Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (45 page)

            The noise of the place was almost overpowering. Words like “rubbish” and “depressing” were called out over and over. If Evelyn was not so alluring, the men might have begun to throw vegetables.

            Mr. Dupont feared the produce might be thrown anyway. Perhaps not at Evelyn, but certainly at him.

            He leaned in once more, demanding a particular tune that Evelyn knew quite well.

            It was the song she had sung with Lucius that first night they danced around the campfire.

            Her fingers stopped moving as she recalled the memory, and with her silence and distant stare, a hush pervaded the room. The men were pleased to have overcome the will of this sublime female, and watched with superior curiosity to see what the plumed goddess would do next. None of them knew how Mr. Dupont had captured this creature, but they knew that by the end of this night, only one of them would walk away with her. For all but that singular and most definitely rich man, this performance was all the show they would get. It was really such a shame that Mr. Dupont had moved the piano so far back from the edge of the stage, for no man possessed an arm long enough to get a pinch of that delightfully white skin. They must be content with one elongated gaze, and the coming opportunity to place their bids.

            There were very few men present who had not seen Evelyn before, and they could hardly believe their luck that it was she who sat at the piano, she who had riveted them upon her first arrival to American Camp, she who had obliged to dance with one or two of them, and she who had diligently ignored each and every one of them every single day since arriving here. Yet here she was, offering herself like a sacrifice to the gods. Unblemished. Flawless. Perfect.

            With the separation that acted like a barrier between herself and her admirers, the men could not see the tears that filled her eyes. They did not know of the bribe and inducements that had brought her to this place, the cunning injustices of the Duponts. They also did not know that Evelyn was oblivious to how this night would come to an end; that she had not offered herself to Mr. Dupont; that she was an innocent girl who was only looking for a meal and a chance to play the piano.

            They were not heartless men, and their excitement did not come from her deception. Perhaps her money had run out and she needed it for passage to California. She needed help, and she offered herself as a reward. As every man here was something akin to being in love with Evelyn Brennan, they would happily accept this offer. Women were fragile, rare things, not to be broken or wounded; but they
were
to be indulged, and if Evelyn was asking, not one of them was about to refuse her. As proof, their purses were counted and ready.

            Evelyn stared into the crowd, and in each face, she saw the likeness of her musical counterpart. She wondered if Lucius was here, staring back at her with his bright, ever-changing eyes. If she found him, if he saw her looking at him, would he know her thoughts? That in this moment, as the chemicals in her body screamed fearful, sad, and longing thoughts, would he know that she no longer wanted to be here? Would he know that now was the perfect time to rescue her? That she was desperate to be saved?

            She could not locate him, and her heart sank. Of course he was not here. Evelyn had ruined any semblance of friendship that had threatened to rise between them. Lucius would have no desire to watch her play her music. He had heard enough in his lifetime, as the songs from their past only served to widen the abyss between them. Evelyn had made certain of that.

            She positioned her fingers in new places, readying them to perform Mr. Dupont’s request. But before she could create a sound, Mr. Dupont changed his mind. Evelyn’s silence had lasted too long, and it was apparent her admirers were eager for the real show to begin. They no longer wanted music, fast, slow, or otherwise. They wanted Evelyn. Just Evelyn.

            His hands slipped over hers, and he met her gaze with sharp eyes.

            “All done, Princess.”

            She stared back, confused. Hadn’t he asked her for another song?

            The room was thick with tension. The men had been waiting for this. It was all well and good to watch Evelyn Brennan for any elongated period of time. She was a fine show, to be sure. But God knew they had come here for one thing, and listening to a piano was not it.

            As her performance came to an end, Evelyn began to think this nightmare had finally ceased. Perhaps now she could return to camp. Though she had departed in desperation, she was more than ready to go back. She might even return with the same relish with which she had left. She was not eager to offer explanations, but the idea of receiving a comforting embrace from Josephine, or a sweet smile from Adele was enough to bring her to her feet. She swayed beneath the sudden movement, and she might have fallen if Mr. Dupont’s hands were not upon her still. He led her away from the piano, but instead of escorting her offstage, he had her stand in the center, facing the men.

