The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Vicki Delany

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СКАЧАТЬ 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,” she said.

      Mrs. Mann certainly knew how to get my attention.

      “I’ll be there in a minute.” I scrambled for robe and slippers and ran into the kitchen, not at all concerned that my unbound hair tumbled to the small of my back and my brilliant red dressing gown might not suit the Mann sense of propriety at the breakfast table.

      They sat at the scrubbed kitchen table. The kettle hissed on the stove, but otherwise there was no sign of breakfast preparations.

      Mrs. Mann handed me a scrap of paper. The handwriting I knew as well as my own:

      I have gone to the Creeks with Constable Sterling on a NWMP investigation. We will be back in a few days. I want to be a Mountie, not a shopkeeper. Sorry, Mr. Mann. Don’t worry, Mother. Your friend and loving son, Angus MacGillivray.

      I crumpled the paper in my hand and without a word returned to my room. In a blind fury, I washed my face and hands in the cold water in the bowl on the table. I put on drawers, petticoats and stockings and laced up my corset. I pulled a plain day dress over my head, not bothering to check for dust and stains. I stuffed my hair into pins without so much as a glance in the mirror and put on a hat I rarely wore because it was too large, with an ostentatious blue feather hanging off to one side and something resembling a pear plopped into the centre of the whole mess.

      The Manns tried not to stare as I walked back into the kitchen, my head held high, the blue feather bobbing. She was slicing bread for toast and had set a pot of oatmeal on the stove. He held spoon in hand, waiting for his breakfast.

      “I will sort this matter out, Mr. Mann,” I said, expressing a good deal more confidence than I felt. Holding my head high, I sailed through the door. Unfortunately, the blue feather caught on a splinter in the doorframe, and I had to spend a precious moment of righteous indignation freeing it.

      Wasn’t this the God-forsaken patch of earth! In London a lady would never find herself restrained by the woodwork.

      I set off across town, heading for Fort Herchmer. The ground fairly shook under the force of my footsteps. A few passing shopkeepers and dance hall customers of my acquaintance opened their mouths as if to extend me a good morning. They took one look at my face and spun on their heels.

      But gradually my steps began to falter. By the time I reached Fort Herchmer, I had slowed to an indecisive crawl. My original intention had been to march directly to the commander’s office and demand that a force be sent out to retrieve my son. And throw Constable Sterling in the brig, if that was what they called it here. Put him on bread and water and hard labour for a decade or two.

      But a sliver of common sense forced itself through my motherly indignation. It was highly unlikely any of this was Richard Sterling’s fault. No doubt Angus was, at this very moment, creeping along in the wake of the Mountie, hiding behind trees and boulders. Once they were too far from town to turn back easily, Angus would leap out and exclaim, “Imagine finding you here! May I join you?”

      The object of my rage shifted. What was that boy thinking? He’d be the one on bread and water. For the rest of his natural life.

      They couldn’t be far ahead of me. Angus had sat, pretending to be asleep, at the kitchen table not much over an hour ago. Now that I’d decided I would not send the full force of the law in pursuit of the constable, I considered going after them myself. I looked down at my boots. I was wearing the ones that I’d decided to throw out because they pinched. My chances of catching up with the longlegged Richard Sterling and the energetic twelve-year-old Angus were precisely nil.

      “Mrs. СКАЧАТЬ