What Gold Buys

by Ann Parker

  They walked back to where the piebald horse was. At least he was waiting for them and hadn’t spooked at the noise and taken off. Inez insisted that Tony climb on up. Her knee and foot were feeling better, or perhaps they were just frozen into senselessness. She held onto the bridle with one bare hand and walked back to town alongside Françoise. Both women pulled their cloaks tight around their heads and faces, while Tony wrapped her mother’s ephemeral sash around her neck and head and seemed to gather comfort and warmth from the layers.

  Françoise said, “I believed. When my little Sasha died so horribly and slowly, I believed she went to a better world, and that I could reach her, talk to her. I could not touch her, but she would be waiting for me. That was my comfort. But my husband, he never had my faith in a world beyond, as is said in spiritisme. He agreed with Dr. Gregorvich, who said my delusions were all in my mind, mere delusions. I kept looking for proof they would accept of the world beyond. Drina, she had the sight. When I paid her to see, my husband, he became angry. Then, Drina was gone. He said, she must have left, town, disappeared, like the charlatans do. But I found her clothes, in the box where my husband puts the clothes of the dead. He did not tell me. He lied. And I knew.” She lifted her face to Tony, muffled up on the horse. “Then, when I saw you, child, I knew it was a sign. Drina wanted me to know the truth. To reach her. I told Dr. Gregorvich, told him I had proof, a conduit that could reach her, in the beyond. But now, I am left no hope, no faith, nothing.”

  Inez reached out and touched her arm. “That is when faith is most needed, when nothing else is left.” They were poor words of comfort, but the best she could come up with while thoroughly chilled and exhausted.

  After a space, Françoise said, “We will go to my home. We will talk to my husband. He will be home by now, and no doubt wild with concern.”

  Sure enough, on arriving back at the undertaker’s residence, lights were blazing from the second-story windows and, as the three of them went in through the door, Inez detected a buzz of masculine voices, with Mr. Alexander’s frantic words rising above them. “Look at this place! It was like this when I came home! She is nowhere, there is evidence that she held a séance. I have forbidden her to do so, these sessions unbalance her mind, which is in the most delicate of states. I fear she is in mortal danger, perhaps gone mad at last or…and my firearm. It’s gone! I keep it loaded, just in case. We must find my wife’s physician, Dr. Gregorvich. He will know what to do!”

  “I am here, Burton,” she called up the stairs, sounding far more sane than her husband.

  Several men appeared up on the landing, looking down, including the deputy marshal and several policemen. Mrs. Alexander started up the stairs. Tony, who was behind her on the narrow entryway, took a step back and bumped into Inez.

  Inez gripped Tony’s hand. “Courage,” she whispered. They began climbing the stairs together.

  Mr. Alexander hastened down to his wife. “Françoise! Where have you been? What happened? I’ve been mad with worry.”

  “Burton, you will tell them everything.” She lifted the empty revolver, still cocked, and pointed it at him. He stumbled backwards up the stairs, hands raised up. She continued, “Everything about Drina and what you have done to her and to that poor Englishman downstairs. Everything.”

  Inez slid her hand into her cloak pocket, groping with frozen fingers.

  “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputtered. His eyes behind his spectacles looked terrified.

  Françoise’s finger tightened on the trigger. He screamed and covered his face with his arms. The hammer fell with a harmless click. “Tell them,” she said.

  Mr. Alexander looked up, face slick with sweat, confused. His gaze slid past his wife to Inez. Inez pulled her hand out of her pocket. The long silver and gold corset cords, twins to the ones he had bought for his wife and given to Dr. Gregorvich instead, twisted in her grip. “I think you’d better tell them,” Inez said to the undertaker. “As your wife said, you’d better tell the law everything.”

  He sank to the riser, covered his face with his hands, and began to rock.

  ***

  And tell them everything he did. Apparently thinking Dr. Gregorvich was still among the living—and neither Inez, Françoise, nor Tony disabused him of the notion—the undertaker threw his colleague to the police, intent on saving his own skin.

