Love in Disguise (14 page)

Steven snorted. “Come on, Ezra. You know what kind of people they are. They’d be just as likely to steal the shipment themselves.”

A chuckle came from Tom Sullivan’s direction. “I’d have to agree with that.”

Ellie raised a gloved hand. “If I might ask a question?”

Tom looked as if he’d rather eject her from the meeting, but he nodded. “Go ahead.”

“What has been happening to the ore from the mines while you’re waiting for assistance?”

Tom surveyed the other miners before he spoke. “I won’t presume to answer for everyone, but I’ve been sending my silver to the stamp mill as usual. But instead of shipping the ingots to Benson and then on to the New Orleans mint, I’ve been bringing it back to the Constitution and stockpiling it there.”

“Same here,” Brady said. “Only I won’t be able to afford to pay for the milling much longer. I don’t know what I’m gonna do then.” The others nodded and murmured assent.

Ellie took a moment to absorb the information. “So you’re all on the brink of disaster if the situation isn’t resolved soon?”

“That pretty well sums it up,” Tom said. “What we need is to find some new investors who will help us ride this thing out.” He flattened his lips and looked over at Steven. “It looks like you’re one up on the rest of us on that score.”

Ellie lowered her gaze and focused on a knot in one of the floorboards. She couldn’t let her face give away the fact that Steven wasn’t any better off than the rest of them. Despite what he might think, rescue was not at hand, at least not from any financial resources she might offer.

Tom cleared his throat. “I still say the Pinkertons are our best option right now. Let’s give them a little more time, instead of acting in haste.”

Alfred Clay paced the room like a caged tiger. “How long do you plan on giving ’em? I don’t know about you, but I can’t sit around on my hands doing nothing.”

“None of us can.” Gilbert Owens bristled. “You’re not the only one losing revenue.”

Alfred glared back at him. “It sure seems like I’m the only one who wants to take action instead of watching everything I’ve worked for come to naught.”

Brady Andrews hefted the flask in his hand. “We might as well break this up. We’re not gettin’ anything done here. Besides, my head’s killing me. I need to get something to . . . ” He shot a sidelong glance at Ellie. “Eat,” he finished lamely.

Ellie offered him a bright smile. “Oh, but there are sandwiches on the way.”

Alfred Clay sneered. “I was right. It
is
a Sunday school picnic.”

Ellie ignored the remark and fastened a stern look on Brady. “Sandwiches will do you far more good than taking another pull of whatever is in that flask. Really, Mr. Andrews, all of us need to have clear minds if we plan to outwit these hooligans.”

Alfred muttered under his breath and strode toward the door. “The rest of you can stay and eat your little dainties if you want. I’ve had about all of this folderol I can stand.” He jerked the door open and stormed out, nearly knocking over a startled delivery boy bearing a heaping tray of sandwiches.

11

E
llie tugged a stray reddish-gold curl into place and scrutinized her reflection in the dressing table mirror. With its curly bangs, upswept sides, and the mass of coppery ringlets cascading down her back, the wig she’d chosen to wear as Jessie fit as though it had been made for her. She rearranged one of the ringlets, bringing it forward to drape over her shoulder.

Perfect. Or as close to perfection as she was likely to get. With her costume and makeup in place, she sashayed back and forth in front on the mirror and grinned. Not bad at all. After making her daily rounds as Lavinia, she’d spent the last few evenings working out Jessie’s background, developing the mannerisms and speech patterns that would give her a fully rounded personality.

Instead of Ellie’s mousy hair and nondescript features, Jessie’s bright expression and vivid coloring were more in line with Norma Brooks’s appearance—the kind of woman men noticed. She crossed the room once more, swaying her hips as she had seen Magdalena do when she wanted to attract the attention and admiration of any men nearby. The results were simply amazing. The vision in the mirror swayed like a practiced coquette.

Taking up a wide-brimmed hat with a small plume at one side, she pinned it into place, choking back a surge of envy as she did so. What would it feel like to be one of those women who made men take a second glance? She looked in the mirror again to gauge the total effect and sucked in her breath. With any luck, she was about to find out.

