parents think I’ve been abducted?”
“Don’t worry – once you’re married you can write them and tell them everything.”
Katie put her face in her hands. “Poor Mrs. Brown.”
“She knows you don’t need to work,” Beryl pointed out. “She’ll figure you decided to quit on a whim.”
“After Father disowns me, I’ll have to find employment,” she lamented. “At least I’ll have had some experience.”
“Don’t worry, everything will work out for the best.”
Katie made a face. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one taking the risk.”
“But lots of women have done this,” Beryl said.” And I’ll talk my father into talking sense to yours. Everything will be fine.”
Katie shut her eyes. “You keep saying that.”
Before Beryl could say more, the matchmaker came into the drawing room. Mrs. Pettigrew was tall with beautiful dark hair streaked with gray and crystal blue eyes. She was the most elegant woman Katie had ever seen. “Good afternoon. Which one of you is Mlle. Haverdash?”
Katie raised a hand. “I am.”
Beryl frowned. “You don’t have to sound like you’re apologizing.”
Katie glared back, then stood. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Pettigrew. We’ve heard a lot about you from Beryl’s parents.”
The woman shifted her attention to Katie’s friend. “Parents?”
Beryl stood as well. “Mr. and Mrs. C.J. Branson. You sent my father to Clear Creek, Oregon many years ago. He met my mother there.”
Mrs. Pettigrew grinned. “Indeed he did, ma belle! And now here you are, all grown up. Are you seeking a husband too?”
“No, only Katie.”
Katie winced. She hoped she wouldn’t sound indecisive during the interview. But how else could she sound? She was indecisive. How she’d let Beryl talk her into this she didn’t know. But her friend was a risk taker through and through. Katie would’ve liked to see her risk everything and become a mail-order bride.
Then again, all Katie had to do was think about marrying Ronald Finch, and escaping to wed a stranger didn’t seem so bad.
“I have two applicants available, my dears. Mr. Tugs is bringing them now.”
Mr. Tugs, the ancient butler they’d met at the door, shuffled into the drawing room holding a small sheaf of papers. “Here you are, Mrs. Pettigrew.”
She took the papers from him and waved him off. “Tea, if you don’t mind.”
“Right away, Madame.” He shuffled away at the speed of an arthritic turtle.
Mrs. Pettigrew handed a sheet to Katie. “Mr. William Foster. He’s a pig
farmer in Wyoming, though I do think he’s a little old for you, ma chere.”
Katie quickly perused the paper. “Seventy!” She shot Beryl an “I told you so” look.
“The other applicant is Mr. Diamond. Much younger, but he’s a sheriff.”
“A sheriff?” Beryl smiled and sat, pulling Katie down with her. “I bet he has some stories to tell.”
A flash of a handsome, strapping young lawman entered Katie’s mind, but was quickly replaced by that of a decrepit, aging man with a rusty star on his chest. She shook both of them off. “How old is he?”
“Twenty-seven. Granted, still older than you, but twenty-seven is hardly seventy, n’est ce pas?”
“We’ll take him!” Beryl blurted.
“What?” Katie blurted back. “Who’s getting married here?”
Beryl looked sheepish. “Sorry, I got excited.” She turned to Mrs. Pettigrew. “Where is he?”
Mrs. Pettigrew handed Katie a second sheet. “Independence, Oregon,” Katie read. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“You will be happy to know I sent a bride there not long ago and she is happily married now. If you like, I can read to you part of a letter she sent me. She’s met Mr. Diamond and speaks very highly of him.”
Katie exchanged a look with Beryl. “Yes, please,” they said at once.
Mrs. Pettigrew pulled another paper out of the pile in her lap. “Dear Mrs. Pettigrew, I’m happy to report that all has worked out and I am no longer a suspe …” She looked up at them and smiled. “Let me skip to the good part.” She ran a finger down the letter. “Ah, here we are. Sheriff Diamond was most helpful in solving this mystery. Fletcher says he is a good man. He grew up with him and they are friends. Sheriff Diamond is the kind of person you want in your corner when you need someone.”
