An Outlawed Heiress and Her Duke Page 9

  Esther’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight, fascinated by this compelling Englishman who was as handsome as he was brave. When Murphy had pulled that gun, Esther could feel her arms and legs shake uncontrollably. Though she had practiced shooting over and over at her father's behest from a young age and had rigidly resumed this activity ever since her little run-in with that despicable Luigi, pointing a gun at another person with the intent to kill was one of the most testing moments of her life. She had barely managed to keep herself from throwing up. George on the other hand was as calm as a sunny, cloudless sky. And there was the moment when he grabbed Eric’s wrist to protect Milton as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him. Who was this man, she wondered? The thought of him lingered longer than it should, which was odd considering all the troubles that awaited her.

  Esther looked up to the sky, something she did quite often lately, wondering if her parents were up there watching her. She slowly released her breath, sending a cloud fog into the cold heavens.

  “Now all I have to do is relocate the kids, survive a train ride through the San Juan mountains, and solve the mystery regarding Jones’ disappearance,” she said up into the sky to her parents. “Oh, and all of that as a man,” she added with a sarcastic smile.

  She thought back to the time her father had taken on the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad line as an investment. Nothing did he ever regret more. It was a non-stop headache. Not a month went by when that darn train wasn’t robbed, or broke down in icy weather, leaving the train engineers stranded for days. Esther had always tried to stay positive for her father, telling him something good would come from building the very tracks he came to hate so much, and would now take her to find Jones.

  “We’ll find out soon enough if I was right, Papa,” she mumbled into her wool coat which she pulled over her face to shield it from the icy winds.

  “Very, very soon…”

  Morris was standing in the family room of the Silverton mansion, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, while taking another puff from his cigar with the other, filling the room with thick dark clouds. He was staring at the painting above the crackling granite fireplace. It was a family portrait of his old friend who was standing next to his beautiful Cherokee wife. He was holding baby Esther, smiling with that sparkle of happiness only a proud father and husband would possess.

  “Are you certain, Mr. Morris?” asked one of the two servants who was standing next to the painting.

  “If you ever answer a demand with a question again, you can look for work elsewhere,” Morris threatened in his usual, arrogant voice. The two servants exchanged flustered looks.

  “Y-yes sir,” one of them ultimately said, grabbing the painting on one side while waiting for his colleague to grab it from the other side. Without any more disturbances, the painting was removed and carried out of the room, leaving a discolored rectangle on the wall at the very spot it had been hanging for years.

  “Nothing?” Morris turned to Mr. Gorsh who was sitting on the couch.

  “I’m afraid not.” He twisted his lips into a frown. “She was last seen with five children on the outskirts of New York. Since then we have turned every damnable rock in this town.” Mr. Gorsh held up his whiskey as if he was saluting the impossible. “It’s like she just vanished into thin air!” he added with a dramatic flair.

  Morris stared into the dancing flames, looking for a sign, a message, some sort of prophecy as he leaned one hand against the mantel of the fireplace, listening to the crackle of shrieking wood turn into coal. “And the funds, are they still frozen?”

  Mr. Gorsh nodded. “Until she is found we won’t see a dime of the Silverton fortune.”

  A pressing stillness crawled into the room, growing louder into deafening silence.

  “God damn that bitch!” Morris raged, smashing his glass of whiskey into the fireplace. Glass shattered into tiny flickering pieces, flames scorched high into the chimney, fueled by his hatred. “What about the government, and the police? Aren’t they looking for her?” He jerked around, his face turning into that of a dark demon.

  “They are. But I doubt they are putting much effort into it. If she is never to be found, they will declare the will intestate and simply keep the funds,” Mr. Gorsh elaborated in his usual monotone lawyer voice.

  Morris walked down from the hearth of the fireplace. “Well there must be something we can do!” he shouted, flailing his hands like he was asking for another glass to throw. “I am not paying you a fortune for sitting on my couch and drinking my fine whiskey!” He jabbed a finger into Mr. Gorsh’s face who kept his cool as if he did not possess a single emotion in his boring soul.

