Treading the path, strewn with late autumn flowers.
The maiden pass before
To enter at the door,
And beaming bright,
With wreath of orange flower and robe of white;
While by her side
He walks who soon shall claim her for his bride,
His own, whate’er of weal or woe betide.’
Baby Doe clapped her hands, and hugged Henry’s arm. ‘Isn’t she marvellous!’ she cried. ‘She always makes me cry, with her poetry! Oh, Agnes, thank you!’
Henry smiled, and bowed to Agnes courteously. ‘My compliments,’ he told her. ‘That was very sentimental.’
Agnes said, ‘I do try to suit my verses to the occasion.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Henry, unsure if Agnes might not be making a prickly little point about him being married already. He took out his watch. ‘It’s six minutes to twelve now; let’s meet here at half after.’
‘I’d be honoured,’ replied Agnes.
Henry helped Baby Doe to carry her parcels up to her room; and to spread them all out on the bed. She had bought a pair of indigo-coloured shoes, soft and small, with tiny heels; a winter hat of rusty-coloured velvet, with a bow, and a spray of moonstones; three pairs of embroidered linen bloomers, so fine that when she held them up, Henry could see her hand through them; and countless bottles and jars of face-cream and hand-softener and salve—Myrka’s Powder, perfumed scalp food, hair-curling fluid, and violet essence. Henry sat on the end of the bed and picked all the cosmetics up one by one in fascination, and read the labels.
‘Gives that velvet softness to the skin so much admired by all,’ he said, and then put the jar down again, shaking his head. Augusta had never used any preparations like these: her vainest indulgence had been a jar of rice-powder which she had bought four years ago and which was still only half-empty. Henry found them all mysterious and alluring, almost erotic, because they were so feminine.
Baby Doe hung up her coat and came into the bedroom wearing a simple black velvet dress with panels of black silk, and a ribboned bustle.
‘You’re not in mourning?’ he asked her, with a smile.
She stood beside him, and stroked his cheek, and ran her fingers into his hair, tangling it. ‘I missed you,’ she whispered. ‘That was almost like mourning.’
‘I missed you, too.’
She reached down and kissed the top of his head. ‘How was Leadville?’
‘Leaden.’
She laughed. ‘How was your wife?’
He made a face.
‘Did you tell her anything? About us, I mean?’ Her fingers stopped stroking while she waited for an answer.
Henry took a breath, and nodded. ‘A little. I didn’t tell her your name. I simply said that—I simply said that I’d met somebody else.’
‘And she was upset, of course?’ Baby Doe’s voice sounded brittle.
‘Upset isn’t the word. But—you know—she has this extraordinary ability to pretend that everything is quite all right that it doesn’t matter. She asked me—well, she asked me if we’d been intimate. I’m sorry—but I suppose that’s the first question that anybody asks—and when I said yes, that we had—she said, ‘Oh, I forgive you,’ just like that, as though it didn’t matter at all.’
Baby Doe said, ‘Can’t you see? That’s Augusta’s way of making you admit that it’s unimportant.’
‘I told her I didn’t want her forgiveness.’
‘I’m pleased,’ said Baby Doe, hugging him close. ‘If you had have done, my sweetheart, that would have meant that our lovemaking didn’t mean anything to you; that you considered it wrong, something for which you had to make amends.’
Henry raised his head, and kissed her, long and deep. Then, as silently as before, he stood up, and kissed her again, holding her face in his hands. Their kisses, when their lips parted, clicked as softly as leaves falling on to the meniscus of a winter pool. His hand smoothed down the narrow curve of her back; his left hand cupped her breast.
‘Make love to me,’ she said.
‘But we have to meet Agnes in ten minutes. Don’t you want to change?’
She pressed a finger against his lips. ‘Ssh. Agnes will understand. Agnes will probably write a poem about it.’
She lifted her black velvet skirts and her black broderie anglaise petticoats, and gathered them up in her arms, baring her bottom to him, as white as Italian marble, and her black silk hose. Her bustle-pad perched on top of her bottom, but when he tried to untie it, she kissed him, and said, ‘It doesn’t matter, don’t let’s wait.’
