Desperate Hearts (5 page)

Gerald grinned in spite of his concern. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to
that.”

Alan smiled sadly. “I’ll consider you keeping quiet about this as your payment. I hate to collect this way…hate doing this to Emma…but she’s out there alone somewhere, and I can’t quite forgive her for taking Mary from me in such a violent way. The fact remains that out of jealousy she killed her own mother, intended or unintended. She’s got to be found and made to own up to what she’s
done.”

“I agree on that one.” Gerald put his hat on. “Did any of the maids see what
happened?”

Alan shook his head. “No. And I don’t want them questioned, at least not until it’s absolutely
necessary.”

“Very well.” He reached out and shook Alan’s hand again. “I’ll get the warrant and bring it to you. I’ll leave the rest up to you. I hope you can find her, Alan.”

Alan squeezed the man’s hand, wishing it were Emma’s neck. “I’ll find her, Gerald. You can be sure of
that.”

Gerald turned and walked to the door. “I’ll let myself out. And I think I’ll go have a drink somewhere. This is indeed shocking news.” He shook his head. “Shocking.” He left, and Alan walked back to look out the window again at his well-manicured garden behind the
mansion.

“Shocking indeed,” he muttered.
And
little
Miss
Emma
will
be
shocked
when
I
find
her
and
show
her
the
warrant
for
her
arrest. If that doesn’t scare her into telling me where the necklace is, I guess I’ll just have to let her go to prison, or arrange for her untimely
death.

Having that necklace would have gone a long way toward relieving some of his gambling debts. Even the wealthiest man could end up a pauper when he couldn’t control his gambling. It was an addiction he’d fought most of his adult life, and a battle he endlessly lost. It irked him that not being able to have the necklace, which was rightfully his, had meant cutting back on his gambling to make sure he didn’t go bankrupt. Right now he was faced with selling some of his real estate. He’d be fine for a while yet, if he could keep himself from gambling, and if he could find Emma and get his hands on that
necklace!

***

Gerald Hayes nodded to Bess as she led him to the front door. He stopped there and looked down at the young waif Alan Radcliffe had hired out of his own garment factory. The man had a habit of doing that and then letting young maids go after a while. He always claimed he found better jobs for them, but Hayes always wondered if there was more to it than that. He’d run in the man’s gambling circles, knew him well enough to see something in those dark eyes of his, something seedy and evil. He’d never liked Alan Radcliffe, but he’d also never been able to find any proof that the man was anything but a wealthy, philanthropic citizen of New York City. Men like Alan were difficult to catch doing anything
wrong.

“Bess,” he said quietly. “Were you here the night Mr. Radcliffe’s wife fell down the
stairs?”

A quick look of fear flashed in her eyes. “N-no, sir. I mean…I was way upstairs in my attic room, asleep.”

Gerald studied her intently. “Bess, I know when someone is lying to me, and you’re
lying.”

She looked around like a panicked, caged animal, glancing toward the hallway that led to Alan Radcliffe’s office. Gerald put a hand on her arm, feeling sorry for the thin, pale, quiet Bess, who’d probably never known a decent
life.

“Bess, I don’t want you to be afraid to tell the truth. Alan claims Emma killed her own mother, that she was in love with him and wanted him for herself, that she pushed her mother down those stairs. I don’t believe any of it, but I need proof of what really happened, and now Emma has run off, so I can’t question her. You liked Emma, didn’t
you?”

Bess blinked back tears. “Yes, sir.”

“Then tell me what really happened. You witnessed it, didn’t
you?”

She backed away. “No! It’s just like I said, sir. I was asleep in my
room.”

Gerald sighed. “Did you ever see Emma flirting with Alan, trying to seduce him? Did she ever tell you she was in love with her own stepfather and wanted to marry him? Surely you heard or saw
something
!”

“I…yes, she did those things. She wasn’t as nice as you think she
was.”

Gerald frowned. “You’re afraid of Alan Radcliffe, aren’t
you?”

“Please go, Mr. Hayes. I have no power, no say, no family, no anything. Men like you and Mr. Radcliffe can make life good for me or destroy me. I just do my job and nothing more. Please
go!”

Gerald shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be that way. Help me, Bess, and I’ll help you. You needn’t fear me, I
promise.”

“Please go! He’ll come out of his office any minute and know we’ve been
talking!”

Gerald nodded. “You remember what I just told you.” He walked out the door and Bess quietly closed it, squeezing her eyes against tears. She felt sorry for Emma, understood why she’d fled. She knew the ways Alan Radcliffe had of making life miserable for those beneath
him.

