heart thumped at the thought.
“I believe Charles is responsible. He and Willow have begun inviting a few of the married men to their home. After plying them with Willow’s cookies, they’ve outlined how they hope to persuade Batchwell and Bottoms to change the rules. So far, their efforts seem to be working.”
“Wonderful. Are you ready for your lunch with Mr. Bottoms, Iona?”
The woman’s cheeks grew pink. “I’ve made a special meal complete with his favorite dried cherry pie for dessert.”
“And you’ll remember to subtly ask him for information on his views about the effect the women have had on the community?”
“Yes. I made up a little card with possible questions which I’ll keep tucked in my pocket. If I need to, I can peek at it under the table.”
Lydia reached to squeeze the woman’s hand, knowing that Iona felt uncomfortable being thrown into the role of femme fatale. But of the two owners, Bottoms was the most approachable, and Lydia had noticed of late that he seemed to follow Iona with his eyes. In Lydia’s opinion, that spark of interest should be encouraged.
“Very smart, even if I doubt you’ll need the prompts. Somehow, I think that you and Mr. Bottoms will catch on like a house afire.”
Again, the older woman’s cheeks flushed and Lydia knew that Mr. Bottoms wasn’t the only one anticipating the lunch alone.
“Have we had any progress infiltrating Mr. Batchwell’s home?”
Marie nodded. “A few days ago. He’s been kept abed with his leg, and up to this point, the only people he’s allowed inside have been the man he’s got working as his personal servant and a few mining officials—including Charles Wanlass.”
“My, my, my. Charles has been a busy boy, hasn’t he?”
“As the temporary Mine Superintendent as well as lay pastor, Charles has had plenty of excuses to go to the top of the hill,” Marie said with a sly grin. “Anyhow, for the last few days, he’s brought Willow with him.”
Lydia’s brows rose. When Willow and Charles had impulsively claimed a pair of abandoned twins as their own, Mr. Batchwell had proved to be their most formidable foe. Although Willow had never said as much, Lydia knew that the brusque, burly man had secretly terrified her. But after Charles had openly declared he would rather lose his job than Willow, she’d gained a wealth of confidence which, apparently, had extended to her relationship with Mr. Batchwell.
“Anyway, you know Willow. At first, she tut-tutted about his leg, then about the state of his house, then about how cold his meals were once they were brought up from the cook shack. She’s been going up for an hour or so every day since then to cook and tidy things up. According to her, Mr. Batchwell is as grumpy as ever, but he does seem secretly appreciative of her help.”
Lydia clapped her hands together, then rubbed them as she thought things over.
“It sounds like our efforts are coming along much better than I’d imagined—and just in time, too.” They had over sixty men purposely staying off the job through a fictional quarantine. Mr. Bottoms was about to be courted, and a spy had been inserted into Batchwell’s home.
The entire situation was better than she could have ever hoped. But there still remained one opponent who could bring their plan down before it could do any good.
Gideon Gault.
He’d already made his views clear on the situation. He would never come to the women’s aid. Not willingly.
Which meant that something had to be done about the man.
And much as she hated to admit it, Lydia needed to be the one to do it.
Quincy Winslow stepped into the Pinkerton Office. He swept his hat from his head and thrust his fingers through his hair.
“We’ve got another warm afternoon on our hands, Boss.”
Gideon leaned back in his chair. After several hours of doing paperwork and payroll vouchers, he found himself grateful for the interruption. He knew that once the sun came out, he’d feel the same itching as his men to get out of doors and get something done.
“Any sign of Willems and Arbach?”
“Yeah. They were down in the tunnels. They took over Hansen’s and Clemente’s shifts.”
Gideon rubbed the aching spot between his brows. “Then where are Hansen and Clemente?”
“They’ve got the measles.”
“What?”
Gideon knew that Jonah Ramsey, the Mine Superintendent, had been diagnosed with measles by his wife, the only doctor in the area. But as far as he knew, keeping Jonah at home had managed to control the contagious illness.
“Yeah, they’re being quarantined in the Miners’ Hall with a few dozen men. From what I hear, there’s more at the infirmary.”
“How did that happen?”
Winslow shrugged. “The whole thing seems to have come on rather sudden. Some of the women have volunteered to nurse the men and keep the others away. They hung up signs to warn everybody off.”
Measles. How the illness had managed to take root this late in the season—after months spent isolated from the outside world—Gideon didn’t know. But he’d lost two good men.
“Have Tabbington and York come see me.”
“They’re quarantined, too.”
Gideon blinked at him. “You’re kidding.”
“And Billingsly.”
That was five men gone—five men that he couldn’t afford to lose.
“Is that it?”
“As far as I’ve been able to tell.”
Knowing that it would be useless to finish up his paperwork, Gideon pushed himself to his feet and snagged his hat on the way out of the door.
“Where you going, boss?”
“I think it’s time I got to the bottom of this.”
The sun was warm against his face as he strode onto the boardwalk—making the air feel more like mid-May than the end of February. At this rate, they wouldn’t be worrying about how long the pass would take to open up, they’d be worrying about flooding.
Gideon made a mental note to take another ride through the mouth of the canyon. This time, he wouldn’t only be checking the road. He’d be examining the nearby stream as well. He knew full well that the Aspen River was already close to capacity. If the snowpack melted any faster, it would soon overflow its banks and Bachelor Bottoms would have a whole new problem on its hands.
Every
