WALTER TISDALE’S HOUSE WAS in the uptown residential district. There, in an exclusive area around Fourteenth Street, the wealthier families of Denver had built imposing brick homes. Men of position and status wouldn’t live anywhere else.
Virgil turned into the walkway shortly before eight o’clock. The house blazed with lights, and he wondered how many dinner guests were attending the party. Tisdale had invited him earlier in the week, mentioning that several prominent men would be there. He’d promptly splurged on a blue serge suit, new boots, and a narrow-brimmed hat. He felt tricked out like a sporting house dandy.
The dinner invitation was clearly a stamp of approval. Over the past three weeks Virgil had worked night and day organizing his business. After purchasing a lot in the downtown area, he had contracted to have the warehouse built. To acquire an initial inventory, he had outbid everyone else on a ten-wagon caravan of liquors and champagne. His next move was to purchase four delivery wagons and teams, and hire drivers.
By stagecoach, he’d then made a three-day swing through Central City and Black Hawk. His proposition made sense to saloon owners, and he met with little sales resistance. All of them were in favor of reducing their own inventories and thereby reducing their overhead. Some were skeptical, but most agreed to let him stock their shelves on a weekly basis. When he returned to Denver, he had more than twenty new accounts on the books. He forwarded an order to St. Louis for a thirty-wagon caravan of liquor.
Flushed with success, Virgil was anticipating the dinner party. He thought it could only improve his prospects to be on a chummy basis with the town’s movers and shakers. Walter Tisdale admitted him at the door, noting his new suit with a glance of approval, and took his hat. The banker seemed genuinely pleased to see him.
The parlor was large and ornate. A vast Persian carpet covered the floor, and a number of sofas and settees were scattered around the room. The wallpaper was a lush red damask, and velvet drapes bordered the front windows. Several armchairs and a divan were arranged before a black marble fireplace. Virgil was surprised by the lavish furnishings, and suitably impressed. The banking business, from all appearances, was a highly profitable venture.
Tisdale’s wife and daughter were waiting in the parlor. Mrs. Tisdale was short and plump, with shy eyes and a tittering manner. Her daughter, who was in her early twenties, looked nothing like the mother. Elizabeth Tisdale was rather tall, with enormous hazel eyes and exquisite features. She was vivacious, with a sumptuous figure, her dark hair upswept and fluffs of curls spilling over her forehead. She wore a demure gown that did nothing to hide her tiny waist and magnificent hips.
When they were introduced, she gave Virgil a glance full of curiosity. Her hand was firm, and her appraisal of him was deliberate, almost searching.
“Father has told us a great deal about you, Mr. Brannock.”
Virgil returned her gaze with open admiration. “Not a whole lot to tell, Miss Tisdale.”
“Oh, quite the contrary!” She looked at him with impudent eyes. “To hear Father talk, you’re very much a man on the move.”
There was an awkward pause. Virgil saw something merry lurking in her eyes, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. The arrival of the other dinner guests provided a welcome diversion.
William Byers, owner and publisher of the Rocky Mountain News, entered with his wife. A moment later David Hughes, the town’s leading attorney, led his wife in from the vestibule. The last to arrive was Luther Evans, whose business seemed related to real estate. Virgil assumed that he was a single man, since he was unaccompanied. He caught a look that passed between Evans and the Tisdale girl. Her smile was perhaps too quick, somehow uncomfortable.
Still new to town, Virgil was nonetheless aware that these men were members of an elite crowd. Denver was a relatively new community, one where social status was not determined by an old family name or inherited wealth. Whether a man sought fortune or political power, the Colorado frontier was a place where everyone started even and built from bedrock. Those who achieved eminence and success, however, soon monopolized many aspects of a town’s growth. In time, they gravitated together and joined to form the core of the local power structure. Virgil sensed that he was among such a group here tonight.
