“Oh, indeed! I’ve never been so…so insulted!”
“Now hold on a minute,” he said. “It was a natural mistake.”
“No one else has ever mistaken me for a purveyor of fallen women.”
“Maybe not, but I meant no offense.” She would probably just be more upset if he told her that he had known some madams who were fine women. The salt of the earth, in fact. She wouldn’t think that was possible. So he went on. “I’ve heard about such things, even known some fellas who sent off for brides like that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”
“Well, I’m so glad my business meets with your approval, Mr. Morgan.”
Frank glanced at Captain Hoffman, who seemed to be having a hard time not laughing at him. He supposed the situation was a mite comical. It would have been more so, though, if it hadn’t been brought about by the death of a friend.
“Is there someplace Mrs. Devereaux and I can talk in private, Captain?”
Fiona said, “I’m not sure we have anything to discuss.”
“I made a promise to an old amigo, and I intend to carry it out.”
Hoffman said, “You can talk in my cabin, if Mrs. Devereaux agrees.”
Fiona sniffed. “I suppose it woudn’t hurt anything to hear you out,” she said with obvious reluctance.
“Thanks,” Frank said. He nodded to Hoffman. “Captain?”
“Follow me, please.”
He led them down to the main deck and opened a door that revealed some more stairs, heading down this time. They descended into a corridor with several doors on each side. Hoffman opened one of them and stepped back, holding out a hand to usher them inside.
Fiona went in first, followed by Frank. The cabin wasn’t very large, especially considering the fact that it belonged to the captain, but Frank supposed that space was at a premium on board a ship. There was a narrow bunk, a comfortable-looking chair, and a table strewn with maps, along with a sextant and some other things that Frank didn’t recognize but supposed were navigation instruments.
“I’m sorry, it’s not very fancy,” Hoffman said, “but make yourself at home anyway. I’ll be topside, if you need me.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Fiona said. She waited until Hoffman was gone, then put her handbag on the table, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked steadily at Frank. “I think I’d like to know more about your relationship with Jacob Trench, Mr. Morgan.”
“Wasn’t really a relationship,” Frank said with a shrug. “We ran into each other a few times over the years. For all its size, the West is a smaller place than you might think. Jacob and I backed each other’s play a few times, when there was trouble. Out here, that makes a man your friend. Last time I saw him was in New Mexico Territory, ten or twelve years ago.”
“And was there trouble then?”
“There was. He was running a freight line, and outlaws were raising he—I mean, stealing shipments from him. I helped him put a stop to that.”
“How?”
Frank smiled. “Well, there are some folks who seem to think that I’m pretty good with a gun.”
“Are you saying that you’re a…gunfighter?”
“Yes, ma’am. For want of a better term, I reckon I am.”
“Then you’re as capable of handling trouble as Mr. Trench was?” Fiona didn’t give him a chance to answer the question. Instead she shook her head and went on. “Of course you are. You must be more capable. You’re still alive, and Mr. Trench isn’t.”
“One thing doesn’t always follow the other. There’s some luck involved sometimes, too. But yeah, not bragging or anything, I can take care of myself. I can handle the job of guarding you and those mail-order brides of yours, too.”
“You sound quite confident.”
“If a man’s honest with himself,” Frank said, “he knows what he can and can’t do.”
She looked at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. “I suppose that’s true. It’s true of a woman, as well.” A smile curved her lips. “And I know that I’m not capable of taking a dozen young, eligible ladies all the way to Whitehorse by myself.”
“Whitehorse? I thought you were going to Skagway.”
“That’s just the first stop,” Fiona explained. “Our ultimate destination is the settlement of Whitehorse. That’s across the border in Canada, in the Klondike country, where the most valuable gold diggings are. From what I’ve heard, the terrain is very rugged. We’ll have to cross over something called Chilkoot Pass to get there.”
Frank didn’t know anything about the geography of Alaska or Canada, but he supposed he could learn. It was also possible that they could pick up a good guide when they got to Skagway. His job would just be to make sure that Fiona and her charges were safe…assuming, of course, that she agreed to let him come along.
If she didn’t…well, he might have to try to follow them and keep them safe, anyway. A promise was a promise.
She seemed more amenable to the idea now, though. She had said we when she was talking about crossing Chilkoot Pass, wherever that was. So he said, “I give you my word I’ll do my best to get you there safely, ma’am.”
“Oh, for goodness sake. Don’t ma’am me. And you don’t have to call me Mrs. Devereaux, either.” She laughed softly. “We shared a very pleasant dinner last night with you calling me Fiona. I don’t suppose there’s any real reason to change that. Especially not if we’re going to be traveling together.”
“You’re agreeable to that, then?”
“Well…I think I’d like to attend that inquest after all. If you’re going to be with us for hundreds of miles, I think I should be sure you’ve been officially cleared of any wrongdoing.”
Frank fished his pocket watch from his jeans and flipped it open. “I reckon we’d better be going, then. It’s closing in on eleven o’clock.”
He opened the door and let her precede him back to the deck. They paused there to look up at the bridge, where Captain Hoffman stood with his hands on the railing around it.
“Captain, it appears that Mr. Morgan will probably be joining my party after all,” Fiona said.
Hoffman tugged on the brim of his cap. “Aye, ma’am. Whatever you say. That’s your business.”
Fiona smiled. “It certainly is.”
As they left the ship, they passed the officer called Brewster, who was still at the head of the gangplank. He smiled and nodded to Fiona, then glared darkly at Frank, who just gave him a cool, level stare in return. Brewster didn’t like him, and Frank didn’t give a damn one way or the other.
As they walked away from the waterfront, Frank said, “I’ll have to talk to the captain about my horses. I hope the ship can accommodate them.”
“You’re bringing horses along?”
“We’ll have to have some sort of transportation once we get to Alaska.”
“Well, certainly, but I assumed we could hire a couple of wagons once we get there.”
“Wagons may not be able to get over Chilkoot Pass,” Frank pointed out. “We’ll have to look into that. You and the ladies may have to ride all the way to Whitehorse. Seems like I’ve heard that they sometimes use dogsleds to get around up there, too, but only when there’s a lot of snow on the ground.”
“There’ll be a lot to figure out once we get there, won’t there?”
“Yes, ma’am…I mean, Fiona.”
“And I’ll call you Frank.”
“Fine by me.”
“There’s one thing you haven’t mentioned, Frank…your wages.”
He chuckled. “To tell you the truth, I hadn’t even thought about it. Whatever you were going to pay Jacob will be fine by me.”
He didn’t try to explain to her that he wasn’t doing it for the money, that he already had more money than he could ever possibly spend. That would just complicate matters unnecessarily. All he really cared about was keeping his word to Trench.
“We can discuss that,” Fiona said. “Isn’t that the courthouse up ahead?”