The Lost Baroness Page 21

  She was more than scared of boats. Her reaction had been from the gut, not from the mind. In the two short weeks he'd known Siri, he'd learned she had a determination and a strength few men had, let alone a slim, fragile-appearing woman like her. So she would go to Portland if it killed her.

  What worried him was that it might.

  Was there another way to get her to Portland? Could they travel overland?

  He'd have to ask around.

  She didn't say another word, just lay there on the pallet, an occasional tear leaking from under her closed eyelids. When he was sure she slept, he covered her with the quilt and blew out the candles. Mrs. Leong promised to look in on her occasionally. Since the only way she could get out was through the Chinese store, Buff was pretty sure she would be safe. As long as she stayed put.

  He locked her in.

  "It wasn't one of my boys," Abner Longstreet told him, when Buff went to his office seeking information. It was the closest the saloon keeper had come to admitting that some of the rowdies and hoodlums around Astoria were under his command. "In fact, I've had them keeping their eyes out. These killings--"

  "Yeah, Gillespie told me. Ugly."

  "I tell you Lachlan, I've seen some bad sights, but this was worse than any of them."

  "Shit!"

  "Yeah." Longstreet closed his eyes, shook his head. "I work for the Coalition sometimes, when it benefits us both, but I'm not a do-gooder, out to save the world. I've kept Astoria clean ever since I moved in. It's good for business." Leaning across the desk, he caught and held Buff's gaze with his own. "I'll find this bastard, and when I do..." Something primal and savage shone for an instant in his eyes.

  "I'll be looking for him too. Maybe there'll be some left for you."

  A spare smile tugged at Longstreet's thin lips. "I've heard. The little Swede. It's almost too bad you decided to give her a hand. I was hoping she'd get desperate."

  Buff felt a momentary urge to smash the man's face. He pretended to be amused. "And go to work for you? Not a chance, Longstreet. She's a lady, through and through."

  "Even ladies get desperate. I've never led a woman--or a man--astray, but I'm not above taking advantage of a lucky break." He turned aside and sorted through the papers piled on the side of his desk. "I just remembered--here's something that might interest you." He passed a slip of paper across the table.

  Buff looked at the spidery writing. "Karl Lindholm? Who's he?"

  "He used to be Arne Hansen's fishing partner." Leaning back, Longstreet steepled his fingers before his face. "One of my lads ran into him over in Lexington."

  Buff studied the paper a moment, as if Lindholm's name should tell him something. "So why are you giving me this?"

  "The old man was reminiscing to anybody who'd listen, going on about the early days, when he and Arne had fished together. Since Frank knew I was interested in Siri Trogen, he paid attention. Lindholm said something about Arne's daughter's funeral."

  "A funeral? Hansen had two daughters?"

  "Not as far as I knew." Leaning forward, he tapped one finger on the desktop. "I remember Arne Hansen and his wife. He was a big man, a square-headed Swede, but his hair was black as coal and his eyes were brown. His wife was short and round, but every bit as dark. That girl of theirs always reminded me of a fairy tale--a changeling hidden in a peasant's cottage." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he grimaced. "Good God! I'm getting fanciful in my old age. Don't tell anybody you heard me say that."

  Buff grudgingly admitted he liked the man right then. "Lexington's across Young's Bay, isn't it? Over on the Skipanarwen River?" He didn't know how he'd get over there, but he wanted to talk to that old man. It shouldn't take long--over in the morning, back the same afternoon.

  But what to do with Siri while he went? He'd never get her on one of those little steam ferries that crossed Young's Bay. Hell, he was going to have enough trouble getting her to Portland.

  The small suspicion that lingered in his mind was even more fantastical than Longstreet's momentary whimsy, but he had to satisfy himself it was impossible. Siri's resemblance to Anders Thorssen was simply coincidence.

  Or is it? Maybe I'd better stop hoping it is and get some facts.

  * * *

  After a couple of hours, he was convinced the trail to Portland wasn't something to tackle in the winter, especially with a woman. The weather changed while he was asking around. A stiff wind from the east blew the sky clear and bought bone-chilling cold to Astoria.