Dinner was served promptly at eight. The dining room was darkly paneled, with a crystal chandelier suspended over the table. Bone china, fine silver, and stemware glasses were formally arranged on immaculate linen cloth. A black manservant, dressed in a starched white jacket, served the meal. From tableside conversation, it became apparent that his wife was the family cook. Virgil was now doubly impressed by the style in which the Tisdales lived. He thought a man could easily grow to like it.
Throughout dinner, the conversation centered around local affairs. The topic of most interest was a volunteer group, recently formed, to raise funds for a theater and opera hall. Virgil listened attentively, offering comments only when he was addressed directly. He was seated opposite Elizabeth and found it difficult not to stare. She was animated, laughing happily at witty remarks, and on occasion darted him another of her curious glances. He noted as well that she tended to ignore Luther Evans, who was seated at her side and tried to engage her attention. He idly wondered if Evans was a frustrated suitor.
After dinner, the ladies retired to the parlor. The manservant appeared with a decanter of brandy and a humidor of fine cigars. Drinks were poured and the five men lit up in a blue haze of smoke. Quickly it became apparent that the others deferred to David Hughes, allowing him to set the tone of conversation. He was a stocky bulldog of a man, with steady dark eyes and a deliberate manner. He seemed to dominate the table with an air of magnetism and enormous confidence.
Scrupulously polite, he looked at Virgil with a calm judicial gaze. “Well, now, Mr. Brannock, how’s your new business doing? We’re interested to hear of your progress.”
“Going real well,” Virgil said, clearing his throat. “So far, things have worked out pretty much the way I expected.”
“Yes,” Hughes said, puffing importantly on his cigar. “Walter told us how you surveyed the field and found an untapped market. Very impressive.”
“No great credit due,” Virgil remarked. “Somebody would’ve stumbled on it sooner or later.”
Tisdale chuckled out loud. “You’re being far too modest, Virgil. The market was there for the past four or five years. No one had an inkling of its existence until you came along.”
“Indeed!” Hughes added expansively. “You deserve congratulations, Mr. Brannock. The winner jumps in where others dare not tread.”
“Well, I’ve barely got my feet wet. There’s a lot of ground still to be covered.”
“Tell us about it.”
Virgil made an offhand gesture. “I’ve only covered Central City and Black Hawk so far. That leaves a whole slew of mining camps I haven’t seen.”
“Expansion.” Hughes nodded sagely. “You have the right idea, my boy. Sew it up fast and tight, discourage competition.”
“Tell you the truth,” Virgil said, smiling, “I was thinking along those lines myself. I figure I found the lode, so it ought to be me that mines it.”
Hughes strummed his nose. “I like your style. Denver’s growing, and we need men of vision to help it along. Don’t hesitate to call on me if I can be of assistance.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hughes. I might just do that.”
“Anytime,” Hughes said bluffly. “To quote the Lord, I believe in helping those who help themselves.”
The other men laughed dutifully at the jesting remark. Virgil became aware that they were looking from him to Hughes and back again. He had the fleeting impression that he’d just been subjected to some sort of test, and passed. Yet there had been no apparent drift to the discussion, no obvious purpose. He found it strange and somehow unsettling.
Elizabeth suddenly appeared in the doorway. “All right, gentlemen! Enough of your stinky cigars and brandy. We insist that you join us in the parlor.”
The men laughed and rose in unison from their chairs. As Virgil stood, Elizabeth whisked across the room and took his arm. She vamped him with a winsome smile and steered him toward the doorway.
“Come along,” she said pertly. “I want to hear all about this marvelous enterprise you’ve undertaken. May I call you Virgil?”
“Well, sure thing,” Virgil said, somewhat astounded. “I’m not much for formality.”
“Good, neither am I. So I insist you call me what all my friends call me—Beth.”
Virgil grinned and allowed himself to be waltzed into the parlor. She squeezed his arm as they went through the door, chattering gaily. He looked like a cat with a mouthful of feathers.