“I tried. My mother and I both tried.” Bitterness tinges her voice. “I’ve learned to accept what I see, work with it instead of against it. Good men or bad, it doesn’t matter—luck flows downhill. There’s no point in fighting upstream against it.”
The Charlotte notwithstanding, she’s giving everything away more freely than I expected. Maybe she’s lonely. Maybe she’s as eager as I am to talk to someone else with witchy gifts. I nod toward the gambling tables. “So what do you see for my friend Henry tonight?”
“Oh, Henry’s going away broke, but you don’t need to buy him a drink. He’ll be perfectly happy.” She pauses. “And I’m not sure why.”
“Because he’s always happy. It’s his nature.” I glance over my shoulder to look at Henry and smile.
And freeze instead.
Tom is strolling through the tables with an arm around Mr. Keys, who staggers drunkenly. Together, they are singing loud enough to drown out the band.
Henry laughs out loud, delighted to see Tom in his cups. He stands to say hello.
But this is my cue. Henry doesn’t know this part of the plan. He could ruin everything. I need to reach Tom before Henry does.
I pick up my skirts and run. “Tom! Thomas Bigler!” Becky once used some choice words, and I mine my memory for them. “Thomas Bigler, you no-good, rotten, pusillanimous snake!”
The shocked crowd parts to make way for me. Henry sinks back down to his seat. I reach Tom and shove him in the chest.
“Hello, Lee,” Tom says. Mr. Keys shrinks away from us both, eyes wide.
“Don’t ‘Hello, Lee’ to me,” I shout. “I can’t believe you work for that scoundrel Hardwick. Not after everything he did to us. He just took the roof right from over our heads. Becky lost her house because of you! Jim got shot because of you!”
I keep advancing on him as I talk, grabbing and pushing, grabbing and pushing, until he has to grab me in return just to keep his balance.
I can’t stop now. “You sold us out. You told Hardwick that Becky and Henry were going to pick up her house from the customs officer!”
“Don’t blame any of those things on me,” he says. “A man has to earn a living.”
Party guests gather to watch the show, and a few good Samaritans try to intervene, gently coaxing us apart. Tom and I elbow them back.
“You don’t have to work for him,” I snap.
We’re all tangled up, and I’m right in his face, close enough to feel his breath on me. But it’s the last thing I get to say. Hands pry us apart, and rough knuckles on my collar drag me back and fling me to the ground.
Frank Dilley looms over me, Mr. Keys at his side. Tom stands beside them like a brother-in-arms, yanking down his vest and checking his pockets.
“You can’t talk to Mr. Hardwick’s employees that way,” Dilley says. “Now get to your feet, so I can throw you out on the street where you belong.”
First I smooth my dress and pat my pocket, noticing that all my coins are gone—even the original stake I painstakingly preserved. I take my time rising as the crowd presses in, every eye on us.
A baby’s cry penetrates the din. Becky appears, angry infant in her arms, and stands over me like a shelter in a storm. “You can’t treat a young lady that way,” she says.
“Lee Westfall ain’t no lady,” Dilley says. “Way I remember it, she prefers to wear pants.”
“You’re just steamed because I wear them better than you.” Dilley raises his hand as if to strike me, but Hardwick arrives, giving Dilley pause. Becky helps me to my feet.
“There’s no need for trouble here,” Hardwick says.
I back into the crowd, until there’s no room to back away farther. Several hands reach out to steady me, and I’m not sure if they’re trying to be helpful or just looking for an excuse to lay hands on a young woman. I glare at Hardwick. “You’re not content to rob me, you have to threaten me, too! You’re a lowdown thief.”
“Miss Westfall, you can’t be a guest in my home and impugn me with that kind of language,” Hardwick says very reasonably.
“It’s not impugning if it’s the truth,” I shout. “You’re a thief! You sell land that isn’t yours. You kick people out of houses they paid for. You steal people’s most treasured possessions, the things they shipped to San Francisco, and then sell them at auction.”