The man didn’t know she’d witnessed what happened the night his wife died, what had really happened to Mary Radcliffe, what he’d done to Emma. She’d stayed in the shadows and seen all of it, but she knew Alan Radcliffe, knew she didn’t dare tell the truth. He’d told her more than once that if she ever betrayed him in any way, he’d accuse her of theft and prostitution and have her thrown into prison. He’d said no one would believe a poor orphaned girl off the streets, and he was
right.

He was Alan Radcliffe, businessman, philanthropist, respected gentleman. She had no hope of winning a battle of right and wrong against him, and she needed this job…needed the extra money he’d bribed her with, to take care of her grandmother so the poor old woman didn’t end up starving in the streets. She couldn’t tell the truth. She just couldn’t. She would continue putting up with the man coming to her bed at his whim and keep her mouth shut, hoping poor Emma had escaped someplace where Radcliffe would never find
her.

“Bess!”

She jumped when Alan spoke her name from the
hallway.

“Yes, sir?”

“Why are you still standing there at the
door?”

“Oh, I noticed the doorknob needs polishing. It’s getting
tarnished.”

“Then polish it, but get me some tea and a newspaper
first.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walked back down the hallway, and Bess breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God he’d not seen her talking to Prosecutor
Hayes.

Men’s shouts woke Elizabeth. She peeked out a window, and by the light of a just-rising sun she saw that the two outlaws Mitch had left behind were now being herded down the street, still in their long underwear and nothing more. They looked haggard and
terrified.

“Let’s hang them right now!” some of the men were yelling. “We already know what
happened!”

“We are going to do this legally!” came a shouted reply. The voice sounded familiar, and Elizabeth glanced over at a saloon just two doors down and across the street to see none other than Mitch Brady standing there trying to keep
order.

“What on
earth!”

How could the man already be up and dressed and outside trying to handle a hanging mob? He should still be resting! Elizabeth turned away from the window to retrieve a watch from a front pocket on the dress she’d worn yesterday. It was just a little after seven o’clock in the morning. After a wonderfully warm and sudsy bath, thanks to Lee Wong and his wife, she’d drunk some tea and slept much more soundly than she’d thought possible for a stranger in a wild town, surrounded by danger. She supposed it was from pure
exhaustion.

She went to the door to peek into the outer room to see that the other patient who’d been there yesterday was also gone. Doc Wilson sat bent over his desk writing something. Elizabeth called out to him. He straightened his shoulders and turned to look at
her.

“Well! You’re awake! How do you
feel?”

Elizabeth noticed he wore the same faded, wrinkled suit he’d been wearing yesterday. He’d likely slept in it. She kept the door to her room just slightly ajar so the doctor couldn’t see her in her nightgown. “I feel much better so far. What is going on
outside?”

“Oh, there will be a trial, of course. They’ll turn the Antelope Saloon into a temporary courtroom and make sure the hanging is done legally. Mitch will see to
that.”

“Shouldn’t Mitch still be
resting?”

The doctor grinned and leaned back in his chair. “You don’t keep Mitch Brady down for long. He was up and dressed and out of here about six this morning—wanted to make sure that bunch out there didn’t hang those two without a trial. I tried to keep him down, but he wouldn’t have it. He said to tell you to get dressed as soon as you were up in case you have to testify to anything. He’ll try to keep you from having to go through something like that. At any rate, I’ll bring you some fresh-heated water for the washbowl in there and some soda to scrub your teeth with.” He rose. “You strike me as the type who doesn’t go out unless she’s properly clean and has every hair in place. Will you need help? Lee Wong’s wife is good at pinning up a woman’s hair and such things. She can even heat a round iron on the stove to curl your hair more, if you need to freshen up those pretty
locks.”

Elizabeth put a hand to her hair, realizing it must be a tumbled mess. Last night she’d noticed a bruise on her right cheek. She wondered if it was any worse. “I…no, I’ll
manage.”

She closed the door and walked over to her biggest carpetbag, pulling out a dark green dress that would be considered quite fashionable back East. She wondered if it was possible to find anything like it here in Alder, where everything was so uncivilized. She would have to ask the woman who ran the boardinghouse.
Ma
Kelly.
Even the women here were referred to with nicknames. What was her first name? Should she be called Mrs. Kelly?

Whoever she was, Elizabeth hoped the woman could help her find a seamstress to make more dresses for her. She’d left home in a hurry, forced to sneak away with as little baggage as possible, which left her with only four day dresses, one fancier evening dress, a nightgown, and a robe, and two sets of petticoats, one of which had been thrown out after she ripped it up to bandage Mitch Brady. She had a couple pairs of stockings, two pairs of shoes—one pair for day and one fancy pair—a handful of jewelry, and a couple of hats. She was in sore need of expanding her wardrobe, although she could already see that being properly dressed probably meant little to the rowdy mob of miners gathered just outside her
window.

