Read Somebody Wonderful Online
Authors: Kate Rothwell
Somebody Wonderful (23 page)
Chapter 23
In the mo
rning, Mick and Eddy ate breakfast with the crew. Eddy showed no ill effects from too much gingerbread. After Eddy put away three bowls of porridge and half a loaf of bread, they started towards the house. As they walked past the excavations, one of the youngest diggers scurried over with the mail he’d fetched.
rning, Mick and Eddy ate breakfast with the crew. Eddy showed no ill effects from too much gingerbread. After Eddy put away three bowls of porridge and half a loaf of bread, they started towards the house. As they walked past the excavations, one of the youngest diggers scurried over with the mail he’d fetched.
He handed a letter to Mick, and peered over Mick’s shoulder as he opened it. “I’ve never seen one afore. It’s a night cable. The telegrapher left a message with the post office for me to fetch it, cause he knew we’d be going to town this morning. It’s from the New York office of Calverson. Who d’you know there?”
“All sorts of pleasant people,” said Mick absently as he read the note.
Mick was not going to offer more information so the digger wandered back to the work site. The night cable was from Griffin, who answered Mick’s telegram. No, he hadn’t gotten the job for Mick. But he thanked Mick for alerting him. He had looked into the situation. And it was interesting—
Mick stopped reading to pull open the door to the farmhouse.
Botty skittered ahead to the kitchen, where he would pick a fight with Eddy’s cat and beg for treats from Araminta.
Eddy trotted after Botty.
Mick was through the door when Blenheim came out of the library. Instead of pointedly ignoring Mick, as he usually did, Blenheim grabbed his upper arm.
Mick easily shook off the man’s hand, then began to gently shove him out of the way.
“McCann. I have a message for you. From Miss Calverson.”
Mick froze. He folded Griffin’s cable and pushed it deep into his trouser pocket. “Aye?”
“She has been talking about going to Colorado.”
“I don’t recall such talk.”
Blenheim ignored him. “Last night she made the decision. She is already on her way. She left early this morning, off to visit her friend there—that is to say, her new friend.”
Blenheim flapped a piece of paper at Mick, who impatiently grabbed it from m. These Calverson underlings were always showing him papers.
The letter was an invitation from the photographer to Timona to come to his studio and see his work. Mr. Jackson had enjoyed seeing her in New York and was eager to continue their growing friendship.
Blenheim took back the paper and said in a faintly bored tone, “I am afraid she has dashed both of our hopes, Mr. McCann. She is off on yet another of her mad crushes on an inappropriate man.”
He looked at Mick with thorough disdain and what might have been a touch of pity. “You were not the first, you understand. The girl is spoiled, has had too few restrictions and far too little direction in her life. I was attempting to give her the proper training when she strayed into your, er, life in New York. So you see . . .” He gave a discreet little cough.
“I am not sure I do see. Why doncher tell me straight out, Mr. Blenheim?”
“Miss Calverson is finished with you. She is a tenderhearted girl, and is reluctant to hurt you. We have had this problem before—had, er, discussed her ‘friends’ before. She believes these friends are none of my concern. Alas, they so often become my responsibility when she grows tired of them.”
Mick felt chilled to his core, reminded again of his inferior position in the world. The other man’s blasé arrogance was enough to bring it to full flower.
Add in his own familiar refrain: Timona Calverson, amusing herself with the natives. Using him, Mick, the “big brawny man,” as a bored rich girl’s diversion, a plaything.
The worst of every misgiving and fantasy he’d had about the woman he loved all rolled into the moment. Mick nearly passed out with the cold that clenched his heart.
But even as the thought grew plain enough to understand, he stopped himself. Better to despise Blenheim and his own imagination than doubt Timmy. Doubting her would bring an end to the existence of happiness.
Blenheim was still nattering at him, “She left word with her friend, Araminta, about another reason she is leaving you. Go ahead, talk to the cook.”
