by Vicki Delany
“Where the hell is Fiona?” Graham Donohue burst into the Savoy. “My landlady woke me with some cockamamie story about Ellie running through town waving a red flag and shouting that Fiona has been kidnapped by pirates. Pirates? In the Yukon?”
“I never shouted anything,” Ellie said. “I asked a few people to be on the look out for Mrs. MacGillivray, that’s all.”
“Sterling, what’s going on here?”
“Ma’s missing, Mr. Donohue,” Angus said. “People are looking everywhere for her.”
“Missing, how can she be missing?”
“Never mind that,” Sterling said. “You can help with the search.”
“Glad to. Where do you want me to start?”
“Paradise Alley,” Angus shouted. “No one’s gone to look there.”
“I canna imagine your mother would be found there,” Ray said as a touch of colour crept into his sunken cheeks.
“And I can’t imagine that my mother would just disappear. But she has. There are some people in this town who don’t mean her any good. You know who I mean. Someone should talk to Mrs. LeGrand. I thought that as you know your way around the cribs, Mr. Donohue…”
“Angus,” Ray gasped, “mind your tongue.”
“If Mr. Donohue won’t go, then I will,” Angus said.
“That’s a good idea,” Ellie said. “But not you, Angus. I’ll go with Mr. Donohue. This time of morning, the ladies’ll be in bed. They’ll talk easier if I’m there.”
Donohue tossed a pained look at Angus, but he followed Ellie.
“What was that about?” Ray asked no one in particular.
“I’ll take Millie.” Sterling waved the dressing gown in front of the dog’s nose once again. “Maybe if we start at the house, she can catch some sort of scent.”
“I’ll come with you.” Angus said.
“We need a signal, Walker, if…when…she’s found. Get one of the steamships to blow the whistle five times. That can be the sign that the search is over.”
“Right.” “Let’s go, Angus. And try not to worry. We can be thankful it isn’t winter.”
They started to leave, Sterling clutching the dressing gown and leading the big dog. But before they got off the step, the regular Rupert Malloy ran past them and into the Savoy.
“Sam’s gone, Ray.”
“Ask his wife where he is.”
“She’s gone too.”
“What?” Sterling dragged Millie back inside. “Gone where?”
Malloy scratched at an angry patch of blistered skin streaking across his cheek. “They’ve cleared out their house and taken their things. Left the furniture behind, but clothes and personal type stuff’s gone.”
“When did this happen?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did anyone see them leave?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Collins are missing too!” Angus yelled. “What’s happening?”
“Inspector McKnight’s gone down to the waterfront with a search party. Malloy, tell him to meet me at the Collins place. You’ll have to take him there; he won’t know where it is. Hurry.”
Malloy looked at the constable. “I ain’t going anywhere no more. I did what I was asked and went up to Sam’s place as a favour for Ray. I ain’t even had my breakfast yet.”
“You get McKnight to Collins’s house inside half an hour, Rupert Malloy, and ye can drink here for free every night this week.”
Malloy stared at Ray, his mouth hanging open. Ray checked his watch. “It’s eight thirty-five now. Be there by nine-o-five. Ye’ll have to hurry.”
Malloy ran.
“If McKnight isn’t there, bring Sergeant Lancaster,” Sterling called after him. “But make sure you can’t find McKnight first.”
“Tell me what time he gets there, Sterling,” Ray said.
“I will. Where’s Collins live?”
Ray gave directions.
“Let’s go, Angus.”
This time they almost collided with Murray as they tried to leave. “What’s this about pirates?” the bartender shouted, falling though the doorway. His hair was standing on end, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes wide.
“Guard the Savoy,” Ray told him. “The bar and the tables is closed till I get back. But you have to let anyone in who’s with the search party.”
“Search party? I heard the police are handing out rifles so we can defend the town.”
No one bothered to explain.
“Maybe someone’s kidnapped them. For ransom. My ma and Mr. and Mrs. Collins.” Angus leapt over a banner advertising G. Barnes, Dentist, which had torn free from its pole to come to a sad end in a pile of fresh horse dung.
