Love in Disguise

by Carol Cox

  Ellie took in his smile and the look of sincerity in his eyes. Heavens, he actually meant it. Her own smile widened in response, and she gave his hand a warm squeeze. “Thank you. It’s good to be here.”

  “I hope we’ll see you again.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Ellie said, surprised to find she was truly looking forward to her next visit.

  When they stepped outside, Steven set his hat on his head and turned to her with an apologetic expression. “I’d planned to discuss the mine with you today, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave as soon as I escort you home. A meeting of the mine owners has been called for this afternoon, and I need to hurry to be there on time.” A rueful smile twisted his lips. “Since we’re meeting at my office, it wouldn’t do for me to be late.”

  Ellie responded with a gracious wave of her hand. “No matter. We can discuss this again at a later time.” A sudden idea struck her—being introduced to the other mine owners would be an opportunity she couldn’t afford to pass up. “On the other hand, would you think it utterly presumptuous of me to invite myself to your meeting?” She saw the doubt in his eyes and hurried on before he could voice an objection. “It would be such a help to me to get acquainted with some of the other owners and know who else is doing business here. That’s something I learned from my late husband.”

  Steven opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “I may have misled you by calling it a meeting. It isn’t anything formal. We’re just getting together to discuss the thefts and try to come up with some new ideas.”

  Ellie beamed. “All the more reason for me to be there. Since we’re standing against a common foe, I ought to get acquainted with our allies, and they with me, don’t you think?”

  Steven’s trapped expression would have been enough to make her withdraw her request if she hadn’t been on a mission.

  “But what about your lunch, Mrs. Stewart? I wouldn’t want you to miss a meal and become faint on my account.”

  “Piffle, Mr. Pierce. Don’t treat me like some china ornament. I may appear fragile, but I assure you I am made of sterner stuff. If you think it necessary, we can stop at one of the eating establishments along the way and ask them to send over a light repast for everyone. Sandwiches, perhaps.” She clasped her hands. “It will be like having a picnic.”

  Steven’s eyes took on a glazed look. When he spoke, the words sounded as if they were being choked out of him. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Stewart. I’m sure everyone will appreciate it.”

  Ellie kept a sharp eye out as they strolled the length of Fifth Street, watching for anyone who appeared suspicious or out of place. To keep the conversation from lagging, she said, “How nice of you to host this gathering. I take it the others see you as a leader of sorts?”

  Steven chuckled. “No, I’m very much the greenhorn of the group. Most of the others have far more mining experience than I do. The reason we’re meeting at my office is that it’s the quietest place on Sunday. I don’t have my men work on the Sabbath as the others do, so we’re assured of having privacy.”

  So he was a man of principle as well as one whose form and features would make any woman swoon. One who acted on his beliefs instead of just giving them lip service. That didn’t sound like the kind of man who would covet other men’s hard-earned goods.

  At Ellie’s urging, they stopped at the Beck House on the corner of Fifth and Mill long enough to order lunch for the group, then continued on their way. One block farther south on Fifth Street, the town site came to an abrupt end. Tawny hills studded with gray-green shrubs and spiky cactus rolled out before them to the horizon.

  Thinking about trekking across that rough landscape in her good shoes, Ellie paused and looked up at Steven. “I suppose I should have asked before, but where exactly is your mine?”

  “We’re almost there. That’s my office.” He pointed to a nondescript building some fifty yards ahead.

  “Oh, I see. And the mine itself would be . . . ?”

  “The work is all done underground. The main entrance is on the other side of the office building. You’ll see it in a minute.”

  Looking beyond the small wooden structure, Ellie could discern similar buildings scattered farther out among the hills, their weathered coloration blending into the landscape so neatly they were hardly discernible at first glance. She indicated them with a nod of her head. “And those?”

  “Some of the other mines. Their owners are the ones we’re meeting with today.” Steven took a firm hold on her elbow and led her along a winding path.

