What Gold Buys

by Ann Parker

  He raised his eyebrows. “Ah! She looks for an increase in the house take. So, what do you propose, Mrs. Stannert?”

  “Ten percent of total sales,” she said promptly.

  “Not enough of a profit to make it worth my while. Seven-and-a-half.”

  Inez regarded him as she pulled out a shot glass and set it by his hand. “Ah, but think what you’d save on shoe leather and time. You hold court at the bar, right here by the State Street entrance.” She pulled out a second shot glass and set it by the first. “And, the customers come to you. Plus, no dealing with the slammed doors in your face and the ‘infernal’ street traffic, which as you probably know, is even more difficult to negotiate on foot. Particularly when wheeling your wares around with you.” She set a bottle of the better whiskey between the two glasses. “Eight and a quarter percent.”

  He cocked his head, apparently pondering, reminding Inez even more of some sly check-coated Reynard from children’s fables, then broke into a smile. “I cannot help but admire a woman who presents a compelling argument and drives a hard bargain. Flat eight and call it done.”

  “Done.” She opened the bottle and tipped a measure into each glass. “Do suggest that your buyers celebrate their purchases with a liquid libation, if you don’t mind.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They raised their glasses to each other and drank.

  The whiskey slid down her throat, a stinging burn that melted into a warm, breathless welcome. She sighed with pleasure, then opened her eyes with a start, realizing she’d inadvertently closed them during their toast.

  Woods’ wildwood russet eyes were upon her, calculating, while a knowing smile played about his face. The expression shifted and disappeared. “Ah, yes. One more thing. I almost, but not quite, forgot.” He dropped his gaze, rummaging through the left pocket of his jacket, and then the right. “I held these back for you, as a thank you for allowing me to conduct my business here at the Silver Queen.”

  From his pocket he pulled silver and gold silk, smooth but strong as steel, twined and woven into a single cord, then pulled out its twin as well. He placed the tangle of metallic-themed corset laces on top of the counter.

  “I do not mean to be forward,” he added quickly. “Consider it my equivalent of your whiskey offering, just now. I had exactly two pair on this trip. Sold one just now, and kept this back for you.”

  Inez picked up the cords, aware that the nearest customers had stopped their conversation and were eyeing the laces with interest. The laces gleamed, a whispered reminder of the two metals that brought Leadville her fame. Gold had been discovered in the early 1860s, only to be overshadowed by the enormous silver rush that followed. Inez had a sudden vision of Reverend Sands’ face, up close to hers, his hands tracing the path of those laces down the length of her back stays, their breath mingling as their lips met in a kiss…

  A delicious shudder raced through her, and the vision vanished. Inez closed her fingers tight around the cords. It was the clearest she’d seen his face, felt his presence, in weeks. Bowing her head to hide the flush climbing up her neck to her cheeks, she stuffed the laces into her pocket, where they tangled against her revolver. “Most kind,” she said briskly. “I shall go over the accounts you’ve left with me, and we shall see you tomorrow. What time shall we expect you? Five? Six?”

  “Six is perfect.” He pulled the case off the counter, clapped his hat on his head, and paused. “That set from the continent, you know who I mean.” Dislike colored his words. “After that one fellow bought two foundation undergarments, the rest decided to follow suit. They bought me out of everything I had in red, including stocking and laces. Would you say that is a popular hue among the general population? Should I come prepared for more interest in that color versus the others?”

  “I’m no expert in what the ladies of Leadville wear beneath their shirtwaists,” said Inez drily. “However, beyond that door is State Street, the red-light district. I’d hazard a guess that you cannot go wrong with red, and probably black as well.”

  He smiled, tipped his hat. “Thank you, Mrs. Stannert.”

  A late October wind whipped through the door as he exited, pulling the squeaking trunk behind him.

  She startled to hear Abe say behind her, “Drummer’s comin’ back tomorrow?”

  “That he is. Six o’clock. I negotiated a higher percentage.”

  Abe nodded. “Good thing.” He picked up the whiskey bottle and began to move away toward the sea of hands holding up empty glasses for a refill.

