Lady X's Cowboy (12 page)

She shot him a quick, secretive grin, and said on a whisper,  “It was!  I missed my husband, but I found myself just sitting, day after day, with nothing to do but contemplate my solitude.  It was as though”—she glanced around, careful to be sure that no one was listening—“I had been buried, too.  Buried alive.”  She pressed a gloved hand to her pale cheek.  “I’m not supposed to say things like that.”

“It’s the truth, ain’t it?”

“Perhaps that is what makes my feelings so unforgivable.”

Will faced her, right in the middle of the floor of the brewery.  “It ain’t right to take a healthy, spirited woman and stuff her away like an old horse blanket,” he said, seeming to surprise them both with the heat of his voice.  “The Navajo Indians mourn for four days, then they wash their hair with water and yucca root.  Then mournin’ is over.  They can join the rest of the world.  Doesn’t sound so bad to me.  And I don’t give a flyin’ fig for what anybody else thinks ’bout that.  Especially
society
.”

Several of the brewery employees stopped what they were doing and stared at Will and Olivia.  She, herself, was stunned by the vehemence of his words, the angry, crackling energy that filled his rangy body standing so close to hers. 

She took hold of his arm and began to lead him forward, away from the ogling employees, and felt his muscles bunch underneath her gloved hand.  A strong one, Will Coffin.  Stronger in his convictions than most people she knew, and unafraid to speak them.  But what was his anger right now directed towards?  Society?  Or the thought of her in mourning for David?  She wasn’t entirely certain.

“All the same,” she continued, “I knew that, in addition to my settlement, David had left me a brewery.  So I began to read about them when no one was around.  I had a good deal of time, so I read everything I could about the history, the latest technology, trade publications, all of it.  When the time came that I could leave off my mourning, I had resolved to take a struggling little brewery and turn it into something profitable.”

“And she has,” Huntworth put in, coming up behind them.  “We were skeptical at first, but Lady Xavier has tripled our earnings.”

“All luck,” she said with a self-deprecating shrug. 

“No, Lady Xavier,” Huntworth said, politely shaking his head.  “Though I would never had admitted it before, a woman may possess more talent than she is given credit for.  But,” he added hastily, “I would never say such things to those radicalists.”

They had reached the end of the large room, and stood in front of a frosted glass door with the word laboratory painted in gold on the front.

“This is another of Lady Xavier’s innovations.”  Huntworth opened the door.  Long shelves lined the small room, each covered with scientific equipment—tubes and microscopes, glass cases and scales.  Two men in long white coats tinkered away with the equipment.  Will looked even more incongruous here, amid the fragile laboratory equipment and harbingers of the modern world.

“Mr. Maidford,” Olivia said to one of the men, who looked up quickly from the experiment he was conducting, “how fares your research?”

“Very well, Lady Xavier,” he answered readily.  “I almost have this strain of yeast isolated.  In a few more days, I believe I will have a new species ready.”

“We’ll beat those chaps at Carlsberg,” Mr. Huntworth said.  He added, for Will’s benefit, “In Denmark, just this year, they have already introduced the first absolutely pure brewers’ yeast culture, but we aren’t far behind, are we, Lady Xavier?”

“Thanks to Mr. Maidford’s assistance,” she answered.

Will whistled softly.  “I didn’t know that chemistry had anythin’ to do with beer.”

“Brewing is all chemistry.”  She bent down and put her eye to the lens of a microscope, then motioned Will over to do the same.  He pushed his hat back and looked, then jumped back in astonishment.

“It looks like an empty blob of water,” he said, flabbergasted, “but it ain’t.  Tiny critters live in there.”

“Several years ago Louis Pasteur wrote a fascinating book on the subject,
Études sur la bière
.  He’s doing amazing work with yeast and the reproduction of microscopic organisms.”

“We’ve all read it,” Maidford said before diving back into his work.

Will picked up a test tube, which looked like a toy in his hand, and studied its contents.  “Funny,” he murmured, swirling the yeast sample around.  “A cowpuncher doesn’t know about half this stuff when he bellies up to a bar and orders a beer.  He’s just hot and thirsty.  And then there’s all this”—he gestured around at the spotless laboratory—“makin’ that drink possible.”

“Science and progress is amazing,” she said.

