Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04) (16 page)

Most likely, the cork had been swept out and into the road by the hem of a long dress or scuffed out by a shoe. A dark mood sifted over her, coloring her thoughts a deep sepia, like a scenic vista obscured by dust.

If something were amiss with the contents, how would I know? Even a skilled physician might not be able to tell. Who am I to think I can bring peace to Mrs. Pace and her children or justice to Mr. Pace if foul play was involved, and that is a sizable “if.”

Perhaps it was the heat that pushed her thoughts into the dark. Indeed, the higher the temperature climbed, the more imprisoned she felt in the narrow Manitou valley, trapped between the foothills before her and the cliffs behind. Lemonade, she decided, would not do. A libation of a more definitive nature was needed.

She rounded the back of the hotel and mounted a wide set of stairs to the lower porch. The manager Epperley—neat in a summer suit, blond hair combed to a near-white silk—was holding the door open for a trio of ladies who were entering in front of Inez. He smiled, teeth gleaming beneath a mustache twisted and waxed to an uncompromising fare-thee-well. “Will you be joining the others in the dining room, Mrs. Stannert?” The sounds of diners at noon meal echoed to the left.

“In a while,” she said evasively, sorely aware that she’d missed breakfast, but having no desire to plunge into what would no doubt be another painful encounter with Aunt Agnes and not yet ready to face her sister after the humiliating reunion with William. Instead she proceeded straight ahead, then turned to the right, seeking a moment’s silence and liquid solace—if discreetly available.

Heading away from the music and dining rooms, she plunged into a hall from which the strong whiff of cigars blended with higher notes of alcohol. She hesitated at a partly closed door, then pushed it open and peered inside. Yes, it was the gentlemen’s parlor, a wood and leather equivalent of the room she had been escorted to the previous night. It was vacant.

She spied a sideboard, with a number of bottles reflecting the subdued light that crept around the heavy velvet curtains over the one window.
I’m certain they offer the gentlemen something more than mineral water.
She entered the room, nudging the door back to its halfway position. Hurrying to the sideboard, she was gratified to find two bottles of scotch—one a decent brand, the other most definitely top drawer—and crystal glassware. Her hand had just closed on the preferred bottle when the parlor door swung open. Startled, she hid the bottle in her skirts and turned to find the manager standing at the entry, eyebrows raised.

“Pardon, Mrs. Stannert, are you lost?” It was a polite inquiry, providing her with an easy way to dissemble and demure.

She recalled the moment of collusion over the brandy the previous evening, the feeling that this Epperley fellow and she understood each other. She made a quick decision to take a chance on the truth.

“Not at all,” she said. “I found what I was looking for.” She displayed the bottle that she’d been concealing. “All I need, Mr. Epperley, is a few moments to prepare a glass, and I will retire to a more seemly location.”

“Ah.” A single syllable, which could have been a question or a statement, said it all. There was no condemnation in his tone, rather approval and understanding.

Still at the threshold, he looked up and down the hall, then added, “Most of our guests are dining at the moment, but there’s always the chance that some gentleman, tiring of the company of wife, daughters, squalling babes, mother-in-law and so on, could appear seeking a moment of solace and a good cigar.” He held the door open wider, and said, “Madam, if you would allow me, I believe I can mix you something that will meet with your approval.”

Inez reluctantly set the bottle aside and followed him out of the room and down the hall. As he walked beside her, he pulled a cigarette from a case, and glanced at her, “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all.”

He smiled. “Lovely. It’s incumbent upon me to always ask the guests. Some of the ladies can be quite vociferous in their objections.”

They passed the women’s parlor, door ajar, equally quiet and deserted. Further down and nearly to the end of the hall, he paused outside a closed door where he pulled out a small carved box. He extracted a lucifer, struck the sulphurous head against the ribbed side of the box, and brought the small flame to the end of the cigarette, lighting it. Epperley inhaled deeply and exhaled, his sigh of pleasure curling up with the smoke. He sorted through a set of keys attached to his waistcoat by a silver chain, unlocked the door, and stood aside, offering Inez entrance with a languid wave.

