Pallas understood. All artists are given the latitude for mad acts by their impresarios, and Hart had surely used up less than his quota in their lengthy relationship.
The year was 1893. Hart was forty-four years of age. Fancy needed him and he was going home.
Chapter 124
Jewel slipped the nurse's gown over her head and tugged it into place. The cold metal from the pistol pressed painfully into the flesh of her right breast, but she smiled with satisfaction at her reflection in the looking glass.
"There ain't another set of tits in Christendom could hide a forty-five, two derringers, and a hunting knife," she said aloud to her reflection. She forced her unruly hair under the linen nurse's coif. Satisfied with the results, Jewel tossed the nurse's cloak over her shoulder and set out to do what she intended.
The attendant who answered the asylum door stared at Jewel for a moment, then let her enter behind him. Jewel looked around the bleak interior with repugnance; Fancy had sure as hell gotten herself into a pickle this time. A small amount of investigation had turned up the fact that such hospitals as these were always shorthanded, few nurses wanted to work asylums and fewer still a place as isolated as Brookehaven.
"Letters of introduction for Dr. Endicott," Jewel said, offering the skillful forgeries Gitalis had provided from Here's printing press; the little guy really had a storehouse full of talents. It seemed Gitalis not only knew something about near anything you named, but he had a real knack for a few things that would have made him a superb cat burglar. She wondered where and why he'd learned all he knew of thievery.
"I've heard there's work here... I've been at Barnesdale three years, but my husband's lungs brought us up here to the mountains..." She let the story trail off when she spoke to Dr. Endicott, trying to seem self-effacing, earnest, and in need of work, and the pay was so lousy she couldn't imagine why he'd turn down anyone foolish enough to take it.
The interview was easier than she thought; help must be real hard to come by. The big attendant named Jeb brought her from the doctor's office to a small room on the far side of the main house.
"We always search people coming in from the outside," he said.
"Doc says I should search you real good." His eyes couldn't help themselves, and focused on the bosom so many men had found inviting.
Jewel smiled knowingly and fixed his eyes with her own.
"You can search me if you think you're man enough, buster. But you touch these tits before I want 'em touched, and I'll geld you where you stand."
"What with?"
"My teeth, if I have to. Nobody touches the tits without my leave. If I want 'em touched I can get real friendly; if not, you proceed at your own risk."
The attendant shook his head; he could see it wouldn't be a good idea to force this one to disrobe; she looked right feisty. He'd learned long ago that nurses who handled the insane knew how to defend themselves. Later, after he got to know her some, she'd be more agreeable; it was mighty lonesome up here on the mountain.
"Yeah, well just don't go tellin' the doc I let you get away with nothin', okay?" he said, trying to make friends with the owner of the breasts.
Jewel chuckled, her good humor restored. "Sure, Jeb, sure. You and me will get to know each other real well later on. I'm friendly enough when I got me a pal, and I make friends real easy."
The man walked off and Jewel peeked surreptitiously down the corridor before taking a deep breath and shifting the armament that was biting painfully into soft flesh. Once she had a room of her own she could ease the firearms out of her corset and start to breathe again.
As she walked out into the hallway following Jeb's retreating figure, she saw a woman inmate shuffle by. The dress she wore was threadbare and pocketless. If Fancy wore the same, how the hell would she be able to slip her a weapon? Oh, well, Jewel supposed she'd just deal with that when the time came.
Jewel was working in the asylum nearly a week before she located Fancy and figured out how to gain access to the ward she inhabited without arousing undue suspicion. She also found Aurora, but, in truth, the girl's plight didn't trouble her. She'd never liked Fancy's daughter all that much; Aurora had been spoiled and arrogant from the time she'd met her, and she'd never seen her lift one finger to help her mother, a sin Jewel considered nearly unforgivable.
She had been nervous through the first day at her new job, fearing that her lack of medical knowledge would alert someone to her impersonation, so she'd tucked one derringer into her corset and another into her garter before reporting for duty. But it soon became apparent that what was required of her was no more than common sense; nurses at Brookehaven were keepers, not healers, and none displayed any great medical know-how. Jewel did her best to ingratiate herself with the wardress, the guards, and the doctors, and used her spare time to case the facilities in anticipation of Ford's arrival.
Christ Almighty, but the kid looked grim, she thought when she finally spotted Fancy. Shockingly thin and that hair! Lordy, what would Hart say when he saw her? Or Ford, for that matter. They'd tear off Jason's cojones when they saw what he'd done to Fancy.
Jewel committed the layout of the sanitarium to memory, the Victorian mansion, the four outbuildings and their parklike setting. Beyond the borders of the manicured lawn lay forest, thick pine woods, and rocky ledge, not unlike the area around the Gulch, easily manageable on horseback during the good months, Jewel calculated; but now that there was frost and the threat of snow, the terrain would pose major problems for anyone on foot. She prayed Hart and Ford would bring extra horses, provisions, and warm clothes for Fancy. It wouldn't be all that hard to break out, once the men arrived; security was more lax than it would have been if the asylum's location hadn't been so god-awful isolated.
