Watching Eagles Soar (20 page)

“I saw him lurking in the corridor when we arrived,” Molly said. “Something about him seemed familiar.”

“Really?” The prince took a moment to fold the handkerchief and slip it back inside his pocket. “Perhaps all ruffians look the same. The man has followed me from Russia, sent by my estate manager, Baron Mikhail Pavlovich.”

“But why, Your Highness?”

“Please, call me Sasha.”

“Why would anyone want you dead?” Molly drew in her breath, then added, “Sasha.”

“A very simple reason,” the prince said. “He intends to take possession of my estate. Oh, it is a beautiful estate, spread over one hundred thousand acres near Tsarkoe Selo. From the grand staircase in front of the palace, one has an unobstructed view of the Gulf of Finland. It is my hope that you and J.J. will one day be my guests. But first I must retrieve my estate from Baron Pavlovich, a scoundrel more evil than all the devils of hell.”

Prince Orlovsky shifted his weight about and stared for a long moment at the reclining princess, worry and sadness mingling in his expression. Finally he turned back. Leaning forward, he said, “My poor Kitty has suffered with bad health since she was a child.” His voice was low and confidential. “We were forced to spend the last two years in Baden-Baden so that she could take the waters for her heart congestion. Foolishly, I trusted my estate manager, Baron Pavlovich, to handle my affairs. He did so by stealing the income and neglecting to pay the expenses. As a result my estate is now in debtor's court and will be auctioned next month to the highest bidder.”

“How dreadful,” Molly said.

“That is not the worst.” The prince shook his head and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “A favorite servant, who served my father before me, has telegrammed me that the baron himself has arranged to place the highest bid. He intends to purchase my estate with the monies he has stolen from me! My only hope is to borrow enough money in the United States to pay the debts so that the estate will be released from debtor's court before the auction can take place. The Baron intends to see that I do not succeed.”

“Whatever can we do to help? J.J. and I . . .” Molly glanced back at the door, half expecting J.J. to bound into the room. “My husband is still pursuing the assassin,” she managed, her throat dry with anxiety. “I do hope he is safe.”

“Your husband is a brave man,” the prince said. “I am sure he will return safely. You and J.J. have already done much to come to our aid. There is nothing more we could ask.”

“But your estate?”

“Never fear. I have great hopes that the bankers I have arranged to see tomorrow will loan us the necessary funds, even though, I'm sorry to say, the banks in New York and Chicago turned down my request.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands on top of the gilt-edged table. The polished surface reflected his image like a cloudy mirror. “The fact is, my child and I are destitute. All that is left is the black diamond that you see Kitty wearing, her only legacy from her mother who died in childbirth. My dear wife was born in Paris, the great-granddaughter of Napoleon, and the black diamond was passed down through the family. Napoleon himself found the diamond in the ruins of Cleopatra's palace in Alexandria. There are records that prove the queen herself wore the diamond. Naturally, Napoleon presented the diamond to his own queen, Josephine.”

Molly found her gaze wandering over to the sofa where Princess Katerina was now seated upright, a pale hand pressed over her heart. The black diamond lay against her throat, larger and more beautiful, Molly thought, than any gem she had ever seen.

The prince seemed to have followed her gaze. “Some believe that black diamonds are the stars of night,” he said. “They do not come from the earth, like other diamonds, but fall out of the sky. So you see, my poor girl's legacy is very rare and valuable. She insisted that we offer the diamond to the banks for collateral. Naturally I refused, but my poor girl kept insisting until I acquiesced. Alas”—the prince shook his head and pulled at the tip of his silver goatee—“the bankers still refused. What would they do with a black diamond? they said. Who would take it off their hands? And for what price? No. No. It was too much for the parched imagination of Wall Street and State Street bankers.”

“But here in Colorado . . .”

“Yes!” Molly felt the prince place her hand between his palms. “In Colorado, men of finance understand the value of minerals. Why, the mountains are filled with gold and silver and all types of gems.”

“My necklace is from the aquamarine mine on Mount Antero,” Molly said.

The prince freed her hand, sat back, and smiled at her. “Then you understand why I have every hope of success when I meet with the Seventeenth Street bankers tomorrow.”