  What he told them compelled Inez to hustle Tony upstairs to the second floor and seat her in a chair. “This is not for you to hear,” she said, and gathered a cloth, soaked it in a pitcher of water, which had somehow remained unbroken on a sideboard all through the séance frenzy, and attempted to remove Dr. Gregorvich’s gore and blood that had splattered her with Inez’s shot. “Y-y-you got him like Annie Oakley.” It was the first words Tony had said since the cemetery. “Sh-shot him in the eye.”

  “I was lucky,” said Inez. “Not likely I’ll pull that off again in this lifetime.” She dabbed some more, then found a thick shawl on the floor by an overturned chair and wrapped it around Tony. Tony still clutched her maman’s sash as if it were a lifeline. Inez then returned to the doorway. Françoise was coming up, accompanied by one of the policemen. “They are all going downstairs by the back way, to the workroom,” she said. “Burton will show them.”

  “I must see as well,” said Inez.

  The deputy marshal, who was carrying a coal oil lamp, glanced at Inez, but didn’t voice any resistance. She followed the deputy marshal and the two policemen who held the undertaker between them in a firm grip down the back staircase, then down another set of stairs into the underlevel. Burton pointed with a shaking hand at a door in the wall. “That leads to Dr. Gregorvich’s work area. We both have keys. But, you must be careful. Perhaps he is in there, working. If we surprise him, he may become dangerous. He is a strong man and will not go without a fight.”

  Inez thought that Dr. Gregorvich was in no position to fight anything, unless it might be whatever demons existed in whatever afterlife there might be.

  By common consent, the police and the deputy stood back in the shadows and allowed Alexander to unlock the door with a key from his waistcoat. He said tentatively, “Gregorvich? Are you there?” and pushed open the door into heavy silence and complete darkness.

  The police and the marshal crowded in after Alexander, their sidearms drawn. Inez followed them in, just in time to hear one of the policemen say, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What is this?” followed by retching sounds from one of his companions. The smell of a charnel house clashed with harsh chemical fumes, and Inez clapped a hand over her nose and mouth. The lantern light danced around the room as the deputy marshal pivoted.

  “Awgh,” grunted the deputy marshal. “We’d better not let the papers get ahold of this. Especially that Elliston fella. He’s been a bother about all the bodysnatchin’ and dissectin’ rumors.”

  The third policeman, who apparently had a stronger stomach than the rest, lit the gas lamps on the nearby wall, muttering as he did so, “Jesus on a cross. God have mercy on his soul.”

  What the light revealed Inez wished heartily she could soon forget: Percy. Poor Percy. Identifiable by his face, but with the top of his head and his eyes removed, his ribcage cranked open and parts of the body that were never meant to see the light of daily clearly exposed, all as neatly and cleanly as if he were a fish being prepared for plating.

  Inez turned her head aside, but that, in a way, was even worse. Facing her now was a long shelf of neatly labeled glass jars, with what only could be the brains, eyes, and organs of those poor or unfortunate enough to have passed, unnoticed, from the undertaker’s to the anatomist’s domain. One jar was given the place of honor on a table by itself, further protected by a polished brass and glass case. It held yet another organ of thought, belief, and emotion, floating in the preserving liquid. Floating with it, and still attached by fibrous gray strands, was a pair of eyes—staring
unseeing into the room— one brown, the other blue.

  ***

  Inez hastily exited the underground horror chamber and beckoned the deputy out, who seemed only too willing to comply. In an undertone, she summarized what happened at the cemetery, leaving out nothing, including Dr. Gregorvich’s intent to harm Tony, and Inez’s own part in his death with Mrs. Alexander’s finishing touches. The deputy responded gruffly, “Serves the old bastard right. Got his just deserts, that one.”

  “So, what do you think will happen to the three of us?” she asked cautiously.

  The deputy glanced into the physician’s workroom then back at Inez. “Who all was there? You, the girl, and the Missus Alexander, you say? No one else?”

  Inez nodded.

  “Well, hell. Let ’im rot. I’m going to just forget we ever had this conversation. See if you can’t get the missus and the girl to keep their mouths shut, eh? Lots of cut-throats and footpads roaming around. I’m thinkin’ the doctor was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  With that, he turned to one of the policemen, “Well, you’d better fetch the friends of this here toff and get them to identify him. The family wants him home, but I’m beginning to wonder if it might not be better to just lay him to rest here instead.”

