What Gold Buys

by Ann Parker

  A tiny symphony of coughs sounded by the door, so she set herself in that direction, pushed her way through to the front of the crowd. There was Elliston, all duded up as if he’d been called from the opera house or theater, hovering over five boys who were sitting with backs against the wall. Someone had draped what looked like horse blankets from the nearby livery over their shoulders and across their laps for warmth. She saw Dr. Gregorvich was already present. A bystander held a lantern while the physician had each boy stand up so he could look down each throat and peer into each eye. The doctor completed each examination by listening to each boy’s chest and back with a stethoscope. The instrument’s tin case lay to one side as Dr. Gregorvich moved methodically from boy to boy, looking and listening.

  Elliston was jittering around the newsies like a nervous mother duck, almost quacking. “Are they all right, Doc? Jeez, boys, what were you doing? I’ve told you, no fires in there.”

  The one Inez recognized as Ace said, “We didn’t, Mr. Elliston, honest! We had one candle in the dirt, and then, all of sudden, all this smoke kinda just poured in.”

  Dr. Gregorvich took the earpieces from his ears and let the scope hang from his neck. “Some minor coughs and throat irritation, smoke irritation in the eyes. Nothing serious. You are lucky boys. Is this everyone, Mr. Elliston? Is anyone missing?” He addressed Elliston but was looking at the littlest one, whom Inez recalled as Freddy.

  Elliston removed his top hat and held the brim while he swept his forehead with a sleeve. “Where’s Tony? Tony Deuce?”

  Gregorvich’s head swiveled to the newspaperman. “Tony Deuce?”

  “Yeah. Newsie with the two-color eyes. Hence, Deuce.”

  “Tony Deuce,” said Dr. Gregorvich softly. Then, more briskly, “So, one is unaccounted for? Perhaps we should send someone inside the shed to search.”

  Half a dozen men headed toward the back of the lot.

  “Not supposed to say,” whispered Freddy in a voice so soft that Inez, standing just to his side, could hardly hear him. But Ace heard him just fine because he said, “Jeez, Freddy…”

  Elliston paused mid-swipe. “Tony’s not here? Where is he? I thought he bunked with you guys.”

  Ace shrugged. “Haven’t seen him in a while.” He shot a warning look at Freddy, who pulled the horse blanket over his head, disappearing underneath like a turtle.

  Elliston turned to Inez. “Say, Mrs. Stannert, I heard Tony got in a spot of trouble at your place last Friday. I didn’t know until just this evening. Obviously I need to get out of the office to more social events. You seen him around any?”

  Inez sensed the doctor’s attention switch from Freddy and the other boys and settle on her. “Can’t say that I have,” she said, following quickly with, “Perhaps the boys should go to the church mission down on State Street. The mission would provide a bunk and a bite to eat.”

  Ace looked stubborn. “Bible-thumpers.”

  “No,” Inez assured him. “Just a meal and a warm place for the night.”

  Elliston nodded. “Mrs. Stannert’s right. They’ll feed you breakfast too. I’ll take you there myself after I get a look at the damage.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Inez said, and the two of them worked their way to the back.

  The small group of men, who were gathered in a huddle by the front of the shed, broke apart as Jed approached. “You’re lucky, Jed,” said one. “There’s no damage to the interior, none at all. And those boys were right. It wasn’t a candle.”

  Jed sputtered. “Well, something must have caused it to smoke up like that.”

  “Yep,” said another. “Take a look around the backside of the shed. You’ll find the fellas from the station takin’ a gander at the setup.”

  “The setup?” said Jed in wonderment.

  He and Inez fell in step as they walked the perimeter of the storage shed. “Pays to be only one block away from the central fire station,” said Jed dryly as representatives of Harrison Hook and Ladder and Tabor Hose companies left off examining one of Jed’s empty ink barrels lying on its side behind the shed. “Hey, Mr. Elliston, c’mere and have a look,” one called.

