Conjuring Sight (Becky Jo Chronicles Book 1) (16 page)

I can’t argue with him. I’ve always been a sucker for beautiful clothing, and the cape is spectacular. I take the muff from Rose.

“These will have to be returned when I leave,” I say, putting my hands in it.

Colonel Blair just smirks.  “Miss Egan, are we ready?”

“Yes, Colonel Blair,” Clara says, descending the stairs in a nice dress.

I wrinkle my forehead in confusion.

Clara explains, “I am also your chaperone, Miss Harris.  You cannot very well go to a ball without a chaperone.”

“This evening should be wonderful,” I say, thrilled to have Clara coming along.

Gabe is waiting in the driver’s seat of a large, covered carriage. He inclines his head slightly when he sees me. I smile warmly in return as Colonel Blair helps me into the carriage. Clara takes the seat next to me, and the Colonel sits across from us.

Excited and nervous about the ball, I gaze out as we enter Virginia City. I see children in rags and a drunken brawl. I feel a stab of guilt. I’m wearing the most beautiful and ridiculous dress and cloak while so many will struggle to feed and keep their families safe tonight. It’s difficult to deal with the city’s contradictions. There is the wealth and luxury enjoyed by the mine owners, contrasted by the poverty and destituteness of many of the miners, their families, and the women of the red district. The city also has a strange mixture of violence and elegance. The Victorian sensibilities aren’t so prominent in the Wild West. I am deep in thought as I notice a face peer around a building at the carriage.

I am taken aback. Cassandra, Samuel’s prostitute, is checking up on us. She glares, making a strange sign with her hands. The diamond around my neck grows hot as the woman shrieks and disappears. I don’t know much about Cassandra, but I have seen a similar hand gesture before. There is little doubt in my mind that, like Sunny, she is a witch. Unfortunately, she’s not a nice witch because she just tried to curse me. I am going to have to keep my distance.

I turn my head, finding Clara deep in thought. She smiles, but I know a fake smile when I see one. I want to ask what the problem is, but the carriage stops.

“James! Miss Harris!” John MacKay greets us at the train station. “I had hoped we would see the two of you here.”

“Good evening, John and Louise,” James inclines his head.

A well-dressed woman, in an elegant mauve gown, smiles. “You must be the Miss Harris I have heard so much about. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Louise MacKay.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I reply, gesturing behind me. “This is my chaperone, Miss Clara Egan.”

Mrs. Mackay acknowledges Clara with a nod of the head. “Between the two of us, I believe we can be both good company and keep Miss Harris’s precious, young reputation intact.”

The train ride is interesting and exhilarating. Beautiful people in beautiful clothing are fun to watch, but I have a blast just being on the train. The locomotive is brand-new for 1875 and really fun to ride in. The entire journey feels like a really posh reenactment.

“Am I to suppose you like the train, Miss Harris?” Colonel Blair asks, watching me stare out the window.

“I have always liked trains,” I answer truthfully. “They are very exciting. Don’t you agree, Colonel Blair?”

“They are a practical means of transport.”

“Colonel Blair, you are far too serious.” I laugh, patting his gloved hand while returning my gaze out the window.

The train ride is glorious, and I’m a bit disappointed when it ends. However, my disappointment disappears as I follow Mrs. MacKay and Clara from the train to Corbett’s Hall. They usher me to the cloak room where attendants help us out of our cloaks. Clara hands me a fancy, lace fan.

“It’s plenty cool. I don’t need a fan,” I try to hand it back.

Clara scowls, directing me to the corner of the room where we can engage in a private conversation.

“Miss Harris,” she says with exasperation. “A fan is important. Your mother must have taught you how to use one!”

“My mother never told me anything about fans,” I answer honestly.