  “There most certainly are things we could do, but that all depends on how willing you are to use more controversial methods.” Gorsh took a sip of the whiskey in his hand. “If you know what I mean,” he added.

  Morris paced around the room, searching into the depths of his ever-so-desperately darkening mind, only to stop and face Mr. Gorsh again.

  “I am a very, very, flexible man,” Morris pressed with his shadowy eyes wide and glowing.

  “That’s what I thought.” Mr. Gorsh pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Morris, who held it close to his face to analyze it in every detail.

  “A wanted poster?” he sneered, followed by a bark of laughter. “I have to say, Mr. Gorsh, this is quite impressive. Nationwide, I suppose?”

  Mr. Gorsh smelled his whiskey before taking another sip.

  “Of course.”

  Clearly in a better mood, Morris handed the poster back to him.

  “Double the reward and add a picture of her,” he said, walking over to the coffee table to ring the servant bell.

  “Double the reward?!" Mr. Gorsh jerked forward, almost spilling his whiskey. "But that would make it $10,000! Even Jesse James was worth only $5000.” Mr. Gorsh shook his head. “And that was alive or dead.”

  Morris’ eyes widened as his face turned into a sinister version of joyful.

  “You are a genius, Mr. Gorsh!” he beamed. “We only need to find her, no matter the state she is in, is that correct?”

  Mr. Gorsh’s mouth twisted. “Yes, but—”

  “Splendid. Then add dead as an option to the poster,” Morris ordered walking over to the family room door to open it wide, startling Ginny who was just about to open it from the other side.

  “Ginny, Mr. Gorsh was about to leave.”

  Mr. Gorsh on the other hand was frozen in his seat, his gaze fixated on the floor.

  “Mr. Gorsh!” Morris shouted to pull him out from wherever his thoughts had taken him for a walk. But Gorsh remained rooted to his seat, his gaze still lost in his mind. Ginny exchanged rapid looks between Morris and Mr. Gorsh.

  “S-sir?” she whispered more as an apology than a question.

  Morris rolled his eyes.

  “MR. GORSH!” he shouted, causing the lawyer’s head to jerk toward him. “Is there a problem?” Morris asked narrowing his eyes, fixating them on Gorsh like a gun pointing at its victim.

  “N-no,” Mr. Gorsh apologized, his lips pressed together tightly into a painful grimace. “N-no problem.”

  Morris turned all smiles again.

  “I’m pleased to hear that. Ginny will walk you out now. I expect the poster up tomorrow.”

  Like a beaten dog, Mr. Gorsh slowly rose from his seat, putting the poster back into his leather bag before joining Ginny and Morris at the door.

  “Yes, Mr. Morris, sir,” he mumbled before following Ginny into the entrance hall, his every step resembling that of a man who knew he had just crossed a line he could never uncross again—not in this life nor the next.

  Chapter 6

  T he train platform was packed. Newspaper boys and other merchants were pitching their goods to get their share of the travelers’ coins. People were pushing each other out of the way to get on and off the countless trains. A steam train pulled into its platform, blowing smoke onto the waiting p
assengers as if it were eating them.

  Esther held little Cliff with tears in her eyes. On Cliff’s first birthday, the kids had named the baby after her father as a surprise for Esther who had seldomly been more touched than by this loving gesture. Miki, Jeff, and Tom launched themselves onto Esther for one last time, all crying like the little children they were. Helga now grabbed Cliff out of Esther’s arms and rubbed her fingers through Miki’s hair.

  “Come on now. She will be back soon,” Helga promised in a reassuring voice targeting their little, sad hearts. Milton on the other hand was standing next to Helga with a big frown, his arms crossed, standoffish.

  “I should go with you; this ain’t safe,” he declared for the hundredth time. Esther and Milton had been fighting all night about this.