Mick pushed past the man, and went straight to the kitchen.
Araminta was feeding wood into the kitchen stove. She straightened up at once when she saw Mick, as if she were expecting him.
“Araminta. What is this rot Blenheim is jabbering? Did Timona say anything to you about—about leaving me?”
She brushed her hands against her skirts. “I am not certain what is going on, Mick. Timona was in here last night for a couple of minutes, talking nonsense of how marriage to her wasn’t fair to you.
“And then Blenheim showed up early this morning, even though he knows he is to stay out my kitchen. He proceeded to question me about what Timona said when she came into the kitchen last night. I haven’t seen Timona since, by the way. She missed breakfast. She does sometimes, but I am worried. After I finish up this batch of biscuits, I am going upstairs to find out what is going on.”
“Bloody Blenheim,” mumbled Mick. “Please keep an eye on our Eddy will you and keep him here for the time being? Blenheim seems to have forgotten the lad exists, thank the Lord.”
She nodded. “So do you suppose Blenheim is out to cause a serious problem?”
“The devil of it is, I don’t know a thing for sure. I dare not beat it out of the idiot either, for perhaps he is not alone in this. Keep your ears and eyes open, love. I think she’s honestly not here. But please, check to see if her bag and other possessions are gone. Her compass is in that battered box. She wouldn’t willingly leave for more than a day without that. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
He paused at the door, wondering if he should tell Araminta of his suspicions, but he decided there was no point making her any more worried than she already was.
After all, Mick had taken a few steps of his own. Timona would be safe. He hoped.
He couldn’t change his mind and decide to go back to the kitchen to tell Araminta his fears. He wasn’t given the time.
Blenheim waited for him in the dining room, directly in Mick’s path as he left the kitchen. The two men stood for a moment in silence, eyeing each other.
Blenheim spoke first. “As Sir Kenneth’s assistant, it is my job to keep order on the work site. It has come to my attention that you have been creating dissension among our workers. You have been involved in brawls.”
“Have I? How did I manage this, do you suppose?” At least Mick now understood the point of yesterday’s exercise.
Blenheim ignored him and pulled an impressive gold watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Mr. McCann, the situation has reached the point that I must tell you to vacate the premises. There is a train heading south towards Chicago in about an hour. In order to smooth your way for you, I have ordered my assistant to go to the bunkhouse and pack up your things for you. Mr. McNally?” He called out.
Mick already knew Blenheim was going to take full advantage of the criminal, McNally, but what did Blenheim want with the man?
A thoroughly ugly behemoth lumbered into the room. He carried Mick’s pack. He tossed it hard at Mick, who caught it with a grunt.
Blenheim nodded with satisfaction. “Let us be off then. We don’t want you to miss your train, do we?”
The huge assistant gave Mick a shove towards the door. “Go on then. No point in kicking up a stir, McCann. I been told to take care of you if you do,” he said. He had a slightly servile, apologetic manner, peculiar in such a large creature.
“That’s all you been told, McNally?” said Mick, sneering.
“Aye.” He lapsed into Gaelic. “The Englishman has offered me a huge sum of money. Twenty thousand dollars, but for what I don’t yet know—”
“I don’t want to hear any of that Irish garbage spewing from your mouth, McNally or you’ll find yourself out of work. We are going now. Please escort Mr. McCann and this rat of a dog to the carriage.”
The three of them marched into the yard, Botty staying close to Mick’s heels. When Mick hesitated for a moment, Blenheim nodded, and the assistant again gave Mick a push.
“Right then, McCann, don’t make me need to get rough with you,” he said. “I’ll be up with the driver, sir, iffen you need me,” he added to Blenheim.
Mick had the growling Botty under his arm, and was pleased to see the animal had enough taste to bare its teeth at Blenheim.
The Englishman grew pale.
“Put the dog on the floor, or I will have McNally shoot it,” said Blenheim, shrinking away from Botty.
