They rode past scores of rough-garbed miners.
“They’ve been at it since forty-eight,” Delaney said, waving at the men. “We’re riding along Wolf Creek. The surface gold here gave out early. You just might meet George McKnight, who came here in fifty. That lucky bastard stumbled on a shiny rock outcropping. He discovered that the rock was loaded with gold. To date, this area is the second-richest find in California. Why—”
“You’re just trying to distract me, Del, and it won’t work! And so much for your quiet little town. Would you just look at that crowd!”
They’d ridden onto Auburn Street, a fairly wide road lined with wooden buildings. Dust kicked up about their horses’ legs, for it hadn’t rained much here and the sun was brilliantly hot overhead. As they neared Bank Street, the crowds grew thicker. There were shouts and hoorays from scores of men.
Delaney motioned for Chauncey to rein in for a moment. He dismounted and asked a bearded miner, “What the hell is going on?”
“You ain’t heard? Why, Lola Montez just arrived! Lordy! She’s a looker. Got her husband with her. Hear she’s gonna settle here.”
Delaney shaded his eyes with his hand. Sure enough, he could make out Pat Hull standing next to the famous dancer. He looked pleased as punch at the reception his wife was getting.
He returned to Chauncey and told her what was happening.
“Goodness,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “The famous Spider Dance in Grass Valley. What a treat!”
“Given what happened after her first couple of performances in San Francisco, I wonder how long it will be a treat.”
Poor Lola, Chauncey thought, her tour in San Francisco hadn’t been very successful. Her eyes suddenly fastened on a man who looked so much like Paul Montgomery that she gasped aloud.
Delaney gave her a sharp look. “What’s the matter? Is your shoulder hurting you?”
“No,” she managed. “I’m all right, Del, really.” Never would she tell him about the man; it would only give him more of a reason to leave her behind.
They wove their horses through the crowds and turned onto Mill Street. The Davidson Hotel stood on the corner, a two-story wooden structure that had enjoyed a recent painting.
“Let’s get settled in first, then do some shopping.”
Chauncey felt terribly self-conscious, but the stoop-shouldered, bespectacled clerk behind the counter didn’t seem to see anything wrong with her appearance.
“Ah, Mr. Saxton. Welcome back to Grass Valley, sir.”
“Thank you, Ben. Is Hock’s still the best store for women’s clothes?”
“Yep. Men’s too. But I’ll betcha that old Bernie is out watching that famous dancer woman.”
“We’ll give him a while to enjoy himself properly,” Delaney said. “Could you send up some hot bathwater for my wife and me?”
“Certainly, Mr. Saxton. Welcome to Grass Valley, Mrs. Saxton.”
“It’s nice that some things don’t change. I didn’t think Ben would last, but he’s still here. I think Davidson gave him part-ownership to keep him from leaving for the mines. Ah, here’s our room, love.”
At least, Chauncey thought, her gaze roving about the boxlike room, everything looked clean. There was a simple oak armoire that looked as if it had been built two days before. The wood smelled quite fresh. A small basin on a commode, a good-size bed with a quilted cotton counterpane, and a hooked wool rug made up the rest of the furnishings.
“Ah, to be home,” she said, grinning at her husband.
“Have I married a snob?” he asked, a brow arched upward.
“Look at me closely and ask that question again!”
There were several women in Hock’s General Store and they blinked at Chauncey’s clothes, but their look wasn’t at all disapproving, only curious. As for the men, they didn’t seem to see anything out of the ordinary. One of them even tipped his felt hat at her. If I were seen like this in London, Chauncey thought in some amusement, there would be a riot! As for “old” Bernie, he was all of forty, as round as he was tall, and had a merry smile.
“We’ll fix both of you right up, Del!”
And he did. The two gowns Chauncey decided on were made of sturdy cotton, as were all the underthings. No silks or satins, my girl, she said to herself, smiling at a particularly flashy gingham skirt.
Even as she smiled and nodded or shook her head as old Bernie presented her with different garments, she felt raw fear eating away at her. She wouldn’t let Del face Paul Montgomery alone. She couldn’t.