“Miss Westfall,” Hardwick says. “I’ve done nothing illegal.”
And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The law is always on Hardwick’s side.
I glance at Tom, who gives a barely discernable nod. He has dealt with my stash of coins, and it’s finally time to play my final card. I say, “You’re a thief just the same. And you invited all these people here tonight”—I swing my arm around to indicate every judge, businessman, and politician in the crowd—“to rob them one last time before you leave town. Did you think no one would notice?” There. I’ve planted the seed. It will be up to Henry to water it and make it grow.
“Friends, friends, I apologize,” Hardwick says, addressing the crowd. “Clearly she has had too much to drink. A little beer and little gambling are too much for any lady to handle.”
People laugh politely, even though anyone nearby can tell I’m sober as a funeral. “I haven’t touched a drop of your cheap watered-down booze.”
“Clearly you brought your own,” Hardwick says, getting a few more laughs. He’s so slick, nothing sticks to him. It’s like watching water slide off a duck. “One of the great things I love about California is its egalitarian promise. Everyone who wants to work hard and earn their way can rise to the top. It will make this the greatest state in the Union. Unfortunately,” he pauses to give me a pitying look, “some people try to gamble their way to riches instead, and end up losing everything.” He beckons Frank with a wave of his hand. “Please escort the two ladies to the gate. Round up their other friends as you find them, and see them out as well.”
Frank grins, reaching out like he means to take us by the collar, but I slap his hand away. “We’ll go quietly. Don’t you dare touch us.”
“I was growing tired of this party anyway,” Becky says, rocking the baby against her shoulder. “It’s hard to find common interests with such low company as yourself.”
“If you want low company, I can put you both in the ground,” Dilley says, resting a hand on his gun.
“You might get away with shooting a man at an auction,” I say. “But not even Mr. Hardwick will protect you if you shoot a woman in his garden.” Henry sure is taking his time. I trust him to know the exact perfect moment, but waiting is nerve-wracking, nonetheless.
“Don’t try me,” Dilley says. The music and chatter have stopped. Everyone watches as he escorts us to the gates at gunpoint. Large and Larger guard the entrance, and as usual, they appear to be suffering from an excess of boredom, at least until they see us coming. Not that they move, or rise from their chairs, but I think, in the light of the lantern, that I see their eyebrows go up.
“Where are your brats?” Frank asks Becky.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.
“Your children. The guest log says they came with you.”
“Well, they’re not here,” she says.
“They’re very curious children,” I say, just to stall. “They could have wandered anywhere. You should probably go look for them.”
Finally, a high, operatic tenor rises loud and clear over the garden, from the direction of the gaming tables. “I’ve been robbed! Help!” the voice sings. “My gold is gone, stolen right out of my pockets! Check your pockets, everyone.”
Henry is overdoing it somewhat, but before I can worry, his cry is followed by a second, unfamiliar voice. “My watch is gone!”
There’s a sudden babble. Frank Dilley turns to Large and Larger. “Lock the gates. No one leaves until we’ve got this solved. Especially not these two troublemakers.”
Frank takes off to investigate.
“So, are you enjoy
ing the party?” I ask Large and Larger as the commotion in the garden grows louder.
“It’s starting to get interesting,” says Large.
“But I don’t expect it to last,” says Larger.
“Somebody would have to be really stupid to steal anything at one of Mr. Hardwick’s parties,” Large says.
“They’d be sure to get caught,” Larger agrees.
I lock eyes with Becky, but I decide not to say a thing. I try to clutch my locket for comfort, but of course it’s not there anymore.
One of the waiters runs up to the gate, a young man with his collar undone and his tie loose. “Are you all right, young man?” Becky asks.
“One of those nights,” he answers. To the two guards, he says, “Mr. Hardwick says you must run and fetch the sheriff. There’s been a theft, and he wants it solved and the thief punished.”
Large looks at Larger.
“Do you feel like running?”
“I don’t get paid enough to run.”
“Me neither.”
