The Bride Wore Blue (22 page)

It wasn’t the work so much as it was the lie she was living. Vivian nodded and swallowed her regrets. “I’m sure.”

Another lie. She’d lost count. But none weighed as heavy on her heart as her omission in Miss Hattie’s kitchen two and a half weeks ago. Carter Alwyn wasn’t supposed to follow her out of the dining room. He wasn’t supposed to ask about her job. His tender concern shouldn’t have surprised her. Nor the way his touch affected her, giving her tingles that seemed to have more to do with his thoughtful, protective nature than with a physical connection.

No, she wasn’t sure she wanted to work in this kind of place. She
knew she didn’t, but she wasn’t like Kat or Ida or Nell—free to follow her heart if it led her to romance. She didn’t have a future with Carter or with any respectable man.

Doc Susie stood. “Here it is then.” She pointed to the paper she’d left lying on the desk. “Be sure you give it to Miss Pearl.”

“I will.”

Doc Susie pulled her black bag off the foot of the bed. “I’ll see you again in a month.”

Vivian nodded. She had to be realistic. It would most likely take her two or three months to earn the money she needed to go to Denver and start a career in fashion design.

“At least you’re in a clean and safe place. So many of the girls I see aren’t.” The doctor tucked a stray lock of brown hair into the bun at the back of her head. “If you have any problems, come see me.”

Vivian took a tentative step toward her. “I will.”

“Is there something else?” The doctor’s eyes were nearly as blue as Ida’s.

“I, uh, wondered … do you keep your work private?”

Doc Susie held the black bag against her stomach. “Are you asking if I keep the names and particulars of my patients confidential?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.” As a sigh of relief escaped Vivian’s lips, the doctor left the room and then closed the door behind her.

After Colleen helped her dress for the afternoon, Vivian pulled the medical form off the table. Miss Pearl’s bedchamber was at the opposite end of the carpeted hallway. Before Vivian reached the closed door, the proprietor’s raised voice singed the hair on the back of her neck. The other girls had all gone downstairs to prepare for the
day guests. Vivian didn’t want to intrude if Miss Pearl had company or was in a discussion with one of the staff. Nor did she wish to leave Miss Pearl alone up here if there was trouble.

More shouting straightened Vivian’s spine. She raised her hand to knock, but thought better of it. What if she was wrong? What if Miss Pearl was only playing a role as part of the entertainment? If that was the case, overreacting could cause them all grief.

“Be reasonable, Pearl.” A man’s voice dripped the words like honey on a biscuit. Not prickly Mr. Updike’s voice. Deeper than the banker’s, a baritone with an accent.

“You be reasonable. He found the horse I gave you.” Miss Pearl sounded angrier than Vivian had ever heard her.

“Keep your voice down.” A southerner?

“He found it dead. The same day Mac died.”

The miner Miss Hattie told her about. The man in Pearl’s room had her horse? It died the same day as Mac? Had he been involved? Vivian’s head began to throb, and she stepped back from the door.

“You did all of it, didn’t you?” Miss Pearl asked.

“For us. You can’t blame me for wanting to give you the best. I did whatever I did for our future.”

Could the man in the room with Pearl be the bandit? The one who killed Mac?

Miss Pearl groaned. “He came here asking questions. I don’t need the law breathing down my neck.”

The police? Or Carter?

“And what a pretty neck it is.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Miss Pearl’s heels tapped the floor as if she were stepping away from the man. “For all I know, he could be watching my place right now.”

Vivian covered her mouth. Could Carter really be out there, watching the Homestead? Had he seen her?

“You have nothing to worry about.” Was that the voice of the man she’d tripped on the train? “He won’t see me.”

“Don’t touch me, you fool.”

Vivian tensed. “Miss Pearl? ”

Silence.

A few seconds later, the door whooshed open. The madam stood before Vivian, not a hair out of place, looking calm and collected. Whoever the man was, he didn’t want to be seen. He’d disappeared. Was that licorice Vivian smelled, or was it just her imagination?

Leaning forward, Miss Pearl glanced out into the hallway. “Violet. What are you doing here?”

Vivian needed to keep her voice steady. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just—”

“Were you listening at my door?”

“The doctor told me to give you this form.” Vivian handed her the medical form.

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Miss Pearl’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The phonograph isn’t just for music anymore. I have a couple of cylinders with outstanding dramatic readings. I’ll have to let you listen to them.”

Vivian nodded. Miss Pearl had an answer for everything, but Vivian didn’t know what to say.

“Some other time. Right now, we need to get downstairs.” Miss Pearl stepped into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Yes ma’am.” Vivian started down the staircase, her chest and face
hotter than a busy stove. Was Miss Pearl breathing down her neck, or was it just the secrets and lies?

She should tell Carter what she’d overheard. But then she’d have to tell him how she’d been in the position to hear it.

Carter climbed the stairs to his apartment. Time for another cup of chamomile tea, his mother’s favorite remedy for just about anything and everything. He’d been nursing a headache all morning.

He should’ve been thankful Harry Updike hadn’t come around yesterday morning. He’d had suspicions, but now he knew for certain why the banker’s wife was so bent on cleaning up Myers. When Updike wasn’t posturing in a show of disdain for the seedier side of Cripple Creek, he was sneaking off to at least one sporting house. Mrs. Updike wanted her husband back in their home.

In the meantime, the men who robbed the banks and the train and killed Mac for his sock of gold were still loose and free to add to their list of criminal charges. Friday was the big party at the Homestead House—and his next stakeout outside the white gingerbread palace of ill repute. He hoped and prayed the leader of the gang wouldn’t be able to resist the gathering.

