Jasper Mountain (14 page)

Jack tried not to stare, but his jaw dropped. He closed his mouth and gulped.

“This afternoon I did fire someone,” Victor continued. “That worthless piece of drunken rubbish. The man actually cried. Begged for his job. Disgusting.” His smile widened. “Congratulations, Jack.” He clasped Jack’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “This will give you the opportunity to shape these men. Mold them. You are a fine example for them. I’m sure you will lead as brilliantly as you blasted tunnels. And tonight we’ll celebrate.” He put his arm around Jack’s shoulder and led him into the entryway. “We’ll announce your promotion at the Boarding House. All the officers are meeting there. Be there at seven. Supper is served at eight.”

“Sir—”

“I know you’re not actually an officer yet. You are on your way. You belong with us. Time for you to begin your rightful path within the company.”

Damn it, where the hell was his voice? Jack wondered. His words?

“Oh, and Jack? Wear your Sunday best. Miss St. Claire is quite particular in the matters of appearance and dress. We’ll discuss all the details of your new duties tonight and the additional benefits of your position, some of which you will welcome this evening.” Victor’s smile seemed genuine. Just like the stranger rolling through town last month selling Miracle Cure-All Elixir. “Congratulations, Jack Buchanan. You’ve more than earned this.”

Jack stepped out onto the porch. Behind him, the door shut, a heavy sound. He turned. And found himself standing on the outside, his nose inches from a solid, closed door.

W
ell, well,” Isabella remarked when she entered the bedroom. “I see we’re prepared for the evening. Milena, you’ll be pleased to learn your party left town this morning. You may officially come out of hiding. You’re free.”

Beth smoothed Milena’s skirt and stepped back. The Gypsy was stunning in Beth’s midnight blue dress. Distrust snapped in her black eyes. And perhaps, Isabella thought, even a little well-harnessed anger. And after such a happy announcement.

Midnight curls swept away and back from the woman’s magnificent eyes. A few strands escaped her elaborate upsweep, promising a touch of unbridled wildness. The black lace trim on the dress echoed her crown of hair and hinted of elegant darkness within. Isabella had been mistaken when she labeled the Gypsy breathtaking. There were no words to describe this. Well, no, perhaps there were.
Gold mine.

Milena held her chin a bit higher. “I took your bath. I wear your dress. I will only do this. Not your service.”

“Ah, my dear.” Isabella smiled and shook her head. “You agreed to tell some fortunes, a little mysterious hocus-pocus. A lovely addition to the evening. However, I certainly don’t expect any more of you. Not every woman is Boarding House quality.”

Milena’s eyes flickered, but her neck remained stiff.

“Beth dear,” Isabella said, “will you excuse us?”

On the way out of the room, Beth touched Milena’s arm. The two shared a moment of support, as if they were old friends. Interesting, and after such a short time together. Isabella tucked the observation away for later thought. Behind her, the door shut. Time to bend this one’s stiff neck, just a bit. But not break her. Isabella knew the regality with which the Gypsy held herself was a selling point. High-spirited women were always worth so much more.

“You’ve become acquainted with Beth. Tonight you will meet the other Boarding House ladies. They are refined. Educated. Able to discuss matters social, literary, political, all with great insight and candor. They work to be perfect companions in every way. Milena, you are quite lovely, but a bit, please pardon me, rough-hewn.”

She got the desired effect. Milena’s expression melted into an unsure look, perhaps even hurt. Still, she held her jaw stiff, clenched. Good. Metal ran through her, something she’d need to survive. But Milena also needed a benefactor. Isabella knew she was the best deal in town, especially for a woman as intriguing as this.

“Not to worry. You’ll do fine telling your fortunes.” Isabella walked to the dresser, where Milena’s velvet bag sat, crumpled. She picked it up and held it close. “In fact, I predict you’ll be quite successful in adding a certain, shall we say, excitement to the evening.” She clutched the bag tighter. “I’m sure you passed the cribs on your way up. The whore shacks? That’s not what this is. What we are. We entertain gentlemen callers. Occasionally romance ensues. Intimacy for each lady to decide for herself.

