Cold Gold (11 page)

The locomotive whistled
and a column of white smoke rose up into the night sky as the train started to surge forward. Moving into position, Randolph swung himself hand over hand up the timbers. He climbed like a monkey to just the right point where he could roll over the guard rail and flatten himself against it. He crouched against the metal barrier and waited. The tremor in the ground grew stronger as the train gathered speed, riding sweetly around the curve in the rails before the line straightened to cross the bridge.

Randolph stood up, took two swift strides and leaped up onto the back end of one of the cars.
Bracing himself against the sway and motion of the car, he hoisted himself up and over the top, landing on the lumpy contours of a load of ore. By then the train had crossed the trestle bridge and steamed down the line to Yreka, its progress marked by the smoke streaming back from the stack. Tucking himself as far into a corner as he could, he settled down for the ride. He finished off his food and dozed a little, rocking gently from side to side with the motion of the train.

The train whistle shrieked in
the night, shocking him into awareness. He stood up and peered over the edge of the car. Ahead he could see the town lights and knew that he had to be ready to drop off the train before it steamed into the goods yard where there would be more security. He could not allow himself to be seen, not after coming so far. He heard the brakes squeal, felt the train slow, and hauled himself back over the top of the car. Reaching carefully for his foot and hand holds, he dropped off the car and rolled away from the tracks.

He lay still for a moment, getting his breath back and listening to the sounds
of the slowing train, the shouts and calls of the goods yard men and the train driver. It all sounded quite normal. He stood up and stepped onto the crossties beneath the railway lines. Noise carried at night, and he did not want the crunching of the ballast to alert anyone to his presence. He stepped from crosstie to crosstie until he could leave the track and walk into town. There were only a few people about and no one stopped him, or paid him any attention.

Montgomery lodged at a small b
oarding house on Miner Street. Randolph made his way there. The landlady who opened the door to his urgent knock almost closed it in his face, but Montgomery himself appeared behind her and insisted she let him in.

“I know he looks a wreck, Mrs. MacAndrews, but I can vouch for him.” Montgomery whis
ked him inside and into a parlor with drapes drawn against the night. Two other men sat in easy chairs and Montgomery introduced them as Cody Sparks and Wayne Corbette. Randolph shook hands with them.

“So
, Randolph, how does it feel to be alive again?”

“When I’ve had a bath and shave, I’ll tell you.” Randolph’s teeth gleamed white through his beard as he grinned. “But what’s the news from
Cold Creek?”

The small silence following his question sent all Randolph’s senses on high alert.

“What?” he asked as he looked at each serious face.

“It’s your wife. She arrived in
Cold Creek last week.”

Randolph’s heart lurched in his chest.
“Serena? What the hell is she doing there? Is she safe?”

“For now,” Montgomery said. “
Harris refused her access to your funds and King is getting mighty interested in her. Johnson is doing his best to keep an eye on her but Stiles is a constant stumbling block. He’s mighty sly and we’re not sure how much he is or is not involved with King. And we can only do so much from here as I won’t risk using the telegraph.”

“Damn it to hell.” Randolph
fisted one hand and drove it into the palm of the other in total frustration.

“If it’s any consolation, Lord Buxton, your wife has some female support,” Wayne Corbette offered. “She appears to have been befriended by two local women.”

“Well, that’s something to be thankful for,” Randolph said. “But if Harris wouldn’t allow her any money, she’s probably out of funds by now. How’s she managing that, I wonder?”

Cody Sparks got up from his chair and took out a
rolled-up piece of paper from a duffel bag. He opened it up and turned it so that Randolph could see it. It was a poster in garish reds, yellows and oranges advertising ‘Lady Serena, Singer Extraordinaire. One performance only. Saturday, March 30, 1907’.

Randolph took the poster and
read it through again. A reluctant grin split his face. He remembered the first time he and Serena had disguised themselves and slipped off to an evening of entertainment at a music hall. “Where did you get this, Sparks?”

