Cold Gold

by Victoria Chatham

  She pulled out her pins and let her long locks loose, ran her fingers through them and shook her head. Drat. The valise containing her brush and other toiletries had yet to be delivered. She picked up Randolph’s silver-backed brush from the washstand and drew the bristles through the strands of her hair, enjoying the comfort in using something belonging to him. She continued to brush with half closed eyes, counting the strokes as she did so. When she reached one hundred she straightened up, tossed her hair back and twisted and pinned and tweaked it into the popular Gibson-girl style.

  Re-buttoning her blouse, Serena considered donning her jacket but thought she may just be warm enough with the waistcoat that completed her outfit. She would have liked a total change of clothes and, as it had only been a short walk to the Eldorado, she expected that her luggage would have been delivered by now. Crossing to the window, she pulled the lace curtain aside. A veranda wrapped around the second storey of the hotel and she had to stand on tiptoe to see across it into the street.

  It reminded her of Kalgoorlie, in Australia, only then Randolph had been beside her. She had complained bitterly at their dry-as-dust surroundings but Randolph had laughed and kissed the top of her head, reminding her that he had warned her of what to expect. But to spend another year alone when he left for Cold Creek? No, she would not accept that.

  If only Randolph’s arms were around her now, she thought, and sighed as she rested her head against the frosty window pane. Movement in the street below caught her eye. She recognized Joe’s lanky frame jumping down from a carrier’s cart just pulling up outside the hotel.

  Between them, Joe and the driver unloaded her luggage. In moments her things were being brought in and set where she indicated on the floor. She glanced at the wall clock and saw she still had time to change for dinner. Not sure that she could face food, she knew she needed to be sensible and eat what she could. If Randolph didn’t return, she might not be eating at all.

  But did people dress for dinner in Cold Creek? She opened the trunk and removed her favorite off-the-shoulder evening gown. In truth, the outfit she wore would be much warmer. With a sigh she draped the gown over the lid of the trunk. Unpacking, she decided, could wait until after dinner.

  She left her room and walked along the shadowy corridor, thankful for the dim glow of the electric lighting. As she descended the stairs to the lobby, Lucy Vanderberg emerged from a door further down the hallway beyond the reception desk.

  “Ah, Lady Buxton,” Lucy said. “The dining room is back here. Please come this way.”

  Serena followed her between the tables, ignoring the curious glances she received from guests who were already seated. Lucy took her to the table closest to the fireplace and pulled out a chair for her guest.

  “I thought you might appreciate the extra warmth.”

  “You’re very kind.” Serena sat down, opened her napkin and laid it across her lap. The table linens appeared as well starched and laundered as those at Buxton Hall, suggesting some hope of a decent meal. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach settled down, replaced with the first real pangs of hunger at the sight of a loaded plate set before her. Perfectly cooked filet of beef accompanied by small Parisienne potatoes, braised celery and lima beans were followed by a dessert of Neapolitan ice cream, coffee and tiny finger cakes. The cakes were quite delicious, light and fluffy and spiced with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. Serena reluctantly finished the last one and pushed her plate away as a dark-haired man stepped into the dining room.

  His gaze swept the room and came to rest on her. He walked towards her, his long legs carrying him quickly across the carpeted floor. A smile hovered on his lips.

  “Lady Buxton?”

  “Yes.” Serena shook the hand he held out to her. “Should I know you?”

  “Not yet. May I?” He pulled out a chair and, at Serena’s nod, sat down. “I’m Douglas King, manager at Cold Creek’s Number One mine. I worked with your husband.”

  Serena folded her napkin and laid it on the table. “You said ‘worked’. Does that mean you think he’s dead?”

  Douglas King shrugged and the casual lift of his shoulder immediately irritated her.

  “I’d like to think not,” he said, “but unfortunately it’s the most likely explanation for his disappearance.”

  Serena bit back an angry retort reminding herself that, as manager at the mine, King would probably not have time to be anything other than direct. When she spoke, her voice held a quiet but firm tone. “I can’t think of anything less likely than Randolph just disappearing.”