Carter finished his tea and had just set his cup in the sink when the bell on the door downstairs jingled. “Be right down,” he called.

The postmaster’s son, Archie, stood just inside the door, holding a slip of paper. The kid was as gangly as a fresh colt—all legs and arms—and just as busy. When Archie wasn’t working for Jesse over at the livery or sorting mail for his father, he was delivering mail or telegrams.

Archie spotted Carter in the upstairs doorway. “Good day, Deputy Alwyn.”

“Hey, Archie.” Carter took the stairs two at a time. “You ever get to go fishing anymore?”

“Not till Sunday, sir.” Before Christmas, the lad would have a deeper voice. “A telegram came for you.”

Carter pulled a coin out of his trouser pocket and exchanged it for the telegram.

“Thank you, deputy.”

“You’re welcome. Happy fishin’, Archie.”

The bell jingled on the boy’s way out, and Carter settled into his desk chair. Sheriff Otto Caldwell in Louisville, Kentucky, had sent the message.

Leon Kelso. Stop. Son, Elton. Stop. Cousin, Timothy Kelso, Pickett. Stop. From here. Stop. Wanted in seven states between us. Stop.

Carter added the telegram to his case folder.

Leon Kelso, Elton Kelso, and Timothy Kelso.

He had names.

And by the end of the party Friday night, he hoped to have at least one of them in shackles.

M
iss Pearl had asked to see her before she went down to the party. Vivian stood in front of the full mirror on her wardrobe door, willing herself to breathe through her fears. She’d seen to all the details. She’d checked her reticule three times to make sure she had the key to the back door of the boardinghouse. After she spoke to Miss Pearl, she’d telephone Miss Hattie to let her know she’d be late, not to wait up for her.

“You look real pretty, Miss Violet.” Colleen stood beside her. “You’ll for sure be one of the most handsome girls at the party.”

Vivian smiled at the girl who had become a friend. “Thanks to your help.”

“My pleasure, miss.” Colleen swept a strand of red hair off her face.

The cranberry taffeta gown Miss Pearl had picked out for Vivian to wear was exquisite. A narrowed waist, a black velvet insert in the center of the bodice, and puff sleeves made of ecru lace that matched the trim at the scooped neckline. The only things Vivian would change in the design were the black velvet bow and broach over her bust, and she would have chosen a higher neckline.

Vivian tucked an ostrich feather into the wig of ringlets on her head and looked over at her chambermaid, who hung Vivian’s private-life clothes on a silk-wrapped hanger.

“If that’ll be all, Miss Violet, I’ll just finish straightening up your room before I go home for the night.”

“Yes, thank you.” Vivian moistened her lips. “I’ll leave you to it and go see Miss Pearl.”

“Oh, just one moment, miss.”

Vivian turned back toward the bed, where her chambermaid held the matching lace gloves Vivian was to wear to the party.

“Miss Pearl would’ve fainted away had I shown up gloveless on a party night. You’re the best, Colleen.” Vivian slipped her fingers into the gloves.

“I heard the gown Miss Pearl is wearing to the party tonight cost—” Colleen’s green eyes widened, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Dear me. I’ve spoken out of turn.”

Vivian raised a gloved hand, palm out. “I won’t tell anyone. The secret is safe with me.” What was one more secret floating on a sea of them?

“Thank you, Miss Violet. I wouldn’t want to get anyone in trouble for talking about it. She didn’t mean any harm.” Colleen bent toward Vivian, her hand cupped at her mouth. “The gown is just so beautiful that she … it came all the way from Paris, you know.”

Paris, where her father lived. If only he had let her join him in France. “I didn’t know.”

Colleen turned her attention to the everyday unmentionables still lying on the bed. “Enjoy the party, miss.”

Vivian would settle for surviving the party—her first evening on the premises.

She walked to Miss Pearl’s room at the far end of the hallway, drew in a deep breath, and knocked. “Miss Pearl?”

The bedroom door swept open and Vivian felt her jaw drop. Miss Pearl stood before her, looking like an angel. The rumored ball gown was made of shell-pink chiffon adorned with sequins and seed pearls.

“You look … well, there aren’t words for how beautiful you look,” Vivian said. “Like an angel.”

Miss Pearl chuckled. “An angel, you say?”

“Yes ma’am.” A fallen one, perhaps. But according to the preacher in Portland, fallen angels were also quite comely.

“It was a gift.” Miss Pearl did a slow turn. Her auburn pompadour shone under the chandelier overhead. “Eight hundred dollars’ worth.”

Suddenly aware that her mouth gaped open, Vivian pressed her lips together.

“You look quiet lovely yourself. The cranberry color definitely favors you.” Miss Pearl glanced down at Vivian’s felt lace shoes. “Those brown eyes of yours will have men falling at your fancy feet.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve done very well here. The men really like you.”

Vivian accepted the compliment, trying to ignore the war her feelings waged within her.

Miss Pearl snapped her lace fan open and fanned herself. “Miss Violet, it’s time you started earning your keep.”

“Earning my keep?”

“Yes. I had a gentleman request you for his private entertainment tonight.”

Vivian’s stomach knotted. “Private entertainment?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” Miss Pearl pursed her ruby-red lips. “You’re an entertainer in a sporting house.”

Vivian drew in a deep breath, raising her shoulders and her head. “I agreed to the job of hostess, not to … that kind of entertaining.”