Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04) (10 page)

Chapter Ten

Aunt Agnes, who had lowered her hand to the banister of the women’s staircase, raised one eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, then. This situation will require a bit more labor to straighten out than I anticipated.”

She sounded distantly disapproving, as if she were scolding a child for laying a dirty hand upon an expensive dress and leaving a smudge. She even glanced down at her flowing skirts and smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle. “We can discuss this later. We shouldn’t dillydally any longer.” She started down the stairs, adding, “Come along.”

Inez glanced at Harmony who had come up beside her during the exchange. “What does she mean by that?” Inez asked acidly.

Harmony lifted one shoulder. “Aunt Agnes is…impenetrable. We should talk further, when we can find a few moments alone. She usually rests for a spell in the afternoon. I can tell you what I know then. Come.” She took Inez’s hand, and gently tugged her to the staircase. “It’s time you met my husband.”

The dining hall for the Mountain Springs House was flooded with morning light from east-facing windows and the melodic hum of well-bred feminine voices, complemented here and there by a deeper harmonic line. White linen tablecloths blazed, and crystal-cut glassware, highly polished silverware, and fine china sparkled. Waiters in white jackets moved about with trays and silver coffee pots, prepared to pour or deliver on command. The corners of the room sported bronze statues that, like the one at the head of the main staircase, were mythical in nature, but far less massive. Inez readily identified Apollo and Athena, and spotted what she thought might be Hygeia, and Hermes yet again.

The room held mostly women, dressed in light colors and summer fabrics that almost sparkled in the wash of sun. Here and there, an ensemble was sliced with darker contrasting underskirts and trim. Lace spilled from necklines, and pleats and flounces and fringe graced long skirts. Few in the dining room seemed dressed for a long walk or a day of vigor. The combination of high society in a resort setting reminded Inez of Saratoga Springs and long-ago summer days as a child. In her mind’s eye, she saw Aunt Agnes in hoop skirts, walking arm-in-arm with her father through the grounds of some nameless hotel, carefully circumnavigating other visitors wearing similarly wide skirts. Inez blinked her eyes to clear the vision.

Aunt Agnes in the here-and-now came back into focus. Inez could make out her aunt in her “pre-Raphaelite” artistic dress costume, moving with girlish grace through the room to a long table, nearly full, in the center of the room. The only figure she recognized was Susan, seated between an older and younger man.

“The dining room arrangement encourages guests to get to know each other,” Harmony said, drawing Inez along. “Very quaint. Although, as you might have guessed, Aunt Agnes thinks it’s quite barbaric that she must mix with the hoi polloi.”

Both gentlemen stood at the women’s approach. To Inez’s surprise, Harmony bypassed the younger man and advanced to the older man on Susan’s left. She bestowed a tender smile on him, before turning to Inez. “Dear sister, allow me to introduce to you my husband, Mr. DuChamps. Mr. DuChamps, my sister, Mrs. Stannert.”

Inez smiled, trying to gauge the decade of the man who bowed far enough to reveal an endearingly bald spot on the crown of his head.

“It gives me great pleasure to form your acquaintance at last,” he said.

An older gentleman sitting next to Mr. DuChamps had also popped up when Inez approached and now said, “Madam. You are a relation of the DuChamps? Allow me to introduce myself.” He placed a hand to his chest, over a full salt-and-pepper beard of luxuriant and well-tended proportions, and bowed. “Dr. Zuckerman, a physician now practicing in Colorado Springs. I am also a colleague of Dr. Prochazka’s, and a great admirer of the Mountain Springs House as a whole. Those at the helm of the house have a vision of the future that I embrace wholeheartedly, professionally, and personally, as I have explained to Mr. DuChamps in some detail these past days.” He smiled. At least, Inez assumed that a smile lurked beneath the smooth waves of whiskers, given the sudden gathering of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Inez inclined her head and murmured politely in reply.

“And this,” Harmony turned to the younger man, whom Inez judged to be somewhere in his twenties, “is Mr. Calder.”

