Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04) (29 page)

“Harmony, you are the one who was brave,” countered Inez gently. “Dealing with a runaway horse is something that I’ve done over the years. You were the one who had to face it for the first time, with the unknown and the fear that comes with such an experience. You stayed the course. You didn’t panic nor fall into hysteria. You were the heroine of the piece, dear sister.” She hugged her briefly, then released her. “Go and rest. I will see you at dinner.”

She ruffled William’s sweat-curled locks, then watched sister, son, and nanny ascend the stairs to the hotel. Sighing, Inez ran fingers through her own dust-filled hair and followed them, thinking she would have to take some time before dinner herself to tend to her appearance. She approached the reception desk, where Epperley was sorting out a tangle of guest keys. “Any telegrams or messages for me?” she inquired.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Stannert. Indeed there is one.” Epperley reached below the desk and handed her an envelope. “Came while you were out. Did you have a pleasant journey to the Garden of the Gods?”

“More excitement than expected. Mr. Calder can provide the full story.” She watched him to see how he would respond to the mention of Calder’s name.

Epperley merely raised one nearly invisible blond eyebrow and said, “Well, he is the sort of chap who causes a stir wherever he goes.” He returned to sorting keys.

She leaned her elbows on the reception desk. “Would you care to expound upon that?”

He seemed wholly intent on unhooking two keys whose metal rings had become entangled. “I spoke out of turn. Mr. Calder hasn’t made many friends in Manitou, what with his constant questions.”

She drew the envelope between her fingers. “You mean the business of his brother.”

He gave up on the keys, and directed his gaze at her. “Yes, Mrs. Stannert, I mean the very sorry business of his brother. I was here when the elder Mr. Calder was staying at the hotel. He was the sort of chap who liked to burn the candle brightly, so to speak. He came for treatment but was not willing to rein in any of his less-than-healthful habits in the process. So, of course his condition worsened. He eventually had it out with Dr. P., and consequently left.”

“What happened to him after he left?” She flapped the envelope against her palm, curious to see what more she could glean from the hotel manager.

Epperley shrugged. “I didn’t hear much else about him after that until the news of his death.”

“Did he take on another physician for treatment after he left here?”

“Can’t say.” Epperley leaned forward over the mound of keys. “I have no doubt Mr. Calder has presented his side of the story. I can assure you, whatever tale he told you is not true by half. After all, Mr. Calder the younger was not here and what consumptive heir is going to write home to his family, saying, ‘Came here to recover in the country air but have sunk into dissipation and spend my time gambling and eating opium as the spirit moves me’? Not bloody likely, if you will pardon my frankness.”

She straightened up, watching him narrowly. “Can you tell me why should I believe you over Mr. Calder? After all, you have pinned your hopes and fortunes on the future of this hotel, while he is heir to a successful business. Seems it would be your word against his, with you having the greater reason to prevaricate.”

Epperley set the keys down. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed the slightly more-than-necessary force applied to metal keys as they met the wood of the reception desk and the barely perceptible downward turn of his mouth.

I have touched a nerve, it seems.

But when he glanced up at her, all she saw was a professional concern, colored with distant chagrin. “Word gets around, Mrs. Stannert. I understand your husband is due into town, and that he is looking for the wisest position for his money, a good bet for the long haul. Right now, betting in Manitou is like betting in roulette—the best position, is to be with the house.” He pushed the keys aside. “Mr. Stannert will no doubt hear from those who wish to discredit the Mountain Springs House and her doctor of medicine. We are, truth to say, the only hotel here with an in-house physician of such repute.”

“I find it interesting that he remains,” said Inez. “Not that this isn’t an outstanding establishment, but with all the other hotels around trying to woo invalids and vacationers, it seems you must be on your guard against competitors anxious to snatch him away from the Mountain Springs House.”

