The Gold Miner's Wife: A Young Woman's Story of Romance, Passion and Murder (12 page)

             
Cookson stood, picked up his hat and bade the ladies good day.  Finally, some real progress was being made.  His hunch about the slippery Mr. Brophy had been correct all along.  He was paid by someone, evidently a well-to-do Englishman, to commit premeditated murder.  This was progress.  He would report his findings to Jack Simmons and consider their next move.

             
Thomas Sprague’s unexpected death had caused Professor and Mrs. Purfield to delay their planned return home to England.  The Purfield’s had arrived in Denver in 1873 and rented a comfortable home on Lawrence Street, intending to stay for only one year.  While Professor Purfield devoted his considerable talent as a chemist to the building of smelters used in the extraction of gold and silver, one year became two, two became three.  By 1876, his involvement had finally diminished, he and his wife were increasingly homesick, and there was no longer a compelling reason for them to remain in Denver.  The decision was made to return to England after Colorado Statehood festivities concluded on August first.

             
But Thomas’ death had changed all that.  The Purfield’s had established a close and abiding affection for Susannah and Thomas, almost like family.  Their personal grief, coupled with concern over Susannah’s welfare, made it impossible for them to entertain the prospect of leaving as planned.  However, by mid-September it seemed to the Purfields that Susannah had regained her equilibrium sufficiently for them to resurrect their plans to return home and the arduous task of packing their belongings soon commenced.

             
Susannah, in her continued effort to focus on remaining busy and occupied, volunteered her services in assisting with the packing of some of Ella Purfield’s more fragile items such as porcelain figurines, crystal and her prized brass Argand oil lamp.  And so, on the very afternoon Jack Simmons came to visit Susannah at her residence on Grant Street, he was redirected to the home of the Purfield’s on Lawrence Street.

             
It had been over two weeks since Jack and Susannah had called on Gerta Schultz.  He told himself he wanted nothing more than to see Susannah, assess her well-being and offer to assist her in any way.  She was never far from his thoughts.  Under the circumstances, he believed he had an unspoken obligation to protect her.  But the truth was, he had formed affectionate feelings for Susannah that were quite personal and could no longer be denied.  Taking refuge in the solitude of the mountains and the mining camp offered him no relief.  She even visited him there in his dreams.  With no hope for it, Jack acted impulsively and made his way over to Lawrence Street thinking maybe he too could lend the Purfield’s a helping hand.

             
“Come in, come in, Mr. Simmons.  It is always nice to see you,” said Mrs. Purfield effusively.  “We are all in a state of disarray in the midst of our packing.  But please come in.  You will be surprised to learn Susannah is here helping us.  The more the merrier I say!”

             
“When will you be returning to England?” Jack inquired.

             
“On Monday next,” was her reply.  “I do not know if we shall be ready.  There is so much to do! 

“I understand.  You are moving an entire household, after all, Mrs.
Purfield, and it is a daunting prospect,” Jack observed.  “I am sorry to see you and the Professor go.  Please know you will always have many friends here, myself included.”

“We shall miss the friends we have made here as well, and the mountain vistas, and the sunny weather, and the hummingbirds and the Ladies Aide Society.  But not the rattlesnakes,” she teased.  “I have many memories to take with me, mostly happy ones, and at the end of the day, Mr. Simmons, what do we have to cherish but our memories?” she said wistfully. 

“You have hit the mark, as usual, Mrs.
Purfield,” Jack agreed.

“If you are looking for the Professor, you will find him in the library.  He is supervising the packing of his delicate scientific instruments.”

              “I will be sure to pay my respects.  Actually I am here on another matter,” he said honestly.  “I wish to see Susannah.  Catori told me I would find her here.”

             
That revelation diverted Mrs. Purfield’s attention away from the madness.  She raised a brow.  “Oh?” was all she managed to say, unable to hide her concern.  “Not more trouble I hope.”

             
“Not at all.  An added reason for my coming here is that you can use an extra hand.  So put me to work, Mrs. Purfield,” he said brightly.  “I am at your service.”

             
“That is most generous of you, Mr. Simmons,” said Mrs. Purfield, regaining her composure.  “Please follow me this way.  I believe you would be of great assistance in the dining room.”

             
When they entered, Susannah was sitting on the floor amidst wooden crates and stacks of newspapers, carefully packing some of Mrs. Purfield’s precious figurines.  For added comfort she had removed her shoes.  With her ankles exposed, the hem of her dress turned up and her petticoat askew, she was flummoxed to be caught in such an immodest and unladylike manner.  She bolted upright with nearly with the speed of a wet cat.  “Mr. Simmons!” she exclaimed.

Jack was nonchalant.  “How are you today, Mrs. Sprague?” he asked rather formally.  He shrugged off his frock coat and rolled up his sleeves, exposing those muscular arms again and went to work immediately.  Susannah’s mouth went dry; she looked away.  With a hammer and nails, he secured lids onto the crates that were packed, then neatly stacked them to one side.

              “Catori told me I would find you here,” he confessed.  “I was interested in knowing how you are getting along.”  Her skin was creamy white with the faintest touch of pink and tendrils of her soft curls had escaped their pins.  Her black day dress was less severe today and had a scooped neckline, the swell of her breasts strained against her bodice.  He pounded another nail in place.

             
“You must not worry about me Jack,” she said kindly.  “Each new day is much like the last.  I try to keep myself busy.”

             
“If you ever require assistance, for any reason at all, you need only send a note around,” he reassured her.

             
“You are most considerate and I thank you,” she said as she continued working.  “I have heard from Edward.  Only a brief telegram, but that is something,” she said brightly.  “It relieved my anxiety to know they arrived home safely.”