Calder smiled, displaying brilliant teeth. He had the dark good looks of poet Robert Burns and the robust constitution of a man who reveled in the out of doors. In fact, Inez caught a whiff of the stables about him, as if he had spent the morning riding hard. Calder executed a deep bow and said with a soft Scottish burr, “Mrs. Stannert, charmed. Miss Carothers has told me much about you.”

Inez raised speculative eyebrows at Susan.

Susan had the grace to blush. “Mr. Calder was inquiring as to how long we planned to stay here at the hotel. I was explaining the nature of my business, and that I’ll be staying with Mrs. Galbreaith at Ohio House, after today.”

Inez noticed that Calder, after his initial bow and smile, had immediately refocused his attention on Susan. He listened to her with great intensity as if her every comment held secrets he was eager to unravel.

“Perhaps we can plan a group outing to the Garden of the Gods to capture its wonders on plate and canvas,” he said.

Two spots of color rose high on Susan’s cheeks. She said quickly, “Mr. Calder is an artist specializing in
en plein air
painting. We’ve been talking about the extraordinary landscape around here, perfect for photographers and watercolorists. I’m particularly looking forward to the Garden of the Gods. Mr. Calder says he has explored the area extensively. They have the most interesting names for the various rock formations in the Garden—Montezuma’s Temple, Tower of Babel, the Gateway, the Kissing Camels…”

Aunt Agnes, standing by Jonathan, tapped her fingers on the unclaimed dining chair next to his. Her expression made it clear that she was waiting for him to seat her, and that she was not happy at being ignored.

“It is wonderful for a young woman to have a hobby,” she interjected. “Although I do confess, photography strikes me as a touch bohemian. Mr. DuChamps? If you would?”

Attention refocused, Jonathan DuChamps hastened to comply before escorting Harmony to the chair beside Calder. Aunt Agnes patted the empty seat to her left, with a meaningful look at Inez. “Come here, dear girl. It has been far too long, and we have much to discuss. Mr. DuChamps, please assist your sister-in-law?”

Much to Inez’s amusement, Aunt Agnes batted her eyelashes.

Harmony’s husband smiled indulgently at Aunt Agnes and pulled out the chair for Inez. Inez sat, preparing herself as best she could for the skirmish she was certain was coming.

Aunt Agnes wasted no time. Unfolding the fluted napkin pleat by pleat, she said, “Your son, Inez, is a handsome child.” She made it sound as if he was a particularly unusual specimen of butterfly, pinned for display in an exhibit. “Your father is quite taken with him. The son he never had, you understand.”

It was exactly what Inez feared most to hear.

“I don’t think…” Aunt Agnes picked up her crystal water glass, turning it left and right. Sunlight flashed from the facets and shattered into rainbows on the blinding white linen tablecloth. “…given William’s precarious constitution, the state of his lungs and so on, that he will allow your son to return to you here in Colorado.”

“William is my son.” Inez said. “Papa has no say in his future.”

“So, what is your intention?” Agnes put the glass down and faced Inez. “Do you and this husband of yours—I don’t even want to say his name—intend to spirit William away at the end of this visit? Are you and he in collusion? Would you really take your child back up to a place that could kill him?”

“Of course not!” snapped Inez.

“Of course not,” Agnes agreed. “I’m glad to see we are in absolute agreement. I assured your father that we would be.”

A polite cough to Inez’s left drew her attention.

A waiter dressed all in white, reminding Inez of the ghostly figure from the previous evening, hovered with a silver coffee carafe.

“Please!” she said fervently. He filled her bone china cup. Inez inhaled the fragrant aroma of freshly ground coffee, and mourned the lack of any strong spirits to get her through what was proving to be one of Aunt Agnes’ standard cat-and-mouse conversations.

Her thoughts turned to William and the worrisome development to his future as well as the increasingly complex present.
Perhaps I should excuse myself and wait out front, to be there when he and Lily return.
She glanced at the dining room entry, her grip on the cup tightening, her desire to see William so fierce it was almost as if she was willing him to materialize out of thin air.