He laid her back on the bed, amongst the wrapping-paper and the ribbons and the linen underwear and the shoes, and in three or four quick movements he had tugged off his coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and pulled down his pants. As he mounted her, she grasped him in her hand, and gripped him so tight that the head of his penis looked black with swollen blood. Then she guided him in between her thighs, without any preliminaries at all, except those of having thought about him every waking hour since he had left her and of having dreamed about him every hour when she was asleep. She was so hot and slippery that he was able to push himself into her right up as far as he could go, and she clutched at his shoulders through his shirt and cried out like a bird.
They thrust and thrust at each other, both of them unashamedly panting and grunting, while all of Baby Doe’s shopping seemed to gravitate towards them, cosmetic jars clacking together, paper rustling, shoes and hats and underwear entangling themselves around them. Henry didn’t know if minutes passed, or days, or even weeks. But suddenly Baby Doe began to moan softly under her breath, over and over again, almost as if she were grieving; and then her thighs and her stomach shook and shook, and she bent her head forward and said something that sounded as if it could have been a curse.
After a long pause, Henry withdrew from her, and stood up.
‘You look so elegant,’ smiled Baby Doe, ‘with your pants around your knees. The great millionaire!’
Henry grinned, and blew her a kiss; which she pretended to catch in her hand and press between her legs. The gesture was both sweet and scandalous, and that was what he loved about Baby Doe.
‘We’d better get ready,’ he said. ‘Agnes will be wondering what we’re up to.’
‘She can only guess right,’ replied Baby Doe. She stood up, and brushed her skirts straight, and then said, ‘I won’t be long. All I need to do is powder my face.’
Henry glanced down towards her skirts. ‘You’re not going to—?’
‘Wash?’ She shook her head. ‘I love the smell of you, my sweetheart; and I’m not going to wash that away. Besides, I might be washing away your son and heir. Or even your daughter.’
He was so accustomed to Augusta, who rarely wanted to make love and who could never have children, that it hadn’t occurred to Henry that he could quite easily make Baby Doe pregnant. He tugged at his collar uncomfortably, and said, ‘But if you had our child—?’
‘If I did, my adorable Henry, I would love it, whatever it was, boy or girl, and I would bring it up to be happy and wise, and never to marry the wrong person. You’re not worried, are you? You shouldn’t be worried. I would never burden you, Henry; not ever. Not with guilt, not with responsibility, not with anything. All that I would ask from you would be just enough money to keep the child properly dressed, and fed, and sent to school.’
Henry said, ‘You’re talking as if we’re going to break up.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘I don’t know. You can’t predict the future, can you?’
He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, and hugged her. ‘Baby Doe, I want to be with you for ever.’
‘For ever is for ever, my sweetheart. And there’s your wife to think of.’
He let go of her, and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, there’s my wife to think of.’
‘You don’t want to hurt her, do you?’
‘I think I
’ve hurt her enough.’
‘So you don’t want to walk out on her straight away? Not after twenty years of marriage?’
Henry turned and looked at her. She was challenging him, rather than sympathizing with him. She was saying: if you want me, and especially if you want me for ever, then you’ve got to leave her. He slowly buttoned up his waistcoat again and reached for his coat. He said, ‘It isn’t going to be easy, you know. She’s a very dependent sort of a person. Very weak. I just have to mention the idea of leaving her, and she collapses.’
Baby Doe said nothing, but stood against the light of the window with her face in shadow, and waited for him to say what he was going to do. You’re the man, my sweetheart, you decide. It’s your life, your wife. You decide.
‘I—ah—have to make her comfortable, that’s all.’
There was a long pause. Then Baby Doe said, ‘Yes?’
‘Well, you can see what my problem is. She’s living and working in a general store; and I think at the very least I should finish the house, before I actually walk out on her. Give her somewhere decent to live. It’s been twenty years, nearly. You can’t just—’ he made a quick, stunted gesture with his hand, ‘—throw it away—leave her with nothing.’
‘I see.’
‘I don’t think you do. I don’t think you realize how completely dependent Augusta is on me. She depends on me for everything; her whole living and breathing. You can’t just turn around and walk out on somebody like that; you have to pull them off you, one sucker at a time, like ivy. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how dearly I love you. But, Baby Doe, it’s going to take time.’
