THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy

by Susan Page Davis

  Beside Millie sat a man who had obviously never ridden a stagecoach before. Not only were his clothes too clean and nice for the rough traveling conditions, he had also made no effort to hide his prosperity—something discreet gentlemen like David Stone did not flaunt in public, knowing it would make him the target of pickpockets and outlaws.

  The newcomer wore a snowy-white shirt with a winged collar bearing points so crisp and sharp that Millie smiled and endeavored not to look at them. The collar was of the “patricide” fashion, so called because of a story in which a young man went home after a long absence and embraced his father. His collar points were so sharp that they cut his father’s throat. It was all Millie could do to hold back a chortle.

  The man’s black frock coat was perfectly respectable, but again a bit overdone for travel, with a velvet collar. His outfit was completed with a woolen vest and black trousers. His watch chain draped conspicuously across his middle, from pocket to button hole, and his pristine cuffs were held in place with monogrammed gold studs. He balanced a top hat on his lap. The odor of the pomade that kept his hair in formation was not unpleasant at the outset, but as time passed, Millie found it annoying in the closed space.

  Several of the men seemed inclined to converse. One, a Mr. Nelson, had journeyed a couple of stops westward to investigate the possibility of opening a dry goods store.

  “My stores in Independence and St. Joseph have been quite successful,” he said with a satisfied smile. “I envision expanding westward as the rail lines grow.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” said a man wearing rough trousers and an unmatched sack jacket.

  “And you sell ready-made clothing?” the dandy asked.

  “Yes sir, but we have a tailor employed at each store, to make alterations as needed. In Independence, we have enough business to keep a seamstress employed full time as well. She does dressmaking in addition to the alterations, and we have a large yard-goods section.”

  “It sounds like a store I should like to patronize,” said the woman who sat with her husband opposite Millie.

  The merchant turned and smiled at her. “Oh yes, ma’am. If you are in Independence any length of time, you must visit Nelson’s Dry Goods and Sundries.”

  The woman fluttered her eyelashes at her husband. “Well, Mr. Brackett, perhaps we shall have opportunity to do that.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Her husband seemed to feel no need to elaborate, but Mrs. Brackett beamed on the merchant. “We are visiting his family for a few weeks.”

  “By all means, then,” Mr. Nelson said, “I do hope you will stop by.” He glanced at Millie. “And you, ma’am. I’m sure you’d find our merchandise to your liking.”

  “Thank you,” Millie said. “I am going on to St. Louis, so I doubt I’ll have time.”

  “Oh, I am going to St. Louis as well,” said the dandy.

  Millie gave him a polite nod.

  He fingered the knot of his Windsor tie. “Perhaps we shall ride the train together.”

  She mimicked Mr. Brackett and said only, “Perhaps.” She hoped her tone and brevity would send the dandy a message that he could clearly read—that she didn’t wish to divulge her personal plans to him or the rest of the company.

  “My name is George Andrews,” the dandy said.

  Millie nodded. Several of the other passengers were watching her, and she knew she would be insufferably rude not to divulge her name.

  “Mrs. Evans.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Andrews said with just a hint of triumph in his tone.

  “Evans,” said Mrs. Brackett. “Are you related to the Cleveland Evanses?”

  Millie puzzled over that. “I don’t think so, ma’am. I’ve never been to Cleveland, and so far as I know, Mr. Evans had not either.”

  “Was that thunder?” one of the men on the middle seat asked.

  Millie perked up and listened. They were less than a day from Independence, and she didn’t want anything to slow them down now.

  Sure enough, an ominous rumbling sounded above the rattling of the wheels and drumming of hoofbeats.

  “I do hope we shan’t run into a bad storm,” Andrews said, leaning toward Millie to look out her window—or perhaps that was a pretext to lean closer. She pulled back and tried to flatten herself against the seat cushions. His well-oiled hair came within two inches of her nose.

  “Really, sir,” she gasped.

  “Oh. Pardon.” He resumed his former position, and Millie grabbed a deep breath.