Evelyn’s stomach churned with apprehension as Mr. Dupont’s claw-like fingers dug into her arms. She could not escape his grasp, even if she wanted to.

            Smiles crept further and further across the faces of the spectators as they looked up at Evelyn with hungry eyes. Suddenly, she felt exposed and embarrassed. Everything in her wanted to turn away.

           
Please stop looking at me like that,
she begged, though the words did not cross her lips. Instead, she shut her eyes in an attempt to shut out the room.

           
Wake up,
she told herself.
Wake up.

            “Gentlemen,” Mr. Dupont’s voice boomed. “Let me introduce you to this evening’s entertainment.”

            He did not say her name, but he did not need to. Even if he had, it would not have been heard over the roar of the men’s applause. They clapped, whistled, shouted, and hooted their praise.

            The din was so loud it hurt Evelyn’s ears. If her arms had been free, she would have run.

             Instead, she squeezed her eyes tighter.

            “Look at them,” Mr. Dupont growled.

            She shook her head, to which his vice-like grip tightened. She emitted a small cry of pain.

            “You’re hurting me,” she told him.

            “Then open your eyes.”

            When she did, the light inspired an instant headache. The room seemed to spin, and Evelyn was at once dizzy. Her corset felt too tight, and she was acutely aware of the fuzziness that warned of fainting.

            It was all too much. The hunger. The wine. The clothes. The makeup. The absinthe. The opium. The piano. This.
This
was too much, yet she could not escape. Mr. Dupont had a hold of her, and he would not let go.

            He smiled at his audience.

            “You’ve wanted her,” he told them, and there was a cheer of agreement. “You have seen her in camp, have watched her as she passed by, have forgotten your wives and girlfriends as you’ve imagined yourself in her arms. Because God knows she’s better looking than anyone you left at home, am I right?” Another cheer. “You have heard the rumors. You have dared to hope that tonight might present you with the opportunity to make your dreams come true. The question is, what would you pay to feel the warmth I now feel beneath my fingers? What would you give to touch this skin, to kiss these lips, to lose yourself in the beauty and purity of this divine goddess? At what price will your imagination become reality?”

            Endless cheering.

            The speech was lost on Evelyn. It was only more noise, more words, more information she could not understand.

 Just then, a familiar face entered the room, and it was with this face that Evelyn’s jumbled thoughts unified in alarm.

            He had slipped inside, along with a small group of other men. He wore confidence as though everyone had gathered and waited just for him to arrive. As though this evening was in his honor, and Evelyn Brennan had been preened and adorned for him only. And she might as well have been, for all the fresh money he held in his pockets. It was her money, but no matter. She did not need to know she was about to be bought with her own purse. All she knew now was that she had walked away from Brock Donnigan, but he had found her, and he had come to claim her once and for all.

Chapter Thirty-Six

            The sun had fallen behind the sea, the moon was full, and there were few stars to be seen.

Josephine’s heart pounded swift and hard as she flew through a moonlit labyrinth of tents, and when she reached the main avenue into the city, her flight came to a standstill. The street was lit with torches, and a disheveled man was wandering alone in the lane, stumbling from cobblestone to cobblestone, his hair wild and his face bruised.

It was Lucius.

The air was filled with the sounds of saloons, brothels, and gambling houses, and with one glance at Lucius Flynn, Josephine could see he had gotten enough exposure to any number of the three, and had not emerged any better for it. His gait spoke of tremendous loss, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his grievous disappointments.

            When he first saw her, he could not place her. She looked like Josephine: small, lovely, and glowing mutely in the torchlight. She was definitely a female of a young, transitory age, but she could not be Josephine, for there was no reason why Josephine would be out alone, at night, staring back at him.

            Unless something was wrong. Unless she had come looking for him.