She turned her profile to him. He would have done anything then for a detective camera, to be able to catch the entrancing curve of her forehead, her slightly-open lips. Why is life so crowded with beauty and punishment? Why do we have to live out these terrible destinies? He could have wept for the woeful frustration of it.
‘How long?’ asked Baby Doe.
‘Four months, not very much longer. Can you wait four months? I can get to Denver once every week to see you. And you’ve got the play, too. That’s plenty to keep you busy.’
‘And who shall I talk to, if I wake up crying in the very small hours of the night?’
Henry said, ‘Don’t punish me, my darling. I’m trying to do the very best that I can.’
‘But you’re going to go back to your wife, at least until you’ve built her a house?’
‘Darling, I can’t—I’m not able to—’
Baby Doe stared at him, vexed. ‘You can, Henry! You can! You’re a millionaire!’
‘Only on paper.’
‘Oh, don’t make excuses; you’re a rich and powerful man. You can do anything you want.’
‘I’ve been thinking of getting into politics, too,’ said Henry.’ I was talking to Nat Starkey about running for mayor.’
‘I don’t understand. What difference can that make to us?’
‘It means that I can’t afford to have any scandal in my background, that’s all. I have to be discreet. Not offend people. That’s what politics is all about.’
Baby Doe raised her arms wide, in an unknowing imitation of the way in which August Rische had been crucified on the wires in the Little Pittsburgh mine. She said, in a chokey voice, ‘I know what you’re asking of me, my sweetheart; you’re asking for time to make up your mind. You don’t have to make excuses.’
‘They’re not excuses, Baby Doe; they’re reasons.’
She lowered her arms again. ‘Well, perhaps they are. But I love you, and I can’t wait for ever, knowing that you belong to somebody else.’
‘Believe me—’ he began, but then he tugged his hand through his hair and looked away from her, and said, ‘Just believe me, please.’
Fifteen
The snow came early to Leadville that year; and since Leadville was and remains at 10,188 feet above mean sea-level the highest incorporated city in the United States of America, that meant earlier and deeper than any other place nearby, including Denver.
Josiah Dunkley had selected a site for Henry’s mansion, between East 10th Street and East 9th Street, on the northern slope of Capitol Hill; and most of the provisional plans and elevations had been completed: entire cloth-bound books of drawings of staircases and balconies, towers and porticoes, all in colour, and all in exquisite detail. The snow, however, had closed the Fremont Pass five times; and with no railroad link to the outside world, all practical work on the mansion had to be postponed until the early spring. Three railroad companies, the Denver & Rio Grande, the Santa Fe, and the Denver & South Park, were battling each other ferociously for the right to serve Leadville’s transportation needs, but so far no decision had been reached, and no railroad ran.
For all of its wealth, for all that it was built on huge beds of silver carbonate, as well as rich deposits of zinc, copper, iron, bismuth, and manganese; for all of its smelters and foundries and silver-mines, and the millionaires who owned them, Leadville was still isolated and wild, and its snowy streets still crackled from time to time with the sound of gunfire.
Henry struggled through to Denver seven times during the deepest winter months to visit Baby Doe. She and Agnes were sharing the neat grey-painted house on Larimer Street that Henry had bought for them; and they were comfortable enough; although Baby Doe was growing tired of spending days on her own, and many of Henry’s visits would end in silence, with them sitting apart, and the snow outside the window falling on to Denver and its scores and scores of telegraph poles until the city looked like a snowed-in fleet of whalers, with frozen masts and rigging. Henry no longer gave excuses why he hadn’t yet left Augusta; Baby Doe no longer asked him for any.
There was a sadness and a sweetness about those months which would remain with Henry for the rest of his life. Their affair grew more mature: they no longer shed tears for each other. He touched her, and she no longer shivered. But they were far more profoundly in love. They waited for the spring with a strange pensive calmness, as if they were afraid to admit their superstitious fear that the winter might never end.
In late November, David Moffat sold the Little Pittsburgh mine to a consortium of three Eastern mining companies for one million dollars, in cash. Henry went up to see the mine one last time, and to shake hands with all of the men, but the snow was so thick that all he could make out was the chimney-stacks, and some dark depressions in the snow. Inside the winding-shed, R.P. Grover was stalking impatiently up and down while the steam-engine was being repaired; the same old faulty valves about which he had complained to Henry so often.