             
Jack did not want to be unkind, but the last topic he wanted to discuss was the tedious Edward Mansfield.  “I am glad to hear it,” he said, and then changed the subject.  “Susannah, I would like to invite you to visit the mine,
your
mine, if you feel you are ready.  Once the weather turns, we will find it more difficult to gain access, and by winter the operation will be shut down entirely.  As you know, our new Cornish Stamp Mill is up and running.  Perhaps sometime next week?”

             
“My countrymen will be relieved to know you purchased a
Cornish
Stamp Mill,” she teased.  “I will be all sixes and sevens until I get to see it myself!”

             
“You will come with me then?” he asked hopefully.

             
“Yes, I will come with you.  Would Thursday suit?”

             
“Of course.  It is settled then.  I will call early, say 9:00 a.m. and have you back home by six o’clock,” he reassured her.  “The leaves are starting to turn.  I think you will enjoy the scenery.”

             
“I look forward to it,” she said honestly.

             
Jack spent the remainder of the afternoon most agreeably at the home of the Purfield’s.  They were supremely grateful for his diligent assistance.  Jack had the hidden advantage of spending time close to someone who was very dear to him.

             
The next day, the wind picked up.  Tumbleweeds were starting to run wild all over town, caught in fences, piling up next to homes and buildings and getting trapped beneath carriages and wagons.  They were a constant menace to those living along the Front Range and on the high plains.  Residents waged an unending battle against the resilient weeds that rolled and bounced along so effortlessly.  They would rid their yards of the pesky vagabonds one day, only to be invaded again the next.  The weather was especially unsettled at this time of year and one never knew what the wind might be whipping up. 

             
Jack rode against the steady wind to Daniel Cookson’s office on Colfax Avenue, drawing his bandana over his mouth and nose, lest he breathe in dust.  Cookson had sent a note around that morning requesting a meeting.  Jack was anxious to learn what details may have surfaced in the ongoing investigation.

             
He found Cookson working behind his desk and an older gentleman emptying his ashtray into a dust bin. 

             
“Anything else, Captain?” the older man asked.

             
“No, thank you Rivers.  That will be all.  We will have some papers needing to be filed away later,” said Cookson.  “Very good Captain,” the man replied as he shuffled past Jack carrying the dust bin.  He clearly had a limp.

             
“Ah, Mr. Simmons,” said Cookson.  “Please come in, and close the door will you?”  Jack shut the door, removed his Stetson and took a seat.

             
“Captain?” said Jack.

             
“That was Mr. Rivers.  He was wounded at Vicksburg.  He was in the 130
th
Illinois Infantry under my command, Mr. Simmons.  I offered him a position here.”  This information confirmed what Jack already knew about Mr. Cookson; he was an honorable man and a man of integrity.  His men were loyal to him as he was to them.  “I asked you to meet with me because I have made some progress.  It is more important than ever that we find Brophy – I’m sure he is our man,” Cookson stated, without preamble.

             
“I’m listening.”

             
“I interviewed Jade, Miss Dempsey.  She was not eager to talk to me, but our conversation was very illuminating.  Evidently she was beaten because she witnessed something.  Brophy wanted to silence her.  A well-dressed gentleman came to the brothel house and interrupted him while he was in the room with Jade.  He may have been English.  He asked if
something
had been done.  Brophy said, ‘yes, tomorrow’.  Brophy was then handed a wad of money.  Before the man went away, he said he would wait in Denver for further news.”

             
Jack was stunned.  They were dealing with a murderer – two murderers actually.  “Did she give a description of the well-dressed man?” asked Jack.

             
“Not a very good one.  Brown curly hair, tall, perhaps a thin mustache.  She said the hallway was dark.”

             
At this description, Jack’s face drained of all color as his mind raced ahead.  It couldn’t be.  It was not possible.  “Mr. Simmons?” Cookson asked.  “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”

             
“Maybe I have.  It is too much of a coincidence to be worthy of merit.  We took a visitor on a tour of the mine the day before the explosion.  He was tall, English, had brown curly hair and a thin mustache.”

             
“Who was he?” asked Cookson, startled.

             
“His name is Edward Mansfield and he is a life-long friend of Susannah Sprague.  He and his sister Charlotte were visiting here for the statehood celebration.  They have since returned to England.”

             
“And Mrs. Sprague would vouch for his character?”  Cookson probed.

             
“Oh yes, she holds him in the highest esteem. 
Why
, I do not know,” said Jack rather sarcastically.

             
“I take it you did not get on well with him,” Cookson observed.

             
“He was tedious and meddlesome.  There was something about his manner that put me off,” said Jack.

             
“Yes, well, if Mrs. Sprague holds him in high regard, and she would be thoroughly familiar with his character, I think we may be getting way ahead of ourselves, especially since he is halfway around the world now, as you say.  Many men have mustaches,” he said as he pushed that idea off a mental cliff.

             
“A coincidence then,” agreed Jack, trying to convince himself it was only that. 

“Miss Dempsey is leaving Pine Creek, if she has not already left and that is good,” Cookson added.

“The fact remains now we are looking for
two
men: one who carried out the deed and the other who paid him to do it,” Jack said grimly.

             
“It would appear so, yes.  Treacherous criminals, the both of them,” Cookson observed.

             
“And our next move?” asked Jack.

             
“I will visit the hotels and boarding houses in Denver and see if anyone matching that description was registered during our time frame,” he replied.  “In the meantime we must keep our eyes and ears open.  It seems illogical that someone would go to such lengths to commit murder and then simply drop out of sight.  Whoever he is, he will make another move.  We still do not have a motive.”