What Gold Buys

by Ann Parker

  “Ooooh, lessee, we’d finished a few rounds of billiards. Wandered down State a ways, and that’s when you pointed him out to us, right, Chet?

  He was missing his hat. Cold night for no hat. He’s got a sneaky kind of gait, so I remembered that too. Anywhoo, he was a-slippin’ past Kate Armstead’s crib,” he stopped, apologetic. “Sorry, Miz Stannert, you bein’ a proper married woman and all. Mrs. Armstead’s ‘bood-or,’ I guess you’d say.”

  “Boudoir,” Inez corrected the mangled French. “But when, exactly?”

  “Late last night.” He affirmed, then paused. “Well, mebbe early this mornin’ is more accurate.”

  Inez drummed her fingers against her whisky sling glass, thinking. The imprecise timing didn’t help determine whether the drummer was responsible for Drina Gizzi’s death. Assuming he was the murderer, he might have vamoosed after realizing Inez could place him at the scene. Although that didn’t explain where Drina’s earthly remains had gone or who had taken them.

  Chet’s companion turned to the third, younger man, who by the look of his clothes and fingernails had spent a long day underground, although his face was clean enough and his dark hair combed neat.

  The younger miner spoke up. “Yep. It was long past the midnight hour. That was about when we decided to turn in, since me and my partner had to be up and in the district in the morning.” He glanced at Inez. “You gotta forgive Chet his sour state of mind, Mrs. Stannert. He got a shock today. The fancy-pants dude he sold his last get-rich-quick claim to might get rich after all.”

  Chet hunched his shoulders as if to ward off bad news. “Ain’t necessarily the case,” he grumbled.

  “Looks likely, though,” retorted the younger and added to Inez, “Chet sold that salted claim yesterday. The buyer wanted to work it further, so he hired one of those geologists and a few of us,” he indicated his older partner. “The geologist had a looksee around, and we did a little blasting in the drift. That claim might just be worth something.”

  Inez finished her hot drink, intrigued. Could Lord Percy have struck it rich in Leadville? Maybe, with the inheritance, his luck has turned. “Any assay results?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” grumbled Chet. “It’ll come up snake eyes, you’ll see. There’s nothin’ there. Area’s all played out and what’s worth anything is all tied up by the consolidateds.”

  “Could be like Chicken Bill and Haw Tabor,” said the younger. “Bill sold the Chrysolite claim for ten thou to Tabor, and it’s made Tabor how much? A million and a half?”

  Chet hunkered further, saying, “If that drummer’s not comin’ then I’m goin’.” He turned and left.

  The two miners looked at each other and shrugged.

  “After selling worthless claims for so long, his luck was bound to turn,” said the younger philosophically. “Lady Luck is fickle.” He flicked a coin onto the counter. “A shot of your house for me and my partner here, if you please, Mrs. Stannert.”

  After Inez dispensed the drinks, a glance at her lapel watch told her it was time to repair upstairs and prepare for her Saturday night poker game. She was dreading it a bit, wondering what kind of player Dr. Gregorvich would be. Her Saturday night regulars, she knew them well and their quirks and tells. The Lads from London, the same. But this physician was an unknown quantity and tonight, in particular, she didn’t want any “unknown quantities” in the mix, what with so much else on her mind. And then, there was Reverend Sands. In the past, he had always been there at the end of the night’s gatherings to walk her home.

  But now?

  Everything had changed.

  She hoped she would see him, somehow, before the service Sunday morning, before he made the announcement of his official leaving. He wouldn’t leave town without talking to her, would he?

  Unknown. It was all unknown.

  As for the drummer’s whereabouts…

  She untied her apron, hung it on the hook by the backbar, caught Abe’s eye, and gave him a shrug. He pulled out his pocketwatch, glanced at the time, looked at her, and returned her shrug.

  …another unknown.

  ***

  Inez tapped a finger on the muted gloss surface of the round mahogany table, waiting for Dr. Gregorvich to cut the cards. No one seemed in a particular hurry for the game to progress. This, the first Saturday night poker game she had hosted at the Silver Queen in some time, seemed to have evolved into a social event for her regular players, the Lads from London, and the guests to chat, gossip, argue politics, and smoke their cigars, cigarettes, and pipes.