            Selfless moments were a rare occurrence for Lucius. Indeed, even now he was sorely tempted to believe that Josephine had been worried about him, and that was why she had come searching. He almost called out to her, almost told her that all was well, that she must return to camp, that he would be along shortly. But he would
not
be along shortly, nor would he ever. He would find a way to disappear, for his great mistake was enough to render him unworthy of his friends. He had lost everything of value, had forfeited everything he possessed over a failed attempt at retribution.

            And yet, the look upon Josephine’s face inspired a strange breed of urgency, as though she had not merely sought Lucius for the sake of finding him, but instead required his help.

            He took a few carefully placed steps towards her so as not to betray his drunkenness, and at the sight of his wary movements, she broke into a sprint. She was with him in an instant, arms locked around his waist. Then, in such haste she hardly noticed the stench of ale and vomit about him, she pulled away and clutched his hand in her own.

With one look into her pleading eyes, he knew he was to follow her. Whither to, he was uncertain, and his legs threatened to balk at the idea of returning to camp. But it was not in the direction of camp that she led him. Rather, they moved further up the lane, with Josephine inclining an ear from one side of the street to the other, listening. For what, Lucius did not know, but it was evident she was searching for something.

Lucius wondered if he had passed out after all, and this was some sort of strange dream. He had never dreamt of Josephine before, but since the night of the cholera, he
had
dreamt of curious things. Once he dreamt he was swimming in a vast pool of water, wherein he opened his mouth and found he could breathe. He inhaled deeply, wondering why he had never tried to breathe underwater before, for the sensation was so fulfilling, so refreshing. He then discovered a ladle in his hand, like the one Josephine had given him when he was ill, and he brought it to his lips and drank.

When he woke in the morning, he felt as though every cell in his body was rejuvenated, as though he could climb a mountain, or swim the sea.

It reminded him of when he was a boy, when he used to dream about swimming to England. Away from Limerick, away from his father.

            He waited for it now, waited for the water to come gushing from windows and alleyways, flooding the streets, cleansing the city, and cleansing him. He longed to open his mouth and breathe it in, to feel it enter his lungs and heal his wounds: like his heart, which Evelyn had scorned, or his spirit, which Brock Donnigan had broken.

            There was no flash flood, however. Only the growing ruckus of Mr. Dupont’s eating house, which came ever closer as they walked. The sound of it eclipsed all the nearby establishments, even Mr. Barrie’s.

            It was called the Buck’n Burro, and the sign out front portrayed the silhouette of a kicking mule.

            Josephine stopped and faced the entrance.

            Lucius glanced from Josephine to the sign and back again. What did the girl want with the Buck’n Burro? And on a night like this? There was some commotion within, and it was apparently this commotion for which Josephine had been searching. But why?

            She gave Lucius’ hand a squeeze and turned to look at him. When he caught her eye, she nodded, and together, they went within.

            Upon entering, the noise was nearly deafening.

The place was bursting with customers, all pressing against one another with their arms lifted into the air. The place stunk of unclean men, alcohol, tobacco, and opium, and a cloud of sweat and smoke hovered at eye level. The atmosphere was hardly conducive for breathing.

            Lucius was not yet aware of their purpose here, but Josephine was on the hunt. Though she was smaller than the rest, she caught a glimpse of the stage through a gap between two men, and gasped.

Yes. This was it. They had found the right place.

With Josephine’s hand secured around Lucius’ fingers, the pair elbowed their way through the crowd, while the crowd cursed and shoved back. Something splashed into Josephine’s face and ran into the collar of her dress, and she recognized the same acrid scent of ale that was on Lucius’ breath. She tried to keep walking, but Lucius yanked his hand free and used it to shove the man who had spilled his drink. Josephine intervened by pulling him away, lest he get involved in a fruitless altercation, and as Lucius was still quite drunk, he did not argue. But by God, if someone else should offend that dear girl, he would bash that man’s face in.