Sterling tossed the dressing gown over his shoulder and didn’t stop to think that he might look somewhat odd running through the morning streets with a large dog, a gangly boy and a skinny Scotsman, a golden dragon streaming behind him.
The wind had come up, and the dressing gown snapped in the breeze, the rays of the sun catching the gold threads and reflecting the brilliance of the red fabric. Monday morning, and the town rang with the sound of hammer and saw, everyone back to work after the forced day of rest.
“This is it.” Ray slowed as they arrived at a neat but rough wooden house. Two small chairs and a pot of colourful wildflowers sat outside.
The neighbours, heading off to work or running errands, stopped whatever they were doing to stare at the strange group.
Sterling knocked once, with almost as much force as required to rip the thin door off its cheap hinges. But that wasn’t necessary; the door, left off the latch, swung open.
Sterling handed the dog’s lead to Angus. “Wait here with Millie.” He went in, moving cautiously.
Ray Walker followed. Uninvited, Angus ducked through the low doorway, although Millie seemed more interested in sniffing at something outside. He gave the lead a good tug and the dog followed. It was a very small house, but in a town in which many families lived in tents, it was almost luxurious. The rudimentary kitchen was pushed up against the back wall. The single cooking pot still held the scrapings of a stew, more potato and onion than meat.
Sterling held his hand over the stove. “Stone cold.”
Plates, encrusted with the remains of the meal, had been tossed on the table.
“Looks as if they left in a hurry.”
“Aye. Margaret’s a good housekeeper. Kept this wee place neat as a pin.” Ray checked through the slim contents of the pantry.
Only one door led off the main room.
Sterling kicked it open, and Angus peered in over his shoulder. A bedroom. Two drawers of the handmade wooden dresser hung open, the third lay on the floor. Clothes were tossed around the room, as if someone had packed in a great hurry.
Sterling crouched down and sifted through the debris. “Winter clothes, mostly. Stuff folks won’t need for a couple of months. Did Mrs. Collins have any jewellery? Any valuables?”
“Not that I ever saw,” Ray said from the doorway.
At a shout from the street, they went back outside.
Malloy and McKnight ran up, both of them breathing heavily.
“What have you got, Sterling?” McKnight asked.
“Made it,” Malloy chortled, “in plenty of time.”
Millie walked in circles around the two chairs, her nose to the ground. Angus unwound her leash from the chair legs.
“Sam and Margaret Collins. Americans. He tends bar at the Savoy.”
“Head bartender,” Ray said.
“Looks like they up and left in a rush. I just got here, don’t know more.”
“Were they taken? By the kidnappers?” Angus asked.
A crowd had begun to gather. A woman cried out at the word “kidnappers,” and whispers spread rapidly.
McKnight turned to the crowd. “Did any of you folks see what happened here? When do you suppose they left, Constable?”
“Looks like last night’s supper was abandoned, sir. The bits of po
tato are hard around the edges.”
The townspeople looked at each other and shook their heads. One woman stepped reluctantly forward. She was thin and weatherbeaten, and her dress had been mended many times. She spoke in a voice that was pure London.
“I saw Margaret an’ Sam yesterday. They sat there, in them chairs, ’aving their tea. They liked ta sit out on a nice night, to ’ave their tea. Wot’s happened to ’em then?”
“Did you see them leave, Madam?”
“No. I walked by, said ’ello ta Margaret and went ta make me own tea.”
“Did you see them after teatime, say closer to supper?” McKnight asked.
“Sir,” Angus said, “when she says tea she means supper, right, ma’am?”
The woman nodded. “Oh. Any one else see Mr. or Mrs. Collins last night? After they ate their evening meal?”
People glanced at one another. Heads were shaken, and no one spoke.
Giving up on the neighbours, McKnight ducked through the doorway into the house. Sterling and Walker followed. Angus dragged Millie away from the path she was intent on taking, up towards the hills.
