Chapter 13
Mark was okay. The terrible, tight knot in Heather’s stomach began to release when she saw him sitting on a log by the campfire.
Folks had told her he was fine, but being confined to Uncle Alex’s house had made it hard for her to see him.
And she needed to see him, to know that he was all right, that Uncle Alex hadn’t done something horrible to him.
I really have to stop calling that monster my uncle. I should call him Mr. Bernini.
“Heather, if you drop that dish, we’re going to have trouble,” Clary said out of the corner of her mouth.
“You’re right, sorry,” Heather said, adjusting her hold on the dish. It contained fried chicken, which was dinner for the men, along with mashed potatoes, carrots, and gravy.
She could see how hungry and tired they were, their eyes following her and Clary all the way to the table.
Their hours in the mine had been increased exponentially since Unc—since Mr. Bernini had taken over.
They were working twelve-hour days, where before they had been working eight.
No wonder their eyes were starting to look sunken and hollow and no one had a smile to spare.
Reaching the wooden table, they put their dishes down and turned to go. As Heather looked up, she caught Mark looking at her from across the campfire. Under other circumstances, it would be romantic. They would see each other across a crowded room and rush into each other’s arms like in a novel.
However, with Nick and his gun right behind Heather and all the other bandits watching, it felt more like she and Mark were both drowning and all they could do was stare at each other, committing the other’s face to memory so that they had something to hold onto.
For now. Just for this moment and no longer. This evening, things will begin to change.
“Get a move on,” Nick snapped from behind her and Heather turned, glared at him, and then began to walk.
They made their way through the tent camp and across the bridge. When they arrived back at Andrew’s house, Nick ordered Clary and Heather inside. He stayed outside. No doubt he would smoke one of his foul-smelling cigarillos.
Mr. Bernini was in the parlor with someone. The voices were familiar. With no one chasing them, they put the kettle on in the kitchen. From there, they could hear every word spoken in the parlor as though they were sitting right beside the speakers.
“What do you mean he’s not in New York?” Mr. Bernini snapped. “He has to be. That was his big plan.”
“Well, sir, he’s not,” the other voice said.
“Maybe he caught wind of what we’re doing,” Pedro said.
“Who is the other man they’re speaking to?” Clary asked.
Heather shrugged. She began to take mugs down from the cupboard and the teapot from the shelf.
“I doubt that,” Mr. Bernini said. “If Douglas MacGregor had so much as a hint of what we were going to do to his precious little town, he would have been here by now. You haven’t seen someone fitting his description arriving in San Antonio, have you?”
“No, sir,” the mystery voice said. “No one like that has come in. My men are watching the station day and night.”
“So, where did he go?” Bernini asked.
“Maybe he went to his mountain resort like the last time,” Pedro suggested.
There was silence for a while.
“It’s a possibility, but I doubt it,” Bernini said.
“He’ll be too worried about what’s going on here.
I think he might have stopped in Chicago on the way out here.
He has some connections with the Pinkertons.
He might be trying to get them involved.
I wouldn’t put it past him. It’s the kind of thing he does, trying to make others fight his battles for him. ”
“We should tell someone about this,” Clary said softly. “Don’t you think?”
“No,” Heather said. “What good will it do? We already figured he had come here or would be coming soon. If Mac is here, he’s keeping his head down, which might be the best thing. We can’t let them find him. Mark and the others are banking on him coming to our rescue.”
Word had come the day before from Diane that that was part of the plan now. Someone was going to try to get in touch with Mac. They were to wait until then to do anything.
It was a good plan, but Heather had had an idea in the meantime.
It was all well and good to say they would get the guns and distribute them among the miners when it was time, but the manner of getting them had been bothering her.
Until she came up with what she thought was a bold move.
One they were executing that very evening.
“Anyway, we have our own job to do tonight,” she added.
The kettle began to boil, emitting a fountain of steam.
Heather grabbed it off the range. She made a pot of tea for herself and Clary and a pot of coffee for Mr. Bernini and his guests.
Then she set up a tray for them with ginger cookies on it and prepared to take it through.
They were speaking in softer voices, and all she could hear was a general hum of voices.