  Ellie refrained from asking any more questions, needing all her concentration to keep her footing on the rock-strewn trail.

  “It looks like some of them are here already,” Steven said.

  Ellie spotted a horse tied to a rail next to Steven’s office building. As they rounded the corner of the office, she saw three men lounging against the board-and-batten wall and two more squatting in what little shade was offered by a scrubby tree.

  “Make that all of them,” Steven amended. The squatting men came to their feet, and all five stared as Ellie and Steven approached.

  Steven fished a ring of keys from his pocket and jingled them in his fingers while he faced the group. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  Ellie shot a quick glance at the assembled men when he stressed the last word.

  “Allow me to introduce Mrs. Lavinia Stewart from Chicago, recently arrived in Pickford for the purpose of making some investments. She has taken an interest in the Redemption, and she asked to accompany me here today to meet you and learn more about the challenges we’re facing.”

  “Hold on a minute.” A round-faced man with bright blue eyes and a red, bulbous nose stepped forward and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “You don’t mean you told her about . . . you know . . .”

  “About the thefts?” Steven didn’t back down when the other man flinched and glared at him. “Yes, she’s aware of what’s been happening to our silver shipments. I know that isn’t something we wanted to make public, but I couldn’t see any way to get around it, under the circumstances.”

  The others seemed to share the round-faced man’s antagonism. The oldest of the group smoothed back his silver hair with the palm of one hand and faced Ellie directly. “This information is something that must be kept in strict confidence, not passed around town as a frivolous bit of gossip. Do you understand?”

  Ellie bristled at his abrupt tone but managed a gracious smile. “Of course.”

  A man with thick, beetling black eyebrows and one eye that looked off in a different direction than its fellow focused his left eye on Ellie and tipped his hat. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Ezra Winslow, owner of the Jubilee.” He looked down, frowned, and swatted at his sleeve. A cloud of dust rose into the air. “We wasn’t expecting feminine company today, or I would have spruced up a bit.”

  Ellie extended her hand and clasped his fingers, grateful for the welcome.

  “Are you stayin’ at the hotel?” Ezra asked.

  Ellie smiled. “No, I plan to be in Pickford for some time. I’ve taken a little house in town—I believe it’s known as the Cooper place.”

  The silver-haired man jerked to attention at the mention of the house. “I’d heard the house had been rented out. You’re the one who’s staying there?”

  “Why, yes,” Ellie answered, wondering at his sudden interest. “It’s quite comfortable.” She turned her attention back to Ezra Winslow, whose face glowed like a western sunset.

  “I know where that house is,” he said. “You ever need anyone to show you around town, you just let me know. I’ll be happy to squire you around.”

  Ellie smiled and dipped her head, grateful when Steven broke into the conversation.

  “Let me introduce the others.” He indicated the older man, who measured Ellie with a thoughtful stare. “This is Tom Sullivan. The Constitution Mine is his largest holding, but he actually owns several claims and other properti
es in the area.”

  Mr. Sullivan ducked his snowy head in brusque acknowledgment. He reached for the hand Ellie offered but barely brushed her fingers before letting his arm fall back to his side.

  Steven motioned toward the remaining men. “And here we have Brady Andrews, Alfred Clay, and Gilbert Owens.”

  The red-nosed man he identified as Brady Andrews shifted a silver flask from his right hand to his left before reaching for Ellie’s outstretched fingers. She caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath when he leaned forward to greet her.

  Gilbert Owens followed suit. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  Alfred Clay stayed where he was, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I thought this was supposed to be a meeting, not some Sunday school picnic.”

  Steven’s face reddened, but he refrained from commenting. He unlocked the door and waved everyone inside. Ellie studied Alfred Clay as she took the seat Gilbert Owens pulled out for her, imagining what she would write about the surly miner in her notes that night.

  Steven turned to address the men, facing squarely toward Alfred Clay. “If Mrs. Stewart is willing to invest in the Redemption, I thought it only fair for her to be apprised of what’s been going on.”