  Siri was still lying on the pallet when he returned to the room, as if she hadn't moved since he left. At his entrance, she cowered back against the wall, her free hand covering her mouth, almost as if she was afraid of him. Her eyes seemed to have grown larger, and she looked at him with the expression of a frightened doe, about to dash to safety.

  "Siri, I'm going to have to leave you here tomorrow. Will you promise to stay inside?"

  Slowly her head turned, back and forth, in a negative motion.

  "Siri? Promise me you'll stay indoors."

  "I must go...to Portland." Her voice was husky, hesitant.

  "We'll go to Portland. I give you my word." He just wasn't sure how he'd get her there. "Trouble is, there's no steamer headed that way tomorrow. So I'm going to take care of some business that I ought not leave hanging. It shouldn't take more than a day." He caught her hand, squeezed it lightly. "With luck I'll be back here by suppertime tomorrow. Now, will you promise to stay here, out of sight? I don't want to have to worry about you."

  After another long silence, she blinked and seemed to come to herself. She licked her lips, then said, "Mrs. Leong asked me when we were going. I think she wants us away from here."

  Well, hell! He went looking for Mrs. Leong.

  "Many men come morning, need place to sleep. You go hotel one, maybe two days. Then come back," she told him.

  Buff promised to vacate the room by evening. Only trouble was, he didn't want to leave Siri in some hotel. No telling what kind of trouble she'd get into.

  It wasn't that he didn't trust her. Just that she was so damn desperate to find those kids that she was apt to take foolish chances. If somebody really was trying to harm her...

  Once more he locked her in. No sense taking chances.

  He arrived at the Pacific Western Hotel just as the others were finishing dinner. After a round of greetings, he explained. "Yes, I've been here and there. Taking care of business." He forced a careless smile. "There's no rest for the wicked, you know."

  The round of chuckles told him his poor attempt at humor was appreciated. As they started to drift away from the table, he explained to the commodore that his business would take him away soon. "I've had word from my uncle that he needs me to see to some business in Portland." Good thing he'd introduced himself as Silas Dewitt's nephew when he'd first arrived.

  "I am myself planning to journey to Portland," Frederich Gans said, from across the table. "Perhaps we will travel together. When do you go?"

  "I'm not sure. It depends on how soon I get done here. Sometime in the next week, I expect." Just then Carleen came in to finish clearing the table. He said, "Carleen, that friend of yours up in Westport sent a message. I'll come by the kitchen before I leave and give it to you."

  She caught on quickly. "Oh, thanks, Mr. Lachlan. I'll wait for you."

  "Ah, a delivery man. That's a new approach," the commodore commented. "Nothing delights the ladies like a man who brings them love notes."

  The maid winked. "Perhaps you should try it then, sir. Of course, with your charm, you need no other approach."

  Buff was amused to see the stain of red that flooded the elderly seaman's face. "We younger men must do what we can, for we lack your finesse and style, Commodore."

  The blush faded and a wide smile split the commodore's face. "Heh! You silver-tongued scamp! Just like your uncle!"

  Both maids were still in the kitchen later, when Buff entered. The older woman looked up and frowned.


  Carleen smiled and waved the dishtowel at him. "Hey, Mr. Lachlan, I'm almost finished here. Sorry I'm taking so long."

  Another scowl from the new maid. "You're not supposed to hobnob with the guests," she said, as she rested her hands on the rim of the dishpan. "Mrs. Welkins made that very clear."

  "Well, what she don't know won't hurt her, will it, Edna?" With a grimace in Buff's direction, she turned back to her work. "Here I am, giving you a hand out of the goodness of my heart. I can't believe you'd snitch on me."

  Edna sniffed. "I won't, but don't expect me to turn a blind eye to improper carryings-on. I don't hold with licentiousness and godlessness."

  "Believe me, Edna, neither do I. Mr. Lachlan brought me a note from an old school friend who lives in Westport. Nothing sinful about that."