Hell. Not a good sign that the usually suave man acted so nervous.
“Do that, and I’ll rip your guts out,” said Mick pleasantly.
Blenheim glared at Mick, then must have remembered he was a gentleman. He brushed some imaginary dirt off his sleeve instead, likely to demonstrate how unaffected he felt.
After that, neither of them spoke during the drive. Blenheim stared out the window absently humming to himself and tapping a well manicured finger on the polished window frame.
At the station, Mick reluctantly jumped down. He had not thought he needed to take action yet and, for the first time, he was at a loss of what he should do next.
Blenheim didn’t get out of the carriage, but he leaned out the open window. “I almost feel sorry for you, McCann. Dragged across the country by a woman you thought actually cared for you, then abandoned like a child’s plaything. I daresay you’d have done better to stay in New York. Here.”
He pulled out a roll of bills and tossed them into Mick’s open hand. “Enough to get you to New York and then back to Ireland. Sir Kenneth is known to be very generous to his daughter’s cast-off, ah, ‘friends.’”
Mick looked down at the money. If he hadn’t needed cash he would have thrown the dollars back in Blenheim’s bloody smirking face.
Blenheim’s assistant called out in his slightly apologetic manner, “You’ll be fine, McCann.”
“Shut up, McNally.” Blenheim thumped the roof of the carriage. “Drive on,” he shouted.
The driver slowly backed and turned the vehicle in the rutted small yard. Before he flicked his whip at the horses, he twisted back to look at Mick. He touched his cap at Mick who didn’t have the heart to lift his hand in acknowledgment.
Mick watched the carriage roll away, a sick and heavy lump of fear in his chest.
Chapter 24
Mick watche
d Blenheim’s carriage until it was out of sight, but he couldn’t make out its direction. Probably back to the Calverson site.
d Blenheim’s carriage until it was out of sight, but he couldn’t make out its direction. Probably back to the Calverson site.
He turned and walked into the squat wooden train station, Botty so close to his heels he almost tripped over the dog.
“D’ye mind sending another of them messages, lad?” He asked the station master, who was also the telegraph operator.
“Sure,” the operator—a young, excitable type—sat up. He reached under the grill for the paper Mick shoved through.
Mick eyed him for a moment. “You don’t go blabbing round town about these matters, do you?”
“Of course not,” the man said, a shade too indignantly.
Mick didn’t have a choice. He’d leave out the details and concentrate on the most important part.
“Come as soon as possible. Stop. Mick. Stop.”
The station master read it aloud then looked up eagerly. “To Calverson? And the same location as the last one? I have it right here. In New York City?”
“Aye,” said Mick. “And just in case, I have the address for the same man in Chicago. Send one to each place. Do ye have a horse I could borrow or hire?”
“You’ll have to go into town for that,” said the man. “I’d lend you my horse since it sounds awful important, but she’s thrown a shoe.”
It was only two miles into town. And then ten miles from town out to the Calverson place. He hoped he would be in time. Or that his suspicions were wrong.
If only he had been able to talk with Travis . . . but it didn’t do to make Blenheim any more alert, or more of a nuisance than he already was.
Mick was in a hurry to get going, but had one last question. “Any Calverson Company men get off the train lately?”
The station master pursed his lips. “Not any who said as much.”
“Spotted any men who are dressed better than the sort you usually see? What ye might call a city man, a banker type.”
“Oh sure, one yesterday,” said the station master. “A grim-looking fellow at that.”
Mick almost smiled. “Brown hair, green eyes, and mustache on him?”
“No, sideburns though. A big guy. Dark hair, I believe.”
Oh saints, thought Mick. He sprinted all the way to town.
Mick was right to worry. By the time he made it to town, hired a horse from the livery stable, convinced Botty to let him haul him on the saddle, and galloped back to the site, Blenheim had vanished.