She shakes her head in disapproval, taking my fan in hand. She opens it, fanning quickly. “If you do this, it means you are independent of a relationship.” She fans slowly. “If you do this, you are telling everyone you are engaged.” I gasp, understanding how important these signals are in nineteenth century society. She nods, fanning with her right hand over her face. “This is as if you are saying, ‘Come on,’ and this…” She switches hands, fanning with her left over her face. “…means ‘leave me.”

“It’s impossible.  How do you learn all this?  There is no way I’m going remember it all,” I say in frustration.

“I was raised by a wealthy family, and you must remember,” she replies, opening and shutting the fan. “Do not do that! It means, ‘Kiss me.’”

“Right, do not open and close the fan.” I burn that one into memory.

She opens the fan wide. “If you do this, it indicates love, but if it is only half open, it means friendship, and if you close it completely, it denotes hate.”

“How many rules are there?” I ask in quiet desperation. I’ve never been good at pop-quizzes.

“Over thirty,” she swings the fan. “You must also not do this because it is as if you are saying, ‘Can I see you home?’”

I grab Clara’s hand. “I’m so glad you are here!”

She loosens my grip on her. “I will not leave your side. We must go; Mrs. MacKay is waiting.”

Mrs. MacKay isn’t the only one waiting. Mr. MacKay and Colonel Blair are standing outside the cloak room. They escort us to our hosts, Superintendent Yerington, the conductors, engineers, and other employees of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad Company.

“Mr. and Mrs. MacKay, what an honor it is to have you with us,” Superintendent Yerington greets us. “Please introduce us to your companions.”

John MacKay huffs in Colonel Blair’s direction.

“Mr. Yerington, I am certain you are familiar with this man’s script, though his face is unfamiliar. Please allow me to introduce Colonel James Blair, in the flesh,” he says sarcastically before adding, “and his guests are Miss Rebecca Harris and her chaperone, Miss Clara Egan.”

Mr. Yerington’s face grows red and he immediately holds out his hand. “Forgive me for not recognizing you, Colonel Blair!”

“It is a common problem for my recluse friend.” Mr. MacKay pats Colonel Blair on the back.

Then a whole lot of butt-kissing begins. The men practically fall over themselves to ensure Mr. MacKay and Colonel Blair want for nothing. It seems to last forever. I tune out the whole gagging episode, watching the ball through the doors. The women are beautiful and the men are dashing. I tap my foot to the beat of the music.

“Miss Harris,” Colonel Blair draws me out of my mind.  “Shall we?”

He hands me a dance card.

It’s really strange. As we enter the ballroom, my party stops and bows at the company, even though there are so many people that hardly anyone notices. I follow suit, not understanding the mountain of social protocol which has been thrust on me. It’s better to just go with it.

“Miss Harris, will you give me the pleasure of dancing with you?” Mr. MacKay kindly asks while offering his hand as one song ends and another begins.

“Miss Harris has twisted her ankle,” Colonel Blair objects.

“I would love to dance,” I counter with a smile. This is my only chance to attend a nineteenth century ball. There’s no way I’m letting a hurt ankle stop me from getting some use out of all those ballroom dance classes Mama traded house-cleaning for.

I follow Mr. MacKay to the dance floor, noticing Colonel Blair and Mrs. MacKay are also among the dancers.

My dance classes help keep me from completely humiliating myself, but I am in no means a graceful dancer. Still, I am enjoying myself so much that I simply ignore the stares of the other guests. Yeah, I look like I’m twelve and limp, but dancing with John MacKay is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. When the dance ends, we exchange bows and silly smiles

“Miss Harris,” Superintendent Yerington says, stepping between us while gesturing to a young man at his left. “Allow me to introduce you to George Pierce.”

George inclines his head. “Miss Harris, shall I have the honor of dancing this set with you?”

Thus begins an evening of seemingly endless dance partners. Mr. Yerington takes it upon himself to make sure my dance card is nearly full of different dance partners, and I happily dance with each one. Some of the dances are more difficult than others, especially the quadrilles, but I have learned enough beauty pageant dance numbers to fake my way through without major mishap. Unfortunately, dancing has taken its toll on my ankle. My limping has turned into all-out hobbling. I take a seat next to Clara.