  A flash of lightning illuminated the inside of the coach. Mrs. Brackett was clinging to her husband’s arm. The seven men’s faces glared stark white for an instant. All seemed to be frowning, except David. Millie caught only the merest glimpse of his expression, but he looked rather amused.

  A moment later, rain pummeled the stage, and someone on top gave a shout. Scuffling and thumping on the roof brought Millie a mental image of the hapless “outside” passengers pulling their coats over their heads and burrowing down amidst the luggage to make less-tempting targets for the lightning.

  “Has a stage ever been struck by a thunderbolt?” She wished she hadn’t spoken aloud, as Mrs. Brackett began to simper and fuss to her husband, and several of the male passengers began telling horrific tales of stagecoach disasters, whether involving lightning or not.

  Since leaving Oregon, Millie had driven through several storms, some of them severe, but this one seemed more determined than the others. Wind rocked the coach, and the horses began to snort and whinny, pulling unevenly with jerks and sudden starts.

  One of the men swore—in the darkness, Millie couldn’t tell who the offender was, except that it wasn’t David or the dandy. The horses settled into a pounding gallop, and the coach hurtled along. The driver’s even-toned calls to the team were interspersed with thumps on the roof and muffled shouts from the men riding there. How on earth did they stay on? Millie had heard a man saying he’d tied himself to the roof the night before, so he could sleep without fear of falling off. Perhaps they were all anchored to the top of the stage like hog-tied calves waiting for a branding iron. She shuddered and clung to the edge of her seat, bracing with her feet so she wouldn’t slide into Mr. Andrews.

  After two or three minutes, the horses slowed somewhat, and she unclenched her fists. The coach settled into a steady, swaying pace as the thunder abated.

  The next flash of lightning showed seven faces much relieved—and David Stone, apparently asleep, with his hat tilted downward so that the brim hid his eyes.

  “And so, you see, it’s time to hire someone else to go across the Atlantic,” Mereleigh said in a matter-of-fact tone as she poured out the tea. “I had thought at first that perhaps Conrad’s associates would send a man and we might persuade their fellow to take our part.”

  “Pay him off, you mean,” Peregrin said.

  Merrileigh glanced toward the doorway. “Please, dear, you never know when one of the servants will appear, or when Randolph will pop in.”

  “Of course. Forgive me.”

  She nodded and passed him his cup. “They do have an agent who conducts business on the continent for them, but they’re not inclined to send anyone to America. In fact, Iverson seemed to consider me a bit of a mother hen to think David couldn’t get himself home without assistance.”

  “So, what do you intend to do? Hire someone in America again?”

  “I don’t think there is time, even if we knew whom to contact.”

  “Whom did you contact before?”

  “Someone Colonel Waterston had met. I simply told him I needed a person who could do any sort of job and not be too scrupulous about it.”

  Peregrin blinked at her in surprise. “Didn’t the old boy want an explanation?”

  “Oh, I made one up. Something about Father having invested in the States and been bilked. I said I wanted someone who could put things right for me. The colonel never batted an eye.”

  “Really?”


  “Yes, but of course he is dead now, and I don’t want to leave any sort of a trail leading back to me—correspondence or bank drafts, any of that.”

  Peregrin nodded. “So, what will you do?”

  “I thought I’d send someone from England.”

  “Is there time?”

  “I think so. There’s a steamship leaving Liverpool on Monday for New York.”

  “So quickly?” Her brother sipped his tea, frowning. “Have you the funds to pay someone and buy his passage? And how will you hire him? Cast about Soho for a footpad or some such person? Really, Merry, it’s too dark. And too dangerous for a lady to get involved in.”

  “That is why I need your help.”

  “My help?” Peregrin laughed. “You want me to hire an”—he looked cautiously toward the doorway and whispered—“an assassin?”

  “Heavens, no. I just want you to help me get the money. Then we’ll worry about finding someone who can…who can keep David from returning to Stoneford. That’s all.”