  Inez grabbed his sleeve. “What did Mr. Alexander want? And that doctor?”

  Abe glanced at the clientele. “Wanted to apologize for his wife. Asked if we knew anything about the one who’d come with her.”

  “Mrs. Gizzi? What about her?”

  Abe lifted a hand to get Sol’s attention, and pointed to the clump of dry and desperate drinkers mid-bar. At Sol’s nod, Abe turned his full attention to Inez, his deep brown eyes sober. “Seems the missus has a habit of falling in with soothsayers, tableknockers and such. Seems the church sent her on a goodwill visit, and damn if she didn’t empty the household accounts to bring a fortuneteller along. He tries to keep her corralled between home and church, but she slips the halter sometimes. Guess this was one o’ the times. Gotta say, Mr. Alexander ain’t exactly happy with this Mrs. Gizzi, not to mention your reverend’s preachin’ texts about ‘give to the poor and succor the sorrowful.’ He also said that they lost a daughter soon after they came to town. She ain’t gotten over it yet.”

  Inez experienced a pang of sympathetic sorrow. “Well, that explains a great deal.”

  Abe grunted. “A great deal, huh? You’ll have to tell me more about that. Anyhow, I thanked the mister for his time and told him he could tell the missus that Mrs. Jackson’s on bed rest and Doc said no visitors. Seemed easiest way to discourage return visits.” He shot a glance down the bar at Sol. “Sol’s doin’ well there. I think we got things under control. You stayin’ around this evening?”

  Inez wiped her hands on a clean rag and took in the buzzing room in a glance. “I’d like to change out of my travel things. Mark asked if I’d sit in on a game this evening.” She frowned. “I’m still trying to decide.”

  She grabbed her reticule and the drummer’s receipts from the lockbox and took them upstairs to the office, lifting a lit kerosene lamp from a hook at the bottom of the staircase. After letting herself in to the office with a key, she paused, surveying the room. It was clear that Abe had preferred doing the paperwork downstairs in the kitchen or perhaps at home. The stray papers and files on her rolltop desk looked exactly as she left them in August, and were filmed with dust.

  She walked over to the hulking black safe in the corner of the room, partner to a black walnut teacart holding a dusty, nearly depleted decanter of brandy. The accompanying brandy snifter held nothing more than an industrious spider, sitting atop a web that stretched across the open bowl and down to one of the teacart handles. Inez knelt, spun the dial one way, then back, then forward again. A last, satisfying click assured her that she’d remembered the combination correctly.

  She grabbed the handle and hauled the heavy door open. In went the drummer’s receipts for tomorrow’s review. She scrounged an envelope from one of the desk shelves to hold the Lads from London’s money for their return railway tickets. Last, was Percy’s envelope. She paused, running it lightly between two fingers. Light as air, it didn’t seem to hold more than a single sheet of paper, if that. What could it be, that he didn’t want the other Lads to know he’d slipped it to her? She was sorely tempted to steam it open. There was no writing on the outside. Such an anonymous envelope could, she thought, easily go astray or be buried in the safe once the lockboxes from the night’s take joined the stacks on the shelves. Finally, she wedged Percy’s mystery envelope and the envelope holding the Lads’ cash reserves tight and vertical agai
nst the wall of the safe on the topmost shelf, where they would be relatively undisturbed.

  She then pushed the door shut and spun the dial randomly a few times, until assured that everything was snug and secure. “Well, Percy, your secret is ‘safe’ for now,” Inez said aloud, with a small smile.

  Standing up, she ran a finger over the top of the teacart, leaving a streak in the fine dust, and tarried a moment longer at the mullioned window by the desk. The window overlooked the false-fronted saloons, dancing halls, and brothels of State Street to the distant snow-covered peaks of Massive and Elbert. The moon was on the wane, but its pale light was still strong enough to cast a silver gleam to the mountains in the distance. Another winter coming. It wouldn’t be long before the snow would cover not just the mountains, but also the rooftops and the boardwalks, smoothing a coverlet of white over frozen muck and mud on the streets and the alleys and burrowing beneath coat collars and sneaking in over boot tops. Those who had the wherewithal would bring out their furs, their cashmere and fine wools when going outside, and stoke the stoves and fill the warming pans and hot water bottles when inside.

