Gableman fired a harsh glance at Gunnison and then a second, longer round at Roxanne.
“Miss Roxanne, you know this is Mrs. Chrisman’s private room. You should not be here, and certainly this young gentleman should not.”
“This is my house too,” Roxanne said with a trace of defiance.
“Yes, but your mother is the owner and mistress of it, and all of us must abide by her direction, as you know,” Gableman returned. He had a voice rich enough to sprout seed. “Come now, both of you.”
If Gableman was a servant, he nevertheless carried a tone of authority that made others tend to obey him. Roxanne walked out into the library, and Gunnison followed. Gableman closed the door and locked it with a key hanging from his watch fob. Gunnison set the lamp he had been carrying on the table where it had been.
“Mrs. Chrisman obviously forgot to lock the room herself,” he said. “I will hope, Mr. Gunnison, that you will not take all unlocked doors you find as invitations for entry.”
“I was in the wrong, and I admit it. I’m trained to be curious, and sometimes I give in to temptation.”
“There is no harm done, I’m sure. Now, sir, if you would like a drink, or more coffee…”
What Gunnison really wanted was Roxanne. “Perhaps I can just sit down here and read,” he said, indicating a chair beside the lamp table. He hoped Roxanne would remain.
Gableman said, “As you wish. Feel free to select any volume.”
Gableman left, and to Gunnison’s displeasure, Roxanne followed, giving one backward glance. Gunnison experienced another flash of doubt about his upcoming though still-unscheduled marriage to Glorietta. Was he making a mistake? With girls such as Roxanne in the world, did he want to tie himself down for life just yet?
He got down a copy of A History of New York, by “Diedrich Knickerbocker,” and tried to convince himself he was reading it when he was just scanning words. Finally he gave up the pretense and put the volume down. He wondered what Kenton and Ella were talking about. Garrett, maybe.
The French doors rattled in a burst of wind, and Gunnison walked over to make sure they were closed. One of them blew open as he approached it, and he noticed again the little house at the end of the long backyard. This time, a woman stood at the door, her form backlit by the interior light. She was emptying a teapot on the ground. She seemed familiar, so Gunnison stepped out onto the balcony for a closer look.
Of course! It was Kate O’Donovan. Obviously the little house was where Ella was putting up the family.
Kate O’Donovan glanced up as he came onto the balcony and studied him for a moment. Gunnison wondered if she had recognized him; probably not, as he was likely too shadowed for her to see.
An exterior staircase on the far end of the balcony led down to the yard, and he descended. Passing a lace-covered window, he noticed Kenton and Ella seated inside in facing chairs, talking intently over glasses of red wine. Neither saw him as he went down the stairs to the yard.
Kate O’Donovan had seen him descend and waited, cautiously, in the doorway, the teapot still in hand.
“Hello, Mrs. O’Donovan.”
“Hello, sir,” she said. He could tell that she now recognized him. “I was not expecting to see you here.”
“Kenton and I are now guests of Mrs. Chrisman, just like you. We lost our other quarters.” Gunnison smiled in a friendly way. “It was kind of her to see to your safety, I must say. This seems a hidden enough place.”
“Aye, it surely is, though safe I cannot feel anywhere, since the fire.”
“You do know that the man who set the fire is dead, don’t you?”
“Yes. The marshal told me. For that at least, I’m thankful.”
“May I come in?”
She seemed uncertain but nodded after a moment. “Do not be thinking me unfriendly for my hesitation, sir. It’s just that Lundy is still such a frightened boy. It’s so hard a time now that I think even Old Papa knows something is not right.”
“I don’t want to disturb Lundy, but I do wish to speak to him. I’d like him to know I still consider him my friend and that I understand why he was slow to tell the truth.”
“I suppose you’ve got the right to see him if anyone does.” She stepped aside, and Gunnison entered.
The O’Donovans would surely have preferred to be safe in their former house, but there was no denying their new arrangements were superior. This little cottage was a tightly constructed, well-decorated place, cozy as an oversized dollhouse. Gunnison figured it was Ella’s guest cottage.