The waiter approached Agnes, who nodded languorously. After he had vanished, Agnes continued in a matter-of-fact manner. “I have tickets for us all to return to New York in two weeks. If it were up to me, I would exchange them right now for tomorrow’s train. We have been here a week, and honestly, that is a week too long for me. What passes for culture here is…” She waved dismissively. “Charades, chess, checkers, hops. I hear one of the nearby hotels, the Cliff House, proclaims it has a billiards hall for both men and women. Most unseemly.
Burro
rides to explore waterfalls, and the top of, what is it called, Pike Mountain?”

Inez lifted her coffee cup and sipped, to give herself time to calm down before answering. She was gratified to find the coffee tasted as good as it smelled. “Pike’s Peak, Aunt Agnes. There was a gold rush in Colorado, twenty years ago. Don’t you recall? I was only eleven, but even I remember the ‘Pike’s Peak or Bust’ talk, and Papa’s speculations about whether the gold was a true bonanza or simply the over-promotion of a few zealots.”

Agnes shook her head. “I recall nothing of the sort. I always decried your father’s inclinations to let you listen to all that folderol. He would insist on reading items in the newspaper to you, and even let you read it yourself. I warned him that it would not do, in the end. I was right. Look where you have ended up.” She rolled her eyes toward the bank of picture windows, facing the hotel’s back gardens and the landscape beyond.

“You might as well be on the moon,” she continued. “This place. Saratoga of the West, indeed. I know Cara Bell finds this place enchanting. I wrote to her as soon as our plans were set, and we have been in communication since. She came to visit us when we first arrived and positively
filled
your sister and Jonathan’s heads with nonsense about this place. On top of it all, what with doctor what’s-his-name Pro-something-or-other and our hotelier Mr. Lewis, I do believe Harmony and Jonathan are bewitched and seriously considering summer residence. Yes?” This last was addressed in an irritable tone to the waiter, who had reappeared without the carafe.

He cleared his throat. “Pardon
mesdames
. Mrs. Stannert?” He directed this to Inez.

“Yes?” She set down the coffee cup.

“
Monsieur
Lewis wishes to speak with you.” He looked to the dining room door. The hotelier, stood just inside, gazing in her direction.

“What is all this about?” Agnes demanded.

Inez recalled Lewis’ parting words from the previous evening: the marshal will need to speak to you on the morrow.

A vision of Edward Pace’s face, contorted in death, eyes empty of soul and life, crowded out the exasperation and vexation building inside of her. All of a sudden, Aunt Agnes’ verbal maneuverings seemed very inconsequential.

“Excuse me, Aunt, this shouldn’t take long.” Inez cast a last look at her coffee, which would no doubt be cold by the time she returned, and rose, folding her napkin and dropping it on her chair.

Agnes heaved an irritated and theatrical sigh. “Your son will be back from his constitutional soon and be due for a nap, according to the schedule this Doctor Whosis has prescribed for him. Poor child, he tires in the morning so easily, despite all the cod liver oil foisted upon him. It is all the exercise, I expect.” The implicit threat—
if you really care about your son, you’ll not tarry
—was clear.

“I will return as soon as possible,” Inez said shortly. Then, in passing by Harmony’s chair, she leaned over and murmured, “This is no doubt about last night.”

Harmony nodded. As Inez passed by Susan, Susan stood and said, “I’ll walk with you.” They wove their way around the tables, mostly empty now, while Susan added in an undertone, “The local marshal and the doctor. They just want information about last night. They spoke to me before breakfast.”

Inez sighed. “To be expected. But the timing is not the best. Although I’m glad to escape from Aunt Agnes for now.”

At the doorway, Mr. Lewis bowed again, and said, “So sorry to interrupt your breakfast, Mrs. Stannert. I will be sure to have a tray fixed special for your return.”

“As long as the coffee is fresh and hot,” said Inez.

Susan returned to the table. Mr. Lewis led Inez through a maze of hallways, left, right, then left again, and out a double door to the back of the hotel.

Inez paused on the veranda, which appeared to wrap around the hotel, and gazed at a garden bursting with green and abloom with late summer color. “We are well known for our gardens.” Mr. Lewis sounded almost apologetic. “We’re lucky to be close to a spring and a small creek. The water is diverted, allowing our visitors a small slice of Eden in this mountain paradise. I would be happy to see you are given a tour later, if you have any botanical interest.”