"Is she all right?" he asked.
"Yes, she simply doesn't feel well. She'll be fine tomorrow. Maybe even by tonight."
"Good. I don't like seeing her ill." He turned and walked down the hall.
Cady stood a moment watching him. In Franco's dark eyes, she'd seen deep concern. Did Mae know the man cared for her?
In the foyer, she had barely begun her work when Mortimer came in.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
She blinked, taken aback. "Dusting. Like I do every day. It's my job."
He flapped a pudgy hand at her. "I know that. Never mind. Go do the upstairs and finish this after the photographer leaves."
Why? she wanted to ask.
"Go on now. I don't want you distracting the man while he works."
Her, distract Garrick Brant? She'd have to paint herself blue and dance naked in the street to distract any man, and then, at best, they'd just laugh.
As soon as the photographer left, Mortimer called his hired men into his office. "You notice that photographer who just left here?"
"Yes," Lach said, cracking his knuckles. "You have a problem with him I should take care of?"
"I want Thumbs to keep an eye on Miss Biggler, make sure she stays away from him." He didn't like the way Brant looked at her, as if she were on the supper menu. He took out a fresh cigar and lit it. A sweet aroma filled the room.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Crane." Thumbs, a burly German in his twenties stood up. "You want me to teach him a lesson if he bothers her?"
"Not before reporting to me. Just find a way to interfere and keep them apart. Try not to reveal that you're following her."
"You want me to go too, boss?" Lach, a large Belorussian man with a scarred face asked.
"No, I might need you for something else. Go on now, Thumbs. I'll expect a report at the end of the day."
"You got it, boss." Thumbs shambled out of the office.
Mortimer smiled. He would not share Cady with anyone, not even her own sister. Regina. Damned brat.
If he could get rid of the little girl, he'd have a chance at winning Cady. An accident maybe? Severe illness? Poor little thing. What a shame. Cady would need comforting. Whatever he did with the imp would have to appear genuine, however.
He puffed on his cigar and filled the air with smoke rings. Why did Cady have to be so stubborn? Couldn't she see he only wanted the best for her?
Sometimes, he got the feeling folks didn't believe he could get a woman to care about him, despite his marriage. He wanted to show off Cady's beauty and how happy he made her. If she wanted the stars and moon, he'd try to get them for her, anything that would allow him to claim her as his. Instead, she wanted him to share her with a noisy little monster.
Would it be worth it, if it meant having her at last?
Maybe. He wasn't ready yet to give up on changing Cady's mind. She might be stubborn, but he could outwit her.
After all, he'd convinced his wife to marry him, not that it had taken much. She'd been a whore, after all. Likely would have done anything to get out of that life. Once he'd seen Ophelia, he could think of nothing else. He'd been a nobody, broke, not especially good looking—he knew that. Other men wanted her too. But Mortimer had won her.
Because of a pair of baby booties.
Aren't those a tad small for me? she'd asked, humor in those beautiful amethyst eyes of hers.
They aren't for you, sweets. They're for our baby, if you'll marry me.
That had clinched the deal. He'd used cleverness rather than charm to catch her after seeing the look on her face when a woman carrying a baby passed them. The tyke waved at them, and yearning had filled Ophelia's eyes.
Mortimer jumped up and began to pace, his cigar forgotten in an ash tray.
What could he give Cady or do that would make her want him the way he wanted her? Perhaps slapping her wasn't the best idea. He should treat her with respect.
Buy her imported chocolates? That might soften her up. He'd try to change his ways and he'd send Thumbs to buy some from the mercantile.
What about jewelry? Or clothes? He envisioned her in a fancy silk gown with a string of fine pearls around her neck. Yes, he'd get her a dress, the very finest ordered straight from Paris. And then, he would have the pleasure of getting her out of it.
He closed his eyes as he imagined how she would look—like a goddess rising out of a mop bucket. His eyes snapped open. What an appalling image. And yet, appropriate in a way. Bending over, he chortled, slapping his knee in delight at the image in his head.
