“But you have a thousand dollars in gold on you?”
Slightly more than a thousand. The weight of it tugs at me, both physically and mentally, from the small purse hung over my shoulder and tucked inside my sweater. “I always carry gold with me now. Jefferson keeps some of my stake. A fair bit is with Peony. Even Mary has some, back in Glory. Never keep all your money in one place, right?”
“True enough.”
“So, where do we go?”
He stares at me, as if torn. I don’t get to ask him what he’s torn between, because he grabs my hand and leads me through the parlor and down a long hallway.
Two men in wool suits stand outside a door: my old friends, Large and Larger.
“There’s a thousand-dollar minimum,” Large says.
“Do I need to count out the coins for you, or will you take my word for it?” I ask.
The two behemoths glance at each other. Finally Large shrugs.
“We can take your word for it,” Larger says.
“Mr. Hardwick thought you might be coming tonight,” Large explains. “Told us to look for you.”
Unease fills me. We didn’t go to huge pains to keep our presence a secret, but even if he had noticed the carriage, how could he have known it was us inside? Maybe someone had spotted me peeking from the window.
Henry and I move to enter, and Larger places one of his huge, meaty hands on Henry’s chest. “But your thousand dollars, we’ll need to see.”
“Mr. Hardwick didn’t say anything about you visiting tonight,” says Large.
Henry’s eyes plead with me for a moment. I’m not carrying enough for both of us, and I doubt Henry has more than one or two coins left. “He doesn’t intend to gamble,” I say. “He’s my associate.”
Larger rolls his eyes. “Nice try.”
My heart sinks. It’s one thing to be brave when you’re with a friend; it’s another thing entirely to do something brave all by yourself. “I’m sorry, Henry.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’ll wait for you in the main parlor.”
My gold sense flutters my stomach as I enter the room. This parlor is much smaller. In one corner is a short bar manned by a single bartender. Even so, there’s a lot more gold in this room. Four tables play host to a number of distinguished-looking gentlemen who are sipping from glass tumblers, smoking fragrant cigars, laughing. Each one has a stack of gold coins at hand.
I feel like a fish in a tree, and everything in me wants to escape. But then I spot Hardwick, sitting at the farthest table from the door. He’s as impeccably dressed as ever, with a gold watch chain swooping across his left breast. His stark-white sideburns are combed flat over gaunt cheeks, and a cigar dangles from thin lips. Helena Russell stands beside him.
She notices me first and whispers in his ear. My heart rocks in my chest as Hardwick says something to everyone at the table. In response, the other gamblers gather their coins and stand. Staring quietly at me, they disperse to other tables.
One fellow pauses to smile. “A pleasure to see you again,” he says. “Still golden, I hope.”
It’s the governor of California, and the pleasure is all his. I met him once before, at the Christmas ball in Sacramento, when all the tall tales about the Golden Goddess were spinning around. If they’re still spinning, I’m in a heap of trouble.
But the governor tips his hat and moves on without another word. I breathe relief.
Hardwick beckons, and I stride over and sit like it’s the most natural, normal thing in the world. I open my purse and set my coins on the table while the dealer shuffles the cards.
Miss Russell seats herself on his left, slightly behind him, with one gloved hand slipped through his arm. Perfect for leaning forward to whisper in his ear.
Hardwick watches me the way a cat watches a bird’s nest in an apple tree. “How would you like to come work for me, Miss Westfall?”
My heart hammers in my throat, and the air suddenly seems a bit thin because all I can think is He knows. He knows what I can do.
After too long a pause, I manage to say, “Doing what?”
He takes a sip of whiskey, then wipes his mustache with a handkerchief. “I’m not sure. I admit, I don’t quite have you figured out.”
Well, that’s a mercy.
“But you keep showing up in the most interesting places,” he continues, “and it’s clear that you have some ability for accumulating resources.”
So maybe he doesn’t know after all. I try to keep the relief from my face. “In other words, you’ve determined that I have some gold, and you’d like to take a portion of it.”
His sudden laugh is surprising for how genuine it seems. “No one acquires gold by accident,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I have gold, you have gold. There’s a chance that both of us could acquire a lot more gold by working together. How do you want to bet?”
The dealer has turned up a pair of cards. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to play. You’ll have to teach me.”
Hardwick makes a small circular motion with his finger, and the dealer reshuffles the cards. “This game is called Spanish monte,” Hardwick says. “The rules are simple, and it’s almost impossible to cheat.”
I only half listen to Hardwick’s instructions, because Miss Russell is peering at me in the most peculiar way, like she’s seeing through me, or beyond me, and—most disconcerting of all—her irises are saturated with a deep shade of violet.
I could have sworn her eyes were blue.
The dealer lays down two cards, a two of hearts to his right and a jack of diamonds to his left. He places the remaining stack of cards between them.
“And now we bet,” Hardwick says, tossing a fifty-dollar coin onto the jack.
I toss a coin onto the deuce, determined to ignore Miss Russell’s violet gaze.
Hardwick makes the go-ahead motion again. The dealer turns over a seven of hearts. “The young lady wins,” he says.
“The odds change as he works his way through the deck,” Hardwick says. “Someone who pays close attention can increase their chances of winning after a few hands.”
The dealer deals, and again I choose the card that Hardwick doesn’t. This time I lose, but so does Hardwick, and both our coins get taken. “I should have quit while I was ahead.”
“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Hardwick says. “To exit the game when you’re at your peak? But you’re young. You’re just learning how the game’s played, and you’ve barely started.”
I’m not sure we’re still talking about gambling. “What about all the people who never get ahead enough to quit?”
“That’s their problem, isn’t it?” he says. From behind him, Helena Russell reaches for his whiskey, takes a sip, sets the glass back on the table. Hardwick doesn’t seem to notice or care. “But that doesn’t apply to you or me. Your friend Tom is a very good lawyer.”