  Peregrin was silent for a long moment. Did he not understand? Or maybe he understood every word and was too appalled to speak.

  If her brother decided to call a halt to her scheming, Merrileigh would be at his mercy. Any time she stepped astray, he might tell her husband and his cousin what she had attempted to do—and what she had already done. Her heart lay like a stone in her breast while she waited for a clue to Peregrin’s thinking.

  “I know you haven’t much money of your own, Merry.”

  “No, and I daren’t ask for any from Randolph. He’d demand to know why I needed such a sum.”

  Peregrin swallowed hard. “How much are we talking about?”

  She tried to give a casual shrug, but it turned out more of a nervous jerk. “The last attempt cost me several thousand.”

  “Really?” Peregrin’s eyes flared, and his mouth crinkled into a jagged line. “And here I’ve just cleared my debts and thought perhaps I could be of assistance.”

  “You’ve cleared your debts?” Merrileigh pounced on it with glee. “Oh Perry, I’ve always had faith in you.”

  He sat back, grinning. “I had a very good night on Saturday last. I kept winning and winning. It seemed like a dream. And the last round, I thought, ‘Am I an imbecile? What if I lose it all now?’ But I won again! And I pushed back my chair and left the game.”

  “I’m so proud of you!” She eyed him severely. “Now don’t you go thinking how much you might have won if you hadn’t quit.”

  He shook his head. “No. Instead I was thinking of you, Merry, and how much it would mean to you that I’d paid off my own gambling chits and caught up on my bills, instead of dunning you or old Randolph to tide me over.”

  “Oh, it does, truly.”

  Peregrin smiled. “There’s not much left over, but—”

  “How much is ‘not much’?”

  “Forty quid, but it’s got to last until my next allowance—”

  Merrileigh leaped up and paced to the window. Could they pull this off? It would cost her dearly—and more so if Randolph got wind of it. But the possible reward was so alluring. Lady Stoneford. A countess. Mistress of the estate. No more wrangling over expenses. She could have an allowance ten times what she got now, without causing Randolph a twinge of apprehension.

  She clenched her teeth. When she’d learned that her first attempt at stopping David had failed—after months of careful planning and thousands of pounds sunk into the endeavor—she’d felt she would never recover. But Randolph never learned how much she’d lost, nor where she’d spent the money.

  She’d borrowed from friends and taken an advance on her small yearly income. Though it had pierced her deeply, she’d sold a diamond necklace she’d inherited from her aunt and replaced it with paste. If Randolph had any idea! But he wasn’t all that observant, and she didn’t wear the necklace very often. When he’d insisted she wear it this spring to a gala event, she took out the replacement, which looked generally similar to the original, and he hadn’t noticed the difference.

  “If only we had a way to increase what little we have,” she murmured.

  “Yes. Believe me, Merry, if I had a bundle, I’d loan it to you. You’ve helped me so many times.” Peregrin set down his teacup and stood. “Well, I suppose I’ll toddle across the hall and say good day to Randolph before I go.”

  “Oh, must you leave so soon?” Merrileigh fluttered her fan. “I hoped you could stay to dinner.”

  “Afraid not.” He grinned at her. “My mates have been so good about springing me a loan when I needed it that I thought I should treat them tonight.”

  She frowned. “But darling, you’ll go through your forty pounds quickly if you start that sort of thing.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t be helped. I’ve touched both the fellows more than once, and it’s my turn to show a little generosity. And after we eat, there’s a pastiche at the Golden Door this evening—”

  “Pastiche!” Merrileigh nearly shrieked the word.

  Peregrin halted and eyed her cautiously. “Yes, that’s what I said. We’re going to the theater. Hedgely’s cried off to take Miss Linden to an assembly, but—”

  “It’s a horse.” Merrileigh hastened to his side. “Do you know of a horse called Pastiche?”

  “What? A horse? Hmm, well yes, now that you mention it. Old Cardigan’s got one.”

  “Lord Cardigan? Good heavens!”