Larger stands and opens the gate. “You better go and fetch the sheriff,” he tells the waiter. “You know all the details anyway.”
The young man starts to protest, but Larger put his hand on his Colt revolver. “Sure,” the waiter says quickly. “I can do that.”
After he dashes through the gate, they drag it closed and lock it again. I ask, “Do you mind if we go see what’s happening?”
“Just don’t try to leave through this gate,” Larger says.
“Because then we’d have to stop you,” Large says.
“And it feels like that could take some effort,” Larger adds.
Becky and I stroll back toward the crowd, which has gathered around Hardwick’s porch. The general sentiment seems to be anger and suspicion, with everyone giving the side-eye to everyone else. Hardwick himself stands in the doorway, backlit by a fire in the hearth of the room behind him, while various prominent men deliver complaints. The governor points to the missing pocket watch at the end of his gold chain. The wife of a senator complains about her absent necklace and bracelets. A judge wants Hardwick to know that his pocket has been picked clean of golden eagles.
Hardwick is doing his best to calm everyone down when Mr. Keys appears at his shoulder to whisper something in his ear.
“I can’t hear you,” Hardwick says.
The whole crowd falls silent just as Mr. Keys, still clearly tipsy, shouts, “We have a problem inside—someone broke into one of our safes!”
The timing could not be better, and it’s hard to resist clapping. For once, luck is with us.
Hardwick follows Mr. Keys into the house, and the crowd surges forward. I make sure I’m near the front as we push in and chase him through the house to a large storeroom behind the kitchen. Eleven safes stand neatly in two rows against the wall. Being this close to that much gold is nearly enough to make my knees buckle.
The largest safe, from Owen and Son, Bankers, stands with its door wide open and its shelves completely empty. Almost two hundred thousand dollars in gold was held in that safe. An unimaginable amount. And now it’s all gone.
I grin in spite of myself.
“Is there something amusing about this?” Hardwick asks me. His voice cracks, which widens my grin. He’s finally losing his composure.
“I told you to stay by the gate,” Frank yells when he spots me.
“You didn’t, actually. You just said we couldn’t leave—”
An unfamiliar voice hollers, “Look at all those safes! If Hardwick has so much money, why’d he steal from us?”
“Thief!” someone else shouts.
“Yeah, thief!” I chime in.
Hardwick raises his hands. “Hold on, friends. The sheriff will be here any moment, and we’ll sort this out. Now, please, please, all of you go back to the parlor. We have wine, whiskey, hors d’oeuvres . . .”
California is still too new and wild for people to ignore free food. A bit mollified, we all wait, crowded inside and around the front of his mansion, until Sheriff Purcell storms in, accompanied by several deputies.
Somehow, I thought he’d be larger. Imposing. Instead, the sheriff is of medium height and weight, with curly light brown hair turning to gray. He has a hornet’s-nest-poked-with-a-stick kind of look about him, thanks to his unkempt hair and beard, which bodes either very well or very ill.
“You have some nerve, hauling me down here,” Purcell says to Hardwick.
A puzzled look flits across Hardwick’s face. “Perhaps we should discuss the situation in private.”
Purcell glances around, noting all the familiar faces in the crowd. “No, I think I’m fine discussing it in front of witnesses.”
“Something has upset you,” Hardwick observes.
“You left me with a colossal mess after the auction yesterday. I’m still sorting out all the complaints!”
“What complaints?” Hardwick seems truly baffled, and I’m not ashamed to say I don’t feel sorry for him in the least.
“Theirs and mine,” Purcell says. “Their complaints are that you sold a bunch of property that was already owned by other people. I’ve got two sets of owners for all these different plots of land lined up in my office, wanting a resolution.”
“Thief!” someone shouts behind me. Jefferson’s voice, unless I miss my guess. Whispered echoes of “thief” ripple through the crowd.
“That’s not what I . . . that’s not right,” Hardwick says.
