Cold Gold (2 page)

Serena slumped into the chair.
Her stomach churned and roiled at the thought of food, making her feel quite nauseous. Damn her temper. If not for her fury at Randolph leaving her again, she would be safely at home in Buxton Hall with a secretary to arrange funds for her or her personal banker happy to indulge her financial requests. The last situation she expected did not include Randolph not being in Cold Creek.

“Missee?”

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft voice and she looked up. She had not heard a sound, yet a slim Chinese girl with a face as round and smooth as a peach stood before her. The girl’s eyes were as dark as olives and she wore her hair pulled back in one long, thick braid. She could have been sixteen or sixty.

“Please come this way.”

“Are you Min?” Serena asked.

“Yes, Missee.”

Serena, almost mesmerized by the way the girl moved so silently and gracefully, followed her out of the sitting room and up the stairs. Min stopped outside a solid wood door and opened it. She stood to one side and indicated with a gentle sweeping motion of her hand that Serena should enter. Serena did so and immediately felt at home.

Advancing into the room s
he breathed in Randolph’s particular scent, so lost in the familiarity of it that she did not hear the door close behind her. Tall leather riding boots stood sentry beside a deep wing chair, as if waiting for their owner to step into them. A heavy overcoat lay over one arm of the chair. On the table beside it a stack of papers. slipped to one side, now spread across the surface in an untidy heap. All indications of normalcy were countered by Randolph’s absence.

Serena moved into the bedroom where the
linens on the bed smelled clean and fresh. Pillows were piled against the headboard and the coverlet had been turned down, revealing crisp white sheets. She opened the dresser drawers and found folded shirts, long johns and knitwear. They were familiar, everyday things that would have been in Randolph’s dresser at home. When she looked in the wardrobe, the pungent aroma of cigars and Randolph’s favorite cedar wood cologne almost overwhelmed her. She rifled through the suits and pants hanging there, fingered the rough fabric of a tweed jacket. Something protruded from the breast pocket and she pulled it out.

An old,
hand-tinted photograph showed her sitting in the rose arbor at Buxton Hall. She ran her fingers over it, remembered it being taken. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he did love her. If not, why would he carry a photograph of her? She pushed it back into the pocket. Would he ever wear that jacket again? She dismissed the thought, quelled the dread that rose in her heart. If he didn’t come back, what would she do?

His razor, shaving brush and soap were arranged tidily on the washstand which stood against the wall on the far side of the room. Randolph
had never been this tidy. Who had folded and hung his clothes and arranged his toiletries? Along with most men of his ilk, a valet or someone in the household took care of his domestic arrangements. Had Min been looking after him? And if not Min, then who? Serena feared the answer but she had to know.

A knock on the door stopped her from investigating further.

“Come in,” she called.

Min entered the room carrying a steaming kettle in one hand, and a water jug in the other.

“Missus Lucy say if you need bath, must book time tomorrow. Bath house always busy.”

“Thank you, Min. That will be something to consider. When my
luggage arrives will you please see that it is sent straight up?”

“Yes, Missee.” Min turned to go but Serena stopped her.

“Did you look after my husband, Min? His things are so tidy.”

Min nodded her head. “He good man, Missee.”

“Yes,” Serena said softly. Regardless of what had transpired between them that she could not deny. “He is indeed a good man.”

Min left and Serena removed her jacket and opened the neck of her blouse. She poured hot water into the bowl on the washstand and swirled it around to cool it a little before
splashing it over her face and neck. She would have preferred a bath, but this would have to do. At least she could rearrange her hair after having it crushed under her hat for so long.

She pulled
out her pins and let her long locks loose, ran her fingers through them and shook her head. Drat. The valise containing her brush and other toiletries had yet to be delivered. She picked up Randolph’s silver-backed brush from the washstand and drew the bristles through the strands of her hair, enjoying the comfort in using something belonging to him. She continued to brush with half closed eyes, counting the strokes as she did so. When she reached one hundred she straightened up, tossed her hair back and twisted and pinned and tweaked it into the popular Gibson-girl style.

Re-buttoning her blouse, Serena considered donning her jacket but thought she may just be warm enough with the waistcoat that completed her outfit. She would have
liked a total change of clothes and, as it had only been a short walk to the Eldorado, she expected that her luggage would have been delivered by now. Crossing to the window, she pulled the lace curtain aside. A veranda wrapped around the second storey of the hotel and she had to stand on tiptoe to see across it into the street.

It reminded her of Kalgoorlie,
in Australia, only then Randolph had been beside her. She had complained bitterly at their dry-as-dust surroundings but Randolph had laughed and kissed the top of her head, reminding her that he had warned her of what to expect. But to spend another year alone when he left for Cold Creek? No, she would not accept that.

If only Randolph’s arm
s were around her now, she thought, and sighed as she rested her head against the frosty window pane. Movement in the street below caught her eye. She recognized Joe’s lanky frame jumping down from a carrier’s cart just pulling up outside the hotel.

Between them, Joe and the driver unloaded her luggage. In moments her things were being brought in and set
where she indicated on the floor. She glanced at the wall clock and saw she still had time to change for dinner. Not sure that she could face food, she knew she needed to be sensible and eat what she could. If Randolph didn’t return, she might not be eating at all.

But did people dress for dinner in
Cold Creek? She opened the trunk and removed her favorite off-the-shoulder evening gown. In truth, the outfit she wore would be much warmer. With a sigh she draped the gown over the lid of the trunk. Unpacking, she decided, could wait until after dinner.

She left her room and walked along the shadowy corridor
, thankful for the dim glow of the electric lighting. As she descended the stairs to the lobby, Lucy Vanderberg emerged from a door further down the hallway beyond the reception desk.