“What do you think, Sterling?” McKnight asked.
“Walker, did Sam have any dealings with Jack Ireland?”
“What does this have to do with Ireland?” Angus said.
“Angus, why don’t you go outside,” McKnight said.
“That dog looks as if she needs to do her business.”
“She’s just excited, sir. Please, we’re talking about my mother.”
“Then be quiet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nothing I know of other than that fuss about the fire,” Ray answered the question. “When Sam saved the bakery woman and all. He dinna care for Ireland trying to make a story of it, Sam didn’t.”
“That’s it?”
“Far as I know.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Angus?”
“Mr. Collins was real angry at Mr. Ireland. For taking his picture and writing about him for his newspaper. My ma said it was strange—most people would want everyone to know they were a hero.”
The three men looked at each other.
“Constable, get down to the docks, fast. Find out if anyone’s seen the Collinses. I’ll ask around here. Someone must have been up late last night.”
“Me, sir,” Angus said, “what can I do?”
The men exchanged glances once again. Ray swatted a mosquito on his cheek. He looked at the crushed little body.
“You mind that dog,” McKnight said. “Go with Constable Sterling. While he asks questions, maybe she can pick up a scent down at the docks.”
“I’ll head back to the Savoy,” Ray offered. “Perhaps someone’s got news.”
“One thing before you go, Constable.”
“Sir?”
“Is that extravagant cloth a new addition to the standard uniform?”
Sterling whipped the dragon off his shoulders. “Mrs. MacGillivray’s dressing gown. For Millie to catch the scent.”
“I understand, but you look a mite—unconventional.”
Sterling rolled the garment into a ball, stuffed it under his arm and, without another word, took off down the street towards the riverfront.
Millie dragged at her lead as Angus tried to keep up with Sterling. The stupid dog was intent on heading out of town into the woods, wanting to chase rabbits most likely. At last, he managed to persuade her to give the rabbits up, and Millie sprinted off in pursuit Sterling. Angus’s long legs covered the distance that had opened between them.
Chapter Fifty-Three
I dozed fitfully, dreaming that Angus called out for me while a golden dragon hovered over his head. Richard Sterling watched something at his feet and looked terribly sad. And Angus’s father—curse him—called out for me to come back.
A branch broke, and an animal snorted, and I snapped back to consciousness.
Even in the Yukon, there are not many people who can truthfully say they have stood (or sat) mere feet away from a grizzly bear. And lived to tell the tale. From my perspective, he was about twenty feet tall. Twenty feet of bristling fur and teeth and claws. His beady brown eyes stared into mine, and he let out a roar they would have heard in town. And yes, those were impressive teeth.
I closed my eyes, saw my son’s lovely blue eyes, which always remind me of my father, and wondered what sort of a man Angus would grow up to be. I comforted myself with the thought that Ray would take care of him, while Richard looked over his shoulder to make sure Angus kept to the straight and narrow. My parents stood in front of me, smiling, holding out their hands, waiting for me to join them.
Twigs broke under the massive feet, and branches snapped as the bear lumbered back into the woods. I opened one eye. My parents were gone, and where they had stood there was nothing but the Yukon bush.
Chapter Fifty-Four
“You don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Collins were kidnapped along with my ma, do you, sir?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You think Sam killed Ireland.”
“I don’t know what I think, Angus. And that’s the truth.” Sterling didn’t relax his pace. “Let’s just concentrate on finding your mother. We can sort out the details later.”
The waterfront swarmed like a hornet’s nest. Men, and a handful of women, were shouting “Fiona” and “Mrs. MacGillivray” and crawling all over the layers of boats nestled out into the river. Several men were dripping wet— presumably they’d fallen in while leaping from one boat to another. Boat captains were either trying to fend off the waves of intruders or encouraging everyone to search harder.
“Will you look at that,” Sterling said, with something approaching surprise in his deep voice. “People in this town do care about each other, and about your mother. You should be very proud, Angus.”