“No, James, it’s not right at all. My complaint is that you set the prices for the last auction so low that my office’s cut of the proceeds is just a fraction of what we need this month. I’m going to have to let deputies go, because I can’t afford to pay them, and that’s on you.” Purcell sticks a finger in Hardwick’s chest.
“That’s a lie,” Hardwick says furiously. “I chose those prices myself.”
“So you admit it’s your fault,” Purcell says.
“I admit nothing,” Hardwick says. “But if you help me figure out who the thief is tonight, I promise I’ll make it right with you.”
“Your promises are worth squat,” the sheriff says.
This is working out far better than I had hoped or dreamed.
The governor steps forward and rests a hand on Purcell’s shoulder. “What about my promises? Help us find the culprit tonight, resolve this situation, and I will make it right with you.”
The sheriff’s outrage melts away like a spring snowfall. “Yes, sir,” Purcell says. He waves over some deputies. “Make a list of everything that’s been stolen, and then start searching everyone.”
This process moves quickly, more quickly than I expected, because the party is no longer any fun, the whiskey is no longer flowing, and people are eager to wrap up this problem and leave. When my turn comes, I report that I’ve lost a few five-dollar pieces, and a quick search of my pockets and purse turn up empty. I’m herded toward a group of folks who have already been searched.
“Miss Westfall?” asks a voice.
I look up to see the governor again. “Hello, sir,” I say, wondering if the sheriff really had the gumption to search the governor, or if it was all a pretense. “This is a terrible situation.” I hope my face matches the solemnity of my voice.
“I’m sure you remember when we first met,” he says.
“In Sacramento, at the Christmas ball,” I offer.
“You were already the Golden Goddess, but a goddess without a realm. Did you receive a happy resolution to your problem that day?”
“No, sir, I did not,” I answer. “Me and the miners of Glory, we raised all the gold we had, and gave it to Mr. Hardwick, who promised to make sure we had a town charter. Something that would protect our claims, and protect our right to govern ourselves. Only it turned out he made a promise he couldn’t deliver.”
“I’m getting the impression that he has made many promises he’s incapable of delivering,” the governor says, his face grave.
Everyone is jump
ing ship now, even Hardwick’s closest associates.
The governor’s scrutiny becomes intense, making me fidget. “You’re still interested in that town charter, I presume?” he says.
My breath catches. “Yes, sir. Naturally, sir.”
“Good to know,” he says noncommittally.
Frank Dilley drags two small forms by the scruffs of their necks, and throws them to the ground at the sheriff’s feet. It’s Sonia, the pickpocket, and her little towheaded companion, Billy. Naturally, I’m shocked to see them.
“I caught these two lingering near the gate,” Frank says. “I recognized them for cutpurses who hang around the docks. If anyone is guilty of theft, it’s them.”
People in the crowd draw back from the two as if they’re infected with measles. Sonia looks up at the sheriff, eyes wide with innocence. “That’s not true, sir. We just came for the music and the food.”
“I was hungry,” Billy adds, with his sad puppy-dog eyes.
“Search us, sir,” Sonia says, holding up her arms. “You won’t find anything.”
“Well,” Billy says. “I’ve got a couple sausages in my pocket. But they’re small sausages. And some cheese.”
“Billy!”
“Search them,” the sheriff tells his deputies, but their careful patting down, including a search for any hidden pockets, turns up only lint-covered sausages, smooshed cheese, and a slice of dried apple.
“They’re clean,” the deputy reports. He wrinkles his nose. “Well, not clean, but they don’t have any valuables on them.”
“How’d you get into the party?” the sheriff asks. “Climb over a wall? Sneak in?”
“We came right in through the front gate,” Billy says earnestly, as he sticks the cheese and sausages back in his pockets, and shoves the browned apple slice into his mouth.
“That’s the honest truth, sir,” Sonia says. “We came with an invitation from Mr. Dilley, here.”
“Frank?” Hardwick says, his voice hard.
“That’s a damn lie!” Frank answers.
“We’ve searched all the guests and the grounds,” one of the deputies reports to the sheriff. “The stolen items are nowhere to be found.”