"You hear a joke?" Lach asked.
Mortimer had forgotten the man was present. Shaking his head no, he considered telling Cady he'd hire another maid, so she wouldn't have to clean anymore. If she played her cards right, he might put her in charge of the whores. See to feminine needs that he and Franco knew nothing about.
Yes, that might be the ticket. A new way for her to work off what she owed him that didn't involve physical labor. She would love that.
"Lach. Go find Thumbs. Send him to the mercantile to buy me the biggest, fanciest box of chocolates they have. If they don't have any, tell him to ride over to Curdy's Crossing and look there."
Garrick left the Gentlemen Only Salon with several new photos, an order to fill and deep disappointment. Not only hadn't he found July, he hadn't had a chance to speak to Cady or take her photograph.
He'd seen more in her than mere beauty. Freshness, mystery, a sense of desperation he assumed was connected to her sister Only a strong woman could do the hard labor she did, despite her fragile appearance. He could guess how much Mortimer Crane demanded of her. Bullies like him tended to have a hidden, monumental sense of inadequacy that governed their actions.
Stopping beside his wagon, he glanced around at the weathered buildings, boarded up windows and near-empty streets. What should he do now? Wildcat Ridge held fewer residents than most towns he'd visited. He liked it though. Not many mining towns could boast of such stunning scenery. He could easily settle in a place like this and stay forever. Could he earn a living here?
Before he could even consider such a move, he must find July.
"Come on, Rooster," he called to the cat as he climbed into the wagon.
In town, he parked behind the Ridge Hotel, leaving the wagon in Rooster's care. After storing the day's negatives in a leather bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he took the horses to the livery and arranged for their board and care.
When he entered the Ridge Hotel, Mrs. Ames stood at the desk, her dark hair drawn up on top of her head in a complicated knot. A single tendril hung down her neck. He had heard she was one of the many widows here and planned to be married soon.
"Good evening, Mr. Brant."
"Evening. My key, please."
She took it from the slots on the wall behind the desk and handed it to him. He thanked her, began to walk toward the stairs then stopped.
"I wonder if I could ask you a question?" he said, returning to the registration desk.
"Of course, Mr. Brant. What is it?"
"Well, a couple of questions, actually." He took a tattered photograph from his vest pocket and showed it to her. "Have you seen this girl? She'd be older now, sixteen."
"No, I'm afraid I haven't."
"Thank you." He frowned as he re-pocketed the photograph. Would he ever get used to hearing those negative words? Would he ever be able to hear them without an accompanying knife thrust through his heart?
"May I ask if you plan to be with us for a while?" Mrs. Ames asked.
"I haven't decided." He glanced out the large front window. Two elderly women in black strolled past in close conversation. The railroad tracks followed Moose Creek on the far side. Beyond that stood Moose Mountain. It could be renamed Bald Mountain now, its forests cut down to build structures and shore up the mine. Everywhere else, lush trees and green meadows crowded the terrain. The aspens and maples bore bare branches while snow frosted the conifers. He pictured it in sprin
g with wildflowers sprouting and young wildlife populating the meadows.
"Actually, I believe I will stay a few more days." He winked at the hotel owner. "After all, I haven't photographed everyone in Wildcat Ridge yet."
Her laugh reminded him of chimes on a summer day. "No, you haven't. One thing we have plenty of here is women. And beautiful scenery. You should go up to Angel Springs. It's a lovely spot."
"That sounds intriguing. A natural spring, I presume?"
"Hot springs. Several cascading pools." Mrs. Ames pulled a brochure from a drawer and handed it to him. "Go soon or you may have to rent a sleigh. It's four miles up the mountain. I doubt your wagon would make it through deep drifts."
He pocketed the brochure to study later. "Thanks. Is it all right if I help myself to some eggs in a bit? I have some plates to develop."
"Help yourself. You've already paid for them." She shook her head. "How you can make raw egg yolks into a substance to turn negatives into pictures amazes me."