  “Isn’t safe. Not ain’t,” Helga corrected him with a warm smile, making him roll his eyes. The kids now giggled. Esther grabbed Milton by his arm and dragged him aside a few steps.

  “I need you here, to watch over the children.” Esther tried to make him feel important. But he was twelve, not five.

  “Oh please,” Milton brushed her off, “they now live with Helga right next to the University. That’s where the fancy folks live.” What Milton was saying in between the lines was that unlike the poor Irish and Italian quarters, the middle-and-upper-class districts were patrolled by police and extremely safe.

  With George’s down-payment, Esther was able to move everybody out of Beth’s and into a respectable boarding home the morning after she was hired. Helga was given the task to enroll them all in a respectable school, starting tomorrow. Her money was enough to provide for a middle-class lifestyle and good education for several months, but then they would all be back on the streets.

  “I still need you to watch over them. You know how easy it is for the kids to trick poor, old Helga.” Milton seemed to let that run though his head for a moment. It was the truth. Helga was a Godsend, although it was Esther who’d pulled her out of the gutter and gave her not only employment, but a family. Having lost all of her own children to hunger and disease, the woman starved more to give her love than from an empty stomach. Her loving and calm ways instantly made it into the children’s hearts. Another tragic life saved from the harsh, unforgiving streets. However, Helga seemed more innocent than the street-smart kids at times, making her as easy to play as a flute.

  A train’s shrill whistle loudly hollered over the platform they were standing on, warning people to get on before it would leave without them.

  “We have to go,” Esther heard George from behind her. Had he been standing there the entire time watching her saying good-bye drama? Esther had thought he was already on the train waiting for her in the comforts of his first-class train car. But instead he was standing on the train platform carrying his own bag like some third-class passenger, so unlike a duke with hundreds of years of nobility in his blood.

  Esther squeezed Milton, something he let happen but did not enthusiastically embrace, his lifeless arms flopping to his sides. He was obviously still mad, but under no circumstances would Esther even consider taking him with her on this mission. He certainly was no ordinary child. In fact, he was more knowledgeable about crooks and the tricks of outlaws than she would ever be, but this trip was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. After Denver they would have to worry about every little breeze blowing their way. She could never forgive herself should something happen to him. She loved him with all her heart—more than her own life.

  “I will telegraph you as soon as I can,” Esther said with a heavy heart before releasing Milton and signaling George with a nod that she was ready. They didn’t have to walk far as the first-class cars were at the end of the train to avoid the smoke from the steam engine.

  George led Esther into their private Pullman car. Despite Esther traveling on nothing else in her life than these famous luxury wagons, her months on the streets had reset her memory of what it was like to travel in one of these. Beautiful, red silk drapes covered golden windows, and chandeliers hung from the ceiling that were painted with elaborate designs. The walls were covered in the finest dark walnut, topped off by brass fixtures that sparkled like little stars. Even George seemed impressed.

  “This is incredible. As if we were in an estate drawing room,” he marveled, putting his bag down next to a queen-sized bed heavily loaded with red satin pillows and blankets.

  “The dining car should be down this way.” Esther walked past a wooden dresser and desk and held the door to the train vestibule open for him. George walked by her and straight into the parlor car which also served breakfast, lunch, dinner, and drinks.

  “Well if that isn’t the sought-after Duke of Aberdeen,” a female voice echoed the moment he had stepped into the dining car. It was one of those naturally seductive voices that usually belonged to incredibly beautiful women, and what Esther found when she followed him into the dining car did absolutely not disappoint. The woman this voice belonged to was sitting at one of the two-person tables bolted to the walls, with a smile on her lips that could melt steel. She must have been in her twenties, dressed in a khaki split riding skirt, white blouse, and black silken canvas vest. Her long, blond hair put together into a loose braid shimmered like gold. But nothing was more stunning than her arctic, blue eyes. Esther wasn’t sure if she was wearing lipstick or if her lips were naturally red, but her face was by far one of the most elegant beauties she had ever come across. Then there was her whole ranch outfit, one Esther used to grow up in. It gave her an exotic touch in the middle of the most exquisite Rococo furniture while at the same time blending in perfectly into the world of elegance with the few other first-class passengers who now seated themselves at the tables. No doubt this was the type of woman men from poor to rich would drool over. A burning feeling made its way into Esther’s stomach as she shifted her gaze to George.

