Rosamunda's Revenge Read online

  She heard him ask incredulously, “Did that damned rat stick its tongue out at me?”

  The hotel clerk said, “Damn. I never seen no dog do that before.”

  Rosamunda was pleased.

  # # #

  Her pleasure dimmed as the week progressed and Tacita seemed unable to locate another man willing to lead her from Powder Gulch, New Mexico Territory, to San Francisco, a reputedly civilized city in what these idiotic humans called the state of California.

  Rosamunda was in a state herself, only she didn’t call it California. She called it downright annoyance. Time was, as she well knew, of the essence. She decided the dearth of qualified guides in Powder Gulch was typically irresponsible of humans who, she had discovered, were an irresponsible lot for the most part.

  Every day, Tacita left the hotel and journeyed to the few places in town where she might make appropriate inquiries. Rosamunda trotted along with her on her beribboned leading string, and considered herself game to do it. After all, the dust in this hellhole was almost as thick as she was tall.

  Every day around noontime they returned to the hotel for luncheon, since the hotel was the only place in town to secure a halfway decent meal. Tacita always brushed the dust out of Rosamunda’s prize-winning coat before they made their way to the dining room. Then, both Rosamunda and Tacita held their noses in the air when they passed the table where sat the dreadful Jedediah Hardcastle. In spite of their obvious animosity, he invariably smiled and tipped his hat. Rosamunda wanted to bite him. Tacita wouldn’t allow her to do such a sensible thing.

  People. Rosamunda would never understand them. Nor could she understand why so many of them chose to live in this perfectly vile place. She longed for the rolling green of her native Yorkshire countryside, for the pleasures of family life in the litter, and the fun she used to have with her brothers and sisters.

  Not, of course, that she didn’t worship the very ground Tacita Grantham trod upon. In fact, Rosamunda made it a point to squat and pee in Tacita’s tracks every now and then just to warn other dogs off.

  There were other dogs in this town, too. Every now and again Rosamunda spotted one. They were all of the variety favored by Jedediah Hardcastle: ugly, sloppy, enormous beasts without a refined bone in their bodies. Rosamunda would have taught them a lesson or two, but Tacita wouldn’t allow that, either.

  Every now and then, Rosamunda chafed at the restraints her beloved mistress placed upon her.

  # # #

  On the evening before Jedediah Hardcastle said he would be departing Powder Gulch, Tacita Grantham admitted defeat. She did so only to Rosamunda, and only when they were safely locked inside their miserable excuse for a hotel room.

  As she brushed Rosamunda’s silky hair, Tacita said sorrowfully, “I hate to do it, darling, but I can’t think of an alternative.”

  Rosamunda could. After all, what were dogs’ noses for if not to sniff out trails? Rosamunda was certain that, given a chance, she’d be able to sniff their way to San Francisco. She’d led her brothers and sisters all the way to the garden gate once back home. If she could do that, how could she miss a place as large as that silly city, San Francisco, was reputed to be?

  Sighing miserably, Tacita said, “Oh, my, I wish there were another way. But it’s a thousand miles at least from here to there, darling, and much of it will be over rough, uncivilized territory. Why, we might even encounter Indians on our journey before we get to where we can catch the train.”

  Rosamunda’s ears shot up. Indians! She’d heard about Indians. All she’d encountered on her journey to the garden gate was a hedgehog. Perhaps finding San Francisco might present more difficulties than she’d originally envisioned.

  “And practically every person in town has told me that Mr. Hardcastle is the best guide in the business.” She was really crabby about it, too; Rosamunda could tell.

  So was Rosamunda. Still, if there were such frightening objects to be encountered on this journey as Indians, well . . . She snuggled closer to her mistress, as much for her own comfort as Tacita’s.

  “I shall speak to him at breakfast tomorrow morning.” Tacita picked Rosamunda up, loving the warmth of her silken coat and the glow in her pretty black eyes. She loved her dog to distraction. In fact, Rosamunda was the first living thing in the world Tacita could truly call her own. Tacita would not fail her now; not after she’d come this far.