More carefully than she would have thought possible, Will replaced the phial in its holder.  Ruefully, he said, “Yeah, but science and progress is also puttin’ guys like me out of work.”

“I never realized,” she said, surprised.

“They don’t write ’bout that in dime novels.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Lady Xavier.”  Huntworth gave a respectful bow.  “I must return to the brewery floor.”

“Of course.  Mr. Coffin and I will see ourselves out.”  Once the manager had gone, she and Will left the laboratory and began walking through the lower rooms towards the front gate.

“You’re a gambler, all right,” Will said after a pause.  When she looked mystified, he explained, “It looks like this whole place has been one big roll of the dice for you.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she murmured thoughtfully.

“This is a fine spread you got here.  And it looks like you really made the place.”

“Mr. Huntworth exaggerates my contributions.”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me.”

“Well,” she conceded, “I did invest a good deal of time and energy into Greywell’s.  At first, I did it to fill my time, give myself something to do with the long hours and endless days.  But in time, I came to love my work.  I felt, at last, as though I had found a purpose.  If I were to lose all this...”  Her voice trailed away as her brow furrowed. 

“Olivia—”

“Pryce wants Greywell’s because he believes brewing is easy money,” she said, interrupting him.  She burned with outrage, incensed, forceful.  “That’s what he told me at our first meeting.  He just wants cash.  And I also think he wants whatever isn’t his, like a child.  If you have something that he doesn’t, and you won’t give it to him, he throws a tantrum.”  She shook her head.  “A dangerous tantrum that could ruin me.”

Will sighed and stopped walking.  He leaned against the wall and looked out the large window into one of the yards that surrounded the brewery, arms folded across his chest.  Men were unloading empty barrels from wagons and rolling them down the pavement to be filled up again inside.  She watched the activity, too, standing beside him.  He’d withdrawn, and she could almost see the furious activity of his mind as he absently watched the yard.  He might not have the education of the men she knew, but Will Coffin was just as intelligent, if not more so, than those men.

“Will?” 

“Aw, Liv,” he muttered, and the shortening of her name glimmered through her, “you’ve got me in a bind.”  He turned to look at her, and the pale gray light sculpted his face like an artist.  The square line of his jaw worked reflexively in thought.  “I ain’t keen on takin’ up someone else’s fight.  It makes a body’s life too messy.”

She tried to mask her disappointment, and said levelly, “I see,” but it was a failing struggle.  Her throat tightened.  He would leave.  She would face Pryce alone.  The tiredness that afflicted her began to seep back into her bones.

He turned to look back at the yard, still full of activity.  His eyes moved restlessly, not lingering on any one thing too long.  “But,” he continued, “life’s messy, no matter what.”

A stab of hope, almost painful, pierced her.  “What do you mean?”

Will shifted his gaze again to her.  “I wouldn’t be much of a man if I saw a lady in need and turned my back on her.  I don’t want to turn my back on
you
, Liv.  It’d be wrong.  And,” he added with a wry smile, “I wouldn’t be worth my salt in those cowboy books you read if I didn’t hold to the ‘code of the West.’  I’m a better man than blowhard Bill Cody, that’s for damned sure.”

For a moment, she only stared at him, and then she threw her arms around him.  “Thank you, Will,” she breathed against the side of his neck.  First, she only experienced pure, unadulterated gratitude.  Her exhaustion slipped away.  And then, she became aware of something else.  She smelled him, through her mouth and nose.  Soap and tobacco and the warm undercurrent of male skin.  She was seized with the desire to run her tongue along the strong curve of his neck, discover what he tasted like, too.  But then she remembered.

Don’t spark with the help.
  That was the rule. 
Don’t make this any more complicated than it already is.

Before his own arms could come up, she stepped back.

“We shall get to work right away locating your family,” she said quickly, taking hold of his arm.  She hoped he didn’t see the pinking of her cheeks, but she could see a flush in his own and knew her face was even more transparent.  They began to walk again towards the front of the brewery.  “I promise I’ll help you find them.  It doesn’t matter if they are marquises or mudlarks,” she vowed, “we will track them down.”

They had reached the door marked office, and she continued, “There is a friend of mine who will be very helpful in our search.  He is extraordinarily informed about all levels of English society.”

“What does he do?”

