by Jane Toombs
Monique stared from the knives to Jess. “You weren't hurt?"
"No, ma'am. I come on ‘em afore they could get them knives to working. I ain't over fond of knives. Don't mind men coming at me with their fists ... sort of enjoys that. Even a gun or two don't scare me so's you'd notice. But when them Celestials start crawling around with daggers and such, I purely don't like it. Most often you can't hear ‘em or see ‘em till too late."
"I'll make sure Chai goes to San Francisco,” Monique said. “In fact, I'll take her there myself. I'm thinking of branching out, Jess. There's room for other businesses here in Virginia City. I've been considering opening another clothing store and was going to go see the suppliers in a few weeks from now. I'll just travel there earlier and take Chai with me."
"Suits me just fine,” Jess said.
Hearing a discreet cough behind her, Monique turned and found George Guildford standing in the kitchen doorway. He seemed quite sober.
"Pardon me for interrupting,” he said. “Miss Astrid informed me of what you asked her to do and what she said to the miners. I've already thanked her. I can't begin to tell you how indebted I am to you, Miss Monique."
"The boys get carried away sometimes,” she told him, “They mean no harm—at least most of the time. I'm ashamed I didn't stop things before they went that far."
"'The quality of your mercy droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven,'” Sir George said.
"'Blessing him that gives and him that takes,'” she completed the quotation.
He smiled at her. “I thought I remembered you quoting Shakespeare, though I wasn't certain, being a trifle over my limit. I must say I didn't expect to find a lover of the bard in the uncivilized wilds of Nevada."
"What's the gentleman saying?” Jess asked. “Can't get my ears to latch onto his words somehow."
"I think he's trying to say he didn't expect a Virginia City madam to quote Shakespeare."
Sir George looked appalled. “My good woman—” he began, stopping short as Hal barreled into the kitchen.
"We been looking all over for you,” Hal said as he slapped the Englishman on the back. “Boys,” he called, “he's in the kitchen."
The miners poured into the room and crowded around Sir George. Two of them lifted him to their shoulders.
"A cheer for the bloody Limey,” someone shouted, and the men gave three hip-hip-hoorays.
"The drinks are on us,” Hal said. “To the Silver Dollar."
The miners formed a column of twos behind Hal and those carrying Sir George and paraded from the room. Sir George ducked just in time to avoid being smacked in the head by the top of the doorjamb.
Monique, shaking her head, followed and stood with Jess, watching from the front door as they marched down C Street holding George Guildford aloft while they sang, “For He's a Jolly Good Fellow.” Sir George raised both arms high to salute passersby.
"Right nice what you done for him,” Jess told her.
"He reminds me of someone I was fond of,” she said, thinking of Philippe.
* * * *
Four days later, Monique and Chai left Virginia City on the morning stage, bound for San Francisco, the Chinese girl disguised in a modish gown and wearing a hat with a heavy veil to cover her face.
After waiting until just before departure time, Jess had escorted them to the Wells Fargo office and bustled them aboard the stage. There'd been no further sign of Celestials at The Flame and none were visible at the stage station.
As they rumbled down Geiger Grade, Monique ignored the sharp precipices along the road as she relaxed in the corner seat, lulled by the swaying of the coach. She'd told Jess part of the truth, but not all. Though she did intend to go into the clothing business, there were several other reasons she wanted to be in San Francisco. One was partly because of Jess himself. Working with him kept reminding her of Dillie.
She had plenty of money now, a lot more than enough to buy Dillie from the Randolphs and set her free. With a war going on, a transaction like that might not be possible, but she meant to try, as she'd always promised herself she would. The other reason was she needed some time to be by herself. Away from the parlor house and the responsibility for the girls. Away from a city where, at any moment, she might turn a corner and find herself face to face with Jeremy or his wife. And, she admitted, away from Van Allen Reid as well.
A month had passed since Van Allen had first visited The Flame, a month with no word from him. Then, on a Monday morning, Jess had handed her an envelope that'd been delivered to the door. She read the noted inside:
Monique, I will call for you at eight tonight. V.A.R.