She hoped she could avoid getting involved with the melee in the street. All she wanted now was to get a room of her own where she could gather her thoughts and plan what she would do next. One day of peace and quiet would be so welcome. The journey here had been a nightmare of fear and noise and filth…a loud, smoky train part of the way, followed by a riverboat ride, then the bouncing, dusty stagecoach and the accident and the attack, and now this—a lynch mob in the street, some members of which might insist she step forth and identify the two men
outside.

She shuddered at how horrible a hanging must be, yet the men outside seemed excited about it. She remembered Mitch saying something about a hanging being a reason for a picnic, of all things! His attitude about it left her wondering just how “good” Mitch Brady really was. Did the man have any true feelings for anything, or did he just go around shooting lawbreakers and drinking in saloons and visiting the whores? He’d been disappointed to learn she wasn’t a prostitute, and the painted women who’d greeted them yesterday obviously knew Mitch
well.

Perhaps she should have stayed in Virginia City. It was nothing like New York, but it was certainly much bigger and more civilized than any other town she’d seen west of Chicago, with more of the amenities a woman needed. Still, she had to find a place where she was absolutely unlikely to ever be found by Alan Radcliffe. From what she’d seen of Alder, Montana, so far, it certainly fit the
bill.

She hurriedly dressed, missing the help of a maid and wincing with the deep pain lingering in her shoulder. She’d have to learn to stiffen her resolve and do a lot of things on her own now, ignoring pain and other difficulties. She carried her grandmother’s blood and her mother’s blood, and both women were strong and resilient. One thing was sure, from what she’d seen of others in Alder, no one would much care if she wasn’t properly dressed or coiffed. She leaned into the rather faded mirror and removed what was left of the combs in her hair. Piling it on top of her head would be impossible without help, so she brushed it out, then pulled back the sides with combs and let the rest hang down her back. Her face and body were clean from last night’s bath. She pinched her cheeks a little, sat down to pull on shoes and button them. Just as she finished with that she heard someone come into the outer
office.

“Is Miss Wainright up and
dressed?”

She recognized Mitch Brady’s
voice.

“I’ll see,” the doctor
answered.

There came a knock at her door, and Elizabeth opened it to see Mitch standing behind the doctor, still wearing the bloody shirt from yesterday. Right now he wore only one gun belt, slung low on his hips but holding two pistols. Mitch looked her over, a bit of surprise in his blue eyes as he removed his
hat.

“You look even more beautiful with your hair down like
that.”

“I agree,” Doc Wilson chimed in, smiling. “You look well rested, Miss Wainright.” He frowned then and leaned a little closer to study the bruise on her cheek. “Too bad about that bruise. How do you
feel?”

Elizabeth flushed with embarrassment. “Right now I feel fine. My ribs are sore and of course my shoulder hurts, but I’ll
live.”

“I for one am damn glad of that,” Mitch told her with a handsome grin. He looked down at himself. “I apologize for the way I look, but I haven’t had time to clean
up.”

“You shouldn’t be up at all,” she told him. “I hope you can go home soon, wherever that is, and get more
sleep.”

Mitch frowned. “Right now I just want you to step outside for a minute and tell that bunch out there that the men they brought in are the ones who attacked the coach and killed the drivers and passengers. I won’t make you go over to the saloon. A proper lady like you doesn’t belong in a place like that. I promise this will only take a minute. Once we herd the men over to the saloon and get things over with, I’ll jail them and I’ll come back here and take you to Ma Kelly’s.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath for courage. “I…I don’t have a hat
on.”

Mitch chuckled. “Nobody out there cares about
that.”

I’m sure they don’t
, Elizabeth thought. “Very well.” She walked past the doctor and Mitch to the front door, then stood aside, waiting for Mitch to open it. “You’ll stay right beside me, right?”

“Of course I will.” Mitch gently took her arm and opened the door, leading her out onto the stoop. Men cheered and whistled, and Mitch put up his hand and yelled for them to quiet down. The two prisoners glared at her, both looking haggard as well as terrified. Elizabeth wondered how the men got them here so early in the morning and realized that after she and Mitch arrived in town yesterday, the posse that quickly formed must have ridden hard to get to the site of the disaster before dark fell and left before daylight to get back to Alder. Such was their desire for retribution and, she suspected, for
excitement.

“I only brought this woman out here to make a quick identification,” Mitch shouted. “I don’t want my word to be the only testimony to what these men did. Those of you who went to pick them up saw the wreckage and the other dead bodies. Late yesterday some others of you buried Billy and Juno. I caught these two in the act of dragging this woman out of the coach and trying to rob her. She was wounded and
helpless.”