  Jed and Inez went over. Inez noticed a small door, standing wide open at the back. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “I made it for the newsies so they could get in and out at night for, well, the usual necessaries and so on,” he said. “Couldn’t exactly give them the key to the shack, you know.”

  As they approached, the familiar scent of coal oil grew stronger. Coughing, Inez pulled out her handkerchief and covered her nose, and even Jed reared back.

  “Yeah,” said one of the firemen giving the barrel a shove with the toe of his boot. “Stuff it with rags soaked in kerosene, and then all you gotta do is…” He rolled the barrel up to the small door in the wall. “Light ’er up and stand back. The smoke goes into the shed at the back and out pop the newsies from the front, just like smoking a fox out of his hole.”

  Elliston looked at Inez, dumbfounded. “Someone wanted the newsies out. But why?”

  “I think a better question to start with is whom,” said Inez shortly. “I suspect it wasn’t all the newsies, but a particular one.”

  She didn’t say the name, but from Elliston’s grim expression she could tell he was thinking about the same person she was.

  Tony.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Inez offered to help Jed herd the newsies to the mission down on West State Street. She hoped to talk with him about Tony and, truth be told, was in no rush to return to her four-walled chambers upstairs at the Silver Queen Saloon.

  The two of them trailed the boys, keeping an eye out in case one decided to make a break for a hiding hole. However, between the coughing and the plummeting night temperatures, none of them seemed to have the desire to bolt.

  “So give. Where’s Tony?” said Jed under his breath as he walked beside Inez.

  “I can’t tell you,” she said under her breath back at him.

  “Ha! I figured you knew something. You know everything in this town.”

  “Well, here’s a tidbit that has nothing to do with Tony but might make good fodder for your social column. Miss Josephine Young is back in town.”

  He stopped in his tracks and looked at her across the space of the narrow boardwalk, his eyes wide under the shadow cast by the brim of his opera hat. “Miss Young, the actress?” There was caution in his tone.

  “The very one. Mr. Stannert and I were at the Tontine and she waltzed in demanding…well, ‘satisfaction’ of a sort from Mr. Stannert.”

  The two of them resumed walking to catch up with the stragglers.

  “How’d he take it?”

  “I did not stay to find out,” she said coolly.

  Jed shook his head. “What’s that saying about sowing and reaping?” He winced. “Sorry, Mrs. Stannert. I didn’t mean to be crude.”

  “I’ve heard worse.”

  “I’ll need to be more circumspect if I add it to my society page.”

  “If you are looking for an urbane equivalent, you could go with Voltaire. Chacun doit cultiver son jardin. Each person must cultivate his own garden.”

  He grunted. “I like that. Might use it. Goes right back to sowing and reaping. So, I guess you aren’t the heartbroken wife in this scenario?”

  “If you write it up in the papers I most surely am.”

  They delivered the exhausted newsies to the mission and left them in the motherly care of the night guardian for the women and children’s section.

  Jed waited until they were walking back up State before asking, “So if I go to the Tontine for a nightcap I’m bound to get an earful? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  She tilted her head side to side. “Most likely. I would imagine you’d like some independent corroboration if you are going to mention this little episo
de. Flesh it out with details from the witnesses.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “No.”

  She sensed him scrutinizing her, but kept her gaze straight ahead.

  “You know,” he started, “as a newspaperman, I’ve always got an eye on the upcoming calendar for the courts.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “I saw your suit for divorce is scheduled for this coming Monday.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “The timing of Miss Young’s return is kinda fortuitous.”

  “It does look that way.”

  A long pause. Until…“The Independent is a progressive paper,” said Jed thoughtfully. “A strong supporter of women’s property rights in marriage and divorce and all.”

  Inez raised her eyebrows. “Since when?”

  “Since, oh, lessee, when did I get a gander of the court calendar, about nine o’clock this morning.”

  She half-smiled. “As a shocked and shaken wife, I do believe I shall have to retire early tonight. Such a mental trauma at the Tontine. I shall have to partake of a hot toddy or two before I can sleep, I’m certain. But don’t print that last part.”