“Several bankers are here this evening,” Molly said. “Mr. David Moffat and Mr. George Kassler.”

“Yes, yes.” The prince put up the palm of one hand. “But we must not allow business matters to interfere with the lovely evening you have planned. Tomorrow will be time enough . . .”

The door to the corridor crashed open. Molly swung around as J.J. strode across the room. She jumped up and fell against his chest, gratitude surging inside her. “You're all right?” she said.

J.J. said something about failing to apprehend the culprit, but Molly barely heard the words. She had stepped back and was studying his face, which had never seemed more handsome, trying to reassure herself that he was, in fact, all right. “We went up and down the streets around the hotel,” he said, “but there was no sign of him. The police suspect that he never left the hotel. They are searching every room now.”

“We know the culprit did not return to the ballroom, and he certainly isn't here,” the prince said. “I do hope the police will not cause any more disturbance for your guests.”

J.J. lifted one hand, as if to halt any concern the prince might have. “I'll inform the police that these rooms are clear.”

“But the assassin is still on the loose.” Molly heard the alarm sounding in her voice. She turned to the prince. “He knows where to find you. He could wait until after the dinner, then come to your suite. You must not stay at the hotel. You and the princess must stay with us.”

“Molly's right,” J.J. said. “You will be safe in our home. It's unlikely that the culprit would guess your whereabouts.”

“Assassin,” Molly said, looking up at J.J. “He was sent from Russia to kill the prince by a villain who intends to take control of the prince's estate. He will stop at nothing.” She looked back at the prince. “You must stay with us.”

“You're very kind.” Prince Orlovsky removed his handkerchief again and patted the dots of perspiration that had blossomed on his forehead. “My daughter and I would welcome a secure night's rest. We have meetings scheduled tomorrow at three banks,” he said.

“His Highness must arrange the finances to retrieve his estate,” Molly said, waving away the explanation. Any mention of finances could prompt endless questions from J.J. that would only keep the royal guests from rejoining the gala event. She hurried on: “It's settled, then. You and Princess Katerina will come to our home tonight. Tomorrow evening we shall have a small soiree with a few important guests to celebrate what will certainly be a successful arrangement with the banks.”

Prince Orlovsky dipped his head in a graceful bow, lifted Molly's hand, and brushed his lips over the top. “You are too kind,” he said. “Everything your friend Mrs. Beltran said about you has proved to be true.”

“I suggest we return to the party,” J.J. said.

* * *

“W
ell, Mol, you have quite a success on your hands.” J.J. opened the glass door on the mahogany console in the parlor. Light from the Tiffany lamp on top of the grand piano reflected the red wallpaper, casting a suffused red glow over the room. The wall clock chimed twice. J.J. lifted a crystal decanter half-filled with amber liquid. “Sherry?” he said. He poured the liquid into two crystal goblets.

Molly dropped onto a leather chair, took the goblet he handed to her, and allowed herself to drift with the sense of peace that always came over her in the formal parlor. She had dreamed of such a room all of her life, it seemed. The marble fireplace with the carved wood mantel, the blue horsehair sofa, the grand piano made of inlaid wood, the fine oil paintings and white marble statues—all like a fairy tale. Beyond the paneled doors that J.J. had slid open, she could see the vestibule with lamplight dancing in the stained glass windows and shining in the polished wood of the staircase. From outside came the muffled clip-clop sounds of a buggy. J.J. had sent the driver, Stanton, back to the Brown Palace Hotel with the buggy for the prince and princess. They should arrive at any moment. She held her breath, expecting the sounds to stop, but they continued, fading into a muffled noise at the end of the avenue. She could hear the upstairs maid moving about, readying the guest rooms.

Apart from the dreadful appearance of an assassin, the evening had matched her dreams. Why, the beautiful people of Denver had practically lined up for a turn on the dance floor with royalty. And the prince, so handsome and attentive to the women—he had danced with her twice! Not wanting to monopolize his attention, Molly herself had led him over to Louise Hill, whose eyes had followed them on the dance floor with such longing that Molly felt she could do no less. The princess had been even more popular, unable to sit out a dance. A waltz was still playing when David Moffat of the First National Bank had tapped J.J.'s shoulder and taken the princess into his arms. For a woman with a fluttering heart, the princess could have been mistaken for the heartiest woman in the ballroom.

