by Iris Kelly
Angel nervously took a seat while Sugarplum departed. She was dressed as provocatively as all the others, but what a baby face she had. She couldn’t be a day over sixteen.
“And how long have you been working for Mr. Scott, Angel, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“It’s been almost a year now. In two weeks, it’ll be a year since . . .” Angel couldn’t finish. Her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry, my dear. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s just, we’re comin’ on the anniversary of my pa’s death. He was the only family I had left in the world. And I lost him, just like that.”
Abigail wanted to put her arms around the girl. Instead, she had to content herself with taking the girl’s hand. “What happened to him?”
“We was on our way out to Montana. We lost our farm, but he was hopin’ to get some ranch work. So we were on the train, and we met Zachary, and he was real friendly. But then somethin’ awful happened. There were robbers—a whole bunch of them. And they pulled a whole bunch of men off the train, including my father and Zachary. And he told me to stay put and be brave. And then, just a few minutes later, we heard all the gunshots, and then I couldn’t stay put. I had to run out. I had to make sure my pa was okay. Only he wasn’t. He wasn’t.”
Abigail squeezed her hand helplessly. “What happened after?”
“I didn’t have any money. I didn’t have any family. I was really lucky that Zachary was there to take care of me. If he hadn’t taken me in, something terrible could have happened to me.”
Zachary Scott is the something terrible that happened to you. Of course, she could see how, from Angel’s viewpoint, it was preferable to starving in the streets.
“Well, you look to be about the youngest one here.”
“I am. But Lulu’s only about six months older. It’s nice to have someone close to my age. Like sisters, you know?”
“I’m sure I’ll meet her soon. And here comes Mr. Scott. Don’t you worry. I’ll let him know that it was me who forced you to take a little break.”
“I appreciate that, ma’am. He’ll listen to you if he listens to anyone.”
“If he asks, we were talking about dressmakers.”
Angel nodded gratefully and scurried away, and Zachary approached with a bemused smile.
“What you gals up to?”
“Now that I’m going to be in town for a while, I need a few new dresses made up. Saloon girls always know where the best dressmakers are.”
“They got some pretty outfits, that’s for sure. Don’t know if it’ll be better than what you already got. You always look pretty as a picture.”
Abigail gave an obligatory smile, even as she reflected how meaningless some compliments were. Her attractiveness, like the prostitutes’, was regarded by Zachary as an asset that helped to reel in the customers.
“The Bottomless Pit is not expected tonight. I hope that means I’m at liberty to start a Stud table?”
The Bottomless Pit was their nickname for the man who came in every Friday and Saturday night and lost staggering quantities at the Faro table.
“If that’s your best game, then, yes, ma’am, that’s what we’ll do tonight. Same deal as before—you’re only risking fifty percent.”
“It is my best game, and I have no intention of losing tonight.”
“I sure do like a confident lady. And you sure do bring ’em in. This would normally be a slow night, but it’s fillin’ up already.”
“So it is. Shall we?”
Zachary loved her work ethic. “I believe you love makin’ money almost as much as I do. And that’s a whole lot. Let’s set you up.”
Abigail did manage to play well that night. More importantly, the game helped to take her mind off the disturbing new revelations about Sebastian Knight. What a terrible position she was now in. She had no desire to cause pain to anyone, least of all someone so decent and upstanding and intelligent and . . . best not to think about it. She needed her full concentration for the game at hand.
Already, there was a nice comfort level for Abigail in this saloon setting. Slipping into Flamin’ Annie’s skin gave her license to do and say pretty much anything that came to mind. Never before and never again would she know such a receptive audience. For the other gamblers, it was almost like having Buffalo Bill Cody become a local in their watering hole—only a bit more intriguing, since Flamin’ Annie leaned toward the other side of the law.