‘Well, then, Mr Roberts,’ said R.P. Grover, over the noise.
Henry pulled off his gloves. ‘I just came up to say goodbye.’
‘You were probably right to sell, sir. There always comes a time when a man has to move on; and forget about his beginnings. Nobody should dwell on their beginnings, if you ask me.
Henry looked around. The winding-shed was filled with fragmented clouds of steam. ‘Do you think there are any ghosts here?’ he asked. R.P. Grover didn’t answer at first, so Henry looked at him, straight and serious, and said, ‘Well?’
‘No ghosts, sir. No more than most mines. Although one of the fellows swears that he can hear Mr Rische’s dog barking, sir, right down in the lower levels. Barking for his master, so to speak.’
‘Timber, I expect,’ said Henry, with a grimace, although for some reason the story unnerved him. ‘You know how those square-sets can creak.’
R.P. Grover grasped Henry’s hand. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t credit ghosts, sir. Not me. You and me will be off to meet our Maker soon enough, won’t we, and I’m sure that Mr Rische and Mr Hook can wait until then, can’t they, if’n they’ve got some bone to pick.’
Henry pulled on his gloves again, and trudged down the hill on snow-shoes, back to the store. Augusta was waiting for him there as usual; quiet, big-faced, uncomplaining, happy that the snow had come so early, and even happier that it was lasting so lo
ng. On her right hand she wore her only symbol of the Roberts’ new riches: a 32-carat diamond ring. Actually, to Augusta, it was less of a symbol of riches than a symbol of triumph. She had obliged Henry to give up his mistress, so she believed; and to bring her back the wanton woman’s ring, as proof. Henry, of course, never mentioned Baby Doe now, and as far as Augusta was concerned, all his journeys to Denver were to do with the selling of the Little Pittsburgh, and the acquisition of stock in other silver-mines.
Henry often sat reading during the evenings; only to look up at her and think to himself, if only you knew. And if only you knew how relieved I was when I went desperately to Ischart’s and found as if by magic that they had kept in their vaults a strass copy of the ring I first bought from them, for wearing at banquets and anywhere else where the risk of theft might be high. It cost me exactly $38.17, that ring. And that, my dear, is all that you are worth: because look at you, how you gloat over it, how you keep admiring its vulgarity, hating it for what it is, and adoring it for what it represents.
As the winter began to break, however, Augusta’s hold on Henry began to break with it. She had held on to him too long and too tightly; and as soon as the Fremont Pass was clear, he began to visit Denver every weekend on ‘business’; and to take Baby Doe for snowy promenades along the banks of the frozen Platte, or for dinners at Walter’s or Brown’s, champagne and baked trout and in February, on her birthday, a whipped dessert of cream and pecans and feathery sponge which the chef at Walter’s named ‘Baby Doe Surprise’, in her honour. Henry bought Baby Doe silk dresses and sapphire necklaces and scarves, and there were so many pairs of shoes in her cupboard that she had to keep some of them under her bed. Her housemate Agnes learned to be discreet at weekends, and to knock on doors before she entered, although Henry would often cheerfully invite her to join them for dinner, and afterwards the three of them would visit the Byers, or the Kitteredges, and the girls would talk and laugh and play the piano while the men sat in the library to discuss money, or silver carbonate, or play poker.
Henry was now very rich; even David Moffat wasn’t sure how rich. Over $911,000 of the one million dollars which he had received from the sale of the Little Pittsburgh mine had been selectively invested in other silver-mines around Leadville, the Chrysolite, the May Queen, the Elk, the Little Willie, the Wheel of Fortune, the Tam o’ Shanter, the Union Emma, the Scooper, and the Matchless. The Eastern consortium who had bought up the Little Pittsburgh had offered stock in the mine for public sale, and Henry, on his own inspiration, had bought back a large part of it, at $5 the share. Already, the consortium had introduced better drilling equipment and extra ore-crushers in the extracting works, and the shares had risen to $17.50—which meant that in four months Henry had already made himself another half-million from the same mine. David estimated Henry’s fortune at ‘something around $4 million’, although he always repeated those words that Henry had said so sharply to Baby Doe—‘on paper’. There was no telling how long the price of silver would continue to rise, or how long the government would continue to buy 4.5 million ounces of silver every month for the minting of Federal coinage.
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