“The
Cold Creek Gazette printed them and they’re posted all over the town, but I picked this one up at the Mercantile here in Yreka. It caused quite a stir and it sounded like more than a few people will be going from here, too.”

Randolph
’s gut tightened. The thought of Serena performing in front of a rowdy crowd, many of them lustful men, chilled him to the core. If he could only get the funds she so badly needed to her, he could stop the show. But they were out of time.

He rubbed a hand across his face, considering the options. There were none. Like it or not, the diversion the show caused could allow them to slip unseen into Cold Creek.

“With all eyes on Serena, King will never know we’re there,” Randolph decided. “It should make it easy for us to arrest him. I just hope we can accomplish that without her getting hurt.”

“We’ll make sure she’s protected,” Montgomery
told him. “I’ll get word to my other two operatives and Johnson once we get to Cold Creek. Don’t worry, no harm will come to her and we’ll get King.”

“You Pinkertons always get your man,” Randolph said quietly.

“We haven’t failed yet,” Montgomery agreed.

Randolph looked at the three men. “If King had stuck with stealing high grade ore, he might not have been discovered. But manipulating the company shares in the way he did, well that was another matter. If I don’t have an opportunity to thank
all of you later, I’ll do it now. And then I want a beer and a bath, in that order.”

Chapter Twelve

Douglas King elbowed his way to the mahogany-topped bar and looked about him. He caught the eye of his head barman, who quickly delivered a snifter of brandy. King took it up, cradled it in his hand to warm it, and turned to face the room.

Mirrors covered the expanse of the wall behind the bar, reflecting the images of bottles of wine and spirits, making the shelves look even more full than they were. To encourage customers to spend money, he’d spared no expense in creating the Men’s Club, either in the quality of food and drink he provided or the elegant decor. A large chandelier hung from a central ceiling rose and cast its sparkling light on a wide staircase beneath it. The staircase started with curved steps to a quarter landing, and then continued up to the second floor. Four smaller chandeliers lit the corners of the main floor. Further lighting came from evenly spaced sconces around the walls.

More handsome than he’d ever hoped it could be, it gave him a great deal of satisfaction and lined his pockets to an extent he’d never thought possible. The hum of conversation in the club rose and fell around him. Some of the coarse comments he overheard erupted into loud laughter. A crowd had travelled by train from Yreka and he judged to have a house of more than one hundred people. To his surprise, several women sat in the audience, curious no doubt, to see a genuine Lady on stage.

He twirled his cigar casually between his fingers before placing it between his teeth, and supposed he couldn’t complain about the deal he’d struck with Serena. What he lost on takings at the door he would more than make up on food and beverages if the flow of waiters, plying trays of drinks from table to table, indicated anything. He moved away from the bar and made for his reserved table right in front of the stage, amazed at all Serena had achieved. He wouldn’t make that admission to anyone, least of all her. Somehow she managed to cobble an orchestra together, consisting of Lorelei Sutton playing the piano, a drummer, saxophonist and two violinists. She even managed to talk the owner of the Cold Creek Gazette, Jem Lilly, into being the master of ceremonies.

King picked up the playlist and quickly scanned it. He frowned when he saw Tommy Butters’ name. What could the blacksmith’s boy possibly do to entertain, and from where had she conjured up a troupe of acrobats? Thinking back on all the acts he had tried to bring in to the club, it galled him that he may have overlooked talent right under his nose.

Frank Harris joined him, sat down at the table uninvited and mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief.

“Did you think she would draw this much of a crowd?” he asked King.

“Getting them in is one thing.” King drew on his cigar until the tip glowed. He removed it from between his teeth and held it up as if checking to see how much of it he’d smoked. The red tip reflected in his eyes and Frank Harris shivered involuntarily at the expression he saw there. “Leaving them satisfied is quite another.”

“I’ve heard she has a good voice.”