  “The damage is already done. Nothing we can do about it now.” Tom Sullivan sent a sour look in Ellie’s direction, then leaned back against the desk and rapped his knuckles on its smooth surface. “Let’s get started.”

  He looked at Steven. “Have you heard anything from the Pinkerton Agency?”

  Ellie straightened in her chair and laced her fingers together, keeping her gaze on Steven’s face.

  He shook his head. “Nothing since that letter saying they’d be willing to look into matters here.”

  “When?” Ezra Winslow asked. “It’s been weeks since we got that letter and sent them a deposit.”

  “A retainer fee,” Tom corrected. He stroked his thumb along his chin. “Yes, it does seem like we should have heard something more by now.”

  Alfred Clay narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been watching out for an agent. We’ve got new folks showing up in town all the time, but I haven’t spotted anyone who looks like they’ve been snooping around.”

  Ellie’s mouth went dry, and her breath quickened. She forced herself to take deep, slow breaths. Clay’s comment wasn’t any reason to get flustered. Her plan was operating smoothly. Everyone expected women of a certain age to be curious. It was obvious from the reactions of the men in this room that no one suspected her of being the Pinkerton operative.

  Clay smacked his fist against his denim-clad thigh. “What are we paying them for if they’re just going to drag their heels? Every day that goes by means we’re losing time, which means we’re losing money.”

  “I have to admit Alfred has a point.” Brady Andrews raised the flask to his lips, then caught sight of Ellie watching him and lowered it regretfully. “Just need a little hair of the dog after last night,” he muttered. “I’m barely gettin’ around today.”

  Ezra stared at Tom. Or maybe at a spot across the room—Ellie couldn’t quite tell which. “What if we hire a bunch of guards, maybe some of those toughs that hang out over in Tombstone?”

  Steven snorted. “Come on, Ezra. You know what kind of people they are. They’d be just as likely to steal the shipment themselves.”

  A chuckle came from Tom Sullivan’s direction. “I’d have to agree with that.”

  Ellie raised a gloved hand. “If I might ask a question?”

  Tom looked as if he’d rather eject her from the meeting, but he nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “What has been happening to the ore from the mines while you’re waiting for assistance?”

  Tom surveyed the other miners before he spoke. “I won’t presume to answer for everyone, but I’ve been sending my silver to the stamp mill as usual. But instead of shipping the ingots to Benson and then on to the New Orleans mint, I’ve been bringing it back to the Constitution and stockpiling it there.”

  “Same here,” Brady said. “Only I won’t be able to afford to pay for the milling much longer. I don’t know what I’m gonna do then.” The others nodded and murmured assent.

  Ellie took a moment to absorb the information. “So you’re all on the brink of disaster if the situation isn’t resolved soon?”

  “That pretty well sums it up,” Tom said. “What we need is to find some new investors who will help us ride this thing out.” He flattened his lips and looked over at Steven. “It looks like you’re one up on the rest of us on that score.”

  Ellie lowered her gaze and focused on a knot in one of the floorboards. She couldn’t let her face give away the fact that Steven wasn’t any better off than the rest of them. Despite what he might think, rescue was not at hand, at least not from any financial resources she might offer.

  Tom cleared his throat. “I still say the Pinkertons are our best option right now. Let’s give them a little more time, instead of acting in haste.”

  Alfred Clay paced the room like a caged tiger. “How long do you plan on giving ’em? I don’t know about you, but I can’t sit around on my hands doing nothing.”

  “None of us can.” Gilbert Owens bristled. “You’re not the only one losing revenue.”

  Alfred glared back at him. “It sure seems like I’m the only one who wants to take action instead of watching everything I’ve worked for come to naught.”

  Brady Andrews hefted the flask in his hand. “We might as well break this up. We’re not gettin’ anything done here. Besides, my head’s killing me. I need to get something to . . . ” He shot a sidelong glance at Ellie. “Eat,” he finished lamely.

