Gypsy (46 page)

‘It don’t feel right seeing this without Sam,’ Jack sighed.

It was a pivotal moment, for Beth had thought the same and she guessed Theo had too. She felt grateful to Jack for being brave enough to come out with it.

‘If he was here we’d all be arguing what to do next,’ she said, half smiling as she imagined how excited he would have been.

‘Then we must do what we aimed for, for him,’ Theo said unexpectedly. ‘He wanted to get here more than all of us. So we can’t let him down now.’

Tears prickled in Beth’s eyes and she buried her face against Theo’s chest to hold them back. He was right — the best kind of memorial they could give to Sam would be to succeed here. That way, maybe they’d be able to cope with their loss.

Beth lifted her head away from Theo and wiped her moist eyes. ‘Then I must find somewhere to play tonight,’ she said. ‘And you two must start looking for opportunities.’

Beth went into the Monte Carlo Saloon on Front Street while Theo and Jack went to check out a few other places.

From the outside the Monte Carlo looked the smartest and busiest of all the saloons, with fresh paint and a large picture of Queen Victoria over the door, and it had signs claiming to have gaming rooms and a theatre. But the timber facade which promised sophistication was false. Inside it was unprepossessing, only one step up from a rough and ready shed, the gaming rooms dark and dreary, the theatre small and spartan with hard benches.

Undeterred, Beth approached a man with a swirling moustache and a fancy waistcoat behind the bar and asked him if she could play her fiddle there.

He looked her up and down and shrugged. ‘You wanna take the risk, then that’s your funeral,’ he said. It was clear he didn’t believe the young woman before him, in her shabby dress and gumboots, could possibly entertain his customers.

‘So if I just come in and start playing, and pass a hat round at the end, it will be all right with you?’

‘Sure, honey,’ he said, already turning away to reach for a glass and bottle. ‘But don’t expect too much, or fer me to look out fer you. It gets rough in here at nights.’

The man’s obvious conviction she would only make a fool of herself made Beth anxious to prove him wrong. She went back to the tent, washed her hair in a bucket, dug out her scarlet dress and polished up her best boots. It was only a couple of hours later that she learned from the people in the next tent that the man behind the bar was Jack Smith, one of the men who’d struck it rich out on Bonanza Creek and built the Monte Carlo.

But it transpired he wasn’t such a good judge of character, for he’d sent his partner, Swiftwater Bill Gates, off to Seattle with ten thousand dollars in gold to buy mirrors, velvet carpets and chandeliers for the saloon. News had already filtered back here that Gates had actually gone to San Francisco and was being called the King of the Klondike because he was distributing the gold to one and all while he lived the high life in the city’s best hotel.

Beth was amused by the story and it made her even more purposeful. At seven that evening she was back outside the Monte Carlo, which was almost shaking with the thunderous noise coming from within. But with shining hair trimmed with a feathered comb, her red dress and determination in her heart, she was ready for anything. She slipped off her muddy gumboots, leaving them by the door with her fiddle case, put on her clean, shiny boots and, with Theo and Jack looking anxiously on, tucked her fiddle under her chin, striking up a spirited jig, she walked in.

It took a few minutes for the music to percolate around the saloon. Beth was nervous, her fingers sticky with sweat from the heat, and she was intimidated by quite so many rough-looking men in one small space, but she let her mind conjure up Sam, imagined him standing before her as he’d so often done in the past when she played. And she played only for him.

She could see his smile, the way his wide mouth turned up at the corners and a dimple appeared in his right cheek. She could see his blue eyes sparkle and the way he pushed his blond hair impatiently out of his eyes.

Mentally, she left the sweaty saloon and went back to the immigrant ship, watching him charm the girls and laughing with him on deck. She saw him lounging on the bed in their room in New York, or pouring drinks in Heaney’s, with a host of Bowery whores batting their eyelashes at him.