The first thing she noticed about the room was the bank of windows, their drapes pulled back to allow views of the garden and clinic behind the hotel. The room itself seemed to be set up as a game room. Several tables had checkerboards inlaid on their tops in exotic woods, decks of cards neatly stacked in open cases, and a glass-fronted base that displayed a magnificent array of silver and gold chessmen. However, there was also a bar, although no bottles to advertise whether it served merely ice creams and phosphates or something more to her taste.

Epperley gestured to Inez to take a chair facing the gardens and began to rummage beneath the bar. Things began to look more positive as he set a tall glass on the bar, remarking, “Alcohol and tobacco are the two purest evils, according to Dr. P. Don’t let him catch you cozying up to the scotch. He’s liable to ring out the leeches and proclaim your humours dangerously unbalanced.”

“Dr. P?” For a moment, she was lost.

“Dr. Aurelius Pro-whatcha. I never could keep his bloody name straight. It was better before he arrived and the original hotel physician slunk off to hang his shingle in Colorado Springs. ‘Zuckerman’ rolls off the tongue with no problem.” He paused, squinting at Kirsten Pace’s bottle, which Inez had set on the table before her. “Don’t tell me Dr. P already has you taking some remedy or other. Pardon me for saying so, Mrs. Stannert, but you hardly appear the invalid.”

“It’s not mine,” she said, then searching for a plausible target, added, “It’s for my sister, Mrs. DuChamps.”

He pulled out two unmarked bottles from below the bar and deposited a scoop of fine ice into the tall glass. “Ah yes, the lovely Mrs. DuChamps. Charming woman. The climate here seems to suit her. Even more than that, she seems to thrive on the scenery and doesn’t mind the dust or heat.”

Turning, he selected a cutting board and knife before reaching into a jar on the shelf and extracting two lemons.

Epperley glanced around at Inez’s exclamation of disgust.

“I abhor lemonade,” she said. “If either of those bottles are mineral water from the local springs…”

“Never fear, Mrs. Stannert. I believe I have your measure, so to speak.” He prepared a plain lemonade as he talked. “Along with being the manager of this fine hotel, I’m the resident mixologist. You Americans are so inventive with your various concoctions, never afraid to toss this and that into a glass, top it with a bit of fruit, and see where it goes, even to the point where the talk devolves into nonsense and the barking irons are employed. But that’s the West for you. Endless entertainment and fascination for a remittance man as myself.”

“A displaced son from Britannia’s shores? You have plenty of company here in Colorado,” Inez commented. “The state is crawling with remittance men.”

The lemons good and truly squeezed of every last drop, Epperley added a judicious tot of sugar and mixed it all with a long spoon.

Inez fervently hoped there was more to his recipe.

He nodded. “There’s truth to that, indeed. Especially here, in Manitou and Colorado Springs. I’d heard of ‘Little London’ years ago and devoured Ruxton’s
Life in the Far West
as a lad, which pretty much convinced me that my future lay in the mountains and plains of the States. In any case, I just had to give it all a try. Banking wasn’t my interest, the homestead went to brother Harris, and then, I met this lovely lady.” He paused in his narrative and shook his head.

Inez found her interest piqued.
He came West for a woman? But Lewis said Epperley chased the cure to Manitou.

Epperley continued, “For any number of reasons, it was time to ‘vamoose,’ as our local gendarme might say. I decided, well, why not make an adventure of it? So off to the land of buffalo, bubbling springs, and red savages came I.”

Apparently satisfied with the lemonade, he extracted a shot glass from beneath the bar and opened the first bottle. “Imagine my disappointment to find most of the savages and nearly all the buffalo gone. Ah, well. Wandered around a bit, and pulled up here. As for the liquid part of my employment, it all started as a hobby, then became a bit of an obsession. Can’t say I mind tweaking the good doctor, what with the small portion of notoriety I’ve brought to the Mountain Springs House as a result.”

“By the ‘good doctor’ you mean Dr. Prochazka?”

