Gold Web

by Vicki Delany

I refrained from sighing. No doubt before long someone would arrive, pretending to be one Mr. MacGillivray, hoping to get into my good books.

  “Mrs. MacGillivray,” said Ray, who didn’t have to be charming to the customers, “wasn’t askin’ about every blasted Scotsman or woman in town, ye ken.”

  I tightened my grip on the burlap bag containing the day’s banking. “Gentlemen,” I said, “enjoy your drinks.” I headed for the door. Ray accompanied me. We stood outside for a moment in the warm sunshine watching the passing parade.

  “Ye didn’a tell me why ye were asking about Scotland.”

  “Nothing. Forget it. Something Angus said got me thinking.”

  “Wanting ta know his history, is he?”

  “Yes. That’s it.”

  “Can’t help ye there, Fee. The old county’s best forgotten to my way of thinking. New world. New life. New problems are enough for one man.”

  Best forgotten. I decided that would be good advice for me. The death of that unfortunate man was none of my business and I would think of it no longer.

  13

  Angus worked in the shop all morning, hurried home to change his clothes and clean up a bit, wolfed down the packed lunch Mrs. Mann had prepared for him, and arrived at Miss Jennings’ photography studio precisely on time for his first day of employment. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes circling the streets. She’d said two o’clock, and he didn’t want to appear too eager.

  “Heavens,” she said, looking up from a photograph she held in her hand. “Right on time. You are eager. As you’re here, tell me what you think of this?”

  She offered him the paper and he took it. It showed the stage of the Savoy, the dancers gathered. The faces of Maxie and Betsy, at the back, were blurred. No doubt because they’d been trying to subtly press their way forward when the picture was taken. Irene, in the front, looked far more beautiful than she was in real life, with her head lifted and her chin thrust forward. The girl beside her, whose name Angus didn’t know, smiled demurely, a nice contrast to Irene’s air of glamorous self-importance. The rest of the dancers flared out around the two in the centre as if they were nothing but gaily-dressed props. Irene and the woman beside her were what the camera had captured.

  “It’s grand, Miss Jennings,” Angus said. “My mother will be so pleased.”

  “Not bad, I suppose,” she sighed. “I’d prefer it if those stupid girls in the back had stood still, but there isn’t much one can do in a group picture. At least Miss Davidson looks lovely.”

  “My mother says Miss Davidson’s worth her weight in gold,” Angus said. “She’s the most popular dancer in town. The men love her.”

  “Is that so?” Miss Jennings picked up another photograph. “Is your mother also … fond of Miss Davidson?” She handed him the picture.

  It wasn’t as good. This time several of the dancers were blurred, and Irene had turned her head slightly making her nose appear too prominent. “I guess she likes her okay.” He handed the picture back to Miss Jennings. A small smile touched the edges of her lips. “This one isn’t as good,” he said.

  She studied it. “I wish people wouldn’t insist on smiling for the camera. It distorts their features so.”

  “What are we, I mean you, going to photograph today?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I’d like to get a feel for the town and the people. Once I have done that, I’ll take the camera out. I’m thinking of beginning with the police. Your Mounties look quite handsome in their red tunics, don’t they? It’s unfortunate the photograph can’t capture the colour.”

  He puffed up his chest. “I help the police a lot, you know. I’m going to be a Mountie someday.”

  “Do you now? Why don’t you take me to the fort, then. It’s an imposing edifice, and will photograph well.”

  Imposing wasn’t exactly the word Angus would use for the handful of wooden buildings built around a muddy parade square. It didn’t even have a fence, much less a palisade. But Miss Jennings was an American; she probably didn’t know what an imposing building looked like. He dimly remembered his mother showing him Buckingham Palace and a day’s outing to Windsor Castle to picnic on the grass.

  “We’ll stop at the Savoy to show your mother the picture. What time would be best?”

  “She’s usually there in the afternoon. Then she goes home for supper and to change into evening clothes and gets back around seven.”

  “Miss Davidson? What time’s she come in?”

  “Just before the show begins at eight. Ma — I mean, Mother — says Miss Davidson usually stays all night for the dancing, although as the headliner she doesn’t have to.”