She slipped out the front door, breathing deeply of the scents of the desert. Even with the dust that hung heavy in the air, she could still detect the overtones of sagebrush and mesquite. Such a difference from the city smells she’d been accustomed to in Chicago.

“Who are you?”

Ellie gasped and looked around.

Billy Taylor gaped up at her from the edge of the street. “You’re not the lady who lives here,” he stated firmly. “Where’d you come from?”

Ellie commanded herself to relax. “I’m Mrs. Stewart’s niece.” This was a perfect opportunity to introduce Jessie to the public. She needed to make the most of it.

“I arrived yesterday,” she continued. “And I’ll be staying with her from now on.” She picked her way down the walk and held out her hand. “I’m Miss Monroe. What’s your name?”

“Billy,” he answered, ignoring her outstretched hand. That was just as well, she decided, once she glimpsed his grubby fingers.

“Well, Billy, it was good to meet you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other from time to time.”

With that, she gave her ringlets a toss and set off down the street, relishing her renewed freedom of movement. How wonderful to be able to stride along again at her own pace, free of the leg wrappings that dictated Lavinia’s age-stiffened movements.

Two blocks later, she reached Grant Street and turned left, ready to strike up a conversation with everyone she met, but the street seemed uncharacteristically empty for that time of morning. Ellie chafed at having her plans hobbled. After all the trouble she’d gone to in fabricating Jessie, it would only seem fair to encounter crowds along the boardwalk when she wanted to introduce her new creation.

Crossing Fourth Street, she smiled when the station agent emerged from the stagecoach office carrying a heavy crate that he set atop a pile of similar boxes already stacked on the boardwalk.

“Good morning,” she called.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, barely giving her a glance. But that brief glance proved to be enough. He whipped his head around so quickly Ellie feared he might do damage to his spine.

Yanking off his hat, he twisted it between his hands. “Brent Howard, at your service.”

She nodded demurely and kept her face turned steadfastly ahead while she sauntered past, watching the man from the corner of her eye. He didn’t utter another sound, but he studied every swaying movement as she passed. She touched her fingertips to her lips to hide the smile she couldn’t quite contain. Success! It was only the first reaction from an adult male to Jessie’s initial appearance in town, but it was every bit as gratifying as she’d hoped. So far, so good.

In case he might still be watching, she slowed and studied the signs that hung out over the boardwalk, as if looking for a particular establishment. Two doors down, she turned in at the telegraph office and walked up to the counter.

“Be with you in a minute.” Amos Crawford didn’t look up as he finished writing a message and handed it to a waiting boy. “Get that to the marshal on the double. And I don’t want to hear about you takin’ time to stop in the mercantile to buy candy on your way—you hear?”

When the youth scurried out the door, the telegrapher turned back to Ellie. At the sight of her, his eyes bulged like a frog’s, and his jaw sagged in a most satisfactory manner. Ellie counted a full fifteen seconds before he recovered enough to speak. “Good . . . morning, miss. Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I . . . do for you?”

“I’d like to send a telegram, please.” She gave the bedazzled man a pert wink and watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

Without a word, he pushed a form and a pencil across the counter, never taking his eyes off her.

Ellie suppressed a desire to burst into giggles at his awestruck expression. “Thank you. I need to let my family know I’ve arrived safely.”

Amos Crawford tilted his head to one side. “But the stage doesn’t get in until this afternoon. Where’d you come from?”

A sudden attack of stage fright set Ellie’s heart to fluttering, but she commanded herself to exude confidence. Half the battle in being a successful actress was won by making the audience believe the actress
was
the character she portrayed. In order to do that, she had to believe it herself.

She gave her ringlets a toss. “I didn’t come on the stage. I arrived yesterday with some people I’ve been staying with. They were kind enough to make a slight detour to drop me off on their way to catch the train.” She held her breath, hoping that version matched the one she’d given him earlier. When he showed no surprise, just nodded his head, she allowed herself to relax again.

Taking the stubby pencil, she wrote down the message she had memorized the night before, a dual-purpose wording that would let the town know of Jessie’s arrival and hopefully relieve some of the concerns Fleming and Gates were surely feeling:

Arrived safely. Aunt Lavinia doing well. Looking forward to exploring and meeting new people.

