The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Vicki Delany
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I checked my watch. No point in putting him to bed: Mrs. Mann would be rattling pans, stoking the stove, and gathering up breakfast things in less than an hour. And then it would be time for Angus to head off to his job at the store. “Good night, my dearest.” I touched the tousled blond curls. He looked more like his father every day.
I went to my room, trying not to make a sound and without lighting a lamp.
Chapter Thirty-One
Angus listened to his mother’s door closing, and the soft swish of fabric as her clothes dropped to the floor. Water splashed and bedsprings creaked and she sighed once, heavily. Then all fell quiet. Angus’s mother was a very sound sleeper. Bit of bad luck, her coming in on him like that. But tonight she’d got home later than usual, and Angus dared wait no longer. He’d been stuffing the last bit of food into his pack when he’d heard her footsteps on the path and her gentle voice talking to some man.
He’d shoved the pack under the kitchen table before falling into a chair and pretending to be asleep. Only when he’d heard the door opening did he remember the note he’d left on the table for her to find in the morning. Fortunately, the house lights were all off, and in the gloom she hadn’t seen the paper.
He gathered his pack and settled it over his shoulders. He tried to open the kitchen door quietly and winced as the hinges creaked. He slipped into the weak light of dawn. They’d be furious, for sure, his mother and Mr. Mann. But Angus couldn’t face another day in that store.
The town that scarcely slept was stirring back to life as he walked through the streets. Shopkeepers, cooks and housewives were already going about their chores. Drunks staggered back to their lodgings and eager men marched through town heading for the gold fields.
Angus arrived at the Fort Herchmer gates close to seven thirty and sat on a boulder to wait, not wanting to think about what would happen if he were too late or if plans had changed at the last minute. He mentally reviewed the contents of his pack—one change of clothes, a blanket, extra socks, bread and cheese, some cold meat and dried apples. He’d been careful to take no more food than he would have eaten had he stayed behind, although he couldn’t resist grabbing the tin of yesterday’s scones.
Traffic to and from the fort was light at this time of day, and no one paid undue attention to the boy sitting off to one side.
Angus didn’t have a watch, and he was beginning to fear that he’d missed his quarry, when at last he saw Constable Sterling approaching, leading a big white dog with a twosided pack draped across its back. The Mountie’s step was strong and determined: a man setting out on a long journey.
Angus stood up and waited, his heart pounding and his hands sweating.
Sterling’s eyes widened in surprise. “Morning, Angus. What brings you here, son?”
“I’m ready to go with you, sir,” Angus shouted. He cleared his throat and tried to lower his voice. “To Bonanza Creek.”
“What are you talking about? You can’t come with me. I’m on NWMP business.”
“I know that, sir. I’ll keep you company.”
“I don’t need company, Angus.”
“I want to be in the Mounties, sir, just like you. You said you’d show me what policing’s like.”
Sterling touched the big dog on the head, and it dropped to its haunches. “In a few more years, Angus. You’re still a boy. Give it time.”
“What other chance will I have to go to the gold fields, sir? And to watch a real police investigation? I won’t get in the way. Really I won’t. I can help you.” Angus eyed the dog. “With your pack and things.”
“Does your mother know you’re here?” “Yes, sir. She says it’s all right. She knows I want to be a Mountie some day.” He dug into his pocket. “Here’s a letter.” He handed the scrap of paper over.
Sterling took it with a frown, smoothed out the wrinkles and read.
Angus forced himself to keep breathing. The letter said that Angus was welcome to accompany Constable Sterling on his journey to Bonanza and Eldorado Creeks in the performance of his police duties. She, Mrs. MacGillivray, believed that the experience would be good for a cityraised, fatherless boy with ambitions of joining the NWMP.
Sterling tucked the letter into his jacket pocket.
“I came over the Pass, sir,” Angus said. “I know how to travel in the wilderness.”
“This is Mrs. Miller.” Sterling nodded to the dog, now sniffing at a tuff of grass. “Named for the prune-faced wife of the meanest son-of-a-gun ever to grace Her Majesty’s Service. We call her Millie. Millie won’t carry your things.”
“No, sir.”
“I can’t feed you; I didn’t bring enough for two. Three, counting Millie.”
“That’s all right, sir. I have my own.” Angus patted his pack.
“How much?”
“Enough for five days, sir.”
“Any money?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What else do you have in there?”
“Two pairs of socks. Change of clothes. Blanket. Some bandages.”
“That should be enough. You understand that you do what I tell you, when I tell you, without a word of disagreement?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is probably a wasted trip. We’ll spend a couple of days nosing around the Creeks looking for this fellow Stewart then come back. I’ve little doubt the man we’re looking for will confirm Walker’s story. If we manage to find him, which may not be easy. So I’ll let you come. But don’t assume it’ll happen again, Angus. Police work isn’t done for a lark.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no sir.”
“Let’s go. It’s a long trail, and it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to other than Millie.” Sterling pulled at the lead and murmured to the dog. Millie set off at a trot, her bushy tail wagging cheerfully.
Angus shifted his pack and fell into step. It had worked! He’d counted on the fact that it was unlikely his mother had ever written a letter to Constable Sterling. He’d tried to give the handwriting a feminine slant, with a light touch of the pen and a flourish here and there, but he feared that he’d overdone it.
If his mother and Constable Sterling ever got together to discuss this letter, he’d be in real trouble. But he’d worry about that when the time came.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I was dreaming that I was in the Savoy, the real Savoy, the luxurious hotel in London, and the Prince of Wales was on his knees, serving me champagne in the tall black boot of an officer of the Horseguards, when a knock on the door of my bedroom had me struggling to consciousness.
“What, what!” I shouted.
“Pardon me, Mrs. MacGillivray, but Mr. Mann wants to have a word with you before leaving for work.”
I leaned out of bed and fumbled for the dress I’d worn last night, lying in a heap on the floor. My sleepy fingers found the watch still fastened to the waist band. I flipped it open and squinted at the delicate face. Eight o’clock. I’d been asleep for barely an hour.
“Mrs. Mann, this matter will have to wait. I am still asleep. I got in late last night—this morning that is.”
“Mr. Mann insists he must speak with you, Mrs. MacGillivray.”
“Tell him I’ll stop by the shop on my way to work later this morning.” I dropped the dress and the watch and snuggled back under the covers.
“Angus is gone,”