“Graham Lawford?”  She looked slightly mystified.  “I don’t know, actually.  Something that has to do with the government.  If you ask me,” she added lowly as Will bent closer, “he’s a bit shady.”

Will narrowed his eyes.  “Can we trust him?”

“Of course,” she answered, confident.  “I have known him for many, many years.  He was a friend of my older brother’s at university and he would spend holidays with my family because we liked him so well.”

“If you say so,” was all he answered, and opened the door to the office—

To find Graham standing there, glaring at Will and looking quite dangerous.  He was wearing his usual attire of a dark charcoal gray suit, immaculately tailored to his large frame, without much ornamentation save the silver watch fob on his black silk vest.  With his dark hair, light eyes, severe aquiline nose and cheekbones, and penchant for somber clothing, Graham always made an impression.  If she didn’t know him very well, she would have been intimidated by his air of intensity.  But this was Graham, and too much time had passed for her to feel any more trepidation around him.

But she could feel Will tense up immediately beside her.  She thought for half a moment that the two men might spring on each other like wolves.

“Graham!”  She came forward and took his hand, trying as best as she could to dispel the tension.  “I was just about to write you.  What brings you to Greywell’s?”

Still squinting at Will, Graham answered, “Some of my men told me there had been trouble here this morning.”  He broke his eyes away from Will and looked down at Olivia, and his gaze turned from cold and hard to warm and affectionate in an instant.  “I came as soon as I could.  Are you all right?”

“Yes, marvelous,” she answered.  “Will...Mr. Coffin was here and he handled the situation wonderfully.”  Turning to Will, she smiled and motioned for him to join them.  Will took a few guarded steps forward.  “Graham, may I introduce Mr. Will Coffin from Colorado.  Will, this is my old friend Mr. Graham Lawford.”

“Pleasure,” Will said tightly, shaking hands.

“Likewise,” Graham replied through his teeth.  They each released the other’s hand as though dropping something dead onto the floor.

“You say you were going to write me,” Graham said, turning to her.  She could see him immediately shift into the role of a protective older brother.  “Is there anything you need?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.  Mr. Coffin and I require your services, if you can spare them.”

“For you, anything,” Graham answered directly, which seemed to imply that he wasn’t interested in helping Will, only her. 

She explained as concisely as possible the nature of Will’s search, with Will filling in a few details where necessary.  Graham listened attentively, nodding and asking a couple of questions.  Will showed Graham the scrap of letter his father had written, clearly unhappy to part with the document.  But she saw that he was grudgingly pleased to see Graham handle the letter very carefully, acknowledging that it was, as far as Will was concerned, a priceless family heirloom. 

“Unfortunately, it isn’t much to go on,” Graham finally concluded, “but,” he added when she looked downcast, “I have worked with far less.  I’ll have to borrow this letter for a few days to analyze it.”

“What’s there to analyze?” Will demanded, suspicious.  “It’s just a letter.”

“Among other things, Graham is an alienist,” Olivia explained.  “He uses a rather unconventional analytical approach to discover things about people.”

“I can study the kind of paper the letter is written on, the ink, and even the handwriting to see who wrote it and where they come from,” Graham said.  “It’s a new science, but it has been used in certain investigations for Scotland Yard.”

“All right,” Will said, grudging respect in his voice.  “But I want it back.”

Tucking the letter into his pocket, Graham gave a slight bow, almost mocking.  His words, however, were serious.  “As you are a friend of Olivia’s, I will do everything in my power to assist you.  And your letter will be returned, unharmed.  Now, if you will excuse us, I need to speak with her in private.”

She could see Will hesitate, unwilling to leave her in the company of a man he so obviously distrusted, but she gave him a reassuring smile.  “It will be fine.  You can wait for me outside, if you like.  Or the carriage can take you home and Graham can give me a ride back.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Will said, and she thought he directed his last words towards Graham, “and we can ride home together.”

The look Lawford gave him would have torn a lesser man into vulture feed, but Will didn’t back down.  With a big grin that he didn’t quite feel, staring right into Lawford’s chilly eyes, Will left the office, closing the door behind him.  He almost lingered outside the door to catch whatever they were saying to each other, but he wasn’t such a low-down bastard that he’d snoop.  Reluctantly, he went outside to the front yard, where Olivia’s carriage waited.