  She watched King carefully. At first he did not meet her gaze, but when he did his glance slid quickly away, the moment covered with an inane remark she completely ignored as something in the back of his eyes raised her awareness. Her intuition told her this man would not be likely to tell her the truth, whatever it may be.

  “Be that as it may, in a place like Cold Creek anything can happen to anybody.”

  “So what has been done to find him?” Serena rested her hands on her lap but clasped her fingers tightly together to hide her apprehension.

  “Sheriff Johnson made extensive enquiries around town and amongst the miners, but no one saw him leave, no one heard anything, no rumors or common talk.”

  “What about a search outside the town?”

  “Not during winter.” King sat back in his chair. “Apart from the railway line, we’re pretty well cut off until the spring thaw. The only traffic is around town and to and from the mines.”

  “How many mines are there?” A sudden hope leapt in Serena’s mind. Could Randolph be lost in one of them? She well knew his love of adventure and exploration.

  “There are two main shafts and a maze of subsidiary shafts at the Cold Creek mine in Pine Mountain, but the Burke mine in Storm Mountain east of town goes much deeper. If you’d like a tour of your husband’s interests I can certainly arrange it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. King.” Serena gave him a polite smile. “When I have talked to your sheriff, that may be something I will consider. But tell me, you’re a long way from home too. Northeast England, if I’m not mistaken. Durham, or Newcastle-on-Tyne?”

  King’s brusque laugh contained no humor and Serena suppressed a shiver.

  “You have a good ear,” he replied, not answering her question. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  Without waiting for her reply King took a slim, black cigarillo from his inside pocket. He placed it between his lips and quickly lit it, then looked up as Lucy Vanderberg came towards them.

  “I hope you found your meal satisfying, Lady Buxton.” Lucy ignored King completely. Shocked at her lack of manners, Serena slid a sideways glance at King to assess his reaction to this. His lips were pressed together forming a thin, hard line. Animosity radiated from both of them, piquing Serena’s curiosity. What could have happened between them?

  “Most excellent, thank you,” Serena made her voice light. “Please give my compliments to your chef.”

  “He’ll be pleased. He’s from San Francisco and for the main part thinks we are un-civilized heathens up here. Would you like more coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “In that case, I’ll say good night and see you in the morning.”

  She walked away without speaking one word to King, who appeared not at all discomfited by being so rudely ignored. Serena turned to him again.

  “So how did you come to be in Cold Creek?” she inquired.

  “The gold, same as pretty well everyone else.” King sat back in his chair, giving the impression of settling in for an evening of conversation. “Transferring what I knew about coal mining to gold mining came easy. Besides, I didn’t want to go on having to tug my forelock to the landed gentry at home. I’m sure you understand.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her and a wry grin twisted his lips. He bordered on being insulting but Serena ignored his inference.

  “Well, standards everywhere are changing,” she said as calmly as she could.
“I suppose it goes with these modern times we live in. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall retire for the night.”

  King stood and held her chair for her.

  “If you need any assistance, Lady Buxton, just send a message to the mine office. I’ll help you any way I can.”

  Serena said goodnight to him and walked away, her suspicions thoroughly aroused. How had he known of her arrival? Had George Wilding told him? Or had Joe boasted that he’d helped her? And why couldn’t King have waited until tomorrow to talk to her?

  As she reached the stairway she sensed that he watched her. Holding her head high she walked steadily up the stairs but sighed with relief when her fingers gripped the solid brass handle on her door. She quickly let herself into her room, standing for a moment in the dark before fumbling on the wall for the light switch. She flicked it on and the soft glow from beneath the shaded fixtures spilled down the walls and illuminated the room, making it cozy and partially dispelling her fears.

  Thoughts raced around in her head as she unbuttoned the tiny pearl buttons on the cuffs of her blouse. Nothing made sense. Randolph’s sudden disappearance and Lucy Vanderberg’s, as well as her own, antipathy towards King all combined to set her nerves on edge.