“Miss Harris, you must rest,” she implores me like an older sister.

“I really hate to miss the dancing,” I lament, looking around the room at the merry company.

“I must insist you rest your ankle.”

“And I must insist you call me ‘Rebecca,’” I return, looking for Mr. and Mrs. MacKay.

“Miss Harris, shall we dance?” George returns for a second dance.

Clara frowns.

“I apologize, Mr. Pierce. I twisted my ankle not two days ago, and my chaperone insists I rest,” I explain as politely as possible.

He smiles sympathetically. “Perhaps I can escort both you and your chaperone to the refreshment room?”

“What a wonderful idea,” I say, painfully getting to my feet. “I’m famished.”

I’m a little surprised by the number of young ladies hanging out in the refreshment room. Maybe 1875 is a little more like my time than I had realized. The poor girls probably skipped a few meals so they could tighten their corsets. I walk past them, directly to the food.

There is so much food I don’t know where to begin. I decide to start with something real. I take a sandwich and some ham. I can come back for dessert.

“Did you see him?” a young lady whispers to her mother at the refreshment table. “The rumors are wrong. He isn’t hideous.”

“No,” her mother agrees. “Colonel Blair is both rich and handsome. We will have to insist on an introduction.”

I force myself not to roll my eyes. The man is a spoiled, self-important jerk. Yes, I admit it; he does have a few good qualities, like beautiful, wavy, black hair, and he did bring me to the ball, but there is still the not-so-small matter that he owned slaves and fought for the Confederacy. I can’t let it go, because that is most certainly not cool.

I sit next to Clara.

“May I sit with you?” George follows us to a table with his own plate of food.

“Of course you can, Mr. Pierce.” I gesture to an empty seat.

We sit several minutes in silence while we eat. For the first time, I notice a lot of smoke in the corner of the room. I look closely through the haze to find Colonel Blair giving me a stern look in the middle of a gaggle of girls. This time I do roll my eyes. Of course the handsome, rich colonel has no problem entertaining himself. With a glass of champagne in one hand and a pipe in the other, Colonel Blair has his choice of lovely ladies. They dote on him, seeing to his every comfort. Colonel Blair doesn’t need to patronize prostitutes because he’s a total ladies’ man. He can have his pick of the women.

I turn my attention away from him.

“Mr. Pierce, please tell me about yourself,” I say.

George swallows a bite of cake. “I’m afraid there is not much to tell. My father is a conductor for the Virginia and Truckee Railroad Company. I work at the Gold Hill Station.”

“You get to work with trains all day?” I say. “That is so exciting!”

He smiles until his glass of champagne spontaneously tips over, spilling all over his lap. He grabs a napkin and jumps to his feet.

“I apologize, Miss Harris. I will return in a minute.” He dashes from the room.

“At least he is fast,” Rosanna materializes in George’s seat, looking rather proud of herself. She must have spilt his drink.

“Do you feel that draft?” Clara asks, wrapping her arms around her body.

Wondering what the ghost is doing at the ball, I suggest to Clara, “You should get something warm to drink.”

She nods, going back to the refreshment tables.

“Why are you here?” I quietly ask the spirit.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she counters. “I thought you came here to save the life of my son and his friends?”

“You know I did,” I retort, noticing more than one person looking in my direction.

Her eyes narrow, and the effect is frightening. “Might I make a suggestion? Stop with the frivolities!  Stop behaving as though this is a holiday! You do not need to be told that the key to saving Gabe and Henry is preventing James’s death.”

Not wanting to draw more attention to myself, I open my fan. Covering my face so I don’t look like I’m talking to myself, I respond, “What would you have me do?”

“If you want to save the man, then you must spend more time with him.” She forcefully takes hold of my hand and slowly pulls the fan across my cheek. A wicked smile appears on her face as she disappears.