He pointed the stirring spoon at her. “World-famous physician Dr. P, got it in one. ‘Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult. The physician must not only be prepared to do what is right himself, but also to make the patient, the attendants, and externals cooperate.’”

He added a measure from each bottle, stirred again, and placed the glass on a saucer alongside a spoon and a sprig of mint. “First aphorism of Hippocrates. I tinkered with the field of medical arts at one point, but it all just seemed like too much effort and not enough fun.”

He came around the bar and brought the glass to Inez. “Now tell me if this doesn’t meet with your approval and if it isn’t a jot more refreshing than whiskey neat at noon.”

She took a spoonful and tasted sweet lemon overlaid with…

She looked up. “Is that gin and bourbon?”

He grinned, all teeth below his ferociously pointed mustache. “Bulls-eye, as they say. You have, Mrs. Stannert, most excellent taste.”

She took another spoonful and allowed the iced concoction to melt in her mouth. “I shall have to remember this.”

Resting his back against the bar, he had picked up the cigarette again and was staring idly out the window as he inhaled, then exhaled. The word “yes” hissed out like steam from a mineral spring. “You are welcome to add it to the repertoire you offer up at the Silver Queen,” he said, knocking ash onto the floor with the flick of a finger. “Say, you could even name it after me. The ‘Epperley’ has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

The frozen ice dripped from her spoon. “How did you know?”

His gaze switched to her and his lips twisted into the shadow of a smile. “You obviously knew a high-class brandy when presented with one and held your liquor admirably well for a lady. I was curious, so made a few discreet inquiries this morning. It’s a small and well-connected group of displaced, disowned, and dissolute Brits in Manitou, any number of whom pilgrimage religiously to Leadville every month with their allowances, returning with empty pockets and ‘barrel fever’ from over-imbibing. The Silver Queen is well known, as is her proprietress, Mrs. Stannert.”

Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated that her efforts at keeping a low profile amongst the guests might all shatter like a mirror whose nail had given way. “Well known, you say?”

“A slight exaggeration, sorry. Well known among my colleagues who are wastrels and wretches. You needn’t fear that I’ll say anything to our guests and so on.”

She tapped the table with her spoon, lemonade forgotten for the moment, as she regarded him. “So all this bonhomie, chit chat, airing of personal stories is professional courtesy?”

“Quite. I have nothing but admiration for another practitioner of the art of mixology.”

“I see.” She stirred the half-consumed icy slush, thinking. “I’m curious. You’ve been here in Manitou, how long?”

“Three years.”

“What do you think of the hotel’s prospects? Would you advise me to invest?”

He laughed heartily and unexpectedly. “Oh ho. Don’t even think of bringing it up to Lewis. If you are interested, you’d best get your husband, your father, or your uncle to front for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh dear, Mrs. Stannert, are you going to force me to spell it out? Here I thought you were so perceptive.” He waved the nearly consumed cigarette around in a vague figure eight. A good inch’s worth of ash fluttered to the linoleum. “I personally have no problem with the thought of you joining our merry band and making buckets of money when the area takes off. But Lewis runs it pretty much as a gentlemen’s club, if you get my drift.”

“How unfortunate,” said Inez. “I’ve a bit of pin money of my own, and I’m not averse to investing where I can see an excellent return.” She sighed theatrically. “But it’s true that I’m not that well-versed in the hotel or spa business. Since Mr. Stannert will be joining us later, perhaps you might give me some information I could pass along to him.”

Epperley shook his head, mouth thinned as if restraining unspoken words. He drew on his cigarette one more time, before putting it out in the shot glass, and extracting a second from his cigarette case. “The prospects for an excellent return are there.” He spoke cautiously, without looking at her. “I’ve invested myself, so I’ve got my hopes, to say the least.”

“You’re invested in the hotel?”

“A part owner, actually. One-third in.” He lit the cigarette and inhaled with vehemence. The smoke uncurled as he spoke. “I’m not one to play at games of chance, but I do see a likely future for Manitou in general and the Mountain Springs House in particular. After all, the consumptives have been flocking this past year, clamoring for Dr. P’s miracle cures.”