Jessie

There—that should do the trick.

Amos twisted his head to one side in a way that made Ellie feel certain he had plenty of practice reading upside down. His eyes grew round, and a broad grin split his face. “You’re Miz Lavinia’s niece!”

“That’s right.” Ellie held back a triumphant grin. Her ploy had worked.

“Did you have a good visit with those friends of yours?”

This time, Ellie couldn’t repress her smile. Yet another evidence of the telegrapher staying on top of all the local gossip.

“I should have known it was you,” he went on. “You’re the spittin’ image of your aunt.”

“I suppose there is a certain family resemblance.” Ellie spoke the words casually enough, but inside she wasn’t sure whether to be amused or concerned. Was her disguise so transparent?

“Your eyes are the exact same color as hers,” Amos went on. “I’ll bet she looked just like you when she was your age.”

Ellie took in his dreamy tone and his calf-eyed stare. Who would have thought it? After expecting Jessie to get all the male attention, it seemed Lavinia was the first one with a potential suitor. How funny it would be if the widow Stewart wound up with a line of admirers at her door. Then again . . .

The thought of such a thing actually happening wiped away any trace of amusement. She fervently hoped that wouldn’t be the case. It would only add further complications to an already tangled situation.

She slanted a playful look at him. “Why, thank you for saying so. I’ve always admired Aunt Lavinia’s eyes.”

As she turned to leave, the telegrapher cleared his throat. “Be sure to tell your aunt hello for me.”

Ellie turned right and strolled east down Grant Street, trying to look the part of a newcomer exploring the town. She slowed to admire a high-crowned hat in the dressmaker’s window. Sumptuously trimmed with flowers and imitation cherries, it would look striking on Jessie, the deep green ribbon offering a perfect contrast to her red-gold hair. If she’d had resources of her own, she would have marched into the store and bought it on the spot, but the money allotted her by the Pinkertons was meant for necessities, not fripperies. She could just imagine Gates’s expression if he knew she was even thinking about such an indulgence.

With a longing look at the lovely confection, she set off again, nodding to other shoppers as they passed.

A tall figure in a black frock coat and red brocade vest made his way along the boardwalk, coming from the direction of the saloon district. Ellie caught her breath when she recognized Marshal Everett Bascomb. He had looked through Lavinia as though she were invisible, but today Ellie was dressed as Jessie. Would she be able to catch his attention now?

His gold watch chain glittered against the deep red brocade as he drew nearer. Several of the people along the boardwalk scooted to one side, giving him a wide berth as he walked past.

Think!
There had to be some way she could draw him into a conversation.

Her heart beat faster as he got closer. If she didn’t make a move soon, she would lose this opportunity, and who knew when another might come along? It was now or never.

The marshal tipped his broad-brimmed black felt hat as he approached. Ellie opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Her heart sank, knowing she had bungled her chance. In a few more strides, he would be beyond her.

Just as he passed, he swept a cursory glance over her face. His steady gait faltered, and he stopped in the middle of the boardwalk and stared like a poleaxed steer.

Ellie composed her features so as not to let any look of recognition betray her. Jessie hadn’t encountered the lawman before. Instead, she fluttered her lashes as she’d seen Magdalena do and let her gaze fall to the street. From the edge of her vision, she could see him sweep off the hat and make a gallant bow.

“Forgive me for staring, ma’am. I thought I knew all the pretty girls in Pickford, but I don’t believe I’ve had the opportunity to make your acquaintance.”

Hoping he didn’t sense her nervousness, Ellie raised her eyes and stared directly into his. She curved her lips into a cheeky grin. “No, I’ve only just arrived. I’m staying with my aunt, Mrs. Stewart.”

He showed no sign of recognizing the name, but his dark eyes glinted when their gazes met. He stroked one side of his neatly trimmed mustache with his forefinger. “I’m Everett Bascomb, the town marshal.” He paused for a moment as if giving her time to be suitably impressed.

Ellie tilted her head and gave him an appraising glance before offering her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Marshal. My name is Jessie Monroe.”