Mitch turned to a man wearing a black top hat, a silk morning coat, and a buttoned paisley vest underneath. When he moved his arm to write something on a tablet, Elizabeth noticed a gold chain pinned to his vest. The end of it was tucked into a small pocket, and she had no doubt it held a gold
watch.

“Take your notes, Jackson,” Mitch told him. “I want it known there was more than one witness to this, and that I allowed these men proper
representation.”

The man he called Jackson was of average height, with dark hair and eyes and mustache, a decent-looking man who was the best-dressed Elizabeth had seen so far. He glanced at her and smiled kindly as he nodded his acknowledgment. He held a small tablet and a quill pen. Another man with him who looked to be just another miner held out a bottle of ink, and Jackson dipped his pen into
it.

“I’ll have this woman state her name,” Mitch shouted to the others. He looked down at Elizabeth. “Go
ahead.”

Elizabeth swallowed. “Elizabeth Wainright,” she said louder than her usual voice but not shouted. Again she felt guilty for lying about her
name.

Jackson scribbled her name on the
tablet.

“And are these the two men who were part of the gang that dragged you out of the overturned stagecoach yesterday?” Mitch
asked.

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes.” In spite of what they’d done, part of her didn’t like having to testify against two men who would soon be
hanged.

“And did you fear for your person and your life?” Mitch
asked.

Elizabeth scanned the crowd. “Yes. The stagecoach drivers were shot and killed, as well as one of the passengers inside the coach. The other passenger died when the coach
overturned.”

“Let it be known that Miss Elizabeth Wainright here has identified Hugh Wiley and Jake Snyder as part of the gang that tried to rob the Virginia City stagecoach yesterday of money meant for the bank here in Alder. These same men shot Billy Polk and Juno Martin and passenger Spittin’ Joe. They also caused the death of a passenger named Whiskers and caused Miss Wainright here to suffer a dislocated shoulder and great
humiliation.”

Fists went into the air, and the outlaws hung their
heads.

Jackson kept writing. “Where are you from, Miss Wainright?” he asked as he
wrote.

Immediately Elizabeth was afraid. She didn’t like all this attention. For someone hiding and trying to keep a low profile, this was the last thing she wanted. “I’m from…St. Louis.”
Another
lie.

“And what brings you to a place like Alder, Miss Wainright? It
is
Miss, right?”

Elizabeth looked up at Mitch. “What does that have to do with what
happened?”

“Nothing,” Mitch answered. He turned to Jackson. “This woman’s background and reason for coming here makes no difference in what these men did,” he told Jackson. “Suffice it to say, she has identified them as being part of the gang that attacked the stagecoach yesterday, killed three men, caused the death of a fourth man, and intended to rob and shame Miss Wainright, perhaps kill her, too. That’s all that
matters.”

Jackson nodded. “All right, then.” He glanced at Elizabeth, looking her over curiously. “Sorry to offend, ma’am. Name’s Carl Jackson…
Attorney
Carl Jackson, if you should ever have need of my services. And I can assure you that this town is proud to have such a lovely lady as yourself grace our presence, whatever your reason for being
here.”

“You’ll die for this, Mitch Brady!” someone yelled before Elizabeth could
answer.

The words came from a man about Mitch’s age. “You’re bound to hang my brother vigilante-style, and I can’t let that go. And don’t forget that Hugh has friends. You’d better watch your
back!”

“If you want to defend a murderer and robber, that’s your right,” Mitch shouted back. “But I’d think twice before I’d go threatening people, Sam. If you defend your brother by trying to murder me, you’ll hang, too.”

Sam fingered his sidearm nervously and then backed away. “We’ll see about that,” he said before turning to put a hand on the shoulder of one of the outlaws. He walked away then, and men jeered at
him.

Mitch turned and led a grateful Elizabeth back inside the doctor’s office and closed the door. Elizabeth wilted a little, glad to be away from prying eyes. “Thank you,” she told
Mitch.

“Wait here, and when this is over, I’ll come get you and take you to Ma’s
place.”

Elizabeth sat down in a wooden rocker. “You don’t need to keep escorting me everywhere,” she told
Mitch.

“Yes, I do,” Mitch answered. “You don’t know your way around town yet, and there are plenty of men out there still too curious about why you’re here. I have to admit I’m one of them.” He looked her over with a mixture of wonder and irritation in his eyes. “You’ve got to be more forthcoming, Miss Wainright. Even though we’ve all got our secrets, leaving people completely in the dark only makes them pay more attention to you, and I have a feeling attention is the last thing you
want.”