“Ah, Lady Buxton,”
Lucy said. “The dining room is back here. Please come this way.”

Serena followed her between the tables, ignoring the curious glances she received from guests who were already seated. Lucy took her to the table closest to the fireplace
and pulled out a chair for her guest.

“I thought you might
appreciate the extra warmth.”

“You’re very kind.” Serena sat down, opened her napkin and laid it across her lap. The table linens appeared as
well starched and laundered as those at Buxton Hall, suggesting some hope of a decent meal. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach settled down, replaced with the first real pangs of hunger at the sight of a loaded plate set before her. Perfectly cooked filet of beef accompanied by small Parisienne potatoes, braised celery and lima beans were followed by a dessert of Neapolitan ice cream, coffee and tiny finger cakes. The cakes were quite delicious, light and fluffy and spiced with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. Serena reluctantly finished the last one and pushed her plate away as a dark-haired man stepped into the dining room.

His gaze swept the room
and came to rest on her. He walked towards her, his long legs carrying him quickly across the carpeted floor. A smile hovered on his lips.

“Lady Buxton?”

“Yes.” Serena shook the hand he held out to her. “Should I know you?”

“Not yet. May I?” He pulled out a chair and, at Serena’s nod, sat down. “I’m Douglas King,
manager at Cold Creek’s Number One mine. I worked with your husband.”

Serena folded her napkin and laid it on the table. “You said ‘worked’. Does that mean you think he’s dead?”

Douglas King shrugged and the casual lift of his shoulder immediately irritated her.

“I’d like to think not,” he said, “but unfortunately it’s the most likely explanation for his disappearance.”

Serena bit back an angry retort reminding herself that, as manager at the mine, King would probably not have time to be anything other than direct. When she spoke, her voice held a quiet but firm tone. “I can’t think of anything less likely than Randolph just disappearing.”

She watched King carefully.
At first he did not meet her gaze, but when he did his glance slid quickly away, the moment covered with an inane remark she completely ignored as something in the back of his eyes raised her awareness. Her intuition told her this man would not be likely to tell her the truth, whatever it may be.

“Be that as it may, in a place like
Cold Creek anything can happen to anybody.”

“So what has been done to find him?” Serena
rested her hands on her lap but clasped her fingers tightly together to hide her apprehension.

“Sheriff
Johnson made extensive enquiries around town and amongst the miners, but no one saw him leave, no one heard anything, no rumors or common talk.”

“What ab
out a search outside the town?”

“Not during winter.” King sat back in his chair. “Apart from the railway
line, we’re pretty well cut off until the spring thaw. The only traffic is around town and to and from the mines.”

“
How many mines are there?” A sudden hope leapt in Serena’s mind. Could Randolph be lost in one of them? She well knew his love of adventure and exploration.

“There are two main shafts
and a maze of subsidiary shafts at the Cold Creek mine in Pine Mountain, but the Burke mine in Storm Mountain east of town goes much deeper. If you’d like a tour of your husband’s interests I can certainly arrange it.”

“Thank you, Mr. King.” Serena gave him a polite smile. “When I have talked to your sheriff
, that may be something I will consider. But tell me, you’re a long way from home too. Northeast England, if I’m not mistaken. Durham, or Newcastle-on-Tyne?”

Kin
g’s brusque laugh contained no humor and Serena suppressed a shiver.

“You have a good ear,” he replied, not answering her question. “Do you mind if I smoke
?”

Without waiting for her reply King took a slim, black cigarillo from his inside pocket. He placed it between his lips and quickly lit it, then looked up as Lucy Vanderberg came towards them.

“I hope you found your meal satisfying, Lady Buxton.” Lucy ignored King completely. Shocked at her lack of manners, Serena slid a sideways glance at King to assess his reaction to this. His lips were pressed together forming a thin, hard line. Animosity radiated from both of them, piquing Serena’s curiosity. What could have happened between them?

“Most excellent, thank you,” Serena made her voice light. “
Please give my compliments to your chef.”

“He’ll be pleased. He’s from San Francisco and for the main part thinks we are un-civilized heathens up here. Would you like more coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“In that case, I’ll say good nig
ht and see you in the morning.”

She walked away without speaking one word to King
, who appeared not at all discomfited by being so rudely ignored. Serena turned to him again.

“So how did you come to be in
Cold Creek?” she inquired.

“The gold, sa
me as pretty well everyone else.” King sat back in his chair, giving the impression of settling in for an evening of conversation. “Transferring what I knew about coal mining to gold mining came easy. Besides, I didn’t want to go on having to tug my forelock to the landed gentry at home. I’m sure you understand.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and a wr
y grin twisted his lips. He bordered on being insulting but Serena ignored his inference.

“Well, standards everywhere are changing,” she said as calmly as she could. “I suppose it goes with these modern times we live in. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall retire for the night.”

King stood and held her chair for her.

“If you need any assistance, Lady Buxton, just send a message to the mine office. I’ll help you any way I can.”

Serena said goodnight to him and walked away, her suspicions thoroughly aroused. How had he known of her arrival? Had George Wilding told him? Or had Joe boasted that he’d helped her? And why couldn’t King have waited until tomorrow to talk to her?

As she reached the stairway she sensed that he
watched her. Holding her head high she walked steadily up the stairs but sighed with relief when her fingers gripped the solid brass handle on her door. She quickly let herself into her room, standing for a moment in the dark before fumbling on the wall for the light switch. She flicked it on and the soft glow from beneath the shaded fixtures spilled down the walls and illuminated the room, making it cozy and partially dispelling her fears.