  She turned to Elliston. “About Tony,” she said more seriously. “There’s no time tonight to explain everything, but Tony must take care and stay out of sight until the air clears. Somehow, his pistol ended up being used to shoot Lord Percy. You know about that row between Tony and Percy at the saloon last Friday. All in all, it does not look good. Tony didn’t have the pistol at the time of Percy’s death, so someone else used it on the poor fellow and left it there. If I were the skeptical type, I’d say they did it deliberately to cast suspicions upon your little newsie.”

  Elliston whistled softly. “I heard about a nob who died in Stillborn Alley. So that was Lord Percy? The fellow who lost big at your game on Saturday?”

  “It was.”

  “Why hasn’t there been more out and about all this? You’d think the law would be up in arms. ‘British citizens not safe in the streets, we must find the perpetrators of this heinous crime and make an example of them,’ and so on. Come to think about it, I haven’t seen a peep about it in the papers either.”

  “I gather the family doesn’t want a fuss. They just want him brought back as soon as possible.” She sighed. “But it does put Tony in a tenuous position. So, while you’re out at the Tontine and theater tonight, or wherever you intend to go, keep your ears open not only for your society column but for anything that could help Tony’s case.”

  ***

  Perhaps it was the hot toddies imbibed before retiring, her talk with Jed, or having Thursday “done and gone,” but Inez slept well for the first time since returning to Leadville. After her morning ablutions, she dressed conservatively, popped downstairs to gather toast and coffee, and promptly carried them back upstairs, pursued by Bridgette’s solicitous queries as to her state of mind after the events at the Tontine. Salacious news travels fast, thought Inez as she escaped with her slightly burnt toast and very strong coffee. Bridgette had tried to be circumspect, but finally just put the toast fork down on the iron range with a loud clang, exclaiming “I never thought that the mister…that is, I never thought he would be the kind…She must have used her worldly wiles on him, ma’am, otherwise he’d never…”

  Inez did not envy Josephine’s future relationship with the saloon’s cook. Well, who knows? She will soon have a child and Bridgette could never turn her heart away from a baby. They might eventually come to terms. At the thought of Mark and Josephine’s unborn child, Inez braced her arms on the blotter of the rolltop desk, shut her eyes, and allowed pent-up pain to rip through her. Thoughts of her and Mark’s son, William, crowded in and threatened to tear her apart further. Josephine’s condition was a development Inez had not foreseen. She had to remind herself, sternly, that it all worked to her advantage. In his own way, Mark was honorable. He would not abandon Josephine in her condition. Thus, circumstances had aligned with the end results Inez was driving toward: she wanted a divorce and a stable, secure future for her small son. Josephine wanted a marriage and a father for her child. As for Mark, it hardly mattered what he wanted at this point.

  She sat at the desk and stared out the picture window. The view embraced State Street and the high peaks, bright with morning sun, dressed in virginal white of the recent snows. I’ll miss the mountains. I’ll miss the town. But, there is more to the world than this. And I can always return. Someday.

  She opened the safe, pulled a bottle of bourbon that was buried in the back, and added a dollop to the coffee. With a sigh, she pulled out the stack of receipts that the drummer Woods had left with her a single week ago. Only a week? His words floated back to her, as plain as if he was in the room: “I note the buyer’s last name and the merchandise bought. That way, when I return, I can inquire of Mr. Smith if Mrs. Smith liked the black silk stockings previously purchased. It also helps me determine what stock to bring for the next trip.”

  No more trips for him.

  Inez paged quickly as she ate her singed, well-buttered toast and drank her fortified coffee. She recognized names here and there, some scribbled in a sort of shorthand. The types of merchandise were also recorded in abbreviated form. Still, it wasn’t a complicated system. She deduced that ss must be silk stockings, cs cotton stockings, ws wool stockings. Corsets were cors. Laces had to be ls. Other letters eluded her until she found a receipt he’d created for the laces he’d given her gratis. The form read: Mrs. Stnrt—s/g ls. The s/g must be silver/gold, while bl was black, br was brown, r was red, wh white, and so on. Corsets had complicated notations, probably to do with sizing, colors, construction and so on, but she ignored that.

