The reverberating slam of the door reflected the lawman's anger as he walked down the front steps without a backward glance. It was a fitting end to the violent exchange that had followed the marshal's solemn announcement only minutes before that another Till-Dale payroll had been lost.
Devina turned toward her father, facing him incredulously in the soundless living room. "Father, whatever possessed you to talk to the marshal that way? That man represents the law in the Arizona Territory. How can you expect to find the men who are robbing"
"I don't need that damned marshal, Devina! The man is totally incompetent! For all that was said about Marshal Earp, when he rode shotgun on a Wells Fargo box, it got through. Things haven't been the same since he left."
"Father! You didn't inform the marshal of the covert shipment. You know he had no way to protect"
"I'll tell you what I know, Devina. I know I don't need a marshal who has the audacity to come here and accuse me of being at fault when he is unable to maintain law and order in his territory! If I need the protection of the law in business matters, I will operate in my usual manner. I'll go to the sheriff. I have him in my pocket. I always have."
"Father! "
"As for recourse to a higher level, I need only call a few friends in Washington, just as I told that fool a few minutes ago. I have hesitated to do so thus far only because I… "
The sound of a step at the doorway made Harvey turn toward Charles's unexpected appearance. The sudden silence was too exaggerated to be natural, and Charles hesitated in obvious discomfort.
"I'm sorry if I've interrupted something. I knocked, and Molly let me in. I assumed she had your permission."
Not able to bear Charles's discomfort, Devina moved quickly to his side.
"Please, don't apologize, Charles. Father's upset. We're both upset. The marshal just told us that the thieves have stolen another payroll."
"Another payroll?" Charles's eyes became instantly intent. His expression changed him in a way that sent chills of discomfort down Devina's spine, and she took a spontaneous step backward. His eyes were so different without their friendly warmth.
But Charles was no longer addressing her in friendly interest. His next statement was unhesitant, directed to her father: "The payroll wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow… on the stage. "
Harvey's eyes narrowed into a surprised, assessing squint.
"I hadn't realized you kept such close tabs on the timing of my payroll shipments, Charles."
Charles shrugged. "Everyone in town keeps tabs on the dates of your shipments now, Harvey. It's gotten to the point where wagers are being made as to whether or not the next payroll will get through."
Harvey's nostrils flared in suppressed anger. "Well, this time it appears I fooled everyone except the thieves. The payroll was shipped today, covertly, in a supply wagon. The ploy obviously did not work."
"Was it the same men? Did anyone get a description?"
Harvey frowned. "I dislike being questioned, Charles, especially by someone who does not have a legitimate interest in my affairs. "
"Father!" Her anger rising, Devina shot Charles a short apologetic glance. "Charles does have a legitimate interest in your affairs. It is the interest of a friend."
"Devina, Charles and I were merely acquaintances before your arrival in this town. We did not maintain anything other than a casual, passing relationship."
"Well, Father, if you will not claim Charles as a friend, I certainly shall." Slipping her arm through Charles's, Devina faced her father stiffly. "And as my friend, Charles has a natural interest in our problems."
Her challenge not having the effect she expected, Devina watched as Harvey paused. His eyes moved from her to Charles and back again. "I suppose you're right, Devina." Harvey turned to Charles, his glance direct. "I'm pleased to hear that Devina considers you her friend, Charles. She needs friends. But if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go and speak to George now. I think it's time we developed a different tack in fighting these thieves."
"So it
was
the same men."
Annoyance flicked once more across Harvey's brow. "Yes, it appears it was the same men. The marshal said there were four of them. They fit the description of the men who committed the other robberies. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
Charles gave a short laugh. "Yes, it does."
Suffering a strange sense of anxiety at her father's words, Devina questioned hesitantly, "What do you mean by a different tack? Were you serious about employing the Pinkerton Detective Agency, Father?"
"The
Pinkertons
!" Charles's exclamation was sharp. "Do you think that's necessary?"
Charles's question appearing to push him to full anger once more, Harvey answered sharply, "Whether it is necessary or not, I will be the judge of that, Charles. And I will suffer neither your inquisition nor your advice. I hope that is understood."
Charles's expression tightened. "Perfectly, sir."
"And now, if you'll both excuse me."
Pausing as he was about to step away, Harvey cast a short glance toward the sheets of paper lying on the table beside his cup. He frowned, obviously remembering that prior to the marshal's arrival, he and Devina had been discussing the seating of their guests for the party scheduled to take place in less than a week.
"As for the party, whatever you decide will be all right with me, Devina. I trust your judgment implicitly."
The absurdity of continuing with the affair at a time when her father's business was suffering severe losses brought a spontaneous objection from Devina's lips. "Oh, Father, let's forget the party, shall we?"
Harvey's expression tightened to severity. "Definitely not! I will not allow common thieves to intimidate or discomfort me in any way. We will have the party, Devina, and it'll be the most extravagant and memorable party Tombstone has ever seen!"
Turning without another word,
Havey
walked rigidly from the room. Staring after her father in silence, Devina finally raised her gaze to see Charles staring at her with concern.
Silently, she stepped into the comfort of his arms.
Camille stood unmoving in the middle of her room. She paused, listening to the silence, then gave a short laugh. This room was as quiet as it had ever been, but it was not truly silent at all. Sounds seemed to penetrate the walls in a way they never did when she was busy entertaining a client. She heart Giselle's low giggle, Yvonne's coaxing coo. Now and again she heard masculine voices in response, but they were muffled.