  She hung her clothes in the wardrobe then pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. Min, or someone, had put a warming pan in her bed. She grasped the long handle that protruded from beneath the sheets, pulled the pan out and set it on the hearth in the sitting room.

  Her eyes welled with tears and she blinked hard. She would not cry. She absolutely would not. But, once she settled into the warm, downy softness of the big bed, she could not prevent the tears escaping the barrier of her lashes.

  She should have come straight here, not taken her time sightseeing in San Francisco. But their last argument over Randolph’s leaving again had filled her with dread that he did not love her. But if he didn’t love her, why did he have that photograph in his pocket? When he returned to Cold Creek, what would his reaction be on seeing her? That fear grew into a cold bedfellow.

  Her body ached for him. She wanted the comfort of his arms about her, his soft whispers in her ear, his assurances that, yes, he did love her.

  “Randolph,” she sobbed as she turned her face into the pillow, “Where are you?”

  Chapter Three

  Serena did not sleep well. In the morning, tired and bleary eyed, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror with dismay. How could she look her best with red-rimmed eyes and puffy lids? She soaked a cloth in cold water in the bowl on the washstand, then wrung it out and held it over her eyes. Her feet were cold. She shivered, hurried back into bed and lay with the covers pulled up to her chin. When her feet and the cloth were both warm, she got out of bed for the second time.

  She peered into the mirror again. Her eyes looked marginally better and she dressed with care in a pink cotton blouse. To compliment the blouse she wore with it a burgundy-colored wool suit. The suit’s exquisite tailoring gave her just the boost her confidence needed to meet the sheriff and Frank Harris, the bank manager.

  Randolph had written to her only once, shortly after his arrival in Cold Creek but had mentioned his dealings at the bank. It gave her some hope that she might be well received. She wrote a brief note requesting an appointment, folded it and took it downstairs with her.

  Lucy, busy setting a basket of breads on the buffet in the dining room, looked up at her entrance.

  “Could this be delivered to the bank?” Serena asked, holding up her note.

  “Of course.” Lucy took it and slipped it into a pocket in the front of her apron. “I’ll have Min take it along. Did you sleep well, Lady Buxton?”

  “I did, thank you.” Serena sat down at the table she occupied last evening and gave Lucy as cheery a smile as she could manage. She told herself such a little lie couldn’t hurt. She looked around. They were alone. “Mrs. Vanderberg, I wonder if I might ask you something?”

  Lucy raised an eyebrow as she lifted the coffee pot. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Before she voiced her questions, Serena thought briefly that Lucy might consider her impertinent, but she had to know. Lucy poured her coffee and Serena stared thoughtfully into her cup as she stirred in sugar and cream.

  “Last evening,” she began, “when you came in to the dining room, you neither looked at Mr. King nor spoke to him. May I ask why?”

  “Ah.” Lucy pulled out a chair and sat down. “I thought you wouldn’t miss that. Even though he is your countryman, I have to tell you he is a man I don’t trust. Therefore I can’t like him and would prefer not to talk to him.”

  “Never mind about him being my countryman. Men are men wherever they may originate from, but what made you distrust him?” Serena blew on her coffee and then took a sip of the delicious brew. For a moment she could imagine herself drinking coffee in her own comfortable breakfast room at home. Lucy’s sigh captured her attention once more.

  “It’s just the way the man is,” Lucy said with a shrug. “He won’t look you in the eyes and he’s a man who won’t let anything stand in the way of getting what he wants. I sometimes wonder who he stepped on to get his position at the mine.”

  The frown on Lucy’s face told Serena there was more.

  “But you stood in his way?”

  “Oh, yes.” Lucy’s face hardened. “My husband, Joe, and I worked our way from the bottom up in fancy homes, then hotels and saved everything we could to one day have our own place. This is it.” She indicated the room around them. “The Eldorado is ours, lock, stock and barrel but King thought he could buy it out from underneath us. Shifty beggar. The previous owner, Henry Schmidt, felt the same way about King and was more than happy to sell to us.”

