If he’s trying to throw me by changing the subject abruptly, it might be working, because I lose on the next hand, and Hardwick wins. “I’m not sure I would recommend him,” I say. “He only negotiated the one contract for me, and I thought it was airtight, but it turns out there’s no way to enforce it.”
“Sometimes that’s a temporary problem, with the system, not with the contract. I was just talking with the governor and with California’s new senator. They seem to think that when statehood becomes official—in a few more months, maybe a year at most—we’ll have the rule of law here, as strict as any state in the nation, with honest judges, and checks and balances, and all the other trappings of civilization.”
I can’t tell if he finds the prospect appealing or not. “I didn’t realize you had so much respect for the law.”
This draws another belly laugh. “I respect the laws so much I want to make them,” he says. “Your bet.”
Hearts come up again, and it’s been several deals since I saw them, so I toss two coins down, and this time I win. One hundred dollars, just like that.
Helena’s eyes widen. They’ve returned to their normal blue, which doesn’t make me feel the least bit better. She hasn’t said a word since I sat down, not to Hardwick or to me, but my skin prickles under her gaze.
Maybe it’s nothing. A trick of the light. But maybe it’s quite a bit of something. I know one other person whose eyes change color—me. And only when I’m sensing gold.
In the next round, I lose everything I’d won. I say, “One thing I can’t figure out is why you started gambling. Everything you do is so careful and planned, but this is a game of chance. You can’t help losing.”
He finishes his glass of whiskey and smiles. “Who owns this parlor?”
I think about Large and Larger watching the door. “You do.”
“So when I win, I win. And when I lose, I still win. Excuse me, I need to refill my glass. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
He rises and heads toward the bar in the corner. As the dealer gathers up all the cards and starts shuffling, Helena scoots her chair closer to mine.
Something tingles at the back of my neck, and I freeze, like a ladybug caught in a spider’s web. Helena leans forward, avidly, hungrily, and places a hand on my knee. I open my mouth to ask her what in tarnation she’s doing, but a small bolt of lightning shoots through me. Her eyes are so dark now, the color of ripe plums.
“You have to tell me,” she says breathlessly. “Quick, before he comes back. How do you do it? How do you do that thing with the gold?”
My heart starts racing.
Her gaze is awful. Like she’s looking right through my skin and into my heart. Her nose is a tad too long, her skin a bit too world-weary, her lips pressed thin. But there’s a compelling wild energy about her that makes me shiver just as much as that violet glare.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I manage.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re up to something, and I’m going to figure you out. You’re not going to get his money.”
I shoot to my feet and start gathering my coins.
Hardwick returns. “Quitting so soon?” he asks. “Sweet girl, the first rule of the game is you can’t quit before you’re ahead even once.”
I sway dizzily. There’s too much gold in this room for me to risk making abrupt moves, but I can’t help scrambling backward, away from the table and Helena’s horrible eyes. The backs of my knees knock the chair as I push it back. “Sometimes it’s better to know when to cut your losses,” I say, and I rush out the door before he can respond.
Chapter Twelve
I find Henry sharing drinks at the bar with the cherub-faced gambler. Henry babbles and sways, noticeably in his cups.
“We have to go, Henry. Now.”
Drunk or not, Henry doesn’t hesitate. He tosses a coin at the bartender and follows me out the front door.
Once inside the relative safety of the carriage, he asks, “You talked to Hardwick, yes? Did something go wrong?”
My heart still feels like a drumbeat in my throat. “I’m not sure what happened. I . . . I’m not quite ready to talk about it.”
He doesn’t press, but he says, “I got some good information tonight. Let me know when you’re ready to hear it.”
“All right. Thanks.” I’m grateful to be left with my own thoughts as we ride back to the Charlotte.
We pull up, and the sight of the ship ought to give me great comfort, because Melancthon’s handiwork is beautiful. A new door greets us, framed by a small porch and two lanterns that cast warm, buttery light onto the stoop. But all the hominess just reminds me that I’m not home, that my real home was taken from me, and all our efforts to establish a new one depend on making sure Hardwick is no longer a threat.
Melancthon and a man I’ve never seen before are sitting on their heels, huddled in front of the door. As we exit the carriage, Melancthon rises and greets us with a wave.
“Just putting the final touches on this great big hole. How many keys do you want?”
The fellow with him stands, wiping his hands on something that looks a lot like Wilhelm’s blacksmith’s apron, but with a lot more pockets. “Name’s Adams,” he says. “Locksmith.” He’s tall and angular with a long, narrow nose and a meticulous black mustache.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Adams,” I reply. “How many keys can you make?”
“As many as you need, ma’am.”
“In that case . . .” I count companions in my head. “I need eight keys.”
His eyes widen slightly, but he says, “No trouble at all.”
Adams pulls a flat tray the size of a writing slate from a bag. From his pocket, he withdraws a large iron key. He presses the key into the tray; I peer closer and see it’s filled with milky wax.
When he lifts the key out, a perfect impression remains in the wax. Adams wipes the key on his apron and hands it to me. “This will have to do for now. I’ll deliver seven copies tomorrow.”
I look back and forth between the key in my hand and the wax tray in his.
Melancthon hands a few coins to the locksmith, who takes his leave. I stand back, admiring my new porch.
“Nice work, Jones,” Henry says, admiration in his voice.
“It’s beautiful,” I agree. “Thank you.”
Melancthon beams.
We step through the doorway, and voices echo up from the galley. Henry goes off to join them, but I’m not ready to be around anyone yet. I’ve learned too much today—about Mama, about Hardwick’s associate—and I need time for things to settle. So I head up to the deck and climb the stairs to the stern—the poop deck, as Olive and Andy inform me every single time.
My intention is to sit and gaze at the stars over the hilltops and pretend I’m someplace far away. But someone else has gotten there first, and I recognize his lanky, perfect shape even in the dark.
Suddenly, having company doesn’t seem so bad. I sit beside him, my back against the railing. The sky is covered with clouds, not a star to be seen.
After a while I reach over and squeeze his hand. He squeezes back. We sit in darkness holding hands, not saying a word. I find I don’t miss the stars at all; the hills of the city are covered with lights.
“I’m scared I’m doing the wrong thing,” I say finally.
“We could leave. Go anywhere.”