Jewel made a ritual show of her daily hike into the woods, which she said was essential exercise for good health. Thank God for the voluminous nurse's cloak that could hide whatever she'd been able to steal each day. Three old blankets, a canteen, needle and thread, a ragged pair of gardener's gloves, a length of rope, a roll of bandage... whatever might be useful to survival found its way out to the hollowed tree trunk, where Jewel had stashed her hunting knife, her purloined treasures, and the items she'd secreted in the false bottom of her suitcase. A Colt .45 for Fancy, extra ammunition. It wasn't for nothing that she'd spent a lifetime with Ford Jameson. All her hoarded items were cached in a string bag and covered over with dead leaves; she felt fairly certain no one had tracked her, the lawn ringing the sanitarium provided little cover until you reached the edge of the woods, so she would have spotted anyone following. God forbid she and Fancy might have to beat a retreat without reinforcements—but if that happened, the bag of supplies would give them at least a fighting chance in the wilderness.
Chapter 125
It was a worried Caz who met Hart at the Denver train station, with all the information he'd been given by Jewel and with the letter he'd safe-kept so long. Hart stood on the train platform, staring at the scrap of paper that was his last link with the brother he'd loved so dearly. Caz stood beside him, just as he had on that terrible day, five years before.
Dear Bro,
I'm leaving this in hopes that one day you'll find it in your heart to forgive me what I've done...
Hart read and reread the words, barely able to see through the tears that filled his eyes.
When he put the letter into his pocket, he knew certain things: that he would kill Jason Madigan was as sure as the sunrise, but first he must rescue Fancy from wherever the son of a bitch had stashed her. • He listened intently to Caz's hoarded information, and the two men beat a hasty path to Leadville.
It was a month since Jewel had sent her cable—far too long for safety, but long enough for Ford Jameson to have arrived from Montana. The two old friends made plans to follow Jewel.
Wes and Gitalis paced the small, familiar parlor at the Crown; Magda watched their agitation. Hart and Ford were planning to go after Fancy, Jewel was already
doing her part to save the girl; it was plain to see it didn't set well with these two men that they would be forced to idleness in Leadville, while the drama unfolded somewhere else.
"He deserves to die," Gitalis muttered. "The law must go after him."
"The law!" Jarvis spat contemptuously. "The law will do nothing to anyone as powerful as Jason Madigan... if we want him destroyed, we must handle it ourselves."
"And get hanged in the bargain," Magda interjected. "How lacking in subtlety you men are tonight. That man must be discredited. Shamed. So that his powerful friends are no longer friends. There are other ways than guns to destroy a man like Madigan... and there are other evil men involved in this... the judge who signed the papers of commitment, that man Henderson at the bank. If you go after the louse, you cannot forget to destroy the nits as well. Remember, he's far from home in Leadville, he doesn't have the reinforcements here that he would have in New York."
Wes and Gitalis stared at Magda, then at each other. The scam was born in that instant; they hadn't worked a thousand carnies without learning the intellectual potential of a truly great sting. And what a lark it would be to put their time to good use until Hart returned with Fancy.
"One last great role, Gitalis," Jarvis said excitedly. "The two of us, against the Philistines."
"I shall bring my slingshot, good my lord. Let Goliath look to his brow."
"Such a role I have in mind, my Magda. The greatest of my life."
"If you can withstand the strain..." The Gypsy let the thought end there.
"To act again? For such a chance as that, I would sell my soul, not merely my body."
She looked into his eyes a moment longer, then nodded. "Do as you must," she said.
"And you, my friend? Will you risk all for friendship?" asked Wes, looking fondly at the dwarf.
" 'Let the end try the man,' " Gitalis replied.
Well into the night the three old professionals planned their sting.
Jarvis St. John, personal representative of the Earl of Stonehaven, has arrived in Denver from London, to consummate certain mining investments in this area. Mr. St. John declined to comment on the exact nature of his mission, except to say that the earl has intentions of becoming a "major power in the mining enterprises of Leadville, during the coming months."
Wes Jarvis smiled at the copy of the article he'd had placed in a prominent spot in the prestigious Rocky Mountain News. He'd had to call in an old marker to do so, but that was surely what markers were for. He glanced one final time at his own reflection in the mahogany-framed mirror. One of the best makeup jobs I've ever done, he told himself appreciatively. The regimental mustache... the precise white of his still-generous mane of hair... the Mephistophelian eyebrows to enhance his own more benevolent ones... the impeccable clothes from a British tailor of his acquaintance. The gold-headed walking stick, the spectacles, and, of course, what nature had already provided—a venerable and authoritative age. Himself, but not himself.
The accent would pose no problem; he'd proclaimed the Bard's work for a lifetime. He had met Madigan once fleetingly, years ago in Denver, but because Jarvis could be of no use to Jason, the man had paid him little mind. Madigan would not remember him.
Wes felt the rising adrenaline that always presaged great performances; the color had returned to his cheeks, the spring to his step. He took one last look at Jarvis St. John in the mirror and closed the door behind him.