Monique wadded the paper into a ball and flung it across the room. I won't go, she told herself. He has a lot of nerve expecting me to. All day she remained firm in her resolve not to have anything more to do with the man. That night when he arrived, though, she met him at the door and went with him without a word. Money wasn't mentioned. She'd have been insulted if he offered any. Evidently sensing this, he didn't.
When he led her into his bedroom, she slipped from her clothes, slid between the sheets and waited for him. They joined fiercely, their naked, sweat slippery bodies wrapping one about the other as they arched in passionate ecstasy.
Afterwards, Monique had felt sated, satisfied—and sullied.
"If being with a man can't be a jubilee,” she'd told Dillie long ago, “I want no part of it.” She still remembered Dillie's laughter.
At the time she'd thought it was because Dillie, being a slave, had no choice if a man wanted her. Now she knew better.
There was no jubilee, no celebration with Van Allen Reid. Yet she'd gone with him, lain with him. Why? For the momentary pleasure of the flesh. Her need was satisfied, her insistent desire appeased. Nothing more.
Laura Johnston, if she'd known, would brand her a sinner, a scarlet woman. Monique sniffed. Sin was a word without meaning as it applied to her. If she harmed no one, how could what she'd done be wrong?
Yet wasn't she harming someone? Not Jeremy, certainly, or Van Allen Reid. The person she feared she might be harming was Monique Vaudreuil because she'd given herself to a man she didn't truly care for, a man she could never love nor trust.
As the coach reached the bottom on the Grade, Monique dozed, dreaming fitfully of fires in the night, of beacons flaring on distant peaks and of horsemen racing down steep slopes to hurtle past her to disappear in the darkness. She awoke with a start as the coach drew to a halt in Carson City.
"Almost there?” Chai whispered.
"No, we still have a long way to go,” Monique told her. “Don't be afraid. I'll not let anyone harm you."
As long as they were still in Virginia City, she'd feared Chai's master might attempt to force the girl back into bondage in Chinatown. Once they'd ridden down Geiger Grade, though, Monique's uneasiness had evaporated. Chai was safe, and would soon be leaving her. She'd miss the Chinese girl.
My whole life, Monique mused as the stage left Carson City and began the long climb from the valley into the Sierras, has been one goodbye after another. Her father had left her before she had a chance to know him, her mother had died, and later Mary Vere had fled from the Jarvis house, leaving Dillie behind. Jeremy had abandoned her for the McAllister money, Philippe had given away Rowena and then been killed himself. Even Mary Vere had been left behind. Now Chai was about to drop from her life forever.
I need something to hold onto, she decided. Or was it someone she meant? Someone to talk to, to confide in, to share the future with. Once it was easy to say she had only herself, could trust only herself, but she found the loneliness of her present life almost unbearable at times. If Dillie could be found and freed, at least she'd have one friend. Still, Dillie had been Mary Vere's friend, not Monique Vaudreuil's. And becoming Monique had involved far more than a name change.
The sun circled toward evening as the trail receded behind them in a billow of dust. They left the foothills with their shrubs, sage and scatte
red trees, and entered a land of pines and firs. The air cooled as the sun lowered and the stagecoach climbed into high mountain country.
A stream rushed by along the trail, the sparkling water foaming and bubbling over a series of rapids in its descent to the Carson Valley. She'd learned that the streams on the eastern slopes of the Sierras, so alive and crystalline as they left their source springs, flowed swiftly down into the Nevada Territory where they were doomed to disappear forever in great desert sinks of sand and alkali.
Shivering, Monique pulled her shawl closer, wondering why her thoughts seemed to have turned morbid. She peered from the window of the coach, looking for a scattered remnant of the winter's snows, but apparently the snow had all melted long ago.
As the coach swayed around a bend in the trail, the driver gave a sudden shout of alarm, the horses squealed and the stage came to an abrupt, clattering halt that sent bags and valises tumbling. Monique pitched forward onto the man across from her.
