Gold Mountain. Vicki Delany
you would be so kind,” I said to the bartender, “as to direct me to the real estate office.”
“Theatre?” he said. “What sort of theatre?”
“We will perform a selection of stage plays, have musical interludes, some dance performances, a comedian. Accommodation such as this,” I waved my hand to indicate the tent and all the men in it, “would be suitable. Until a proper building can be erected.”
“You thinkin’ of serving liquor?”
I was, but decided it would be best not to let this fellow know, yet. I would be setting up in competition with him.
“No.”
“Good,” he said. “Cause it ain’t legal to serve liquor in Alaska. Ain’t that right boys?”
They nodded at the bartender’s words. Every last one of them clutched a dirty glass. I eyed the bottles displayed on the plank serving as a bar and on the shelves stacked at the rear. There was even a keg of beer.
“Naturally, I would not be interested in breaking the law,” I said.
“Right glad to hear that,” a lazy voice said from behind me.
I turned. The sallow-faced man was back, breathing heavily. Beside him stood a heavily-bearded man with well-oiled black hair. He was perfectly dressed in a white silk shirt and satin waistcoat. A diamond pin pierced his tie, and a wide brimmed hat was in his hand.
The men cleared a path, and the newcomer walked toward me, his eyes fixed on my face.
“Ma’am. My name is Jefferson Smith. How may I be of assistance?” He gave me a broad smile. His accent was deep and slow and sounding of warm honey.
“Mrs. Fiona MacGillivray.” I held out my hand. Mr. Smith took it in his. His nails were neatly trimmed and clean. He bowed over my hand, and I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if he’d kissed it.
At last, a gentleman of culture and refinement.
I repeated my business.
“Why don’t we go to my office and talk in private,” Smith said when I’d finished.
That didn’t sound like a good idea. “Do you have a place for rent?” I asked.
“You see, Mrs. MacGillivray,” he said with a sad shake of his head, very sorry at being the bearer of bad news. “I don’t know what things are like where you come from, but here in Alaska, ladies cannot own businesses.”
I turned to the bartender. “I’ll have a glass of lemonade, please.”
He blinked. “I don’t got lemonade.”
“In that case, I’ll have whatever that gentleman is having.” I pointed to a large man without a tooth in his mouth or a hair on his head, clutching his glass of mud-coloured liquid.
The bartender looked at Mr. Smith. Smith nodded and I was poured a drink. The glass didn’t look too clean, but I hoped the strength of the liquor would kill any infection before it could kill me. I accepted the glass, held it to my mouth, took a quick sniff, threw back my head, and swallowed it all.
Gut-rot. Highly watered gut-rot.
The men stared at me, no doubt expecting me to spit it back up and turn red with coughing. I handed my glass to the bartender. “I’ll have another, please. Not so much water this time.”
“That’ll be fifty cents for the two.”
“Quite expensive for flavoured water, I’d say.” I pulled the coins out of my reticule and slapped them on the counter. “Mr. Smith, being a newcomer in your fine town, I wouldn’t dream of breaking any laws. Fortunately, I am not a lady. Just as the refreshment served here contains no alcohol.”
The bartender handed me my second drink. I put it on the counter. “Mr. Smith, gentlemen. Good afternoon.” I made my way to the door, and men cleared a path in front of me. When I reached the tent flap, I turned around. Every eye in the place was on me. I had not the slightest doubt that Mr. Jefferson Smith was the big man in this town. “The first evening of theatre will be offered free for everyone. To thank you all for your hospitality.”
A wave of men’s voices followed me down the street.
* * *
When I returned to what laughingly passed as the best hotel in Skagway, Angus was not there. I felt a moment’s panic.
Had I made a terrible mistake, bringing my child here? In England he’d lived at home with me until he was seven, first in the care of a doting nanny and then a governess. On arriving in Toronto, I found him a place in a good Episcopalian boy’s school, where he was to be prepared for the life of a proper gentleman. He wasn’t entirely an innocent. At one time, I’d been called by the headmaster, who was threatening to expel Angus and his friends for escaping the school at night by climbing down a drainpipe.
But nothing they would have done there could prepare Angus for the Alaskan wilderness.
I took off my hat and looked around the room. Angus had done a decent job of cleaning up. He’d unpacked some of the food and opened a tin of peaches, one of potatoes, and one of corned beef. The tins were half-empty, indicating he’d had some supper.
I hoped we wouldn’t have to live on tinned food, served cold, for long. I located a fork and dug into the peaches.
Whether they had some ridiculous regulation in Alaska about women owning businesses or not was neither here nor there. Mr. Smith had quoted me the law in a place where any casual glance showed that the law was something to be ignored.
He was clearly telling me he didn’t want me setting up my business.
I had countered by appealing directly to the men, offering a free show. That I didn’t have a place to use as a theatre might not matter right now. I could surely find a clearing in the woods, post signs all over town, and hope it wouldn’t rain. One or two successful outdoor performances and I’d be getting offers of rental space in no time at all.
I put my hat back on my head and checked my pocket watch. I’d go in search of my son now and contact my new employees tomorrow.
Chapter Eight
“Psst. Angus. Over here.”
Angus MacGillivray peered into the Dawson City alley. The buildings on either side blocked the sun, and all he could see were shadows. He heard something rustle and thought it might be a dog. But dogs didn’t know his name. “What? Who’s there?
A hissing sound. Then, “It’s me. Are you alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone.”
A shape broke out of the gloom. Paul Sheridan peered around the corners, as though checking that Angus wasn’t lying.
“Are you hiding from someone?” Angus asked.
“I don’t want to run into your Fly Bull buddy, that’s all.”
“You mean a Mountie?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t nice of you to tell them about me, Angus.”
Angus started walking. Sheridan followed. “I don’t care about being nice. It was nothing more than my duty to tell the police a known criminal is in town.”
“I’m completely legitimate now. I’ve left Soapy and the gang. I’m here to find gold. Same reason as everyone else.”
“Tell them that then, why don’t you?”
“I avoid contact with the police whenever possible.”
Angus rolled his eyes.
“Oh, yes,” Sheridan said, “I understand why you might be suspicious. But I’ve given up my evil ways.”
A horse and cart were stranded in the intersection. Muck came halfway up the