"It does me as well." Garrick nodded his thanks and continued to his room. He'd asked for one without windows, suitable for developing negatives and found himself in a sort of storage room the owner hoped would be a bathing room someday when she could afford it. It held a few pieces of furniture, besides storage boxes and barrels, including a bed and a table, all Garrick needed.
He slid his leather satchel from his shoulder, laid it on the bed, took out the day's negatives and, treating them as fragile as the eggs he'd soon be cracking, carried them to the table.
The knowledge that Miss Biggler's fetching face would not appear on any of the plates dulled his enthusiasm for completing the process but complete it he would.
The next morning, Cady and Mae sat on the second-floor balcony at the back of the salon, a table between them bearing cups of Henri's special hot chocolate. Franco had cleared away any snow the sun hadn't melted and draped blankets over the damp chairs.
A clear sky allowed the sun to shine down on them. Fir and spruce trees glistened with layers of icy white. Children sledding down the hill on sheets of tin roofing screamed in delight. Cady might have found it restful and pleasant if her mind weren't burdened with too many worries.
She thought about Garrick Brant. Like her, he had a sister he didn't know how to find.
"This wouldn't be a bad time of year." Mae drew her woolen shawl more snugly around her, "if the nights didn't get so cold."
"And the days." Cady's chocolate had chilled already, but she drank it anyway. After the trouble Franco had gone to, she would not complain. She wished she had a shawl as warm as Mae's and a fur muff for her hands.
Mae sipped her drink. "I saw Franco oiling his snowshoes this morning. He must be planning to go for a long walk. It's a good time for it, with Mortimer going back to Cranesville tomorrow."
"He can stay there, far as I'm concerned." Cady rose and went to the rail to survey the land. Small banks of snow from the last storm lay in the shadows of the conifers. A doe grazed on the hill near the trees and far from the children. The sight surprised her. Most deer and other large wildlife had moved down to warmer territory.
The door opened, and Franco stepped onto the balcony. "You ladies need anything?"
Mae's smile broadened, and her eyes glistened with pleasure. She began to play with the ends of her long blond hair, a sign Cady had noted meant a case of nerves. Because she had a special fondness for Franco, as he did for her?
"We're fine, Franco." Cady walked to the table and picked up their empty cups and saucers. "I'll take these down to the kitchen. It was sweet of you to bring us the chocolate."
His eyes never left Mae's face. "Keeping my girls happy is my pleasure."
Mae shivered, and Franco immediately went to her.
"You're cold. Come back in." He guided her to the door, an arm around her waist.
Cady didn't wait for them but rushed down the stairs to give them time alone, a precious commodity at the salon. Trying to read a book or write a letter without being interrupted required a miracle.
She nodded to Henri, busy chopping vegetables in his white cook's coat and cap. At the sink, she rinsed the cups and saucers and put them in the drain rack. With nothing more to do, she wandered into the parlor. The room appeared empty until she started to leave.
"Departing so fast, my dear?"
Startled, she swung around. Mr. Crane rose from a wingback chair and stalked toward her. "I didn't see you there, Mr. Crane."
The ever-present cigar resided in his repulsive mouth. Instinctively, Cady moved behind a chair.
"Sit down and talk with me, won't you?" He motioned to a sofa. "Did you like the little gift I got you?"
"I'm fine here, sir. What gift?"
He frowned as he came closer. "Evidently, you haven't found it yet."
Blazes. The chair she stood behind sat next to a wall. He had her cornered. She had to be more careful.
"Come now, Cady, let's not play coy." He took hold of her arm and drew her out from behind her inadequate protection.
"I'm not playing anything, Mr. Crane." If only Garrick Brant could rescue her from this brute.
Mortimer frowned, his cigar bobbing between his lips. "Stop it. You're not that naïve. Nor are you a sweet innocent virgin who doesn't understand what a man wants from her. Kiss me."
Oh, but I am a virgin, she wanted to scream at him.