  The only other thing that truly belonged to her she wore on a chain around her neck: a beautiful jeweled charm her father had brought her from India. Tacita had all but worshipped her father. She’d known him far less well than she’d wanted to, and her heart ached now as she thought about him. Fingering her charm and feeling sad, she whispered, “Please don’t bite Mr. Hardcastle, darling.”

  Rosamunda had to think about it for a moment. It went against the grain to make a promise that would certainly be difficult to keep. On the other paw, when she stared into the blue eyes of her mistress and read the real distress there, she decided she could make the sacrifice.

  Tears welled in Tacita’s eyes when Rosamunda’s velvety pink tongue caressed her cheek.

  # # #

  There was no room in Tacita’s determined soul for tears the following morning. She had a duty to perform, and she would not be foiled. Tucking her dog under her arm, she marched into the dining room, full of purpose.

  As usual, Jedediah Hardcastle was there, a plate piled high with food on the table in front of him. And, as usual, the obnoxious man grinned at her and tipped his hat. Tacita had never been anywhere in her life where gentlemen sat at meals with their hats on. This territory was a dreadful place.

  “Mornin’, ma’am. Fair pretty day out.”

  “Humph,” said Tacita before she could stop herself. Then, stiffening her resolve, she stuffed away her annoyance at that all-too-knowing expression on his face, and forced a smile. “May I join you, Mr. Hardcastle?”

  He rose to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. “Please do, ma’am. It’d be right pleasant to have such a pretty face across from me whilst I eat my last meal here in Powder Gulch.”

  Surprised by his polite manners, Tacita smoothed her skirt with one hand while holding Rosamunda in the other. Once she’d settled her bustled bottom in the chair—no easy task unless one were well-trained, which, of course, she was—she put the dog in her lap. Then she folded her hands demurely and placed them on the edge of the table.

  “Care for something to eat, ma’am? It’d be my pleasure to buy you breakfast.”

  Surprised again, Tacita demurred. Her stomach churned too violently to allow room for food. “Thank you very much, Mr. Hardcastle. I shan’t eat quite yet, however.”

  He nodded. “If you expect to get to San Francisco in one piece, ma’am, you better get used to eatin’ when the opportunity presents itself. It won’t do it more’n once or twice a day.”

  Annoyance surged like an erupting volcano within her. She just hated his arrogant attitude. Again recalling the gravity of her mission, she swallowed her retort. Small wonder she couldn’t eat, she thought sourly. She was too busy digesting all the angry words she wanted to hurl at Jedediah Hardcastle.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes. Well, it is about that which I should like to speak with you this morning, Mr. Hardcastle, as a matter of fact.”

  “Figured it was.” He spread jam on another fragment of biscuit and popped it into his mouth.

  As he carved a piece of ham with his knife and daintily forked it into his mouth119

  His words annoyed her, though. The conceited beast. Pinching her lips together, she took another breath and used it to say, “Yes. I suppose you did. However, as it happens, you were correct in your assessment of the abilities of the men in Powder Gulch.”

  He nodded, chewing, and did not speak. She was glad for his forbearance.

  “So, if you are still inclined to take the job, I should like to hire you to lead us to San Francisco.”

  On the word “us,” Jed glanced
at Rosamunda. She bared her teeth, but didn’t growl. He sighed.

  “Your uncle’s letter said you have to get to San Francisco no later than the middle of July. Is that right, ma’am?”

  “Yes. The timing is of the utmost importance.” The thought of Edgar Jevington Reeve, waiting for her in San Francisco, made Tacita sit up straighter. She had to get there in time; another opportunity for such a successful match might never arise again.

  After all, Edgar’s reason for going to San Francisco wasn’t entirely for her sake, although he was, of course, as eager for the outcome as she. Still, he’d made it plain that he didn’t expect to remain there longer than it would take him to make arrangements for a grand tour of the Western Territories. And why anyone would want to tour them, Tacita had no idea. She did, however, decide that if she could only keep her goal in mind, perhaps she’d be able to tolerate the arduous journey with this barbarian.