“Right now, sir, I’d settle for just having her back.”
They waded into the crowd.
Anna Marie Vanderhaege watched them approach and nudged the man standing beside her. The two of them walked towards Sterling and Angus.
“My sister tells me you’re looking for Sam and Margaret Collins also,” she said with a shy smile. “But about that you need not worry. They left on the Mae West, shortly after midnight, the men say. I’m glad Sam is safe, he is a brave man.”
“Can you point out the man who told you this?”
“I saw them, Constable,” her companion said, scratching his beard with hard-working, callused hands. “I was getting the steamboat ready to shove off when they arrived all in a fluster. Didn’t have no tickets, but that don’t matter much. Captain said he had room, told ’em the price, and they boarded.”
“You know Mr. and Mrs. Collins?” “Know Sam from over to the Savoy, been there once or twice, I have.” He winked. “Don’t you worry, son. We’ll find your ma. Safe as Sam, she’ll be. I guessed that the woman with him was his wife. It weren’t Mrs. MacGillivray, that’s for sure.”
“Did they have luggage?” “Couple o’ small cases, not much.” “Angus, why don’t you let Millie sniff around.” Sterling handed over the dressing gown. “See if she can pick up a scent.”
“Sure.” Angus led the dog away, waving his mother’s garment in front of her face.
“How small? Large enough to hold a body?” Anna Marie gasped; her eyes flew to Angus, who was bending over and letting the dog have a good sniff of the robe.
“Nothing near that big. Couple of packs like they woulda come over the Chilkoot with. No trunks.”
“Thanks. You’ve been a help.” “Lots of the men who mighta seen Mrs. MacGillivray yesterday will still be off. I’ll spread the word when they get here.”
“Angus might like something to eat. For sure he has not had his breakfast, and now it is near lunchtime. I will take him back to the bakery for a waffle. Would you care to join us, Constable?”
“No, thank you, Miss Vanderhaege. I’ll stay here.”
“Then I will bring you a waffle
. Make it special.”
“Thank you,” he said absentmindedly. “That would be kind.”
Sterling looked into the dark brown water swirling around the hulls of the boats. So thick and dirty was the river he couldn’t see more than an inch into its depths.
The waters of the Yukon and Klondike Rivers were cold, even in summer. It didn’t get warm enough, for long enough, to heat them so that anyone other than the most adventurous boy might want to go for a swim. White gulls flew overhead in lazy circles, cawing loudly and occasionally taking a dive at the scraps of garbage floating in the water. It was a warm day, and the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky.
His skin pricked under his heavy uniform coat. Richard Sterling felt very, very weary.
Sam Collins had packed up his wife and a handful of their belongings and left Dawson without a word in the middle of the night, apparently without even bothering to inform his employer or collect wages owed. And Fiona MacGillivray had disappeared that same evening. Sam had killed Ireland, for reasons unknown. Fiona had found out what had happened and—all on her own—had confronted him. No doubt she expected him to confess, beg forgiveness, and meekly accompany her to Fort Herchmer in order to turn himself in. She was a genuine lady, Fiona, obviously raised with a great deal of care, left to make her own way in the world on the death of her husband, Angus’s father. She might be a dance hall queen in Dawson, Yukon Territory, but what, really, would a well-brought-up lady such as Fiona MacGillivray know about men and the depths to which they could fall?
A dead fish bumped up against the shore, its exposed eye glassy and unfocused. A wooden box, marked as property of the Eastern Canning Company of Cleveland Ohio, floated past, bobbing on the tiny waves.
“I found a girl who was up in the night, with an earache.” McKnight arrived on silent feet—or perhaps Sterling had simply been too lost in thought to hear him. The inspector stood beside the constable and gazed into the dark water, stroking his moustache rhythmically.
“She was sitting outside while her mother heated some tinned milk, and she saw Mr. and Mrs. Collins pass, carrying packs. In a right hurry they were, the girl said.