  “No, not him. His uncle. Or are they cousins? Doesn’t matter. It’s Edmund I’m speaking of.”

  “Of course.” Merrileigh nodded. “I saw him at Conrad’s two days past—the day I spoke to Mr. Iverson.”

  “Oh?” Peregrin shrugged. “Bit of a stiff shirt, if you ask me.”

  “But he owns racehorses.”

  “Yes, he’s part owner in an Irish stud, I’m told. Brought over a couple of three-year-olds for the season. That Pastiche you mentioned is one of them.”

  Merrileigh touched her closed fan to her lips and smiled. “Yes. How fortuitous.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I think this is the opportunity we need.”

  “Opportunity for what?” he asked.

  “Why, to increase our funds.”

  “Our funds?”

  “Cardigan seemed certain his horse will win on Saturday.”

  “Well…doesn’t every owner think his horse will win?”

  “I suppose so,” she said doubtfully. “No, darling, I think this is a sign.”

  Her brother grimaced. “I’m not so sure, Merry. You know I can’t get down to nothing again so soon. It would be horribly bad form.”

  She turned to him eagerly, excitement building in her chest. “But you’ll win. I know you will.”

  He smiled indulgently. “I’ll give it a try.”

  “And if we win, you’ll go?”

  “Go where?” Peregrin’s eyes clouded. “You mean me go to America? Good heavens, Merry! I’m not sure I could…well, do anything permanent. I never knew David Stone before he went away, but his brother was a good chap.”

  “You can’t think about that.” Merrileigh seized his wrist. “Think of the good that will come to us if he never returns. If he met with an accident, I’d be in a position to favor you.”

  “With what? Invitations? I mean, a good time is nice, but really, Merry—”

  “I’d pay you two thousand after Randolph came into his title. I might not be able to get it right away, but I promise you, over time, I’ll give it to you.”

  Peregrin’s eyes narrowed, and he inhaled slowly. “I will consider it. And now I must pay my respects to Randolph.” He winked at her. “Or should I say, the future earl?”

  CHAPTER 13

  Wouldn’t you know it?” the dandy asked. “It’s the last river we have to ferry, and it’s flooded.”

  “That shouldn’t matter,” said one of the men who’d been riding on the roof of the stagecoach in the rain. “What’s a little more water?”

  “The current is un
predictable,” the station agent said. “We dasn’t take the horses over until things look calmer.”

  David sighed. Farther east, they would leave the horses behind and get a fresh team on the other side. They were still far enough into the frontier that the horses had to ford or ferry with them.

  But another day wouldn’t really matter to him. Besides, it would be good to sleep in a bed for a change, instead of propped up on the stage seat. Now that they were closer to civilization, they had a full quota of passengers on every leg of the journey, which meant they had no room to stretch out to sleep as they rode.

  He made a trip out back to wash. When he came inside, the odors of stew and cinnamon struck him and set his mouth watering. Millie was off to one side with the station agent, speaking to him earnestly. At least a dozen people sat around two tables in the dining room, and he realized another coach had also halted here. The station agent’s wife was plying them with chicken stew, cornbread, and pie.

  David decided he’d better speak for a bed quickly, given the number of passengers needing accommodations. He stepped up behind Millie, hoping to be next in line.

  She cast him a glance over her shoulder and immediately her anxious wrinkles smoothed out. “Oh Mr. Stone. I’m told there is only one room left, and—”

  “Your wife says two dollars is too much, but I could put six men in there for fifty cents apiece,” Mr. McLeary, the station agent, said, as though daring David to refute his logic.

  “Well, first of all, we aren’t married.”

  “Oh. Sorry. My mistake. Well, I certainly can’t give a whole room over to one woman.”

  David looked around the room. He spotted only one other woman among the passengers, sitting at the far end of the room, deep in conversation with the man seated next to her.

  “And what is that woman doing?”

  “Why, she and her husband hired a room before your stage even got here. Their two sons are with them, so they took a full room for the family.”