  And draw down her liquor supply.

  The windowpanes, hidden behind heavy moreen wool curtains, shivered in the gusts of wind that slapped the glass, while the walls creaked under the heavy hand of sudden weather. The flickering gaslights behind the etched glass lamp fixtures of the chandelier caused the moire pattern in the curtains to dance. She resigned herself to waiting while Dr. Gregorvich expounded on some finer point of medical theory to Doc Cramer, who was nodding then shaking his head. Looking around, Inez took in the waxed and polished wood floors and paneling, the green and gold wallpaper, framed prints and paintings of hunts and battles past, the carpets of Axminster and Moquette velvet. All touches she had engineered and designed when she’d first breathed life into the exclusive, second-floor “gaming room” of the Silver Queen earlier that summer.

  The sideboard was well stocked, although the levels were falling rapidly in the decanters and bottles, and the crystalware had been appropriated by the room’s inhabitants. The coffee service remained, for the moment, untouched, except by Inez, who increased the potency of her cup of the “devil’s dark brew” with a tot of brandy. I must remember to tell Sol he did well today. She knew that he probably had spent the better part of the afternoon preparing the room for the evening, and was even now helping Abe downstairs behind the bar, while Mark was heaven-knows-where-hell-and-gone.

  There was no question. She was in charge tonight. And that suited her just fine. More than fine. Easing back in her upholstered chair, Inez felt like a queen, if only for the evening.

  She brushed the skirt of her narrow, dark green velvet dress with the back of her hand, letting the smooth warm fabric comfort her. The silver and pearl bracelet on her wrist caught briefly on a bit of fringe and she shook her wrist to release the hold. If all went according to plan, her time in Leadville was ticking down like a watch abandoned by its wearer. This secret knowledge tasted bittersweet and pulled her away on a drift of past memories and future hopes. She took a firm hold of her mental wanderings, as a mother would of a toddler’s hand, and pulled herself back to the present. I cannot afford to get maudlin and wistful, particularly with so much at stake and with events still so uncertain.

  She finally turned to Dr. Gregorvich, cutting his conversation short. “If you please, cut the cards?”

  He did so. She said, “Ante, gentlemen.” Quarter eagles flew to the center of the table. Doc Cramer examined the meager pile before him, remarking, “This will probably be my last hand tonight, m’dear, unless Lady Luck should deign to smile upon me.”

  “Ah, you might as well say good night and bar the door, Doc, because that lady, she’s all mine tonight,” crowed Lord Percy. She had marked his extremely genial mood, his wind-burned countenance, and an unprecedented jaunty bounce to his step when he had entered the room earlier with his mates. She knew something was up when she had offered him his rabbit’s foot, which had been in careful concealment in the Silver Queen safe, protected from inadvertent theft or loss. “You may secure the rabbity-rabbit back in the safe,” he announced. “Dame fortune has been casting come-hither looks my way all day.”

  In contrast, Epperley looked like a pale, wrathful shade following in Percy’s wake. Tipton, Balcombe, and Quick seemed much as usual, falling upon the free liquor with their customary alacrity. They joshed and chatted up the others, including Bob Evan,
a successful mercantiler who was one of Inez’s regulars and David Cooper, a lawyer whose riches rested on interpreting mining law for his well-to-do clients. The only regular missing was Jed Elliston of The Independent.

  Inez had ascertained early in the evening’s activities that Dr. Gregorvich wasn’t there for the poker. Since he came as Doc Cramer’s guest—and she was inordinately fond of Doc and owed him much—she had offered Gregorvich the seat on her right so he could get a “feel” for the game and players on each betting round. She’d hoped he’d be generous in his betting, but instead, he played weak, folding early and often. At first, he seemed quite content to simply watch the players with an odd, almost clinical gleam as each round unfolded. She got the uncomfortable feeling that his gimlet gaze was fixed a large percentage of that time on her. After a few hands, he turned his attention to his host, Dr. Cramer. Inez felt sorry for the beleaguered old-time physician, who seemed hard put to focus simultaneously on his cards, his beloved brandy, and his loquacious guest.