  While the law was off rounding up the other “toffs,” Mr. Alexander confessed that the body lying within the ornate metal case, waiting for transport to England, was not Percy—obviously, thought Inez, sourly—but none other than the drummer, Woods. Inez insisted on looking through the little glass window. She had to admit that, with his russet-colored hair and eyebrows blacked, mutton-chops trimmed, and a little moustache obtained from somewhere or other, the drummer might pass muster as Percy. Provided one didn’t look too closely or hadn’t seen Percy recently. Given the nature of things, that seemed a likely scenario.

  “It’s sealed,” said Alexander miserably. “So, if they don’t open it, well…”

  The marshal sent Alexander upstairs under the watchful care of the remaining two officers. Moments later, still dressed in eveningwear, the Lads from London came tumbling into the undercellar, grumbling and complaining. The deputy marshal explained that he wanted identification of the remains, warned them of the graphic nature, and let them into the physician’s workroom. Sharp exclamations erupted of an unsavory nature and they were back out, lickety-split. “A physician did that?” gasped Quick, hands on his knees, bent over and trying to catch his breath. “That’s just bloody barbaric!”

  “Yep, no argument there,” said the deputy. “Now, I know his family is expectin’ to receive his body and give him a proper burial. They aren’t fussing about the who done it or why done it, they just want the matter buried, I guess you’d say. With that in mind…” He took them over to the metal casket. The four peered in the little window at the entombed deceased.

  Epperley retreated. “Who is that?”

  “A drummer fella what died recent in Stillborn Alley,” said the deputy.

  Tipton adjusted his monocle. “Well, the hair’s right, his eyes are closed. It’s been a long time since the family have seen dear old Percy. Too, being out West can change a man.”

  Inez decided that she had enough secrets that she had to carry and didn’t need to hear how this particular situation would play out. Upstairs, she found Tony fast asleep in the little parlor across the hall from the séance room, blankets piled atop her, the gold sash gripped to her chin.

  “Mr. Alexander is gone,” said Françoise. “He will not be back.” She glanced at the sleeping child curled up on the loveseat. “May she stay here? I will be sure no harm comes to her.” She looked at Inez, hopeful. “You will stay too? We have an extra room for widows who come from out of town and prefer a private place or cannot get rooms in the hotels.”

  Inez wavered, thinking of her rooms in the Silver Queen. The cold sleeping chamber, dark and no fire.

  “I have the fire started,” Françoise continued. “And an extra dressing gown.”

  Inez was tempted.

  “And, I think it is good for Antonia if you are here when she wakes. She trusts you, and it will comfort her to know you did not abandon her.”

  Inez capitulated. It sounded like a reasonable solution, given that dawn was but a few hours away.

  It had been a long night.

  She was tired.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Inez slept like, if not like the dead, then the unconscious. Sometime after sunrise, she heard the door to her room creak open and Françoise whisper, “See? She is here. Let’s let her sleep.” The door creaked shut.

  When Inez awoke, she splashed cold water on her face to clear her mind and joined Françoise and Tony in the sunlit sitting room. Over a late breakfast, she summarized her conversation with the deputy about the fitting end of Dr. Gregorvich, finishing with, “So, we must all agree. Shall we stay silent?” None offered to do otherwise.

  Inez warned Françoise newsmen would be knocking at the door once the news got out of her husband’s arrest. “I will not answer,” was her reply. She asked, tentatively, “I wondered, might you both come back tonight? It would be good to have company. I have no one else.” She slid two keys across the table to them. “For the back door.”

  Inez looked at Tony, who looked back and nodded. “Very well. Thank you for your many kindnesses,” said Inez. She gathered herself to go. Tony said, “Can I go to Miss Carothers’? She’s expecting me today. I don’t want her to worry.”

  So Inez walked Tony, dressed in her boy’s clothes, to Miss Carothers’ studio. Along the way, they heard a hello and saw Ace waving at them across Harrison. He dashed toward them, weaving expertly through the traffic, arriving hardly out of breath at all. “Hey! Tony Deuce! Long time, no see. Did you hear about the undertaker? The one you work for? He’s been arrested! Mr. Elliston is going batty. He can’t get anyone to talk about it.”