She wondered what sounds Giselle and Yvonne heard when she entertained. But she wondered only briefly. That part of her life was separate and apart from the person she truly was. She had long ago rationalized her vocation in her mind. She performed a service just as a chef cooked a meal, a doctor healed the sick, a maid cleaned a room. Except that she truly strove to impart a measure of happiness. For the most part, she felt she was successful in her efforts. Many had told her so. The only problem was, she no longer received happiness in return.
The day was warm, portending a long, uncomfortable night, and Camille took a step closer to the window and looked outside. Her favored position in Marie's establishment had given her the option of choosing the room she wanted from those vacated when the last group of girls had returned to Paris. Le Comte had told her she had earned that privilege, and she had been extremely flattered.
Camille rotated slowly on her heel, allowing her eyes to survey the room she had decorated so carefully so that it might reflect a part of herself. Bright flowered curtains hung at the windows. A matching comforter lay folded at the foot of her broad, comfortable bed, and a fine hemmed cloth of a contrasting hue covered the table beside it. The lamp on that table was hand-painted with delicate flowers on the base and on the glass chimney that shielded the flame; when the lamp was lit, the flowers appeared to move in a gay lifting dance. Lovely, ruffled pillows in pastel shades lay in careful disarray on the chaise beside the bed, and on the fine dresser in the corner were carefully displayed the likenesses of her five sisters and two brothers.
The room she had chosen was on the second floor, with a view of Alien Street. The reason for her choice had been simple: this room allowed her to watch for Charles when he emerged onto Allen after walking from his quarters on Fourth Street. His schedule was a trifle erratic, but she knew the approximate time he was free at night and when he was most likely to be walking in her direction.
She loved watching Charles walk. He was so handsome with his black, thick hair, his very masculine face, and dark, caring eyes. He was so tall, and he carried himself so well. He walked with an easy stride that bespoke fine coordination and a healthy body. Camille could speak from experience that his was truly an unusually beautiful body. It was by far the most beautiful she had ever seen. He was magnificent, and she loved the love that flowed from his magnificent body into hers. It made her feel beautiful. She did not always feel beautiful, and as many times as she had been told that she was, she knew it was not really true.
Pierre had told her many times that her zest for life made those around her feel more alive. She supposed the innate happiness that was a part of her makeup, the instinctive delight with which she started each day, endowed her with beauty in the eyes of others. If that was true, that beauty was rapidly fading, for in recent days, her instinctive capacity for joy appeared to have eluded her.
The reason for her despair was simple. She had not seen Charles in more than a week.
Camille amended that thought with a small unhappy laugh. She had
seen
Charles several times. She had seen him walking on the street with a friend. She had seen him going into the general store, and she had seen him with Devina Dale… which was worse than not having seen him at all.
Camille turned abruptly from the window and walked to the mirror over the dresser. She stood before it and appraised herself critically… very pretty hair, but not as pretty as Devina Dale's. Pleasant features, but not classically beautiful like Miss Dale's. As for the rest of her, she was too tall, too full breasted, too voluptuous beside Devina Dale's petite proportions.
Camille continued to stare at her reflection, her despair seeping away as a new thought began to take shape in her mind. Devina Dale was far more beautiful than she, but she had something that Miss Dale did not. She possessed a heart full of love to give Charles Carter.
A spark lit the depths of her eyes, and Camille's full lips began to curve into a smile. Taking only a moment to tuck a flaming errant curl back into her upswept coiffure and to assess the acceptability of her pale yellow cotton gown, she turned and stepped rapidly toward the door of her room. Within moments she was walking down the staircase toward the first floor and Marie's large bedroom at the rear of the house.
Camille emerged from Marie's room minutes later, her cheeks flushed with anger. She pulled the door tightly shut behind her and took a deep breath. With a measured step, she walked directly to the small office beside the staircase. She paused only a moment to gain full control of her emotions before raising her hand and knocking lightly.
The Count's voice responded from within, and Camille opened the door and entered. She emerged a short time later, her smile genuine, her manner relaxed. She turned to bid Le Comte good-bye with true affection and then stepped into the hallway, halting sharply as she unexpectedly came face to face with Marie.
Refusing to flinch under the hatred displayed so openly in Marie's livid expression, Camille returned her stare.
Pierre's voice sounded over her shoulder, causing Marie's cheek to tic revealingly. "Marie, you will come in here for a moment,
s'il
vous
plâit
.."
Camille remained still as Marie walked past her into the office and closed the door behind her. Dismissing Marie's venomous stare from her mind, Camille ascended the staircase in a light, eager step.
Life was good again! She had been given permission to bring a gift to a friend.
Lai Hua ran along the winding, narrow trail, her small feet all but flying. The lantern she clutched in her hand was lit against the darkness that swirled around her, but Lai Hua had little fear. In her hand she carried the strip of red ribbon she had found tied to a bush beside the path she took each morning on her way to the Dale home.
She always took the long, circuitous route around the back of the Oriental section of town where she made her home, past the outlying buildings of Tombstone. She had traveled that path each day for the past year.
Her reasons for traveling that path were twofold. She took to an old woman who lived near that point a portion of the bounty from her family's table. The old woman depended on her daily visit for sustenance. The second reason had brought her joys far more rewarding than an old woman's grateful smile. But for the past few weeks, those joys had been nil, and she had experienced only sadness.