Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04) Page 21

  Calder was by the mare’s head. He looked up at Inez, sweat-plastered hair hanging about his face. “Can ye take my horse? I must get her free of the traces.”

  Inez slipped from the carriage and ran to grab the reins and lead Calder’s horse out of the way. Calder unharnessed the distressed horse. He led her away, off the path, and behind a low outcropping, talking to her low and soft the whole time. Inez held her breath, watching them go. Calder’s mount jerked his head, as if wanting to follow, and Inez had to switch her focus to calming him down. She glanced back, just in time to see the mare’s head weave up and down in a strange twitchy motion, and then she collapsed, out of sight behind the rocks. Calder immediately knelt and disappeared as well. Inez started in distress, wanting to go help, but needing to stay with Calder’s horse, who was becoming increasing agitated. The women’s voices, rising in horrified exclamations, and William’s loud wails did nothing to improve the situation.

  Harmony finally hurried back to comfort William. Mrs. Galbreaith turned the reins over to Susan and hurried behind the outcroppings. She, too, knelt and disappeared from sight. Long minutes ticked by, until Calder and Mrs. Galbreaith rose and, sober-faced, returned to the road.

  “What happened?” Inez said anxiously. “Should we fetch her some water? Is she unable to move?”

  “She’s dead,” said Calder. He ran a sleeve across his sweating face.

  Disbelief rolled over Inez. “But how?”

  “What on earth just happened?” Harmony asked. She was approaching, carrying William and looking shaken. “She just bolted, as if she’d seen a snake.”

  “There was no snake, nothing to upset or frighten her,” said Inez. “She was agitated before we even departed from the picnic spot, remember? She was so restless, we could hardly set foot in the buggy.”

  Mrs. Galbreaith added, “That was not a natural death. The poor sweet mare. Perhaps she ate something along the way? Didn’t you say, Mrs. DuChamps, that Mr. Morrow had said she was indiscriminate in her tastes? Perhaps she took a mouthful of something bad. But it would have to have been something dreadful for her to die as she did, and so quickly.”

  Calder looked at Mrs. Galbreaith, an awful light growing behind his eyes. Without a word, he came over to his own horse. Inez held the horse still while Calder rummaged through one of his saddlebags. He pulled out the nearly empty nosebag, opened it, and sifted among the remaining contents.

  Inez asked, “Could the grain have gone bad? I’ve seen horses react to spoilt grain, but not so rapidly.”

  A whispered curse, said low so none but Inez could hear. He pulled something out of the bag and held out a clenched hand to Inez, saying, “This is nae spoilt oats.” He opened his fist. Sprinkled amongst the expected oats, corn, and barley, several small, smooth, blue-black berries glinted dully.

  Chapter Thirty

  “I don’t recognize those berries. What are they?” Inez asked as Calder slipped them into his jacket pocket.

  With a face full of thunder, he said, “I know what they look like. But, if I am correct, they are a far way from home.”

  “Well, what do you think they are?”

  “Paris quadrifolia. Herb Paris.”

  She frowned, shook her head.

  “I’m not surprised the name is unfamiliar to you. I’ve only seen the plant in the old forests of Britain and on the Continent. Another name for it is Truelove.” His lip curled. “Herb Paris is poisonous, fatal to human and horse alike. The plant itself smells beastly when in bloom. Like a plant of the devil himself.”

  “What is it doing here, in Colorado? And why? Was it an accident that it ended up in the feedbag?”

  “I intend to find out. That an innocent animal would die sets my blood aboil.”

  “Who would want to kill a horse?” She glanced involuntarily at the rock outcrop that hid the mare’s body.

  “Not just any horse. My horse. The feed was meant for the horse I rode.”

  Inez stared. “But, anyone could have taken him out.”

  He shook his head. “I bought that horse from Morrow when I arrived early this summer. It’s mine and mine alone. No one else rides him.”

  “Someone meant to do you harm?” Although it was a blazing hot afternoon and Inez had nothing to shield her head from the heat, she felt suddenly cold, as if winter had descended. She couldn’t help but glance around at the foreign landscape of red rocks, dead grasses, and gray-green brush.

  His mouth twisted. “I always ride on less traveled paths. Had I not found the stream with ready grazing nearby, I would have fed the horse the grain prepared, without a second thought. Who is to say what would have happened on some of the steep rock slopes we traversed, if he had…” Calder didn’t finish.

  He didn’t have to.

  After a short conversation by the side of the road, the group decided that nothing could be done but to leave the dead mare where she had fallen. They lashed the buggy to the back of the wagon, such that it could trail behind.

  It was a very subdued wagon full of people who finally arrived back at the Mountain Springs House. Mrs. Galbreaith had managed to fit everyone in her wagon, by shifting photographic boxes and equipment about. William had sobbed himself to sleep in Lily’s arms, one dirty thumb plugging his mouth. Calder followed behind, keeping his horse at a sedate pace. Inez’s recently injured shoulder ached, but at least it did not seem re-damaged. She ignored the muted pain, preferring to focus on the odd findings in the feedbag and the sobering demise of the horse.

  Billy came from the livery and stared at the buggy behind the wagon. “Ain’t thet one a’ ours?” he asked. “Whar’s the horse?”

  Calder dismounted and said, “I’ll explain to Mr. Morrow, lad. Is he in the livery?”

  Billy nodded.

  “Help the ladies with their baskets and unfasten the buggy and wheel it around to the back, then,” said Calder. He leaned over to Susan, still in the carriage, and said, “I shall arrive for you about five, as we planned? I’ll bring a carriage for you and all your boxes, cases, and camera, for the tableaux tonight. Will you still be my guest for dinner and the evening, despite these unfortunate circumstances? You must come, or face my profound distress and Mrs. Underwood’s wrath. She’s counting on you to take photographs of her scenes, you know.”

  Susan’s smile was but a ghost of its usual self. “Yes, of course, Mr. Calder. I said I would, and I will.”

  At the porch stairs, Harmony placed a hand on Lily’s shoulder, stopping her before they went up. Harmony addressed Inez saying, “I don’t know how we—I and Lily—can thank you, Inez. I remember, even as a young child, that you always had a way of staying calm, even under the most stressful of situations. If you hadn’t been there today, I don’t know what might have happened.”

  “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?”