  “It will be your job, Angus, to record my observations. As I discover places that might be good to photograph, I’ll want you to write them down. There’s a pencil and a notebook on the table. Use that.”

  He picked them up, pleased with his new responsibilities.

  Miss Jennings placed her hat on her head and collected her reticule. She opened the door and came face to face with Graham Donohue, hand raised as if to knock. He jumped back, startled. “Miss Jennings. How nice to find you in.”

  “I’m on my way out,” she said, not sounding too polite. “Are you here to make an appointment?”

  “An appointment? Oh, you mean to have my photograph taken. No. I’m a newspaperman. I report on the news. I don’t feature in it. Consider this a social call. Perhaps I can walk with you.”

  “I have my assistant, thank you.”

  “Your assistant?” He peered into the room and noticed Angus, standing slightly behind the door. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Yes, sir. Miss Jennings and I are going to check out photographic opportunities.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  Miss Jennings held the door for Angus. She locked it behind him and they stepped into the street. Graham Donohue fell in beside her. “The real story of the rush is to be found up at the Creeks. It’s an amazing sight. Right, Angus?”

  “That it is.”

  “Hundreds of miles of useless wilderness have simply disappeared. Stripped down to the bare essence of rock and soil. And beneath. Shafts dug into the frozen ground, rivers diverted, miles upon miles of sluices built to bring water to where it’s needed. New mountains, this time mountains of mine tailings, thrown up. Modern man’s ingenuity in all its glory and power. The face, Miss Jennings, of the twentieth century.”

  Angus refrained from saying he hoped there’d be some place left in the twentieth century for trees and streams, bears and wolves.

  Miss Jennings stopped walking and looked up at Donohue, a spark of interest in her eyes. “To whom, sir, do you believe this twentieth century will belong?”

  “To the brave. To the adventurous. To the man… or woman… who can capture it.”

  “We stand on the verge of great things.”

  “Exactly. And right here, in the Klondike, the twentieth century, the time of America’s glory, has already begun.”

  “Yet this territory belongs to Canada.”

  “For now.”

  Miss Jennings smiled. And then she set off at a pace that had Angus and Donohue hurrying to catch up.

  Fort Herchmer had been here, at the meeting of the Klondike and Yukon Rivers, before there was a town to speak of. Not very well positioned, it had flooded so badly in the spring men paddled canoes to get from one building to another.

  The day was warm and still, but as they approached the fort the flag at the top of the tall pole in the centre of the parade square caught a gust of wind and snapped open. The Union Jack soared above them.

  Miss Jennings stopped walking and stood looking around her. The breeze ruffled her hair and blond strands blew across her face. “Perhaps the officials would like a group portrait of their men,” she said. “Angus, write that down. Do you know any of the senior officers here?”

  “Inspector McKnight. He comes to the Savoy sometimes, right Mr. Donohue?”
/>
  “McKnight fancies Irene Davidson.”

  “Does he indeed? Can you arrange an introduction, Angus?”

  “Sure.”

  “A collection of men in uniform standing in the square would make an impressive photograph.”

  Angus scribbled. They watched the Mounties go about their business. Men crossed the square, went in and out of offices and barracks. No one paid them any attention.

  A man came out of one of the buildings. He began to walk away, spotted them, and changed direction. Miss Jennings broke into a smile.

  Richard Sterling touched the brim of his hat. “Good afternoon. What brings you folks out here?”

  “I’m showing Miss Jennings around,” Angus said. “She’s looking for places to photograph.”

  “That’s right, Corporal. Perhaps you could put in a good word for me with your superiors. I’d love to take pictures of the men as they go about their duties.”

  “I’m sure I can do that.”

  They smiled at each other. Graham Donohue shifted his feet and cleared his throat. “Now that’s settled, don’t you have business to conduct, Sterling? Wasn’t there someone murdered in our town a few days ago? How’s that investigation going?”

  “It’s going smoothly,” Sterling said. “We’ll be making an arrest shortly.”

  “My mother’ll be pleased to hear that,” Angus said. “It’s been bothering her.”

  “How about right now?” Miss Jennings said.