  Those without the wherewithal would freeze.

  And many of those would die.

  Inez shivered, turned away from the window, and exited the office. After locking it, she proceeded to the next door down the hall, the one that led to her private quarters. Originally, she had entered her dressing room through the office. But shortly before leaving for the Springs, Inez instructed Abe to have another door cut so she could access the two private rooms directly from farther down the hallway. “And get a locksmith to put sturdy, unpickable locks on the door that leads to the office as well as the new door,” she told him.

  “You trust Mark that little?” Abe asked.

  “I trust him not at all,” she’d answered.

  She stopped in front of the new door, the sharp scent of recently sanded pine stinging her nostrils, and examined the structure. It had sturdy planks, she noted with approval, hinges on the inside, a lock that looked like it would serve to protect a bank vault. Good. She inserted the shiny brass key, which turned with a satisfyingly heavy feel, and pushed the door open. She hesitated on the threshold, looking toward the gaming room, farther down the hallway, its door wide open and inviting. Unlike the kitchen below, the card room was plumbed with gas lighting. Shadows, sharp and bright, flickered on the wall opposite as Mark moved about inside, preparing for the upcoming game.

  Inez shook herself. What was she thinking? Going in, conducting small talk with the man she’d sworn to divorce as soon as possible? Why? To what purpose?

  Cursing herself, but for what she wasn’t exactly sure, Inez entered her quarters, slammed the door shut, and locked the door behind her with a hard twist of the key.

  ***

  After washing off the grit of travel and hanging her travel clothes for a future brushing, Inez dressed in a manner appropriate for the evening. Regaining a measure of composure, she approached the gaming room.

  Mark looked up from the round table where he sat, shuffling a deck of cards, alternating between overhand shuffles—undercutting, dropping—kick cuts, and faro dealer shuffles. His cigar balanced on the lip of a crystal tray, smoke winding toward the ceiling, while a snifter of brandy waited to one side. He broke into an approving smile. “You are lookin’ mighty fine tonight, Mrs. Stannert. Like a million dollars.”

  His eyes moved over her in a friendly assessment. “Always amazed me how you could change your outfit quicker ’n the weather changes on a high summer day in the mountains, especially with all those strings, buttons, and hooks. Feminine sleight of hand that has served us well in the past, right, darlin’? Remember Chicago in seventy-five?”

  She leaned against the frame and crossed her arms across the bodice of her burgundy silk brocade and purple satin dress, burgundy gloves dangling carelessly from one hand. The silk of the bodice felt cool and smooth against her bare wrists. “You remember that, do you?”

  “Darlin’, I remember each and every time we stepped out together from the first night we met.” Mark paused and leaned back, drawing reflectively upon his cigar, eyes following the smoke as it drifted to the chandelier. “That night, you were wearin’ blue. Lace over the back of the skirt. Flower in your hair, same color as the dress.” His eyes lingered on her face. “What mostwise sticks in memory is the obstinate expression on your face as your cousin waltzed you around, steppin’ all over your skirt hem and your shoes.”

  Surprised, Inez laughed. “Well, you recall correctly, Mr. Stannert. Poor Cousin Jerome, how annoyed he was when you cut in on the dance and how relieved I was to discover you didn’t attempt to waltz in four-four time.” Still smiling at the memory, she strolled into the room, and looked around. “So who are you expecting tonight?”

  Mark straightened up and resumed shuffling, his fingers manipulating the cards so quickly she was hard put to follow them. “A couple gentlemen I met in the smoking car, from Chicago, incidentally. Sir Daniel, Lord Percy, and Balcombe would’ve beaten me up sideways to Sunday if I’d turned them away. I expect the others will come to egg them on or rein them in.”

  Inez rolled her eyes. “Epperley will not be happy. He seems determined that Percy assume his own miserly habits.”