It was some time before she realized that the noise in the saloon had stopped, and she opened her eyes to see a hundred or more men looking at her. Most were probably about Sam’s age, but they had that weatherbeaten look that made them look far older. Some were in fancy suits, boiled shirts, ties and homburgs, others in grubby shirtsleeves, with braces holding up trousers that had seen better days and broad-brimmed hats that could tell a few stories. There were pale-faced Europeans, brown faces from South America, black faces and Indians too. Some had untrimmed beards and moustaches, others were clean-shaven. In amongst them were a few women as well: a prettily plump one with a straw hat trimmed with feathers, another with roses on hers; women in silk and lace, others in plain cotton from the trail. But regardless of who they were, whether they’d already found gold or were helping someone who had, to spend it, they were all listening to her play.

‘Bravo!’ a big man in a checked jacket called out as she finished the first number. ‘Don’t stop now, give us more!’

It was after one when Beth picked her way through the mud to get back to the tent. She was exhausted but satisfied that she’d made her mark on Dawson, for Jack Smith had claimed she was the finest fiddle player he’d ever heard.

She had no idea where Theo and Jack were. They’d been in the Monte Carlo for the first hour she was playing, but then left and hadn’t returned. She hadn’t minded, for while she wasn’t playing, there were plenty of people only too happy to buy her a drink and keep her company.

The sky was as bright as day, and no one else appeared even to be thinking of sleeping, for the muddy tracks between tents and cabins were full of jostling people. Above the sounds of thousands enjoying themselves down on Front Street, laughter, chatter and clinking glasses, she could hear thumping feet on a dance floor, the wheeze of a mechanical organ, and a saxophone playing a plaintive ballad.

She’d been told Dawson City buzzed until eight in the morning, and she supposed that was understandable in a place where they were cut off from the Outside by snow and ice from September till the end of May.

Tied around her waist was a leather bag which someone had thrown at her, with a quantity of gold dust in it. She’d added to it the small fortune in notes and coins that had been collected for her. As she walked, it clonked against her hip bone, making her smile with satisfaction. Money and success would never compensate for her brother’s death, or make her miss him any less, but tonight those black clouds of grief had rolled back sufficiently to make her want to live again.

A week later, at four in the morning, Beth was being walked back to her tent along Front Street by Wilbur, one of the bartenders at the Monte Carlo.

‘Looks like there’s a big game on at the Golden Horse Shoe,’ he said, indicating a crowd of people outside a saloon up ahead. ‘You can bet it’s Mack Dundridge playing poker in there. Folks always want to watch him play; when he’s winning everyone gets free drinks.’

Beth smiled up at Wilbur, for this tall, lanky young bartender from Seattle was not only her regular escort home, he always had tales to tell her about the larger than life characters of Dawson City.

He’d told her about Mack Dundridge just the day before, for Mack was one of the celebrated Eldorado Kings. He had been drifting around Alaska and the Yukon for years searching for gold, and he was close by when George Carmack and Skookum Jim discovered it in Rabbit Creek. Mack rushed there when he heard the news and staked a claim that was soon to bring him a fortune. And Rabbit Creek became known as Eldorado.

But like many of the old-timers who’d struck it rich, Mack was feckless with his fortune. He would come into town and sling his poke, a leather bag of gold nuggets, down on the bar and treat everyone. It was said that one evening he gave a dance-hall girl a gold nugget worth over five hundred dollars so she’d only dance with him.

‘Can we go in and watch?’ Beth asked. While barely an hour passed without her thinking about Sam, her popularity at the Monte Carlo and the constant excitement and gaiety in the town had lifted her spirits. She liked Wilbur and felt safe in his company, and as Theo and Jack never got back to the tent until at least seven in the morning, she saw no reason why she shouldn’t have a bit of fun too.

‘As it’s a big game they’ll have someone on the door stopping common folks getting in. But you ain’t common folks, so I guess I can use my powers of persuasion.’ Wilbur grinned.

He took her arm firmly and pushed his way through the people around the door of the saloon who were trying to peer through the door and windows to see the action inside.

‘You’ll let the Klondike Gypsy in, won’t you?’ he said to the burly man barring the way. ‘She’s got a mind to see the high-rollers, and maybe she’ll return the favour by playing for you one night.’

The way the big man beamed down at her made Beth realize that she’d already established a name for herself in town and it made her feel good.

‘You’re welcome in the Golden Horse Shoe, Miss Gypsy,’ he said. ‘But don’t you go distracting the game with your pretty face, or your fiddle.’