She didn’t make quite the same profit that she had on the nights when Mr. Bottomless Pit stopped by to make his weekly donations. But the fifty dollars she did make was more than she had made at her Boston employment for an entire month. And what an aggravating, tedious, monotonous month it was.
Here, while she never lost sight of her mission and was constantly trying to gather useful information, she also had to admit that she was enjoying herself immensely. The prostitutes weren’t the only ones envious of Flamin’ Annie’s freewheeling lifestyle. Abigail was starting to see how vastly preferable it was to any of the respectable roles that she had inhabited so uncomfortably back east. Wife, factory drudge. Wife! Never again! Oh, what was she to do about Mr. Knight?
*****
In bed later that night, Abigail tried to make sense of how their perfect plan had gone so awry. They had been such a perfect match for a fake marriage, rejecting the necessity of marriage as strongly as they both had. Why had he changed his end of the bargain? Because he had been overpowered by love?
As much as this development had inconvenienced her life, it was undeniably flattering. Her company, her mind, her opinions, and her daring had all combined to cast a spell on this man who had no room in his life for marriage. She simultaneously wanted to thank him for such an immense compliment and also to shake some sense into him.
She also couldn’t put the memory of poor Angel’s story out of her mind. How bleak and frightening her life must have been when she lost her father. Why was it that prostitution seemed to be the only option for girls in such dire circumstances? Now, it had become Angel’s safe haven, the only kind of home and life she would ever know.
Abigail felt a strong twinge of irritation at herself. Her own problems were petty and nonsensical compared to Angel’s. A kind, smart, ambitious, respectful man was falling in love with her. If that was her greatest complaint in life, then she was well advised to remind herself what a truly unfortunate situation actually looked like.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next afternoon filled both Abigail and Sebastian with anxiety. They were to meet at Miss Mabel’s for a status report on the saloon investigation. It was to be their first encounter since their friends had enlightened them about the feelings of love that they had each unknowingly inspired in the other. On each side, there was the determination to be tactful and merciful.
“Mr. Knight.”
“Miss Norris.”
“Oh, please have a seat,” Abigail said. I mustn’t make this awkward. He doesn’t know that I know. “I had a very informative evening.”
“I’m most anxious to hear about it.” I mustn’t sound so stiff and formal, or she will suspect that I have been told her secret. “Any illicit activities to report?”
“I followed your advice and talked to two of the prostitutes—Sugarplum, a ten-year veteran of the sporting life, and young Angel, a poor young thing, sixteen years old, a new recruit into the life.”
“How did you manage it?”
“I went early while Mr. Scott was at dinner. The interesting thing was that they were just as curious about me. Envious. Wishing they’d had a luckier path in life and wound up in my shoes, rather than their own. Annie’s shoes, that is, but so much better than the life they’ve found themselves in.”
“It sounds as if you were able to establish a good rapport. If you can gain their trust, they may be very useful sources of information in the days to come.”
“Even if they aren’t, I should be pleased to assure them that they have my ear
and my sympathy. I must tell you about poor Angel.”
As Sebastian listened to Abigail’s heartfelt concern for the young girl, he couldn’t help but be taken by her kindness and warm compassion. How could he bring himself to disappoint such a woman? Why couldn’t she have set her heart on anyone besides himself, seeing as how he was the only foolish man in Cheyenne who would reject the offer of such an exceptional woman’s heart?
It was a heart that seemed so suited for warm affection that it seemed so unlikely that she had arrived at such a strong opposition to marriage that she had held so recently. Her former husband must have been an absolute lout. Now, she was convincing herself that it was the man and not the institution that was at fault—that she could be happy with the right man—that he was the right man!
Knowing what he now did, and feeling just as strongly committed to his career as ever before, perhaps he should strongly consider backing out of the marriage. Better for her to suffer a minor pain now than to raise her hopes and dash them cruelly later.