  “But if he’s managing the mine, why would he want a hotel?”

  “Did you notice the building across the street when you arrived?” Lucy asked.

  Serena shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I kept my head down against the cold and didn’t really notice anything.”

  “You’ll acclimatize.” Lucy chuckled. “Well, across the street is the Men’s Club, owned by King. It’s little more than a high class brothel, if you’ll pardon me. King wanted to use this hotel for his gentlemen visitors to entertain their women. Then he could open up more rooms in the club for high stakes gambling. Of course, he didn’t expect the opposition he got from both Mr. Schmidt and Mrs. Leopold, who owns the Lucky Strike Saloon right next to the club. He tried to play us all off against each other, but in the end he did nothing but tell us a pack of lies. So no, I have no time for the man.”

  The story did not surprise Serena and confirmed her own opinion of King.

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome.” Lucy stood up. “Now, you should have something to eat while it’s still fresh. There’s stewed fruit, oatmeal and a selection of breads. More coffee?”

  Serena ate her breakfast undisturbed and thought about what Lucy told her. It didn’t surprise her to hear that Douglas King shouldn’t be trusted since that had been her first reaction to him. Did he know more about Randolph’s disappearance than he would admit? Her gut told her he did. And what would the sheriff have to tell her? She fetched her wrap and hat, drew on her gloves and stepped out of the hotel but immediately felt overdressed.

  The temperature had risen since her arrival yesterday. Slush from the quick thaw made the street sloppy. Icicles hanging from the edges of the roofs dripped steadily onto the boardwalk. She glanced in at the general store and mercantile windows as she passed them, surprised at the variety of goods on display. If Randolph were with her she would have no hesitation in stepping inside to take a closer look but, with only two dollars left in her purse, she would not let herself be tempted.

  She stopped outside the sheriff’s office, a little surprised when the door opened and King emerged.

  “Good morning, Lady Buxton.” He raised his hat but an insolent smirk tw
isted his features. “Coming to interview Sheriff Johnson?”

  “I’d hardly call it an interview,” Serena responded. “But yes, I do have questions for him.”

  King held the door open for her and, with head held high, she passed him and went inside. As she entered the office, the aromas of coffee, leather and gun oil tickled her nose and reminded her of Randolph’s gun room at Buxton Hall.

  Chair legs scraped across bare boards as the sheriff stood to greet her.

  “Heard you’d be along to see me.” He extended a work-worn hand, mottled with age spots. “I’m Sheriff Leroy Johnson. Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.”

  She’d expected someone younger. Johnson’s hair and drooping moustache were as white as the snow on the mountains, but sharp blue eyes regarded her from a tanned face, creased with as many lines as a crumpled piece of paper.

  “I gather Mr. King advised you that I was coming to talk to you.” Serena shook his hand, immediately feeling at ease with the warmth and strength she felt there.

  “That he did.” The sheriff dragged a chair in front of his desk for her and she sat down. “But there’s really nothing different I can add to what he probably told you. It’s a strange business.”

  To Serena’s mind it wasn’t so much strange as highly suspicious and every cell in her body told her King was somehow involved.

  “So, not one person in Cold Creek has been able to offer any suggestions as to the reason for my husband’s disappearance? There had been no arguments or major disagreements with anyone?”

  Johnson shook his head. “Not one. Everyone liked Randolph. No one at the hotel saw him after breakfast. Lucy Vanderberg remembers him going back up to his room to collect some paperwork he’d mentioned, but didn’t see him leave. That was somewhere between nine and nine-thirty in the morning. He always walked to and from the mine offices but no one remembers seeing him on the street. Mr. King says he appeared to have something on his mind as he was very quiet when he arrived. Said good morning and shut himself in his own office. King says he went out later to go up to the crushing plant. When he got back, Randolph was gone and hasn’t been seen since.”