  She was only interested in the laces.

  The grandfather clock ticked loudly in the corner of the office breaking her concentration. She looked up.

  It was time.

  Inez returned the receipts to the safe, gathered the papers she planned to show her lawyer, chose a reticule large enough to hold them, then checked and pocketed her little pistol, preparing to “walk the gauntlet” through the saloon.

  It all proved a little anticlimactic, however. Downstairs, Mark was already behind the bar, arms crossed, talking in a low voice to Abe. Abe faced him, mirroring his crossed-arm stance. They could have been matching pieces in a chess game, facing each other across the board: one dark, the other light. Mark swiveled toward her, his expression tense and drawn. Inez detected circles under his eyes and surmised that Josephine must have given him holy hell in public and private the previous night.

  Mark said nothing to her, so she responded in kind.

  Instead, she addressed Abe. “I’ll be back later to help tend bar so Mr. Stannert can prepare for his game tonight.”

  She swept out, her cloak held tight against the cold.

  First stop: her lawyer.

  He was expecting her and had the door open almost before she knocked. In his office, she pulled out the papers, spread them before him, and explained her intentions. He listened carefully, without interrupting, then examined the papers closely, which took some time. He finally said, “Medical testaments from New York physicians, another from the Colorado Springs physician, and you say you will have another statement from Doctor Cramer as well? Although, it may be better if we can have Doc attend the session in person and give his testimony and opinion before the judge himself.”

  “Whatever you think best, Mr. Casey.”

  He straightened the stack, bringing the slapdash pile into order. “And letters from your brother-in-law, and your father, that is, your son’s grandfather. Quite compelling, given how the world works. I didn’t realize you were the daughter of Thomas Underwood, of Underwood Iron and Steel in New York. That name carries weight, even out here in the West.”

  Inez smiled tightly. “It is not a relationship I’ve cared to exploit, and would not have
done so now, but since it could be an element in convincing the judge that legal guardianship of our son would be best bestowed upon my sister and her husband…”

  “Just so. All in all, it is a persuasive argument for legal guardianship. However—and this is key, for the state takes the rights of the parents, particularly the father, very seriously—will Mr. Stannert agree to this arrangement?”

  “He will.”

  They discussed a few more details.

  Finally Casey set his pencil down. “Good. You have done all you can, Mrs. Stannert, and although this will not be an easy hearing, if things proceed as expected, we can expect the judge to render as fair and just a verdict as the law allows.”

  Casey made as if to put the papers in his desk, but she stopped him. “I will need these still. May I bring them to you tomorrow?”

  “As long as I have them in hand before Monday,” said Casey, returning the papers to her.

  After that meeting, tracking down the deputy marshal who was “investigating” Lord Percy’s murder was easy. Inez checked his favorite watering hole, but upon learning he was not at Steve’s Health Office back of Harrison, she made her way to the marshal’s office, where she found him idly working a toothpick on his large, wide-spaced teeth. When she entered the office, he stood quickly, pocketing the toothpick in his waistcoat watch pocket.

  “Mr. Percy Brown was a good friend of the family,” she explained. “We knew him in the Springs and are quite distraught about his tragic demise.”

  “Well, you and his friends seem the only ones who give two hoots about the circumstances,” he said, offering her a chair and settling in himself.

  “I am quite baffled and hope you might clarify,” she said. “You indicated he was shot and strangled?”

  “Yep. Real odd, that.” He fished his toothpick out in an absentminded manner, then most likely realizing that wielding it in the presence of a lady was impolite if not downright rude, he tucked it away again. “That gun is one fancy piece. Mr. Epperley said a newsie was carryin’ around that firearm. Awfully fancy for an urchin.”