  As soon as they were out of Edna's hearing, Carleen said, "That woman! I swear she'd turn milk sour." She led him to stand under the big spruce. "Now, tell me what you need? I know you didn't come up just to see me."

  He gave her a brief précis of what had happened since Siri left the hotel the previous night. "Someone's trying to kill one of us, and I'm afraid it's Siri," he concluded. "And now with this new murder..."

  "I know," Carleen said, soberly. "My cousin told me. So what can I do to help?."

  "I've got to go out of town for real tomorrow and I can't leave Siri at the Chinese store. Would your mother--"

  "Not unless you want the whole town to know where she is. My mother is a darling woman, but she has a tongue that wags on both ends."

  Buff chuckled. "I'd noticed. What about my room upstairs?"

  "Now why didn't I think of that? Of course. Arvan Singh's in the other corner room, and he's off on one of his selling rounds. Mr. Kincaid next door never notices anything but food. If we can get her into your room without anyone seeing us, she'll be fine."

  "Good. I'll bring her up while everyone's at supper."

  In need of a change of clothing, Buff went up to his room. It was tidy, but not quite as he'd left it. Perhaps the new maid had rearranged his papers when she cleaned, but why would she have moved his shoes to the center of the closet? Suspicious, he looked inside the small leather case where he kept his few valuable pieces of jewelry. Nothing was missing, but his gold nugget cufflinks were not where he usually kept them, in the small, upper left compartment. His watch chain was tangled, and he knew he'd left it carefully coiled. He started to close the case, and then he noticed the lining of the lid was slit along the bottom.

  The slit was mostly concealed in a fold of satin, and he would probably not have noticed, had his ring not caught in it as he was recoiling the watch chain. Buff ran a finger inside. Nothing. But then, there had been nothing there to begin with.

  "Hmmm." Interested now, and growing angry, he went over his possessions carefully. The intruder had taken his time. The lining of his shaving case was slit as well, and that of his large suitcase. He usually carried a small folding knife in his pants pocket, but had left it behind when he'd dressed to go to Daws' Landing. Now it was in the opposite pocket. "Careless? Or didn't care if I knew he'd been in here?"

  Buff's room had been searched by experts and by amateurs. A wealthy young American tourist automatically fell under suspicion in many European countries. More than once he'd been suspected of spying. Although he'd often been actively engaged in espionage, he'd never been caught because someone found incriminating material in his room.

  He went over his possessions more carefully. The only missing items were some coins he knew had been in his waistcoat pocket--a gold florin and a copper pfennig. Both bore the date of his birth, and he'd kept them for luck. "Figures I'd not miss them," he decided.

  He glanced at the clock. After two. Siri would be getting worried. He removed his boots and tucked them under his arm. Then he took one more look around the room, making sure he'd remember the exact arrangement of his things. After turning the lamp low, he opened the door and silently slipped out.

  Not for the first time he regretted having a room on the opposite side of the house from the servants' stairs. As he paused at the stairway, listening, he heard Gans' distinctive German accent and a deep voice that could only belong to Otto Pflug, the brewmaster. They must be sitting in the parlor. Earlier he'd noticed how voices came up the wide stairwell as clearly as if heard through a speaking tube. Sliding his stockinged feet across the well-waxed floor, he quickly crossed the open stairwell and turned into the narrow hall that led to the outside stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Jaeger saw Lachlan and the woman emerge from the Chinese store. He had been keeping watch here at random times for the past three days, whenever he could do so without compromising his other identities. Yesterday he had almost missed them at the docks, for he'd arrived at his observation point only to see them buying tickets.

  Was she ill? Lachlan had carried her back here after her collapse at the docks, and this morning she was leaning heavily on his arm.

  He followed them up the hill and was surprised to see them enter the hotel by the kitchen door. Quickly he went to a place where he could overhear them and leaned his head against the wall.

  "...be back tonight if I can. But if the fog doesn't clear, I may have to take the long way 'round," Lachlan said.

  "You take as long as you need. Siri will be just fine in your room." That was the red-haired maid--Carleen.

  "I do not understand why I must stay in the room. Like a prisoner! What can happen to me in the daylight, when there are people all around me?"