Standing outside the parlor, she could hear more clearly, and she paused before knocking.
“… won’t be too much longer,” Pedro was saying.
“I’m confident that we almost have what we need,” Bernini said. “How much longer before those lazy louts have a full shipment for us?”
“A couple of days,” Pedro said. “They’re getting very tired and starting to act up.
We’ve had three injuries just today from them being careless.
And the men are getting restless. They didn’t sign up to be guards.
They don’t like walking around watching people.
It’s boring. Can’t we give them something else to do?
Maybe raid some travelers or something.”
“No, they’re needed here. Mac will come, and then they’ll have all the fighting they could ever wish for,” Bernini said testily.
“I’d better get back,” the mystery man said. “There may be news.”
“Stay the night, Victor,” Bernini said genially.
The floorboard under Heather’s foot creaked, and she hastily covered it with a knock on the door. Drat! Some of that might have been useful to know. So, they were just about ready to do whatever it was they were here to do
The door opened, and Pedro glared at her.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Heather swallowed hard. “I … I brought coffee,” she said.
“Let her in and stop terrorizing her,” Bernini said lazily. “She’s delicate enough as it is.”
Heather didn’t like that assessment of her. She wasn’t delicate. But perhaps it was good if they thought she was. No one fragile could do what she was planning to do later.
Brushing past Pedro and trying to stifle a shudder of revulsion, Heather moved into the room. She went to the coffee table and placed the tray down. Then she looked up at Mr. Bernini. “Would you like me to pour?”
“No, Heather, my dear,” he said in the same sweet, kind tone he had always used with her, which now made her blood boil. “I’m sure we can manage that ourselves. You’d better get off to bed. It’s getting very late.”
“Yes, Uncle Alex,” she said.
The man, Victor, was watching her. He was so ordinary looking that she could pass him five times in the street and never be able to say more than that he was a man.
He had brown hair and eyes, and his skin was neither tanned nor pale.
His nose, cheeks, and forehead were unremarkable.
He was like toast with nothing on it. Perhaps that was how he managed to keep an eye on people for Mr. Bernini, because they would never see him and never remember that he had been there at all.
“Thank you for the coffee,” he said in a friendly tone.
“It’s a pleasure,” Heather replied, meaning that just being near him made her skin crawl. She backed away. “Good night,” she said to them all politely and hurried to the door.
Pedro began to laugh the moment the door had closed behind her. “Oh, she didn’t like you, Victor. See, we should give you a scar or something so that you look more like a real person.”
“You’re so witty, Pedro. No wonder Mr. Bernini keeps you around,” Victor said flatly.
Heather hurried to the kitchen, where Clary had poured their tea. “That sounded horrible.”
“It was,” Heather agreed. “But I found out that they’re almost ready to do whatever it is they’re planning, so … We really need to be prepared.”
Clary nodded. “Drink up and let’s make a show of going to bed.”
“You stay here,” Heather said. “This is the perfect time to get the keys.”
“But he’s awake, and Pedro is here.”
“I know, but I think that will be easier to do now. I’ll take a duster and claim I’m catching up on some chores I missed due to making the miners’ dinner,” she said. “Better that than being caught sneaking around when everyone is asleep.”
Clary nodded. “Okay.” She took the feather duster from its hook in the scullery and handed it to Heather. “Off you go.”
With her heart in her throat, Heather took the duster and headed down the corridor. She walked without fear, heading to the study at the far end. She stopped and dusted the things on the table in the entrance hall and the pictures in their frames.
No one moved from the parlor.
Moving farther down the hall, she did the same thing, and then when she reached the study door, she turned the handle. Mr. Bernini had forgotten to lock it. That was a relief.
Moving quickly, Heather slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. She leaned against the door and let out the breath she’d been holding. What would Mark say if he could see her now?
The keys were in one of the desk drawers. Heather moved behind the large wooden desk that held a lot of what had to be Andrew’s papers and things. The lamp was still burning, but it was running low on oil. The light was flickering. Perhaps it would die before she found what she was looking for.
Oh well, she would just have to hurry. Lizzy had described the key for the town storeroom in great detail. It fit an old lock and was an oversized brass key with a faded red ribbon tied to it.