Epperley patted his waistcoat and extracted his cigarette case. Three women came in the entrance and lingered, chatting. He returned the case to his waistcoat with a sigh. “Some have tried to lure Dr. P. away from us. Other hotel owners and operators, and even visiting families who fancy having their own physician at their beck and call. He’ll have none of it, and there are ill feelings. Lies are spread, rumors fed.” He turned an unreadable gaze on Inez. “If your husband expresses doubts over some half-baked story, you might remind him that Manitou isn’t so different from Leadville, in some respects. Only in Leadville, if one hasn’t yet staked a claim, it’s too late. In Manitou, the boom is just beginning. Now is an excellent time to make one’s move and put one’s money on the table. A year or two from now, who knows?”

“So, you’d like me to counsel my husband on the excellent management of the Mountain Springs House and tout Dr. Prochazka’s medical wonders?”

“We can show your husband numbers and provide names and introductions to patients who have benefited from Dr. P’s treatments.” He swung a key by its leather fob. She saw it was the one to her room. Epperley continued, “You have proof yourself, close to home: your sister and her little boy. They are absolutely ship-shape, wouldn’t you say?” He handed her the key with a smile. “Such a pleasure to have you here, Mrs. Stannert, an absolute pleasure.”

***

Up in her room, Inez tore open the envelope, pulled out the form and read the words painstakingly printed out by the telegraph operator: “Dearest Wife, I shall be on the next train, prepared for any and all weather and the best of opportunities. Fondest Regards, Your beloved Husband.”

Three words ending with –est meant he’d understood her message. “Next train” meant he would be here tonight, tomorrow at the latest. Mention of weather and opportunities—he would come ready to deal with any and all situations, any and all social classes. Good enough.

But, “Beloved Husband”?

In the past, they had always closed such coded missives with “Loving Husband” and “Loving Wife.” The word “beloved” was not part of their system and seemed entirely inappropriate, given the circumstances.

She flipped the telegram onto the bed.

Surely he isn’t hoping that I have changed my mind about resurrecting our marriage. If so, I shall cure him of that, in short order
.

***

After her ablutions, Inez checked her lapel watch. Time to meet Mr. Calder.

She took one more look in the mirror: Hair fiercely brushed until it was gleaming again, scented lightly with rosewater. An outfit appropriate to taking a “turn around the garden,” and a parasol and hat to match.

There was little she could do about her sun-kissed face. A parasol borrowed from Mrs. Galbreaith for the ride back to the hotel had been better than nothing, but had been no replacement for her hat, lost in the mad carriage dash down the winding road from the Garden of the Gods. Now, a rosy flush from sunburn was the result. She knew from experience that, by morning, the flush would fade leaving her olive complexion another shade darker.
If I were home in Leadville, Bridgette would be tut-tutting and insisting I apply her concoction of borax, alum, camphor, sugar candy and ox-gall. Well, I shall just have to manage without.

A pang of homesickness swept through her. Right about now, Abe and the hired help would be at the Silver Queen Saloon, getting ready for the evening rush—polishing the glasses, refilling the bottles, sweeping the floors. Bridgette would be giving the evening’s offering of stew a last adjustment, adding a spoonful of salt, grinding a bit more pepper, or preparing a last batch of biscuits. If Inez were home and the reverend were in town, perhaps the two of them would both be sitting in the saloon’s kitchen, talking about the local politics, or perhaps he’d be engaging Bridgette in a bit of theological banter. Indeed, Bridgette was so enamored of the good “Reverend Mister” that she was willing to forgive him almost anything he said about the Fall, the Trinity, and the Hereafter. Inez swallowed the ache rising in her throat.

Those times were gone. With Mark’s return to Leadville, her world had capsized. Putting it to rights looked to be long and tangled process.

She wished that Reverend Sands could be the one traveling to her side instead of Mark. But the reverend was far away, unreachable, unaware of Mark’s return and the events in Manitou. Inez squared her shoulders and buried the longing in her heart, determined to put Justice Sands out of mind.
Right now, Harmony and William must be my main concern. To keep them safe, I’d make a pact with the devil. And with Mark coming, that may just be what I’ll have to do.