Abigail could see that Sebastian was a bit distracted. And examining her intently. He was suffering over her—of that, there could be no doubt. There was only one thing she could do for him. He wanted a great story and a fantastic reputation for his newspaper. She would do everything she could to help give that to him. It was the least she could do. Perhaps it would provide enough satisfaction to him to make up for the heartache she was about to inflict on him.
And then there was the matter of the inheritance. It would expand so many opportunities for his business. If nothing else, at least she could give him that. Moreover, perhaps in that stretch of time between marriage and divorce, he would learn enough of her flaws and eccentricities to bring him back to his senses. Yes. Good plan.
*****
The next afternoon, a ravenous Abigail strolled the Main Street looking for a promising spot for her lunch. Because of her late card-playing hours, she always slept through Miss Mabel’s breakfast, and the boardinghouse only served two meals a day. She had gotten quite comfortable with eating out on her own—particularly since the waiters typically made such a fuss over her. But today, she was destined to have company.
Zachary had also finally rolled out of bed and was in search of his next meal at the same moment. He seemed especially pleased to run into Abigail.
“Miss Norris. How ’bout you let me buy you some lunch? I know where all the decent food is ’round here.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Scott. I would like nothing better.”
Even as Abigail kept close tabs on the customers and employees of the saloon, she realized that Zachary Scott was probably the key to any secrets hiding in the shadows of that establishment. She needed to win his complete trust. Thus, she gave him her arm and the warmest of smiles, and they proceeded down the street looking like the closest of acquaintances.
As they turned onto a side street, they ran smack into Sebastian. Abigail was startled, but not so much that she didn’t remember that she wasn’t supposed to know him. But Sebastian and Zachary clearly did know one another, and she waited nonchalantly for an introduction.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Scott. I hope you will introduce me to your friend.”
“Hmmph. Miss Norris, this here’s Mr. Knight. He owns a newspaper around here and spends his time writin’ some mighty unflatterin’ stories ’bout the good folks of Cheyenne.”
“That is what is known in my business as slander. Pay him no mind, Miss Norris. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. In fact, this is quite a stroke of luck,” Sebastian said. “I have heard a great deal about the female cardsharp who has come to town.”
“I promise you, Mr. Knight, I have not and have no intention of doing anything newsworthy in this town.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t disagree more. Our readers would be fascinated to read the profile of a lady card player. It’s such an unusual life. You’ve aroused quite a bit of curiosity, I think.”
“There were days when I enjoyed as much publicity as I could get.”
“Yes. The whole country has heard of Flamin’ Annie.”
“But the world has not heard of Abigail Norris, and I think I’d like to keep things that way. These days, I prefer a quiet life.”
“My paper is The Cheyenne Chronicle. You just let me know if you change your mind. A pleasure to meet you, Miss. Norris . . . Mr. Scott.”
The two men exchanged wary nods. Sebastian departed, and Zachary and Abigail resumed their stroll.
“I’m sure it goes without sayin’—that is one fella you need to steer clear of. He’s nothin’ but trouble.”
“Oh, he seems harmless enough. Those kinds of men can actually be useful if you know how to play them. I can make sure that people think about me exactly what I want them to think, and friendly newspapermen are the best way to get the word out. But like I said, I’ve had enough fame for a lifetime. There’s something to be said for keeping a low profile.”
“Flamin’ Annie ready to settle down. Extra! Extra! Read all about it.” He chuckled. “You don’t mind my callin’ you Annie, do you?”
“Only when we are completely alone. I confess, it does bring back some good memories.”
Abigail was amazed at how deeply Annie’s story had become second nature to her. Annie’s feelings, reactions, and life history were as close to the surface of her thoughts as her own.
“Excellent. Now if this fella, Knight, were ever to get his hands on you, he’d probably have more than a few questions about me. They’re real sneaky that way.”
“Well, if I did, and if he did, then I would only be able to tell him what a savvy, hard-working businessman you are. And the fairest partner I could ever have hoped for.”