Recovering, she joined the other passengers in staring from the windows. Ahead of the team of six horses, a downed tree lay across the trail. Two masked men rode from the woods, guns drawn. From the far side of the stage, invisible to her, a man shouted something unintelligible.
"Don't shoot,” the driver cried.
One of the masked gunmen swung from his horse and, pistol in hand, strode to the side of the coach. Monique shrank back as he yanked the door open and peered inside. His gaze fastened on her. “You,” he ordered. “Outside."
She stared at him in confusion and fear, shaking her head.
The bandit motioned impatiently with his pistol. “Out of the stage. Pronto."
"No go,” Chai pleaded, clutching Monique's hand.
Monique wondered if these could be men sent to bring Chai back to Virginia City. But, if so, what did they want with her? Retribution of some kind? In any case, it seemed she had no choice but to obey. Pulling her hand from Chai's, she climbed to the ground and faced the gunman. Above the red bandanna tied across his face, bloodshot brown eyes peered at her. He'd pulled a wide-brimmed hat low over his forehead.
Hands grasped Monique's arms from behind and she felt a rope bite into her wrists. Next a twisted cloth was thrust into her mouth and tied at her nape. She glanced at the driver and his companion sitting on top of the stage, their hands raised. No help would be forthcoming.
In the distance, beyond the felled tree, she saw a horseman watching the proceedings from a small knoll among the pines. Their leader? She noticed with some surprise he wore Confederate gray, a sheathed sword at his side, as well as two holstered guns at his belt.
"Miss Monique!"
She twisted her head to look around. Chai was climbing down from the stage. The gunman wearing a blue bandanna tied around his face picked up the Chinese girl and lifted her back inside the coach, shutting the door behind her. The first bandit led a horse forward, grasped Monique around the waist and lifted her into the saddle. A sidesaddle, she noticed with surprise. Evidently this had been well planned.
The two bandits mounted, one holding the reins of Monique's horse and looked toward their leader. The Confederate cavalier unsheathed his sword, raised it high above his head and then pointed it in the direction of the setting sun, which was about to disappear behind the mountains. He spurred his horse ahead into the trees and his two companions followed with Monique. When she looked back at the stage, the driver and his companion were still holding their hands high above their heads.
Stunned by the suddenness of the raid, Monique tried to gather her wits as she glanced warily from one bandit to the next. What did they want with her? It didn't seem her abduction had anything to do with Chai. A shiver of apprehension ran along her spine as she remembered the sharp-featured man watching her at the hurdy-gurdy hall and what had happened later. Horse's hoofs pounded behind her, passed her and she saw the third bandit had caught up to them. No doubt with whatever money Wells Fargo had been carrying.
After riding for what seemed like forever, but might have been no more than ten minutes, they halted in a sun-dappled forest glade. Monique stared at their leader's gray-bandanna masked face. For some reason, he looked familiar. Hair prickled along her nape. Do I know him?
The Confederate, if that's what he was, unsheathed his sword once more and swung it in a circle above his head. As if responding to a signal, the bandit leading Monique's horse dismounted and, after tyingits reins to a sapling, remounted his own horse. Together with his two companions, he rode into the woods, leaving Monique alone with their leader.
The Confederate urged his horse forward, circling behind Monique until she had to twist to keep him in sight. She drew in her breath as he came toward her with sword in hand.
Noting her alarm, he reached up and pulled the bandanna from his face.
George Guildford!
"Please don't be frightened,” he said. “The sword's merely to sever your bonds.” He stopped beside her, leaned down and cut the rope binding her hands. Monique immediately pulled the gag from her mouth.
"Sir George,” she cried. “Why did you hold up the stage? Why did you bring me here?"
"Can I persuade you to do away with the ‘sir'?” he asked, dismounting and unlooping her horse's reins from the sapling. “Plain George will work quite well, you know. There's no occasion to be afraid. I shan't harm you. There's something I want to show you. Actually, I want to give it to you."
She stared at him. “Are you saying you abducted me from the stage and carried me here to show me something? To give me something? Are you mad?"