No one is forced into anything she does not wish.” Not quite a lie, Isabella thought. Not really.

The Gypsy held steady, but her eyes flickered to the bag. Everything Milena owned, and Isabella held it in her hand. How incredibly pathetic.

Time for the final persuasion. “You recall, my dear, the man searching for you? What was his name, Rolf?”

Milena’s expression turned a touch anxious.

“You remember, I’m sure, what you were about to be forced into?”

Milena dropped her gaze. No, this little Gypsy and her misbegotten pride were no match for Isabella St. Claire. No one was.

“I would never, ever ask that of you, my dear, nor anything you weren’t comfortable with. Just fortunes. Just what you wish to offer.”

“I am sorry. I thought—”

“Of course, my dear. The conclusion the ignorant come to when regarding us.”

Again, hurt in her eyes. Time to build confidence and dangle the prize.

“But you aren’t really ignorant, are you? In fact, I find you to be quite intelligent. Capable. You’ve made it this far. Many women don’t. Can’t. You’ve seen them, I’m sure. Women working in factories, households. Selling their lives for a few coins and a meager existence in an attic or cellar. Or the crib whores.” Isabella allowed herself a shudder. “And let us not forget the wives whose husbands abuse them in so many ways. Force themselves upon them, convince them they are worthless, no better than laboring animals. Women who bear child after child, growing weaker with each. You’ve passed their graves, unmarked places with rocks piled up, a wooden cross stuck in the ground.” Her words struck a chord as Milena’s expression grew troubled.

“You, my dear,” Isabella continued, “managed to escape from all that. You stand before me, wearing a stunning silk and lace dress, about to spend the evening enjoying good food and fine wine. You will entertain and tell the fortunes of handsome, intelligent, and well-mannered gentlemen who will, I promise, treat you with dignity and respect. Like a queen. And you deserve to be treated like royalty, Milena. We all do. The difference is most women don’t realize this. They sell their souls for nothing more than a broken vow.” Isabella harnessed her growing anger. This was not the time, nor the place. Not here. The world within these walls, what she offered to Milena, she’d built with her strength, her intelligence. Her soul. This deserved world of dignity, of respect, came at a price. A very steep price, yet worth everything, this place Isabella St. Claire made for her ladies and herself.

“I gave you my promise you’d be safe, Milena, and I am a woman of my word. You can absolutely trust me.” Still holding Milena’s hand, she held the Gypsy’s bag out. Milena grabbed it with her free hand and clutched it close.

“Come along, dear. This will be marvelous fun. I promise.”

“Whoa, girl.”

Jack pulled up his horse at the top of the ridge and looked down. He’d faced mountains, stampedes, fires, explosions, and endless hours underground in the mines, yet all that was nothing compared to this. The thought of approaching and entering the house below terrified him. He wasn’t sure if it was Victor and his pack of officers, or all the beautiful Boarding House ladies who scared the bejeezus out of him.

Or something else entirely.

He felt like he did the night on the mountain, when he searched for Laney Olsson and he woke up in the middle of the night, aware of—what? The Faerie of the Forest. Why did he feel the same way now, like he stood on the verge of pushing aside a curtain and beholding a world he’d never seen? Well, that description certainly fit the Boarding House and its beautiful occupants. But this felt like more. Different. Something here was important. If only he could figure out what.

Few men held the honor of a Boarding House evening. Honored wasn’t exactly how he felt. Duped was more like it. He spurred his horse on, feeling he was riding straight into an ambush, of what intrigue and manipulations he could only guess.

Luke, Miss Isabella’s strong-arm man, looked up from his post when Jack approached. A wry grin spread across the hustler’s face as he took Willow’s reins. Jack dismounted.

“Well, looky, Buchanan, you’re all gussied up. How long did it take you to dig rock dust out of your ears?”

Jack smiled at the formerly rough and grizzled Luke. A tall and muscled man with a thick beard and hair that had never been cut, Luke worked on Jack’s shift until a few months back. When one of the Boarding House customers got rough and beat a girl halfway to death, Miss St. Claire stopped the man by shooting off his knee. She hired Luke the next day with a few requirements: a bath, a shave, and a haircut.