“That’s somethin’ most folks never understand about me, and I’m sure glad you picked up on it. I’m a man of my word. And I treat my partners fair and square—don’t you ever worry about that.”
“I have few worries, Mr. Scott. I have managed to handle everything that life has thrown at me.”
“Zachary. I sure wish you’d call me Zachary.”
“All right then. Zachary, I’m starving.”
“Right this way, Miss Annie.”
Lunch was a pleasant affair. Abigail conducted a gentle interrogation on Zachary’s past, and she judged it to be bland, benign, and very well-rehearsed. He did, in fact, edit out all of the illicit and immoral components of his life, even though he was sure a woman of the world like Flamin’ Annie would not have been shocked by anything.
Abigail listened attentively and was as sociable and congenial as she could muster. It wasn’t that difficult. Zachary could be charming company when he wanted to be. He was especially entertaining when giving her an account of his life story. As it so happened, what he told her bore little resemblance to the truth.
Starting the saloon and brothel was actually what Zachary regarded as the beginning of his straight, above-board life. Until then, he had been a wandering bandit, plundering stage coaches, trains, banks, and leaving quite a bit of bloodshed in his wake. But if a man is lucky enough to survive ten or fifteen years of that life, then he has to consider whether he’s pushing his luck. Not a whole lot of gray-haired bandits—it’s a young man’s game.
Fortunately, he had pulled off some really big jobs and had a sizable pile of cash to buy a new business with. He had been the patron of so many brothels and saloons in his life that it felt like a natural area of expertise. Of course, Abigail got the prettified version of his life story. No harm in putting his best foot forward. In fact, it was a strategic component of his newly-formed plan.
It was high time he got married. There was nothing that would complete the façade of respectability more than acquiring a wife and children. He’d have a proper home, away from his business, just like all the other Cheyenne big wigs and get treated with the respect he deserved. And enjoying the company and bed of this fine woman was no small consideration.
They were perfectly suited for one ano
ther. He sure couldn’t marry one of his girls. A man does not increase his social standing by marrying a whore. And the proper ladies in town wouldn’t come within twenty feet of a brothel owner. Flamin’ Annie was the perfect woman.
*****
Abigail had braved another clandestine visit over to Sebastian’s home. Besides the boardinghouse, it was the most out of the way spot to conduct a meeting. She knew that he would be interested in her lunch with Zachary Scott. But she didn’t realize that it would make him so agitated.
“He asked you to go out to dinner! That seems a bit unethical for an employer to ask. You’re not really in a position to say no, are you? Of course, it’s the sort of thing I would expect from him,” Sebastian fumed.
“First of all, he is not my employer, Mr. Knight. He is my partner. And he actually is quite respectful of my talents and my ability to increase his business. I was happy to accept his invitation. Isn’t that part of our plan? Don’t we want him to trust me, let his guard down, and provide some useful information?”
“You sound as if you like him.”
Although Sebastian tried to come across as disinterested, Abigail immediately recognized an element of jealousy in the question. She silently berated herself for being so thoughtless. Feeling about her as he did, of course Mr. Knight would feel pangs of regret at hearing her praise another man—and have a social engagement with him on top of it.
“I play my role, Mr. Knight. That is all. He and Annie have a great deal in common, and I must relate to him accordingly.”
“Yes, of course,” Sebastian said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.
Abigail looked around his parlor, hoping to find an avenue of distraction—and found one. “Do you play the guitar, Mr. Knight?”
“Oh, it is only a means of relaxation. I do not play at an impressive level. When one lives alone, sometimes one has to fill up an empty evening and entertain oneself.”
“I have never had the pleasure of living alone. A boardinghouse hardly constitutes solitude. And before that, marriage and family. But if I were to live alone, I’m sure I would spend a great deal of time at my piano. If I had a piano. They are large and expensive and difficult to arrange in an unsettled life. I would be much better off to have learned something so small and convenient as a guitar.”