***

“So, what have you to show me?” Inez inquired. The sound of gravel crunching underfoot, the green leaves and colorful blooms of the late summer garden were like a balm to her soul.

Robert Calder, however, did not appear to find the turn around the garden as soothing an activity as she did. “Presently, Mrs. Stannert. First, I’ll tell you of my conversation with Mr. Morrow. He was as disbelieving of the death of the little mare as I was. I showed him the feedbag contents. He, like you, had never seen the fruit of Herb Paris and had no idea how it came to be there. I described the plant to him, and he swore he’d not seen it growing in Manitou.”

“What does it look like?”

“A single stalk, two hands high. At the top, four leaves are arranged in a single whorl around the stem. The very center of the whorl bears a solitary, arrow-petaled, star-like green flower with golden stamens. The fruit was as you saw.”

“You said it grows wild in Britain and in the Continent. How did it come here?”

“Ah, that’s the question. To grow the plant from a seed is a long process, two years from seed to fruit.”

Inez gazed about the garden, the overwhelming profusion of plants.

“There is none here,” Calder assured her. “I looked carefully upon my return, and have regarded this garden with great interest all summer. I know it well. So, there is no Herb Paris lurking among the mint, but there is plenty else. Stroll with me, Mrs. Stannert, and I shall educate you on the ways of herbs, and their flowers, leaves, and roots. But before we do that,” he glanced about, “while we still have the place to ourselves, I’d like to show you this.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket, extracted a small pasteboard, and offered it to Inez, adding, “When Alec’s possessions were sent home along with his body for burial, we found this in one of his books.”

Inez took the small rectangle, which she recognized as a calling card. On the front, in simple type, was set:

Dr. Galloway

She turned it over. The back was blank.

She looked up at him. “And?”

“That is all.”

“You, of course, inquired about this Dr. Galloway around town and at the hotel where he last stayed?”

“Of course.” He shook his head. “However, I probably went about it all wrong, asking as I did with the heat of accusation.”

“You spoke to Dr. Prochazka?”

“Indeed. He initially claimed no knowledge of the man.”

“Initially?”

“He will not talk to me now. I admit I unwisely voiced my skepticism regarding his methods and treatments. After that, we stopped conversing altogether, and he’s given me the cold shoulder ever since.” His expression tightened. “It will be interesting at tonight’s
tableaux
. I suspect he would call down heaven’s own lightning to strike me dead, if he could.”

Inez played with the tassel on her parasol as she pondered. Bees buzzed sonorously about the garden. One blundered into her gloved hand, and she shook him off. “I shall tell you something as well, in case it proves useful in your endeavors.” She related the small bit of conversation she had overhead in The Narrows between Nurse Crowson and Mr. Travers. “He indicated he wanted to meet the physician she spoke of, and she said she would arrange it,” she finished. “Then, the next day, poof! Mr. Travers is gone from the Mountain Springs House. At the time, I thought that Mr. Travers was demanding to see Dr. Prochazka, but now, I wonder. Perhaps they were speaking of a different physician. Could Nurse Crowson be the link to this mysterious Dr. Galloway? Perhaps she takes the invalids who are doing poorly and arranges to have them transported away and treated by him?”

He cocked his head. “I’d not considered the nurse. She is like Prochazka’s shadow, does his bidding. I could imagine her wishing to keep his good reputation intact. So perhaps her loyalty to him is a key.”

He offered his arm. “Meanwhile, allow me to show you the garden.”

She placed her hand on his jacket sleeve. “I shall be delighted, Mr. Calder. I know little about plants, besides the usual ‘language of flowers’ that I was taught at my mother’s side.”

He nodded, “My love of painting led to an interest in botany that became an obsession. That obsession has served me well here.” He began, “Many plants that have healing powers can also be deadly. I was astounded, upon coming to the Mountain Springs House, to find such a wealth of them here. Someone is a careful gardener for so many of these to not only take root, but to thrive as well. The question is: to what purpose?”