Blind Trust (34 page)

Tavish frowned. He wasn't sure he liked this.

More rumors, more questions, more wondering. The air was full of it, people milling and grouping and re-forming, asking questions, speculating, expostulating on the delay. If they could get their hands on the person who did it …

A tall, lanky man leaning against the train with a handlebar mustache and a thin cheroot in his mouth was watching him. Tavish could feel his eyes. Danger prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.

No, he didn't like this at all.

When the speculations reached a fever pitch, the man pushed casually off the train. He eased into the largest group with the most vociferous men, their hats pushed back on their heads with exasperation.

“Isn't that Tavish Finn?” the lanky man asked softly.

Softly, but Tavish heard it. He spoke quietly to Darcy. “Get back in the train. Now.”

She looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“Don't ask why, there's no time. You must help me. You must be free to help me. Get back in the train, mingle with the crowd. You don't know me.” His one fear was that, if what was in danger of happening actually transpired, Darcy would be taken as his accomplice.

Without another word, another glance, she picked up her skirts with one hand and walked away from him. He breathed a sigh of relief. But behind him he could hear the mutters. The voices.

“He hates the railroads like poison. It was him that did it, I'm bound.”

“I heard he was at Haymarket,” the lanky man drawled. “They know how to make bombs, you know.”

“Look at him there, pleased as punch. Not a scratch on
him.”

Tavish began to stroll away. He hoped they'd be too disorganized, too unsure, to follow or raise a cry. But he could see the lanky man's lips moving, urging a round, beefy fellow on, and the man raised a cry. A trainman heard, another came over, quick words were exchanged, he was ordered to stop.

He saw Darcy watching from a window, her eyes wide, her fingers clenched into fists as his hands were roughly bound. An enemy of the railroads, an anarchist, they said. To the nearest jail, they said. He was marched there, pushed along, by an angry mob.

And that was how he found himself alone in a jail cell in Redemption, Colorado.

N
O ONE IN
town seemed to care that there was no evidence against Tavish. Not the easygoing deputy, not the train conductor, not the townspeople. They all enjoyed the sight of a fine man dragged through town and locked up. It made for a rousing day in tiny Redemption, and the three saloons did a brisk business.

Darcy soon discovered that the circuit judge who would hear the case wouldn't be through town for another two weeks. There were no lawyers in Redemption. She had to travel to either Pueblo or Colorado Springs, and there was no one to take her. She'd already missed the train, which had left six hours later, once the track had been fixed. The owner of the tiny livery stable was dead drunk, and so, it seemed, was every other able-bodied man in Redemption. Darcy checked into the town's only hotel and decided to wait till morning to take action.

She returned to the jail. She and Tavish kissed through the bars. “I'll get you out,” she said. “I'll wire for a lawyer from back East if I have to: My cousin Florence in Boston just married a lawyer. I understand he's quite well known—”

“You have to be careful, love. Remember,” Tavish said delicately, “you're, uh, wanted, as they say. What's the use of getting me out if you get in?”

Darcy looked crestfallen. “Oh. I hadn't thought of that.”

“So you see, we'll just have to wait. I'm hoping the railroad will see the light. For heaven's sake, they know I haven't been involved with the Grange for years. And the Grange never blew up trains.”

“Well,” Darcy decided, “then you'll just have to wait while I go to Colorado Springs and bring Annie here.”

“What?”

“It's the only way. Oh, Tavish, I hate to leave you, I truly do, but what can I do here? I might as well go to Colorado Springs, find a lawyer and Annie, and bring them both back to Redemption. Lord knows no one will look for us here.”

He frowned. “I don't like it. I don't want you going by yourself.”

“But I have to. We can't wait two weeks. And I have to find you a lawyer anyway. If I can't wire back East I'll have to go to Colorado Springs.”

“No. Wait, Darcy—”

She kissed the tips of her fingers and laid them against his cheek. “I'll be back to say good-bye before I go.”

“Darcy, no—”

Waving over her shoulder, she went out. As she passed the deputy's desk, he looked up. Young, impossibly young for such a job, he was redheaded, freckled, and had a wiry beard. “Have a nice visit?”