Sir Kenneth scribbled at his desk and shrugged when Mick asked about the secretary.
“Er, not here,” was all Sir Kenneth could said about him.
Araminta was not in her kitchen, so Mick went out to the work site. Some of the laborers leisurely dug about. A few played cards or sat on the grassy banks of the pits, smoking.
Under the sandy loam they had hit solid rock. A digger who had done some mining in another part of Minnesota thought this stuff might be iron ore.
One of the men spoke up. “Yesterday, Miss Calverson begged us to look busy a longer while yet. She said she wanted to stay in Minnesota a few days more at least.”
Timona. Today they could have been married. Mick’s insides curdled as he realized he had never so much as told Timona he loved her. He’d been so careful not to trap the girl into an unequal marriage for so long he’d forgotten . . . No. He did not have time to fret over such matters.
Eddy and his cat were watching Morrison.
“Araminta sent me out here,” Eddy said. In a singsong voice, he recited what she’d told him. “She got a message and had some kind of important business she had to take care of and she might be a while. She asked me to please stay out of Mr. Blenheim’s way, and I haven’t even seen him.”
Morrison sat on a rock, carving a dog for Eddy from a block of wood. He held up the carving and squinted at it. He said, “No point in pretending to work when Calverson isn’t around. Old duffer said he was going to be in his office for the afternoon and we weren’t to disturb him.”
A man stretched out on the ground on his back using a rock as a pillow piped up, “The way I heard it, the father has some land in California. Miss Calverson said we should put on a show for him because the father will board a train for California the moment he hears we won’t find none of his old bones.”
“Have any of you seen Travis?” Mick called out to the whole group.
Someone called back, “I believe he left about a coupla hours ago, maybe.”
Hell. Mick only hoped he could find out where Blenheim and the mysterious city slicker he was almost certain was Taylor had gone. And now, come to thincart, he hoped he didn’t have to worry about Araminta, too.
He should have said something to her.
Mick had to push down the panic and anger. He forced himself to concentrate.
He’d search the area. The carriage they used about the place was a small affair, no room for luggage. It was gone.
A train or a good long-distance, for-hire carriage would attract too much attention in such a small town, so he had to hope they had not gone far. The carriage would not be suitable for a journey longer than, say, twenty miles.
They would probably hire a reasonably luxurious house. Mick already figured out Blenheim was not a lad for roughing it if he didn’t have to, and he obviously had a free hand with Calverson money.
The location would have to be distant enough from other houses.
A Dhia
, it could be miles away.
, it could be miles away.
Enough concentrating, time for action. He raced over to the group of Danes who knew the area best.
He didn’t know exactly what the Calverson men planned to do, but he suspected time was running out.
After talking to the locals for a few minutes, Mick placed his fingers in his mouth to produce a shrill whistle. The men looked up and Mick began shouting out an explanation, hoping he sounded convincing.
He folded his arms across his chest and put on his best authoritative cop manner. As he shouted, he kept an eye on the house, and prayed Sir Kenneth didn’t hear him. He wished he could talk in Gaelic, but he needed the Danes and Germans too.
One man would stay behind to tend to Sir Kenneth and Eddy. The rest would help with the search.
Mick squatted down. With a stick, he drew a primitive map in the dirt. The men gathered around and listened as he gave instructions.
Even the interruption caused by Solly Tothman’s arrival did not stop Mick’s planning.
Within a half an hour he had the group organized and dispersed.
Then he turned to Solly, who was complaining that he didn’t want to wander all over the countryside.
“I’ll take a tour! Not now though! After I visit Araminta, and see what’s cooking.”
“Come on then, Tothman. Araminta is not here just now. You find Timona, and you’ve got yourself a headline.”
Solly perked up. “What? Do you mean she’s gone and done it again?”
“Perhaps,” said Mick grimly. “If it’s true, well, this will be the very last time any one kidnaps my Timmy.”
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