  Did he find her attractive? Of course, he did, Esther scolded herself. He had perfectly working eyes, so why wouldn’t he?

  “Ah, Miss Wayne.” George walked over to her table with a smile on his face.

  “Emily, remember?” She grinned back at him and stood up to shake his hand.

  “Yes, of course,” he apologized. Esther was looking at the two of them standing next to each other. If two Greek Gods would ever come together to make a perfect match, this would be it. Both of them looked like they’d just stepped down from a cloud, gracing the mortals with their presence. Dirty, skinny, poor mortals like Esther, she angrily thought, wiping her face in frustration to make sure she did not have any coal on it from tending the fire this morning to keep the room warm for the children and Helga.

  “I see you made it out of last night’s gathering alive?” she joked in that pretty voice of hers. Esther knew exactly what she was referring to. By now she had come to know that George was not only a handsome English nobleman, but a Duke, which in Esther’s previous circles was close to the Lord himself. When Esther had met with him in the hotel lobby this morning, what could have been a quick walk in and out had turned into thirty minutes of desperate attempts to escape. This man could not walk one step without another eligible-looking woman clawing into him, practically begging him for a stroll in the park or cake and tea in the afternoon. One older lady had come running after him like a cheetah, grabbing him by the coat to introduce him to her daughter, a cotton factory heiress. Coming from a ranch, Esther couldn’t help but feel she was at a cattle auction, everybody trying to get rid of their cows.

  “I am indeed looking forward to a change in scenery.” George tried to be polite when in reality he must be thanking God for escaping New York unmarried.

  The train started moving, shaking wildly for a moment. Emily let out a sigh, falling toward George who caught her by her arms to avoid her landing right on his muscular chest, in between his legs. Esther held on to a table next to her, adopting a sullen look. Emily had clearly just thrown herself into his arms on purpose. The train was shaking a bit, not derailing. George helped her
back on her feet.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her cheeks glowing like little red flames.

  “Of course.” George sounded polite and emotionless.

  Emily now looked Esther’s way, her icy blue eyes scanning her from head to toe, not leaving out one inch. “And who are those two servant boys?” Emily nodded her way with a curious grin.

  “Two what?” George jerked around toward Esther, his eyes and mouth shooting wide open at whatever was right behind her, causing her to flip around herself.

  “MILTON!” she yelled in utter shock. “What are you doing here?!” Esther wanted to grab him by the arm to pull him aside, but the train steward was now right behind him, getting a hold of him before Esther could. People were now looking at this embarrassing scene.

  “You! I told you to get off the train!” he barked at Milton, his red uniform with golden buttons blending in with the red satin upholstery theme of the train in such harmony, it almost made him disappear.

  “And I told you I’m with the English man!” Milton bickered back at him in a pouting voice.

  Esther threw her head back in a mixture of despair and annoyance. What was she supposed to do now? Would George kick them both off the train at the next stop? She peeked over to him to get a feeling of how he was taking this all in. But much to her surprise, instead of rightful anger, George was tapping his lip with his finger, a light smirk on his face.

  “How come whenever we have the pleasure you have someone attached to your neck?” he asked sarcastically.

  Milton swung his arm in a forceful circle, freeing himself from the steward who now exchanged confused looks with Emily.

  “And how come every time we meet, you get robbed?” Milton countered, pulling out an envelope from under his incredibly dirty looking shirt.

  Esther couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that too. This was a brand-new shirt, how the hell had he got it so dirty so quickly, making her look like she neglected him, which she didn’t!