"No, no. Impulsive, perhaps, with a tendency toward the dramatic. But, mad, no. At least I don't think I am."
"They'll be after you as soon as the stage reaches the next station. The driver will telegraph word about the hold-up to Virginia City. There'll be a posse combing the mountains before nightfall."
"No, my dear, that won't happen.” He remounted, still holding the reins of her horse. “There was no robbery. Somewhat ahead of time, I paid the driver and conductor well to allow our little band to waylay their stage. I succeeded in convincing them it was a grand jest."
"A jest? A joke?” All at once she remembered poor, terrified Chai. “What will happen to my friend Chai? The Chinese girl I was bringing with me to San Francisco? Men are after her, and that's why I was taking her to safety."
"I'm afraid I didn't know about her. I heard you tell the Negro man who works at your establishment that you intended to make the trip, but I caught no reference to a Chinese woman."
Anger had replaced Monique's fear. Anger tempered with curiosity. “You are mad. Why did you do it? Tell me the real reason."
"If you must know, I've conceived what at home we call a tendresse for you, Miss Monique. After the gracious favor you did for me, I wanted to return that favor. I'll admit this must strike you as a rather melodramatic way to arrange to be alone with you, and we will be alone because my hired assistants are even now returning to Virginia City. I fear I'm a romantic soul, as you'll discover when you know me better."
She leaned down, grabbed the reins and jerked them free of his lax grasp. “I'll never know you any better than I do now,” she cried. “I don't want to know you any better.” Slapping the reins against her horse's neck, she urged him ahead.
As George called to her to stop, she galloped from the glade back along the path leading to the stage trail. Hearing the hooves of George's gelding behind her—even his mount was gray!—she bent low over her horse's neck, whispering to him to hurry.
She burst through a screen of branches onto an open avenue of brown needles lying beneath majestic pine trees. Far ahead she glimpsed a figure running toward her. As she rode on, she realized it was Chai.
Reining in as she neared the girl, Monique slid down from her horse to the ground. “Chai,” she cried, running across slippery pine needles to take the girl in her arms.
Chai immediately squirmed free. “They come,” she wailed.
"It's all rig
ht,” Monique told her. “The men won't come back. You're safe."
"No, no. Not same men come.” She pointed behind her.
From the trees rode two horsemen brandishing rifles—not Guildford's hired hands, Monique realized with a spurt of alarm.
"They come for me,” Chai cried.
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CHAPTER 19
Monique looked behind her. Her horse had strayed too far for them to reach in time and there was no sign of George Guildford. “Run, Chai, run!” she urged, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her into the trees.
Their pursuers pounded close behind, easily overtaking them. When she saw they were cut off, Monique stopped and faced the two men, pushing Chai behind her. To her horror, one of them was a man she'd hoped never to see again in her entire life—Alex Campbell.
He grinned down at her. “Looks like we hit the jackpot, Russ,” he said. “No need for these.” He thrust his rifle back into the saddle scabbard and she saw the other man do the same. “You can take care of the Chinese gal. The other one—she and me got some unfinished business."
Monique stared defiantly back at him, keeping her fear tightly reined in.
"We're after the Chink,” Russ said. “We got no quarrel with Miss Monique."
"Maybe you don't,” Campbell told him. “That don't mean I don't. This bitch nearly killed me that time she almost burned down the damn town."
"I heard tell about that,” Russ admitted.
"You two,” Campbell told Monique and Chai, “get your—” He broke off, looking suddenly to the right.
George Guildford, astride his horse, watched them from the lengthening shadows beneath the pines. The Englishman's hands were folded on top of his saddle horn.
Campbell and Russ drew their rifles. George did no more than raise his eyebrows, making no move to defend himself.
"I'll be Goddamned,” Campbell snorted as he stared at the Confederate uniform. “If it ain't General Robert E. Lee himself. What're you doing this far west, General?"
"George Guildford's the name. This is a colonel's uniform, not a general's. I borrowed it for the occasion. I have no real right to wear the Confederate gray, although I admit I admire the bravery of many who do."
