Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [195]
A man in a tailed coat, striped trousers and top hat was walking arm in arm with a woman wearing white muslin and a large pin hat trimmed with roses, seemingly unaware that her dress was trailing in the dust. Another woman in a very elegant brocade jacket and toning skirt was perched on a leather trunk, the kind Beth had only ever seen being carried from first class on the ship coming to America.
There were similarly well-dressed men and women everywhere, and she couldn’t imagine why they had come. What did they hope to find in this little pioneer town which was cut off from the Outside for eight months of the year?
As they began to walk down Front Street, Beth carrying her fiddle and one small bag, and Jack carrying the rest of their belongings, she felt as if she was having one of those strange dreams where she was in a familiar place, but nothing was as it should be.
It had been like that since they woke preparing themselves for buying the very cheapest tickets out of here, and a struggle ahead of them in Vancouver.
Then, without any warning, they were rich.
While that was the best of surprises, there was sadness too at saying goodbye to a place where they’d found so much happiness. Then, after the emotional farewell to Oz, they rowed here, an eerie reminder of how they had arrived a year earlier, still wrapped in grief at losing Sam.
Last year, as they’d walked down this very street in thick mud, they’d been cheechakos, the local word for greenhorns, excited, frightened, weary, expectant and totally confused. Dawson City had changed them. It couldn’t have been otherwise for it was like being thrown into a huge mixer where the outrageous characters, the dawn-to-dusk frivolity, hardships, overcrowding, lax morality and visions of fortunes being made tossed everyone out slightly changed.
Beth wondered now if she would ever be able to fit into conventional society again. She had been mulling this thought over on the boat ride, hardly speaking at all, and as Jack had been silent too she guessed he was as apprehensive about coming back here as she was.
‘We’ll be fine, we’ve got each other,’ Jack said suddenly, as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘If we want, we can leave on the very next boat.’
Beth flashed a grateful smile at him. She found it remarkable that he always seemed to know what she was thinking.
At eight that evening, they were almost ready to go out and look around the town. They had been given one of the best rooms at the Fairview. It was sumptuous, with a thick carpet, fancy French furniture, a feather mattress and velvet drapes at the window. Beth thought cynically that it was a shame the owners hadn’t made any effort to make the interior walls more robust. She and Jack could hear every word the people in the next room were saying.
They’d collected Beth’s clothes from the restaurant, cashed the banker’s draft, and Jack had bought a smart new suit, had his hair cut and his best shoes polished.
Beth was tying his bow tie for him when a knock came on the door. Jack opened it to find the young uniformed bellboy holding out a letter. ‘This came for Miss Bolton,’ he said. ‘They said I was to wait for your reply.’
Surprised and puzzled, Beth opened it to see it was from Percy Turnball, the current owner of the Monte Carlo.
Dear Miss Bolton, she read.
I was delighted to hear the news that you and Mr Child are back in town. I would consider it a very great honour if you would both come to the Monte Carlo tonight as my guests, and hope you might consider playing a couple of numbers for all those who have missed you so sorely. Your humble servant. P. Turnball.
She handed it to Jack to read. ‘What d’you think?’
‘Is he the Scotsman they used to call “Big Balls“?’ Jack asked. ‘The big bloke with a diamond tie pin who used to come in the Nugget?’
Beth giggled. Dolores had called him Percy the Pig, because he had very small dark eyes and a high colour. Like One Eye, he went in for loud checked