orderly, the furnishings were well cared for and everything about the place spoke of top-quality craftsmanship. How much would it be worth if she wanted to purchase Mr. Allen’s share?
Elizabeth descended the front stairs and found a man seated behind the counter, his keen gaze following her every step. As she approached, he stood and nodded a clumsy greeting. He was a tall man—taller than most she’d ever met. His beefy hands and balding head were the first things she noticed about him, but despite his size, a simple kindness emanated from his hazel eyes.
“Good morning, miss.” His voice hinted at a lack of education. “Are ya one of them Bell sisters?”
“I am Elizabeth Bell.” She extended her hand and watched in amazement as it was swallowed up inside his.
“I’m Pascal Doucette.” He pumped her hand up and down.
She pulled her hand away and held it by her side—surprised it had returned to her unharmed from his massive grip. “Are you the night watchman?”
“I am, miss. But I do lots o’ other things for Mr. Jude.”
“What things do you do?”
“Well, I watch out for the ladies.”
Elizabeth frowned. “What ladies?”
“Violet—and the others when they lived here.”
“Who is Violet?”
“The lady Mr. Jude brought here.” Pascal stood a little straighter, his eyes going round. “Didn’t Mr. Jude tell you about them ladies?”
She shook her head. “Will you tell me?”
Pascal took a step back and put up his hands, concern deepening the wrinkles on his high forehead. “There’s nothing to tell, miss. Nothing, at all.”
What was he talking about? Who was Violet and where had Jude brought her from? “Does Violet work in the hotel?”
Pascal looked all around the lobby, everywhere except at her. He reminded her of a cornered animal and she decided to leave him be for the moment. Soon enough she’d have Mr. Allen answer her questions.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doucette.”
“Call me Pascal, same as everyone else.”
“All right, Mr. Pascal.” She left him and walked down the hall, past the double doors leading into the ballroom, past a few single doors she assumed were sitting rooms and into the large dining room. At least two dozen tables were scattered about, and ferns filled every corner. A bank of windows lined one wall facing the street, with sheer curtains draping from brass rods. White linen cloths covered the tables and a single, unlit candle stood in the center of each.
Elizabeth was surprised to find that she wasn’t the first person awake. Already there were three men seated in the room, steaming cups of coffee and large plates of flapjacks before them.
She felt their gazes as she passed through and pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen.
The aroma of coffee filled the room and she inhaled a deep breath. The smell invigorated her and gave her some much-needed energy.
“Morning, lovey. You’re up early.” Martha stood at the stove turning a flapjack. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Another woman sat in the room, polishing silverware, but she paused in her work to stare at Elizabeth. She had bright red hair and brown eyes. At first glance, Elizabeth assumed she was a young woman, but the lines around her hard eyes made her look much older.
Martha glanced at the woman and then wiped her hands on her apron. “Miss Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Miss Violet.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Elizabeth said, offering her hand.
Violet put out her hand and shook Elizabeth’s with a force that surprised her.
So, this was Violet. Something about the woman didn’t settle right in Elizabeth’s mind. “Do you work here?” she asked.
“Yes, miss.”
It was a simple answer and Elizabeth waited for more of a response, but none came. “What do you do?”
Violet continued to polish a spoon. “Whatever needs to be done. Mostly I clean.”
“Don’t let her modesty fool you,” Martha said with a merry laugh. “She’s invaluable to us.”
“How long have you worked here?”
Violet looked to Martha and Martha hurriedly said, “Long enough to know she’s one of the best maids we’ve ever had.”
So far, Elizabeth had counted three employees at the hotel—four, including Mr. Allen. Were there more?
The door swung open and Mr. Allen appeared with a freshly shaved face, the pleasant scent of cologne preceding him into the room.
He scanned the kitchen and his handsome gaze stopped on Elizabeth. “Pascal told me he met you and that you came in this direction.” He let the door close behind him. “I see you’ve also met Violet.”
“I have.” She took a step closer to him and said quietly. “Are there any more employees I need to know about?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Martha placed a flapjack on a plate. “Will you have some breakfast before you go see Mr. Hall?”
“Mr. Hall?” Elizabeth asked.
“Roald Hall,” Jude supplied as he took the plate from Martha. “My attorney.”
Elizabeth touched the letter in her pocket, hoping the law would be on her side.
They ate in the kitchen, and when they were finished, she followed Jude out of the hotel and into the bright sunshine. The morning was cool, though humidity hung in the air and promised to bring more warmth later.
The Northern stood on the northwest corner of what appeared to be a main intersection. Wide streets fanned out in all four directions, the hard-packed dirt filled with deep wagon ruts crisscrossing from one side to the other. Dozens of clapboard buildings, some complete with false fronts and others fashioned in the same Greek Revival style as the Northern, lined every street, with wooden boardwalks connecting them together. It looked like many of the frontier towns they had passed on their way from Illinois to Minnesota—but it boasted something most others lacked: the rushing waters of the Upper Mississippi River.
“Mr. Hall’s office is near the ravine.” Mr. Allen motioned for her to cross the road.
“Ravine?”
“It’s an old river bed running through the eastern edge of town.”
They crossed the street, and as soon as they rounded a building on the corner, she was able to glimpse the landmark he’d referenced.
A bridge crossed the ravine, with wooden