  “What right now?”

  “An introduction to your commanding officer. I’ve heard so much about the famous Sam Steele, I’m anxious to meet him. I’m sure he would be delighted to have his photograph taken, and I could tell him my suggestion. A formal portrait of the men assembled in the square and additional pictures of a more casual nature.”

  Sterling smiled at her. “Ma’am, I’m afraid the superintendent isn’t in the territory at the moment. Inspector Starnes is in charge. But whoever’s in command, I’m not in a position to knock on his office door in the middle of the day and introduce him to my friends.”

  She pouted prettily. “We’ll need more roundabout methods then. Inspector Starnes will have to do. Mr. Donohue, do you have the acquaintance of that gentleman?”

  “We’ve met. But not under the, uh … best of circumstances. The authorities are not always well disposed toward the press, you know. Let’s say, I don’t expect the inspector will be granting this American newspaperman favours any time soon.”

  She turned to Angus. “Your mother?”

  Angus blinked.

  “Never mind. I’ll find a way. I am a determined woman, gentlemen. You had best learn that immediately.” Her eyes sparked. “Angus, continue with the tour. I’d like to see this Paradise Alley I’ve heard about.”

  Angus gulped. “Miss Jennings, I cannot take a lady there.”

  “I’m not a lady. I’m a photographer. I intend to tell the story of the Klondike though photographs. Mr. Donohue, do you know any of the ladies who work there that you could introduce me to?”

  Donohue’s face flushed a brilliant red. Angus almost laughed. Graham Donohue knew the inhabitants of the Paradise Alley cribs quite well. A fact that he lived in fear of Fiona MacGillivray discovering. “I, uh … certainly not,” he stammered.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Sterling said. “Miss Jennings, I must inform you that Angus, as a minor, cannot go everywhere, nor can a respectable lady unaccompanied. If you want to visit the cribs, Donohue here will be an excellent guide.”

  Donohue began to sputter a protest, but Sterling talked over his objections. “If you’d like to visit one of the other dance halls one evening, for pure research purposes of course, might I have the honour of escorting you?”

  Angus blinked again. Was Corporal Sterling offering to step out with Miss Jennings?

  The edges of her mouth lifted in a gentle smile. Her blue eyes opened wide. “I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

  “I’m off duty tomorrow. Shall I come to your studio at eight o’clock?”

  “You may.”

  Sterling touched the brim of his hat in farewell and turned and headed back to the row of offices lining the square.

  A few moments passed before Angus was aware that Miss Jennings was retracing their steps back to town. He hurried to catch up with her.

  “You said Inspector McKnight comes to the Savoy some evenings,” Miss Jennings said over her shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t suppose you know what evenings?”

  “No.”

  “Then I will simply have to lie in wait. What would be the best time?”

  “Promptly at eight o’clock, I’d say,” Donohue said. “He likes to get a seat at the front. He doesn’t usually stay long. Look, Miss Jennings, when Sterling implied I know my way around Paradise Alley he was naturally referring to the fact that in my role as a newspaperman I have had occasion to interview the women in their … uh … place of business.”

  “I understood perfectly.”

  Donohue peeked at Angus out of the corner of his eyes. “Glad to hear that.”

  It hadn’t rained in a couple of days, but the streets never seemed to dry up. Many a man had lost a boot in the muck, which consisted of more than mud as horses and carts and dogs regularly passed by. Going was slow as the small group trailing in Miss Jennings’ wake confined themselves to the crowded boardwalks. At the corner of Harper Street, they almost collided with a well-dressed gentlemen who stepped into their path.

  He swept off his hat and gave a slight bow. “Miss Jennings, the photographer. What a stroke of good fortune. I was planning to stop by your studio later in the day.”

  “Count Nicholas. Good day.”

  “Call me Nicky, please, madam. There is no use for archaic titles and privileged nobility in the New World.”

  “We are of like mind, sir,” Miss Jennings said.

  Nicky, as he liked to be called, took Miss Jennings’s arm. Angus and Donohue fell in behind. The Russian began talking about his hopes to go big-game hunting one day. He would like to shoot a bear, a wolf perhaps. Would Miss Jennings care to accompany him, and photograph the expedition?