Lundy appeared at the door leading to the little kitchen on the west end of the rectangular cottage. He looked like someone who had been deprived of a week’s sleep. The grandfather was not to be seen, but Gunnison heard a guttural voice from one of the two tiny bedrooms and knew he was there.
“Hello, Lundy.”
“Hello.” He spoke in a near-whisper.
“It’s been quite a rough time for you since we took that walk out to the mine.”
“Yes.”
“For me too. You heard about the man who tried to kill me—the same man who burnt down your house? He’s gone now, you know. Shot to death by a policeman. His name was Johnson. He’ll never bother you again.”
No words this time, just a nod.
“I want you to know I consider you my friend, Lundy. Mr. Kenton and I are staying in the big house there, for now. If ever you want to come see us, please know you’re welcome.”
He nodded shyly. Gunnison noted silently how the turmoil of the ordeal had muted the boy’s normally exuberant manner.
“I’d best get back to the house now, Lundy. I hope you and your family have a good evening.”
This time Lundy grinned, and it was good to see.
Kenton tossed his tie on his bed and rubbed his throat.
“It was a rewarding evening, in two ways,” he said, “the first being that Ella is quite a lady, most remarkably attractive.” He looked wistful. “A woman like one too seldom meets in the sort of life we lead. Did you know she has as much medical know-how as the average doctor? Her father was a crack surgeon.”
“I know,” Gunnison said. “I also know Ella Chrisman is at least five years your senior.”
“And what is wrong with maturity? Besides, all I said was that she was attractive. I’m not talking about marrying the lady.”
“So what was the second rewarding part?”
“Hmm? Oh—simply that I’ve concluded Ella didn’t invite us out of any obsession to find out about Briggs Garrett. It doesn’t even seem it was Mickey Scarborough’s raving about Garrett that caused her to have him brought to her house. It was just that she realized from the audience that he had suffered a heart seizure and knew she was the most qualified person in Leadville to deal with it. Refreshing, isn’t it? You go expecting to find an obsessed woman and wind up meeting one of the most sane persons you’ve encountered in years.”
“To tell you the truth, Kenton, I’m surprised you’re not disappointed not to have found more answers about Garrett.”
“Well, maybe I am a little disappointed. It’s just that it was such a prime evening and a welcome break from all this trouble…. What a woman she is! I swear, she’s almost as smart as I am!”
Gunnison usually gave scornful replies to Kenton’s occasional shows of ego, but this time he let it pass. He knew from having talked to Roxanne that Kenton was wrong on at least one score about Ella Chrisman: She was, contrary to his opinion, an obsessed woman. Her obsession wasn’t with Briggs Garrett, maybe, but the idea of her rocking for hours in a room enshrining a long-dead son did not seem all that sane or healthy to Gunnison. He thought about saying something about it to Kenton, but the man seemed so happy that he decided not to. “So she asked you nothing at all about Garrett?”
“Oh, of course she did. We talked about it quite a lot, in fact. It would be almost impossible to hold a conversation in Leadville at the moment without Garrett coming up. But if she was obsessed on the subject, she covered it well.”
“If she’s as intelligent as you say, then I’d say she could cover pretty well.”
“You’re a cynic, Alex.”
“You’ve taught me to be. Right now, you seem to have your eyes full of stars.” Gunnison wasn’t sure why he was, in fact, speaking so cynically. Since his visit to the “shrine” for Ella Chrisman’s son, he had felt doubtful about the woman. “Did she ask if you knew who in Leadville is really Garrett?” he asked.
“Yes…and she asked specifically about Squire Deverell. That shows that the incident with Mark Straker this morning has made it into the local gossip. I was afraid of that—Straker was a fool to say what he did. He probably sparked a lot of speculation about Deverell being Garrett when he yelled his accusation in public. It was almost as if he wanted—” Kenton cut off suddenly, a strange expression on his face. “Merciful heaven, Alex, merciful heaven! Maybe that’s it! Maybe Straker was trying to do exactly that!”
“What are you talking about?”
“No time now, Alex. Get dressed again. I’ll try to explain it on the way.”
“On the way to where?”
“To Squire Deverell’s house. We need to have a talk with him, and with Mark Straker. I think I’ve figured out what’s going on here.”