  Inez chewed her lip and then said slowly, “Ace, you might suggest to Mr. Elliston, strictly on the Q.T., that he nose around and enquire about Dr. Gregorvich. He might find something interesting up at the cemetery or down in the sublevel of the physician’s business.”

  Ace’s eyes went wide.

  “Tell him you got this information from a reliable but anonymous source,” she added.

  “You bet!” He dashed off, clutching his hat with one hand and his papers with the other.

  Tony looked at her, questioning.

  “I promised the deputy I would not speak to Mr. Elliston, but Ace has no such injunction. And I owe Mr. Elliston a debt of gratitude I can never repay.” Inez turned Tony to face her, adding, “You may hear upsetting things about what the doctor has done. Just remember, he is dead. That must bring justice to the matter, as we cannot pursue him over the River Styx.” At Susan’s front door, Inez said, “I will see you tonight at Mrs. Alexander’s. She is expecting us to come in the back entrance. You know where that is?”

  “I know all the ways in and out,” said Tony and disappeared inside.

  Back at the saloon, Inez checked at the bar. Abe and Mark tending, Sol was taking orders and running between the kitchen and tables with food and coffee and ferrying bar orders. Inez leaned on the counter and said, “Mr. Stannert?” He turned toward her. For just a second, something like hope flashed across his face before his expression settled into wariness.

  “If I could have a word with you?” she asked.

  He came over, wiping his hands on the barcloth, with a terse “Yes?”

  She glanced around the saloon. Way too many eyes were studiously looking anywhere but at them and she could almost see the ears straining to hear. “Someplace private.”

  He winced, and Inez guessed that was what Josephine was wont to say. Inez could almost hear her throaty intonation: “Mr. Stannert? A word? Someplace private?” And then, fireworks.

  “Where?” He tossed the rag un
der the counter.

  “In the office.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She went upstairs and pulled the papers she’d taken back from her lawyer from the safe. Jammed to one side, she saw the packet with the money the Lads had given her when they’d arrived in Leadville. They’ll want to be heading out of town soon, no doubt. Snugged between it and the inner wall of the safe was the thin envelope Percy had given her “on the sly” when the Lads had all disembarked from the train for their grand carouse about town.

  Mark paused in the entry, hand on the doorknob. “Open or closed?” No hint of flirtation, no “darlin’,” no twinkle in his eye. This was Mark as she’d seldom seen him: dead serious.

  “Closed, if you please. We have personal business to discuss.”

  He closed it and came over to the loveseat at right angles to the desk where she sat. She scooted the swivel chair on its brass rollers closer to the low parlor table facing the loveseat.

  Before she began he said, “I just want you to know, Inez, I won’t be there Monday. You and your lawyer, whatever you decide, that’s what it’ll be. But…” She saw definable pain wash across his face. “What about our son?”

  “That is exactly what we are going to discuss right now,” she said. She found she was speaking more gently to him than she had intended. Inez laid out the sheaf of notarized affadavits, all the information and assurances that she had gathered and her lawyer Casey had reviewed. “I’m proposing we make my sister and brother-in-law, Harmony and Jonathan DuChamps, William’s legal guardians.”

  Mark looked down at the papers, then selected one. “On proper Underwood Iron and Steel Incorporated letterhead,” he commented. “Clever gambit. The judge will no doubt be impressed. You even got your father’s signature here along with Jonathan’s,” He glanced at her. “You haven’t spoken to him since we married. Or did I miss something else while I was away?”

  “The signature was Jonathan’s doings, not mine,” she said. “You know Jonathan essentially runs the company now, he told us so when we visited them in the Springs. Papa is up in years, but apparently not willing to relinquish the reins. The point is, Papa and all of them, Underwoods and DuChamps alike, dote on William. If we do this, if you do this, because the father’s rights are paramount when it comes to children, William will remain in the only family he’s ever really known. He will be surrounded by people who love him, people who will do everything in their considerable power to keep our son healthy, happy, and secure in his future.”