  Donohue glanced at Angus and drew a circle around his ear with his finger.

  “I say, Angus,” said a voice from behind. Roland the Magnificent, also out for a walk. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  There wasn’t much to do in Dawson, other than drink or gamble or visit the cribs. Everyone seemed to spend a good part of their day walking up the muddy streets and then walking down again. Three people could not walk abreast on the narrow boardwalk unless one of them stepped into the mud. Angus dropped back.

  “Strange town, this,” Roland said.

  “That it is.”

  They never did make it to Paradise Alley. Too many of them, perhaps. Miss Jennings led the way down Front Street, studying everyone and everything, with Roland the Magnificent, Count Nicholas Ivanovich Prozorovsky, Graham Donohue, and Angus MacGillivray trailing in her wake, along with a couple of percentage girls from one of the less respectable dancehalls, two young cheechakos, Angus’s friend Dave, and a stray dog. Occasionally Miss Jennings would stop, lift her hands to her face, make a square of them, and peer intently into the distance. Her entourage leaned forward, trying to see what she saw. She snapped out commands to Angus, and he made notes in the book she’d provided. She was interested in the shops of Bowery Street, clustered along the waterfront where boats of all shapes and sizes and varying degrees of sea-worthiness or lack thereof had been tied up.

  Angus’s lunch was but a fond memory and he was trying to remember what was planned for dinner when at last Miss Jennings pronounced herself satisfied with the day. The percentage girls had disappeared long ago, the cheechakos got distracted by one of their friends, Dave headed home for supper, the count stepped in a puddle, soaking his pant leg, and returned to his lodgings to change, and Graham Donohue remembered that he had a story to write if it was going
to leave on tomorrow’s boat. Only Angus, Roland the Magnificent, and the dog remained.

  “Did you get many ideas?” Angus asked.

  “Most certainly. A good day’s work, young man.”

  “I wrote everything down that you told me to.”

  “Good boy.”

  The dog lifted a half-chewed-off ear.

  Like Angus’s mother, Miss Jennings wore a watch pinned to the waistband of her dress. She pulled it out, flipped open the lid, and consulted it. “I’m going to head home and put my feet up for a short while. I intend to be at the Savoy at eight o’clock. Will I see you there, Angus?”

  “Uh …”

  “I’ll be there,” Roland said. “In fact, I have to be there as I am the opening act. You seem to have misplaced something, young man.” He pulled Angus’s pencil out from behind his ear.

  Miss Jennings laughed.

  * * *

  We were almost finished the evening meal before Angus stumbled in. He mouthed apologies for his tardiness, but his expression indicated he wasn’t at all sorry.

  Tonight we were dining on corned beef and cabbage. I detest corned beef almost as much as I detest boiled cabbage. Mr. Mann was complaining about a neighbouring shop trying to undercut his trade in pickaxes, and Mrs. Mann was muttering words of sympathy. I was remembering a meal of Dover sole I’d had in the Savoy — the original Savoy in London. The fish had been prepared perfectly with a trace of lemon, served with bright green peas and tiny boiled potatoes drenched in butter and sprinkled with parsley. I’d been in the company of Lord Alveron. Or was it the Honourable Randolph Greenhaugh? Never mind. The fish had been followed by a light lemon sorbet and then a Bakewell tart, the crust cooked to perfection. The name of the wine has escaped me.

  Wine. Dover sole. Lemon.

  As I recall, after the meal he, yes it had been Randolph, had presented me with a gift of pearl earrings. The pearls, I knew, belonged to his grandmother, the dowager duchess. They were intended to match a necklace of uncompromising quality that had been presented to the duchess by no less a personage than the Duke of Wellington himself, in exchange for some favour or other her husband had performed. (That was the official family story. Less officially it was whispered that the dowager duchess herself had been the one providing favours for the Iron Duke.) Randolph had taken the less valuable earrings, but had not had the nerve to sneak the necklace out of his grandmother’s jewellery box. I managed that myself one night when the family, meaning Randolph, his wife, and the dotty old lady, were at a ball to which I had not been invited.