“Yes, very nice,” she said, smiling back. There was no sense getting on the wrong side of Tavish's captor. “Thank you so much for letting me see him,” she said. Briefly, she laid a gloved hand on his sleeve. “You're very kind.”

“Anytime, ma'am,” the young man replied, blushing furiously. “Anything I can do, you just let me know.”

“I just might take you up on that, deputy,” she sweetly replied.

She started back toward the hotel. Strange how beautiful the country was and how ugly the towns could be. Redemption was a mining town with nothing more to mine. It had hung on because of its railroad depot and trade, she supposed. The town consisted of a ramshackle group of buildings on one main street. There was one very obvious brothel, one general store, one tiny square building with a whitewashed cross that she assumed was a church, an assay office, a livery stable, one dubious-looking boarding house, and her hotel. Darcy had no idea what the other buildings housed. The only businesses that seemed to be booming were the saloons and, of course, the brothel. Time must lay heavy on the hands of the miners around here.

As she approached the Bonanza Saloon, surely an example of wishful thinking if she ever saw one, she quickened her steps. It seemed to be the most disreputable building of the lot, and she paused while a drunken man reeled out through the swinging doors and began an unsteady trek down the alley. She averted her eyes, not interested in the least in what he planned to accomplish down there, and she found herself looking in the long mirror over the bar inside the saloon. Darcy gave a start. A lanky man with a long, handlebar mustache was threading through the crowd. It was the man who had fingered Tavish as the saboteur. He had disappeared from sight after reaching the town.

She stood on her tiptoes to watch him. There were too many bodies in her way, and she strained even higher to see. She saw the lanky man stop at the bar. She couldn't see the man next to him, but she saw a gloved hand signal for a drink. A glass was placed before the lanky man. Then the gloved hand pushed a fat envelope toward him. And she would bet there was money in it.

Darcy's calves were beginning to shake from the effort of staying on her toes. No matter how she moved, she could not see the face of the man with the gloves. Then the door swung open in her face, and she stumbled backward. Two men came out, taking no notice of her. But when she had a chance to peer inside again, both the lanky man and the gloved man were gone. Two empty glasses stood at their places. It was then that she noticed that the saloon also had a side door. She dashed to the alley, but there was no sign of anyone except the drunken man relieving himself against the side of the livery stable and occasionally on his boots. She'd come a long way from the four hundred, that was certain.

Darcy started again toward her hotel. Something was wrong with what she'd seen. The lanky man had been paid to finger Tavish, of course. But what was it that was bothering her?

The gloves
. She'd seen the men in this town. Miners, mostly, cowboys, drifters. She'd seen their clothes, their hands. Their gloves were made from animal hide of one sort or another, creased, dirty, designed for work. But this man's gloves would have been at home in a drawing room on Fifth Avenue. They were spotless. They were the fine kid leather of that pale lavender shade that denoted a gentleman.

Darcy stopped in her tracks. Dargent wasn't in Denver, she realized with a sudden, sharp shiver. He was here.

They made their plans. Tavish instructed her to return at eleven. Rory, the deputy, had already been on him like a June bug, asking about his sweetheart. Darcy had impressed him. The genial son of a Kansas farmer, he was no friend to the railroad, and he knew Tavish had a bum rap. If Tavish could soften him up enough, or Darcy could distract him enough, perhaps one of them would be able to get the key. It was worth a try. Better than sitting in the jail like a dead duck, just waiting.

Darcy hurried back to the hotel again to rest for the night ahead. She managed to nap, as Tavish had suggested, and she arranged for a meal to be brought to her room. They looked at her strangely, but they delivered it.

After she'd eaten, she sat down in a chair by the window to wait. Strangely, her thoughts turned to her father. He'd always claimed he was a coward. But how she would love his enthusiasm, his jokes, right now. Edward, the way he used to be. She remembered the day he came to see her, when in the midst of their troubles he couldn't help but comment on her cousin's dress.