  Ellie offered him a bright smile. “Oh, but there are sandwiches on the way.”

  Alfred Clay sneered. “I was right. It is a Sunday school picnic.”

  Ellie ignored the remark and fastened a stern look on Brady. “Sandwiches will do you far more good than taking another pull of whatever is in that flask. Really, Mr. Andrews, all of us need to have clear minds if we plan to outwit these hooligans.”

  Alfred muttered under his breath and strode toward the door. “The rest of you can stay and eat your little dainties if you want. I’ve had about all of this folderol I can stand.” He jerked the door open and stormed out, nearly knocking over a startled delivery boy bearing a heaping tray of sandwiches.

  11

  Ellie tugged a stray reddish-gold curl into place and scrutinized her reflection in the dressing table mirror. With its curly bangs, upswept sides, and the mass of coppery ringlets cascading down her back, the wig she’d chosen to wear as Jessie fit as though it had been made for her. She rearranged one of the ringlets, bringing it forward to drape over her shoulder.

  Perfect. Or as close to perfection as she was likely to get. With her costume and makeup in place, she sashayed back and forth in front on the mirror and grinned. Not bad at all. After making her daily rounds as Lavinia, she’d spent the last few evenings working out Jessie’s background, developing the mannerisms and speech patterns that would give her a fully rounded personality.

  Instead of Ellie’s mousy hair and nondescript features, Jessie’s bright expression and vivid coloring were more in line with Norma Brooks’s appearance—the kind of woman men noticed. She crossed the room once more, swaying her hips as she had seen Magdalena do when she wanted to attract the attention and admiration of any men nearby. The results were simply amazing. The vision in the mirror swayed like a practiced coquette.

  Taking up a wide-brimmed hat with a small plume at one side, she pinned it into place, choking back a surge of envy as she did so. What would it feel like to be one of those women who made men take a second glance? She looked in the mirror again to gauge the total effect and sucked in her breath. With any luck, she was about to find out.

  She slipped out the front door, breathing deeply of the scents of the desert. Even with the dust that hung heavy in the air, she could still detect the overtones of sagebrush and mesquite. Such a difference from
the city smells she’d been accustomed to in Chicago.

  “Who are you?”

  Ellie gasped and looked around.

  Billy Taylor gaped up at her from the edge of the street. “You’re not the lady who lives here,” he stated firmly. “Where’d you come from?”

  Ellie commanded herself to relax. “I’m Mrs. Stewart’s niece.” This was a perfect opportunity to introduce Jessie to the public. She needed to make the most of it.

  “I arrived yesterday,” she continued. “And I’ll be staying with her from now on.” She picked her way down the walk and held out her hand. “I’m Miss Monroe. What’s your name?”

  “Billy,” he answered, ignoring her outstretched hand. That was just as well, she decided, once she glimpsed his grubby fingers.

  “Well, Billy, it was good to meet you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other from time to time.”

  With that, she gave her ringlets a toss and set off down the street, relishing her renewed freedom of movement. How wonderful to be able to stride along again at her own pace, free of the leg wrappings that dictated Lavinia’s age-stiffened movements.

  Two blocks later, she reached Grant Street and turned left, ready to strike up a conversation with everyone she met, but the street seemed uncharacteristically empty for that time of morning. Ellie chafed at having her plans hobbled. After all the trouble she’d gone to in fabricating Jessie, it would only seem fair to encounter crowds along the boardwalk when she wanted to introduce her new creation.

  Crossing Fourth Street, she smiled when the station agent emerged from the stagecoach office carrying a heavy crate that he set atop a pile of similar boxes already stacked on the boardwalk.

  “Good morning,” she called.

  “Mornin’,” he mumbled, barely giving her a glance. But that brief glance proved to be enough. He whipped his head around so quickly Ellie feared he might do damage to his spine.

  Yanking off his hat, he twisted it between his hands. “Brent Howard, at your service.”