There were three pigeons who must be brought home to roost, by virtue of his and Gitalis' acting skills. John Henderson at the bank, Judge Krasky at the courthouse, Jason Madigan at the Madigan Mine office. He ran through what he knew of each, for the hundredth time. Smart, self-protective, ruthless... all these traits were clearly written in the men's countenances, but they were not the key to the sting. What he counted on most of all was the fact that each would also sell out his mother for a price.
Divide and conquer. Together the three men wielded formidable power, but separately they were just three greedy bastards, each vulnerable in some specific way. What delicious irony, to let each one turn the screw on the other; quite Shakespearean, really, he thought as he let himself out into the morning sun of Leadville.
"Mr. Henderson," Jarvis began, letting the mantle of his new identity settle over him with the delicious comfort of an old pro doing what he did best. "I'm told you are a practical man." He handed an impressive vellum business card to the banker, proclaiming his identity as the earl's representative. It was clear Henderson had seen the newspaper article as well.
Henderson nodded and offered a cigar to the consortium's representative, which the man declined. The banker, like everyone else in Leadville, was intrigued by the story in the Denver paper. Why should the English be interested... and why now, when Leadville's very existence was threatened by the possible demise of silver? What did the earl know that the Leadville silver barons didn't?
"It has come to our attention that you and a certain Jason Madigan have done a good deal of business together," Jarvis began. "Some of it of a nature you would just as soon keep private."
Henderson scrutinized the Englishman more closely. "What exactly are you getting at, Mr. St. John?"
Jarvis smiled disarmingly, warming to his new identity. "Only that the consortium I represent has a potentially lucrative proposition for you to consider, but we do not wish Mr. Madigan included in it on any level. I need to be assured that you are a free agent, and that if we deal with you, you won't feel pressed to share our information with Mr. Madigan."
"And why is that?" asked Henderson.
"It appears there is a modicum of bad blood between the earl and your Mr. Madigan—a leftover from some dealings on the Comstock. The stipulation about his exclusion from our negotiations was made most clear to me." Jarvis relaxed into his chair and watched Henderson's mind work. Greed versus caution, loyalty to Madigan did not enter in at all. How fortuitous it was that Fancy had once told Magda of the row Madigan had recounted with the titled head of a British mining empire.
"I'm a free agent, Mr. St. John," Henderson said after a time. "I give you my word on that. Whatever you tell me will remain in this room."
Jarvis nodded pleasantly; he reminded himself of how long Fancy's confidential message to Henderson had remained confidential.
"Then I may be frank with you... our geologists have discovered gold in Leadville, Mr. Henderson. Quite a lot of gold, really. When silver fails, we will be in a position to change the complexion of business in this area and we intend to do so. If you join us, you will reap rewards beyond your grandest dreams."
"Gold?" Henderson replied. First Fancy had conjured a gold mine in Leadville, now St. John did the same... if it was true, perhaps the demise of silver needn't mean the demise of the Gulch. "What do you want from me in return?" he asked.
"Your absolute loyalty, your silence, and an investment of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, in cash, to assure us of your seriousness of purpose. You do have that much ready cash, I suppose?"
"I do," Henderson replied with more confidence than he felt. He'd have to dip into the bank's cash reserves to come up with such a sum. Under other circumstances, he'd go to Madigan, but that would be out of the question now.
"And what would our partnership consist of, precisely?" Henderson asked.
"We would mine the metal, and we'd use your bank as the central repository for our funds. We would, of course, bring in other businesses—smelters, refineries, stores to supply the laborers, I'm sure you're well aware of how many ancillary enterprises we could share..." He let the thought fade off, in the sure knowledge that Henderson was already counting his profits.
"If you wish to participate in this enterprise, Mr. Henderson, I'll bring the proper papers around to you, and all you'll need do is see that your share of the cash is here. I intend to be on my way back to London before the week is out," Jarvis said as he rose to go, sure the fish had taken the bait. "So, I'm afraid, I'll need your answer within twent
y-four hours."
"You may have it now, and needless to say, my answer is affirmative."
"I believe you'll find this a decision that will change your entire life," the elegant visitor said amiably, thinking what a delightful understatement that really was.
Chapter 126
Jewel, in her starched nurse's uniform, followed the doctor meekly on his rounds. She'd been assigned to a ward on the south side of the house, far from Fancy's, but one of the other nurses had come down with a fever and Jewel had jumped at the chance to volunteer for North III.
As she entered the locked ward, she saw Fancy bending over an old woman who appeared nearly comatose; Jewel had to force herself to pay attention to what the doctor was saying.
Fancy tucked in the covers around her charge, and turned toward the doctor and nurse's murmured conversation. Her startled eyes locked with Jewel's before she averted them, fighting for calm.
Jewel made no effort to speak with her friend, for there was no chance of privacy, but the mere fact of her appearance at Brookehaven was message enough for Fancy: Be ready when the moment of rescue comes.
"The consortium is convinced of the existence of gold in these mountains, Mr. Madigan," Jarvis St. John began, after seating himself comfortably in Jason's office. "We have, in fact, staked three separate claims in this area." He smiled benevolently enough, but it was a shark's smile, predatory, waiting to feed. Jason recognized a man who played the power game, not for the sake of money but for the sake of the game.