Next thing she knew, he had her smashed flat against his barrel chest, his mustache tickling her cheek as he sought her lips with his. Had the time come when she could no longer evade him? She put her hands against his chest and pushed. He didn't budge.
"Ahem."
Mortimer let her go and whirled to see Franco in the doorway.
"Excuse me, sir, but we have guests in the dining room wanting some supper and a bit of entertainment, I imagine."
"Damn it. Why tell me? Did you give them menus and inform Cook?"
"Yes, of course, sir. One of the gentlemen asked to speak with you."
Mortimer glanced back at Cady. "Well, go on, girl. Put on a clean apron and that cap I bought you, so you can serve them. And tell the other girls to come down."
She ran up the stairs to the second floor but still heard Franco say, "Sir?"
"I'm coming," Mortimer groused. "I'm coming."
With the door of her room securely shut behind her, Cady blew out a breath. She'd escaped again. But how long could her luck hold out? Should she give in and let him do what he wanted? The very idea sickened her.
Going over to sit on her bed, she discovered a package lying there. Where had it come from? Her door had been locked. Cautiously, she opened it to find a heart-shaped box of chocolates inside. A note reading, "Sweets for the sweet, my dear," was signed Mortimer.
Chapter Five
How had the candy come to be on her bed? Had Mortimer been here, invading her privacy? Taking the box with her, she rushed downstairs.
Franco sat in the kitchen drinking coffee when Cady arrived.
"Franco, may I speak with you a moment?"
He glanced over at Henri, busy peeling potatoes, then down at the box in her hands. "All right. Shall we step into my private sitting room?"
She followed him into the small suite off the kitchen. He gestured to a chair.
"No. That won't be necessary. I simply have a question to ask. Do you know anything about this being left in my room?
"They're from Mortimer. He sent Thumbs after them."
"I knew who they were from, but how did they get in there? My door is always locked."
Franco fished a set of keys from his pocket. "I have a master key to every room in this building, including Mortimer's office."
Cady stared at the keys in horror. "Does Mortimer have a key like that?"
"No. Only me, and I assure you, I would never violate your privacy except on order from him or if you asked it of me."
She switched her gaze to the box as she considered his words.
"You trust me, don't you, Cady?"<
br />
"Do I have a choice?"
He pursed his lips. "On the matter of the key, I'm afraid not. But in every other way, yes. Implicitly."
When she didn't respond, he added, "Honestly, Cady, I promise I will never enter your room otherwise, but I can't go against the boss on this. He owns the premises."
"Yes, I understand. I don't feel comfortable about it, but I see that I have no say about it. Thank you for explaining."
She turned to go.
"Cady?"
"Yes?"
"No one else in this building can enter your room without my knowledge, including Mortimer."
"Thank goodness for that." She paused again. "What am I to do with the chocolates? May I give them back to him? I don't want them, Franco. I know why he did it, but—"
"I know." Franco laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. "He's trying to win your favor, Cady. I think the man actually cares about you."
"No. He can't care and keep Regina from me, and so long as he persists in keeping us apart, I will never give in to him."
"I'm sorry." Franco let out a long breath and let his hand fall to his side. "I'd help you if I could. I truly would. To be honest, the only reason I've stayed on here is because…"
"Because of Mae?"
His gaze darted to her. "You know?"
"Yes. I've seen how you watch her, Franco. I don't think she's realized it yet, but I suspect you're in love with her."
He held out his hands, pleading, "Promise you won't tell her, Cady. I will do that myself when the time is right."
Cady nodded. "I understand, and I would never divulge your secret to anyone. Especially not Mae."
"I appreciate that. I'm also grateful for the friendship you've shown her. She seemed so lost when she came here. Meeting you has brought her more to life. I like seeing her more content."
"I think she'd be even happier if she knew how you felt about her."
"I have issues of my own to work out first. A future to consider. So long as Mae and I stay here, we'll never be able to be together."
"That's sad. If I can help in any way, let me know, please."
"You're a good woman, Cady. Thank you."
Cadence Page 4