  Gregorvich was saying, “Why sir, in the recent volume of the Transactions of the American Medical Association, Dr. Hibberd notes the climbing interest in investigations to determine whether certain parts of the brain give rise to certain attributes of the mind or if the brain, as a whole, is the organ of the mind as a whole.”

  Doc harrumphed politely. “I admit, I’ve been too busy tending to the medical needs of an overpopulated mining town, what with rheumatism, broken limbs, pneumonia, consumption, erysipelas, catarrh, inflammation of the bowels, cholera infantum being but a few of the crises in any given day.”

  “Ah, but sir, we must stay on top of the profession and its advances. The brain and the mind are unknown territory. As inhabitants of the storied West, we should appreciate that, as physicians, we are also on the frontier of modern medicine. We must advance with courage, observe the strange wonders presented by the confluence of the human physical and mental conditions, and make our maps.”

  If things had been different, Inez would have tried to redirect the flow of medi-babble at her right elbow, but she had her hands full keeping the game moving smoothly forward. There was an odd buzz of energy in the room that made it hard to concentrate. She wasn’t sure whether it was because it had been nearly two months since the Saturday night regulars had gathered around the table or because of Percy’s increasingly reckless and loud behavior. He didn’t seem to care if he won or lost and was betting extravagantly and bluffing outrageously. Then again, perhaps it was simply her present cup of coffee-brandy was not mixing well with the earlier hot whisky sling.

  “Great advances are at hand regarding the histology, physiology, and pathology of the brain,” Gregorvich droned. Doc continued nodding.

  The tide of medical mumbo-jumbo emanating from Gregorvich didn’t help as she tried to focus on her own hand and take in any tells from the other players.

  Evan, sitting to Inez’s left, shook his head, his steel-rimmed glasses flashing with the motion. “Pass.” Inez knew him as a cautious player, so his “wait and see” attitude was to be expected. Even when his hand was a good one, he gave little away on the first round of betting.

  Cooper cocked his head and frowned a little, so small a grimace that if Inez had not been watching intently she probably would have missed it beneath the silver of his neat, short-cropped beard. A careful and astute interpreter of mining law, Cooper had a subtle set of tells. The cocked head indicated something interesting was held in his well-manicured grip. The frown could mean many things. Inez decided whatever he held intrigued him, but he wasn’t entirely sure at this point what to do about it. However, the lawyer did tend to be impulsive when it came to cards, so Inez was not surprised when he sent a half eagle sailing into the nest. “Five dollars, just to keep things interesting.”

  “Oh, let’s make it more interesting than that,” drawled Percy. “Five and raise you ten.”

  So soon, Percy? Inez kept her thoughts to herself and worked to keep her expression pleasantly neutral, her gaze steady and her eyebrows relaxed.

  Epperley wasn’t nearly so subtle. “You’re going to run through that inheritance in all of a weekend, aren’t you?” he said with a nasty edge.

  Percy shrugged. “Don’t have an aromatic faint, old boy. There’s more where this came from.”

  “But for how long?” Epperley countered. He swirled the golden liquid in his brandy goblet with increasing agitation. “You have financial obligations.”

  Percy gave an exaggerated sigh and twisted around to look at Epperley. “Do I now?” he said with heavy sarcasm, “My mind is a little foggy on that point. Too much brandy, too many cigars, too many lovely women. Oh, of course, you’re referring to the mine!”

  He swiveled back to the table. “Mrs. Stannert, did I tell you I am in possession of the next silver bonanza?” His face shone with excitement. “I struck up a conversation with an engineer late last night, a fine chap, working with the estimable Samuel F. Emmons on a monograph of the Leadville mining region. Anyhow this engineer, good fellow that he is, was initially dubious of my claim, but agreed for a modest sum to take a look this morning and give me his opinion. Upshot is, he told me things look a right go. I guess I didn’t need to worry about that broken mirror after all! No seven years’ bad luck for me. With the help of some mining chappies of his acquaintance who were agreeable to making some Saturday pocket change, we now have samples out for initial assay.”