“So have I. But if she doesn’t have any stage presence, just a good voice won’t cut it.”

The lighting in the club dimmed. A drum roll quieted the crowd. One of the deep burgundy velvet drapes screening the stage twitched, and Jem Lilly peered out. He stepped forward, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked out into the depths of the hall. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he raised his arms in greeting.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!”

A murmur of ‘good evening’ came back to him. Jem stepped right to the front of the stage and cupped his ear with his hand.

“What’s that? Is someone there? Anyone?” He faced the audience again, raised his arms and bellowed “Good evening, lad-e-eez and gentlemen.”

This time he was greeted with a resounding echo of ‘Good evening, Jem’.

Jem Lilly smoothed down the satin lapels on his dark jacket, shot his cuffs, and smiled at the audience. The performance was about to begin.

~*~*~*~

*~

Serena took a deep breath
to steady her nerves. From beyond the velvet curtain screening the stage, she heard whispers and mutterings, the shuffling of feet and the occasional burst of laughter. It was nearly time. She took another breath, shook her arms and legs to relax them and rolled her head around on her neck.

It was here. Curtain time. She listened as Jem Lilly bantered with the crowd.

She could almost not believe it. Hetty had pulled out all the stops to create the costume Serena designed, using not only Kitty and another girl from Dollie’s establishment but a couple of Lorelei’s girls as well. Two of the girls made Hetty’s old treadle Singer sewing machines clatter while the other two started the hand finishing on the garments. Hetty checked each stage of the production and announced that she would be chief wardrobe mistress and Serena’s dresser. Serena had no argument with that, for Hetty would be able to hook and unhook all the features incorporated in the design to make quick costume changes possible.

Tommy Butters, the blacksmith’s boy, had at first been shy in accepting Serena’s invitation to dance on stage, but when she told him how much she would pay him, his eyes grew round and he’d agreed in double quick time to join in. Min also came through with a five-man group of tumblers and acrobats. Lorelei’s possible magician was nothing more than a card shark, whose only trick had been to conveniently disappear into thin air.

Serena heard Jem introduce her. The curtains opened and the room fell silent. The footlights flicked on and cast her shadow on the backdrop. She walked to the front of the stage and looked out over the darkened audience. A flicker of amusement danced in her mind at the silence that greeted her.

This is not what they were expecting, she thought.

Her full sleeved blue gown covered her from neck to ankle. She smoothed the frilled skirt down over her hips and waited. The makeshift orchestra played the opening bars of, ‘
I dreamt I dwelled in marble halls’
. Serena took her cue and started to sing, her notes filling the club, rising and falling in the expectant air, telling the tale of a gypsy girl’s wispy memories of a long ago childhood. A polite round of applause and murmurs of appreciation for her strong voice greeted the end of the song. She dipped a curtsey and whisked off stage into the wings.

While Jem bantered back and forth with the audience, Hetty removed the dress’s reversed cape, then unhooked the sleeves from the bodice and handed Serena a fluffed up feather boa. She waited a moment for Jem to quieten a couple of hecklers and then stepped back onto the stage. A murmur from beyond the footlights told her the slight change in her attire had caught the attention of the audience. A nod to Lorelei began her second number, one she had no doubt the audience would know as she started to sing, ‘
Wait ‘til the sun shines, Nellie’
.

She flirted with her boa, revealing her creamy skin and generous décolletage. Waving her hands, she encouraged the audience to sing along with her and, from all around the hall, voices rose in chorus. When that song ended the orchestra started playing, ‘
Waltzing Matilda’
and soon the whole room rang with the popular Australian ballad. From somewhere in the hall someone yelled ‘Hooray for the Aussies’ and Serena smiled and curtsied in acknowledgement. Well aware of Douglas King, sitting right in front of her, never taking his eyes off her, she could practically hear dollar calculations whirling in his head. She made sure to smile at him as she acknowledged the applause when the song ended. The curtain fell and she rushed off the stage.