And then Darcy sat up. Edward had made a wedding visit to her cousin Florence. She'd married that fall, had gone to Europe for her wedding trip. But the letter she'd read in Claude's files, the letter from her uncle, spoke of his making the wedding visit last spring. Florence hadn't been married last spring.

What could it mean? The letter had been dated April 7. She remembered it clearly. Could she have confused Florence with someone else, another Florence? No, he'd mentioned her husband Charles, as well. There could be no mistake. But what could it mean? Darcy wondered again.

She nearly jumped a foot when there was a knock at her door. Then she recovered. It must be the gangly youth who'd brought her dinner tray returning for it. Good—it was almost time to head for the jail. This way none of the staff would know she had gone.

She went to the door and opened it. Ned Van Cormandt looked anxiously at her.

“Thank God I found you,” he said.

“Mr. Van Cormandt.” She backed up a step. “What—what are you doing here?”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Statton,” he said, closing the door behind him. “But I must be frank. Mrs. Nash sent me. She is terribly worried. She thinks something is awry. She sent me here to help, if I could. Tavish told her where he was heading when he left New York.”

“I see.” Darcy backed into the room even farther. Her heart was beating, and she was trying to think.

“But how did you know I was in Redemption?”

“I was in Colorado Springs. Waiting for you. I heard about the train wreck. I came down to investigate and found that Tavish Finn was in jail. I'm a lawyer, Mrs. Statton. I can help you.”

“Mr. Van Cormandt—”

“Don't you think it's about time you called me Ned? Seeing that—”

“Ned, I have to think. I don't know what to do, I—I'm so tired. It's so late. And with the wreck and Tavish in jail—” She sank into a chair. She summoned all her strength to throw him a wan look.

“Of course. How inconsiderate of me. Perhaps we could breakfast together? There is time to talk of what we should do. And I should wire Columbine now. She's frantic with worry. She sent me with a message for Tavish. I'll see him tomorrow,” he said, retreating toward the door.

“Tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Tomorrow. Don't worry, Darcy. I can help.”

Rigid, she watched him shut the door behind him. Then she collapsed with relief. Thank God he had left. She could think. Could it be Ned? Could it be someone she knew, someone she'd gone to dancing class with, for heaven's sake? Someone whose family knew her family?

She shook her head. She couldn't believe it. Could it be that he had only been pretending to be blackmailed to divert Tavish? She couldn't imagine Columbine revealing to anyone where Tavish was going. Unless she trusted him with her life. But she could be mistaken.

She had to tell Tavish. She could go early to the jail and tell him. She waited only until Ned's footsteps had died away. Then she quickly reached for her cloak. Throwing it over her shoulders, she eased open the door.

She nearly screamed when she saw a tall figure with his back to her. She pressed a hand to her mouth, and the man turned. It was her uncle Lemuel.

“Darcy!”

“Uncle Lemuel!” She pulled him inside quickly, dropping the cloak to the floor. “How glad I am to see you! What are you doing here? How did you find me? Oh, Uncle Lemuel, I am so very glad to see you.” She was swept into his arms, and she felt tears well in her eyes. It was almost like having her father there. Family. Everything would be all right now.

“I've been traveling for days,” Lemuel said as he held her. “I heard about the wreck in Colorado Springs. Marie had forwarded your wire, I'd been chasing you and Tavish since I knew he'd left the city. I came here immediately. Don't worry now.” He patted her back. “I know the governor of Colorado. Nothing will happen to Finn. And I won't let anything happen to you, Darcy. When one has money, everything is possible,
n'est-cepas
?”

It was as though a sonorous bell slowly tolled in her brain.
Money
, she thought.
D'argent.
The name was an effete joke, a slap in the face from a Francophile. Foreboding snaked through her. Ned hated everything French. He was one of the few people she knew who couldn't speak a word of it. But maybe the translation had no significance at all.

“Don't cry, now. Here, let me get you my handkerchief.”

Darcy drew away, still thinking, while her uncle stripped off his glove to get his handkerchief from his pocket.

His fine glove in the softest kid. His fine, lavender glove.