Despite the bright light on the street, inside the saloon it was gloomy and impossible to see anything, for men stood packed shoulder to shoulder, intently watching something at the back of the place. But Wilbur took Beth’s arm and led her over to the side of the room where the crowd was thinner.

He left her there to go and buy them both a drink. Beth couldn’t see the players beyond the thick wall of male shoulders, but she could sense by the tension in the room that something out of the ordinary was going on.

‘Is Mack winning?’ she whispered to a tall man she’d found herself beside.

‘He was, but he’s lost the last couple of games,’ he whispered back. ‘I reckon it might be one of the nights he throws his claim in fer a stake.’

Wilbur had told her that Mack had built his reputation as a high-roller by going right to the edge, prepared to gamble everything he had. It was said he lost half a million dollars one night, but turned up again the following evening and won it all back.

‘Who’s he playing with?’ she whispered.

‘The Swede, Dangle and a guy I ain’t seen before,’ the whisper came back.

People gave everyone nicknames in Dawson; it appeared to be a way of showing their acceptance of them. But as Beth hadn’t met either the Swede or Dangle, she felt she must take a look at them, so she moved along to where there was a pillar holding up the roof, wriggled round it and elbowed the men there out of the way.

She gasped when she finally saw the players, for one of them was Theo.

Above the table was an ornate oil lamp which created a circle of golden light in the otherwise dark room. Just beyond this circle and behind Theo she could make out Jack standing against the wall watching the game, and she could see from his stance that he was very nervous.

The three men Theo was playing with were typical Sourdoughs, bearded, with untidy hair, rough clothes and weatherbeaten faces. Clean-shaven Theo in his smart clothes and polished boots looked incongruous, even though he wasn’t much younger than the others. He’d had some good wins since they got to Dawson, but she was fairly certain he hadn’t won anything like enough to be playing for such high stakes as this.

‘Which one is Mack Dundridge?’ she whispered to the man next to her.

‘The gingery-haired fella,’ he replied. ‘No one can beat him at poker, and he’ll stay until he’s wiped out the others.’

Beth slunk further back so Theo wouldn’t spot her, and watched him for just a moment or two longer. He looked so casual and relaxed, almost lounging in his chair, the light above accentuating his high cheekbones. But she had enough knowledge of poker to know it was based on bluff, so he could well be as nervous as Jack.

The tension in the room was growing tighter by the second, and Beth knew she couldn’t bear to witness Theo being beaten.

‘I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to stay,’ she said, meeting Wilbur as he came back across the saloon. She took the drink from his hand and downed it in one. ‘Will you take me home now, please?’

The bright daylight always made it hard to sleep, but Beth was so nervous she could barely manage to shut her eyes. She had grown accustomed to Theo’s losses over the last year, but to her knowledge he’d never before gambled more than he could afford to lose. It was different here: prospectors, saloon owners, shop keepers and dancing girls — they were all basically gamblers. With fortunes casually changing hands nightly, even the most level-headed person could easily lose their grip on reality.

She must have been lying awake for a couple of hours when she finally heard Theo and Jack approaching the tent. They were stumbling as if they were very drunk and that made her feel even angrier at them.

Theo stuck his face through the tent-door flap. ‘Are you awake, my sweetheart? he asked, grinning inanely.

‘I am now,’ she said sarcastically.

Theo withdrew his head and spoke to Jack. ‘She’s cross with me,’ he said. ‘D’you think she’ll be even crosser when I tell her our news?’

‘You’ll have our neighbours cross with you if you wake them up,’ Beth said tersely. ‘So come in here and be quiet.’

They came stumbling in and Jack flopped down beside her. ‘Sorry we’re drunk. But we had to celebrate cos Theo’s won a building lot on Front Street.’

Beth sat bolt upright. ‘He has?’ She was astounded: a building lot on Front Street cost around forty thousand dollars.

‘Sure thing, my darling,’ Theo said, dropping down on the other side of her. ‘A knuckle-biting game with Mack Dundridge. They said he couldn’t be beat, but they were wrong.’

Beth frowned. She didn’t like it when Theo became boastful, and it crossed her mind he might have cheated.