  That caught Cooper’s attention and he looked up from his cards. “Is that so? I thought all the promising claims in the mining district had long been staked, sold, re-sold, and subsumed by the consolidated concerns. If your property assays well, Lord Percy, you’ll need a crack lawyer to help you navigate the arcana of mining law and statutes.” He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a silver card case. “Allow me.”

  Evan shifted in his chair. “Doc? What’d you say? Fold, raise, call?”

  Doc stared at his cards with intense concentration. Inez suspected he was on the fence between call and fold. He did say this would be his last hand of the evening unless he was lucky. I’ll wager he’ll stay put to at least see if he can improve what he has.

  “…of course, it’s been established that the brain is composed of bundles of minute fibers…”

  “Call,” said Doc, and slid three half eagles into the pot.

  “Dr. Erasmus Wilson counted the number of fibers in a very minute surface section, reported that a square inch of brain is composed of no less than one hundred millions of fibers!” Gregorvich continued. “Is it not probable, then that each fiber has a distinct office?”

  Doc Cramer finished his brandy before remarking, “Interesting. But truly, sir, unless this can provide practical insights into medical aid I can offer the unfortunate man who happens to be in an iron bucket when the brake of a whim fails and sends its human cargo hurtling two hundred feet to the bottom of a shaft—”

  “Well, sir, think of the unfortunates who dwell on the surface, some in total misery, as we have seen firsthand in the alleys, suffering and indeed dying from the effects of alcohol, insanity, and other diseases of the mind. Intemperance is well known to be transmissible. Those who become victims of this disease through hereditary tendencies are seldom, if ever, cured, and they transmit to their children not only a tendency to drink but to crime and insanity as well.”

  Growing impatient, Inez leaned toward Gregorvich to invite him to take his turn at the table. He held his cards so carelessly that, in turning, she inadvertently saw his hand in full. With a shock, she realized he held a very good hand indeed: three kings conferred, accompanied by a ten and an ace.

  The physician continued, barreling straight ahead with his argument like a train on a straightaway with no curves in sight. “What if a predisposition to a specific mental aberration of the mind could be determined by reading the physical organization, the convolved regions of the cerebrum, indeed the very f
ibers themselves?”

  A new voice from the door said, “Then I take it, Dr. Gregorvich, you’ve no objection to carving and dissecting the brain fibers of poor unfortunates who have no more use for them, being dead and all?”

  Inez twisted around to glare at Jed Elliston, who was, in turn, glaring at Gregorvich with an expression close to triumph. “Sounds to me like you might have some insights into these illegal anatomy classes that I’ve heard whispers about.”

  Inez interjected, “Doctor, it’s your turn.”

  Without even glancing at his cards, Gregorvich said, “Fold.” He tossed his hand facedown on the table by Inez’s elbow, adding, “The study of anatomy is not illegal, Mr. Elliston, and neither are private anatomy lessons provided by a proper physician. However, as I have patiently tried to explain to you several times, I am in no way involved in such activities.”

  The abandoned cards lay ignored, but the image of their worth sizzled in Inez’s memory. Inez set her jaw hard. This casual discard of what was probably a winning hand was enough to convince her that Dr. Gregorvich was most definitely not there for the poker, but for something else entirely. Perhaps he intends to bore us all to death with his erudite medical knowledge and then pick our brains apart.

  However, with Dr. Gregorvich and his three kings and singular ace out of the game, her own two aces twinkled with an encouraging light. “Call.” She contributed fifteen dollars to the cause.

  “Call,” said Evan quickly, perhaps sensing that if there was a moment’s hesitation the momentum might dissolve. The rest followed suit.

  Once everyone was square with the pot, discards were offered up and replacements dealt. Inez tried to keep track of who discarded what and reactions—obvious or subtle—upon viewing replacement cards.

  Evan discarded two and refilled his hand. He looked pleased just then. A decent three of a kind, perhaps?

  “Mr. Elliston, have you heard the saying, ‘He must mangle the living if he has not operated on the dead.’? I wager you have not, so I will tell you who said such: Renowned English surgeon and anatomist, Sir Astley Paston Cooper—”