The barber shaved the three years of beard, but Luke refused to cut his hair. The result, a thick golden mane and the handsome face beneath it, caused ladies to swoon. Now Luke guarded the Boarding House, his powerful frame straining against his cashmere suit.

“You got no room to talk, Goldilocks,” Jack answered. “You’re pretty as a girl at her first dance.”

Luke laughed, then sobered. “You know, Jack, I never figured you for one of them.” He tied Jack’s horse to the post.

Jack’s smile faded. One of them.

Luke continued. “Guess I never figured on me openin’ doors and smellin’ like a flower, either. Even bought my own damned bathtub. Barber cost me a fortune. I don’t own nothin’ in this world but a bathtub. Not enough space for it in my room, so Mrs. Peabody moved my bed out. I even sleep in my goddamned tub. Christ, Jack. Amazing what a man will do for a woman, even one he works for.” He grasped the ornate gold-plated knob and swung the door open.

The stained-glass doorway framed an impossibly elegant world set against the filth of Jasper. Evening sun flooded through glass designs, reflecting patterns of color onto a white marble floor. The melody of female voices spun around the heavy murmur of men’s discussion, and every so often, a trill of soft feminine laughter danced in the air. The rich scent of cooking meat and the sweetness of baking chocolate broke through, and Jack’s empty stomach rumbled. He thought of Digger, eating mush at the Nugget Hotel, and Reverend McShane and his orphans, eating whatever the good citizens of Jasper saw fit to donate for the week.

In the entryway to the parlor beyond, dressed in green silk and lace with her red hair piled high, resembling a very rare and expensive rose, stood Isabella St. Claire. She smiled dazzlingly and came to him, holding out her gloved hand.

“Jack, welcome.” Her voice was lyrical music. What did they call such a creature in Greek mythology? A siren. Only this one didn’t exist on a faraway ocean, this one lived on an enchanted island, in a sea of dust and dirt.

“Miss St. Claire.” Jack stepped over the threshold and took her proffered hand. Panic lurched his gut. Should he kiss the glove? Lord, he’d never done such a thing before. Thankfully, in one graceful motion she squeezed his hand and drew him close to take his arm.

“I understand congratulations are in order.”

They walked together to the parlor. Through the archway the room teemed with people: Turtle, Edmund, other officers of the mine, the mayor, and beautiful silk-clad ladies with upswept hairstyles and soft, bared shoulders. A mist of cigar smoke and sweet perfume hung like a veil protecting this other world.

“To tell you the truth, Miss St. Claire, I feel fairly out of place.”

She stopped and faced him, her smile turning genuine. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Jack. You’re honest.” She took his hand again. “You’re to feel perfectly at home. Everything will be fine. It’s what I’m here for, what we’re all here for. All you need to do is relax and enjoy yourself.” She led him into the parlor. “And please, I think it’s high time you call me Isabella.”

Soft candlelight, leather chairs, and wood-paneled walls made the room one any man might be comfortable inhabiting. Jack had no doubt Isabella planned it that way.

“I see you’ve found our new shift foreman.” Victor’s voice cut through the haze of gentility like a knife. Isabella dropped away from Jack’s side, and Victor shook his hand. Jack couldn’t get over the feeling he performed an intricately choreographed ballet, one where he didn’t know any of the steps.

“Jack, congratulations.” A lovely blond woman with wide-set blue eyes came to Victor’s side. She took the mine owner’s arm, leaning into him. Jack almost didn’t recognize the polished and perfected woman on Victor’s arm, and suddenly he realized it was little Beth Freemont. Beth used to be a scullery maid at the Creely estate. She became one of Isabella’s ladies soon after Jack arrived in Jasper. Apparently, she still served Victor, but not in the matters of housecleaning.

“It’s good to see you, Beth,” Jack replied. At least he knew one of the ladies. Isabella and her flock were well known in town, but they always stayed discreetly on the edge of Jasper life, not coming close enough to cause any complaints. Jack not only recognized Beth from her scullery days, but he remembered Digger and Beth grew up together in the Jasper orphanage. He wondered if Digger even recognized her now.