  "Siri, damn it..."

  Jaeger stepped back, not needing to hear any more. So! The woman would be in Lachlan's room. Alone.

  He smiled in anticipation.

  * * *

  Fog rolled in during the night, icy fog that left a coating of almost-ice on every surface. Buff went to the ferry slip anyhow, despite a near-certainty he was wasting his time.

  Sure enough, the fog stayed, drifting lazily around pilings, turning buildings into ghostly, ever-changing shapes. At noon he hired a boatman who claimed to be able to find his way to Skipanarwen blindfolded. They set out to row around the point and up the bay to where it narrowed enough so crossing would be safe. By the time Buff arrived at Lexington, the short winter day had turned into dusk and he had no choice but to take a room in the one remaining hotel.

  He chafed at the delay. Even though he told Siri he might not be back tonight, he knew she'd fret and stew until he showed up.

  * * *

  Siri read for an hour before she became restless. She knew the saloonkeeper who lived in the room just below rarely left his room before noon, so she had to sit in one place until then. He was a talkative man, and if he heard activity here, he would certainly mention it at dinner.

  Buffalo had piled half a dozen books on the floor beside her chair. She looked at them, thinking how she had once believed that having the leisure to read for pleasure would be an extraordinary luxury. Now the thick books merely looked like work.

  Beyond the stack of books, her sewing bag lay. Ah, so! How could I have forgotten? She still had a nightgown and a camisole to embroider for the Peets girl's trousseau. Stretching her arm out, she caught the bag's wooden handle.

  Yes, everything was still as she'd left it the last time she'd sewn. That was--himmel! The garments were due on Monday. Just two days from now.

  At first she found sewing difficult, with her right arm held so closely to her side. After some experimentation, she worked out a way to hold the fabric in her left hand so she only had to move her right wrist. Threading a needle was the most difficult task, because she found she could not hold the thread steady in her left hand. Eventually she trained her fingers to bring the thread to the needle, rather than the needle to the thread, as she always had done.

  She forced herself to work steadily until Carleen brought a tray a little after noon.

  "Mr. Hidalgo was coming down when I started up, so you can move around now. Just don't make too much noise.
And you don't need to worry about Edna coming in here. She's working downstairs today." She set the heavy tray on the small table. "I'm supposed to go to Ma's tonight--it's her birthday. So I brought you enough for supper too. I hope that's all right."

  The afternoon dragged. As darkness settled, she realized Buffalo would not be back tonight, for the fog had grown thicker. The ferries did not run across the bay in fog. She stood at the window for a moment and watched the ribbons of gray turn and coil in the fitful wind. Her father had told her that in Sweden a breeze blew fog away, but here in Astoria it only twisted it into ghostly shapes and patterns.

  A figure stood in the back yard, half-concealed by the big spruce tree. She watched for a moment, but it did not move. Then a wisp of fog concealed it. A moment later the yard was empty.

  She drew the curtains and lit another lamp. But all evening, as she sewed, she jumped at every small sound.

  * * *

  The hotel and one tavern were about all that was left of Lexington. Everything else was boarded up and falling apart. In the wet climate, it wouldn't be long before nothing remained but piles of rotting wood covered with invading shrubs and tree seedlings.

  The innkeeper told Buff that Karl Lindholm lived somewhere out in the woods, but was to be found at the tavern most afternoons. "He stays until they kick him out at closing time," he said. "The old man's a little...you know..." A finger circled at his temple.

  * * *

  "Verdammt noch mal! Las mich los!" Jaeger fought his foot free of another clinging bramble. What miserable woods these were, with the fog dripping from every branchlet. The ground was covered with a tangle of trailing, prickled vines, and on every hillside were those abhorrent thorned shrubs the locals called 'Devil's Club.' He bled from a hundred small scratches on his hands and wrists, his coat was torn in half a dozen places, and even his face was marked by the vicious plants.

  But in his pocket was what he had come to find, and tonight he would finally be rid of the woman. Then Lachlan would get back to his quest and soon Jaeger's stay in this Schrecklich land would end.

  * * *