  Mark shrugged one shoulder, the lights overhead catching the silver-gold brocade threads in his waistcoat and gleaming off his carefully styled light brown hair. “I see you’re wearin’ the diamonds I gave you.” The quicksilver maneuverings of the cards slowed, each action deliberate, as if to prove every move was straightforward, hiding nothing. “Does that mean you’ll be gracin’ our table with your presence?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” She moved to the table. “So you anticipate five tonight?”

  “A couple more might show. Gents from Texas. Big ranchers, big money. We’ll see.” His fingers paused, cards cradled in one hand. “Call it.”

  Inez pondered, then, “Five of spades.”

  Mark tossed the five of spades on the table.

  Bracing her arms on the surface, Inez leaned forward.

  “You’ll play it straight tonight, yes? Best not to toy with the unknown. We don’t want things to spiral out of control.”

  “Mr. Jackson said I could find you here.” The cool voice behind Inez was as familiar to her as the crack of thunder after a lightning flash and just as heart-stopping.

  Chapter Twelve

  Inez’s heart banged against her ribcage as if it would leap right through her steel and satin stays.

  She spun around, hand at her throat, covering the diamond necklace from Mark.

  Reverend Sands stepped into the room. His impenetrable gaze fixed on Inez, lingering for a moment that felt like an eternity, before moving to Mark, assessing.

  The pools of gaslight seemed to dim and shrink from the reverend’s black-garbed form as he advanced toward the table.

  Mark didn’t stand, but offered a slow smile that evaporated as soon as it appeared. “And this must be the Right Reverend Justice B. Sands, unless I miss my guess.”

  “And you must be Mr. Mark Stannert.” The words were polite, but barely.

  Reverend Sands looked over at Inez. Something in his expression made her want to simultaneously reach out to him and retreat at the same time.

  “Welcome back to town, Mrs. Stannert.”

  “Reverend! I was coming to see you—” she began.

  His eyes flicked over her evening dress.

  “—tomorrow,” she finished lamely. “We just arrived this afternoon. It’s been…chaotic.” She took a step toward him, empty hand raised in a gesture of reconciliation, extending to touch him.

  “Now, darlin’, not looking to confess are you?” Mark said conversationally. “Not like you’ve done anything wrong or sinful. Wife spendin’ time with her husband and child after a long spell apart, it’s all perfectly n
atural.”

  Spell broken, Inez spun to Mark, clutching her gloves in a stranglehold. “Stop it!”

  Mark ignored her, all attention focused on Sands. “You know how it is, Reverend. Married couple, reunited after being separated through no fault but the Lord’s and the fickle nature of chance. I understand you were here several times askin’ after Mrs. Stannert, but we-all decided to prolong our time in the Springs. Mrs. Stannert and I, we had a lot of catching up to do. A wife on her own, she gets used to doing things her way. It takes time to reconcile the differences, mend the breach.”

  His hands resumed their skillful manipulation of the cards. “But then, word around town is that you’ve had plenty of experience with offerin’ comfort to wives whose husbands are absent.”

  Reverend Sands, who had started toward Inez, stopped dead in his tracks. He regarded Mark. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” he said in a dangerously soft tone.

  “Well now, Rev. Seems you’ve got quite the reputation. Killed men in a broad swath across the territory, if tales be true. Seems an odd background for a man of God.” Mark stopped shuffling and set the cards on the table, leaned back.

  “I’ve paid for those days,” said Reverend Sands. “And every day I pray for forgiveness and redemption. I’d say, given what I’ve heard about you, that your past is no stranger to the self-same sins.”

  Mark slid a sideways glance at Inez. “Tellin’ tales out of school, Mrs. Stannert?” He turned his gaze back to Reverend Sands. “Might be. Might be. You know how stories grow in the telling, which is why I had a good look at what folks say about you. Still, there’s a big difference between us.”

  “Which is?”

  “I don’t lose any sleep over it. All those sinners had it coming, one way or another.” Mark leaned forward, folding his arms on the table, silver and diamond cufflinks twinkling. “Let’s cut to the chase, Reverend Sands. I know all about the affair between my wife and y’all. It’s not like you’ve been discreet about it.” Mark spared a quick look at Inez, amusement flitting across his face. “I’d have expected more discretion on your part, Mrs. Stannert, but can allow how you thought I was dead and gone.”