J.J. took the leather chair on the other side of the parlor and sipped at his sherry. “What does the prince propose to offer the banks as collateral?” he said.

Molly gave a little shout of laughter. Usually they enjoyed reminiscing about a social evening—the occasional function at the Denver Country Club or the Miners' Club—fixing the memory in their minds. And yet the question was so like J.J., his mind always on business. She took another sip of sherry, then asked whether he had noticed the black diamond Princess Katerina wore.

“How could I miss it? Everyone was admiring it. I overheard Louise Hill ask about it.”

“The diamond is all they have left,” Molly said. “It's the princess's only legacy from her mother, but she insists that her father offer it to the banks.”

J.J. tipped back the crystal goblet and drained the last of his sherry. “And if the banks refuse . . .” He set the glass on the side table. “Would you like the diamond, Molly?”

“What?” Molly shifted forward, spilling drops of sherry on the armrest. “Cleopatra herself wore the diamond,” she said. “Napoleon presented it to Josephine. There is nothing else like it in the world.”

“I would have to do some research, determine the worth of such a gem, and have it authenticated by a certified gemologist.”

Molly smiled over the rim of her goblet. J.J. would drive a hard bargain, she knew. He would not pay a penny more than the diamond was worth. But he would still pay a fortune.

“We'll have to see what the bankers say first,” J.J. said, lifting himself to his feet. He went back to the console, refilled his sherry glass, and took out his pocket watch. “I wonder what's keeping our royal guests?” he said.

* * *

“O
ur luck is holding, Alex.” Kitty stopped pacing the length of the anteroom and stared down at the man seated on the leather sofa. She smoothed the front of her white beaded dress, making a point of ignoring the man in the black suit who slouched in a corner chair. “I don't want to think what we would have done if Molly hadn't offered her home. We can't afford ten minutes in this fancy hotel, thanks to that poker game in Chicago. I told you to walk away before you left all our money on the table.”

“Well, isn't that the goose's behind!” The man in the black suit shifted forward, as if he were about to deliver an oration. “Royalty is off to a fine mansion with feather beds, and just where am I to take my lodgings?”

“The same miserable hovel where we found you,” Kitty said. She turned her back to the man and looked down at Alex.

“We can't relax yet,” she said. “The ladies still have to take the bait. You could have done a better job of playing your role. Russian royalty, indeed. Baden-Baden for the waters. Estate overlooking the Bay of Finland. Destitute, no less. Well, that part was true.”

“You forget that I played Hamlet in Stratford.” Alex combed his fingers through his silver hair, then pulled at his silver goatee.

Kitty let out a bark of laughter. “You refer to the soliloquy you delivered uninvited at the Stratford pub? As I recall, the patrons shouted you down.”

“For pity's sake, Kitty.” Alex threw a glance at the man seated in the corner. “No actor could have played the role better. I had Molly Brown and that dreadful Mrs. Hill in the palm of my hand. After I told them about the black diamond, they couldn't keep their eyes off that piece of glass you're wearing. Edwin Booth couldn't have done a better job of convincing the audience of the ghost of Elsinore.”

“All the same, you haven't closed the deal.”

“Tomorrow, pet. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.”

“Well, I want my payment now.” The man in the black suit jumped to his feet. “I played my part, and I played it damn well. Just like John Wilkes Booth, Edwin's brother—isn't that what you said? Shoot from a balcony, but use a prop gun with wax bullets, not like Booth. We don't want to kill anybody—isn't that what you said? Make your escape into the corridor and take the door to the anteroom. Stay hidden in the cabinet. All make-believe, you said, a grand production for an audience of swells.”

He took a couple of steps forward. “I'm fed up with your strutting around this fancy hotel, wining and dining with the likes of them out there”—he swept a hand in the direction of the ballroom—“while I'm hiding in the cabinet holding my breath that the police don't come bursting in. Give me what's owed, and I'll be on my way.”