  “Out of curiosity, ma’am, why didn’t this fellow you’re going to meet come and fetch you himself? Seems to me that if a fellow aims to set up with a female, it’s his lookout to see she gets to where he is.”

  Fury blazed within her so fast and so hot that Tacita forgot she was trying to be polite. “How dare you malign Edgar Jevington Reeve?” she shrilled, standing in a fluff of petticoats.

  She also forgot Rosamunda was on her lap. The dog slid down the stiff bombazine fabric of Tacita’s gown and landed with a small clatter of clatter of claws on the floor

  Because Rosamunda knew it was all Jedediah Hardcastle’s fault that her mistress was upset, she immediately lunged for him. He was sitting down this morning, so she almost managed to scrabble her way up his long calf to his knee, nipping the whole way, before a hand as broad as a Yorkshireman’s brogue engulfed her. She clung for several seconds to his trousers, but knew it was no use. Glowering at him, she allowed herself to be lifted away from his trouser leg. She eyed the tiny rips in his denims with satisfaction as she dangled in the air.

  Tacita snatched her out of the monster’s fist. “You beast! Stop abusing my beloved dog!”

  Jed looked up at her with an expression of annoyance on his face. For the first time, Tacita realized his face was handsome. Well, she amended, perhaps not handsome. Not in the way Edgar was handsome. Edgar, after all, was a paragon of manly graces and virtues. And Edgar, unlike this brute, loved Rosamunda.

  “Ma’am,” he said patiently. “I’m not a beast. I’m not abusing your dog. And I’m not mal—mal—whatever you said about that other fellow. I was just wondering, is all.”

  Tacita stood before him, rigid with wrath, for another several seconds. Then the dismal realization that she had no choice niggled its way past her anger and made her stomach churn again. Although it almost choked her, she sat again, resettling Rosamunda on her lap and petting her to soothe her agitated spirits.

  Jed directed his spoon at her. “I’ll tell you one thing, ma’am, and I don’t mean it cruel, but I think you’d best keep that animal off me. It don’t like me and I don’t like it, and I don’t aim to have it chew chunks out of any more of my hats nor bite holes in any more of my trousers. Not if you aim to hire me.”

  Tacita gritted her teeth and didn’t answer.

  Jed continued, “Now, I’ll guide you to San Francisco. And that Rosie of yours, too.”

  “Rosamunda,” Tacita muttered under her breath.

  “Whatever. It’s a long way and it’ll be hard going, and you ain’t—aren’t going to be wearing no fancy clothes and bustles. We’ll have to travel rough. Do you have some means of keeping that animal off the ground? I don’t aim to be held up waiting for a hairy rat to keep up with the horses and mules.”

  Rosamunda yapped her fury sharply and concisely. Tacita couldn’t fault her. Hairy rat, indeed! She hugged Rosamunda to show her how much she loved her. “Of course I do.”

  It felt to Tacita as if her words were little chunks of ice that fell from her frozen lips and slid across the table to land in Jedediah Hardcastle’s ears. He didn’t seem to notice any appreciable difference in their temperature, but only nodded.

  “All right, then. Do you have your things packed?”

  “All except the clothing I’ve been wearing in Powder Gulch.”

  He eyed the current example of same with a jaundiced eye. A lovely creation, it consisted of basque and skirt of striped bombazine, decorated with a discreet edging of ecru lace at the throat and wrists. Its color was deep burgundy and Tacita was excessively fond of it. She didn’t appreciate Jed’s expression. What did he know about fashion? She refrained from asking.

  “You got any plain calico frocks, ma’am? You’re going to be riding a horse or a mule all the way, you know. Except when you’re walkin’. If you don’t have good, sturdy walkin’ shoes, you’d best get yourself some. Split skirts is best, but I don’t expect you ride astride.”

  Tacita felt as though he’d just slapped her. “I certainly do not!”

  Jed sighed.

  Rosamunda growled.

  Chapter 2

  Jed sat next to Tacita and eyed her costume with resignation. At least she wasn’t wearing a bustle today. Instead, she had on a brown, patterned calico frock with a froth of white ruffles around the neck and down the front. A matching parasol rested in her lap alongside the yank-slop terrier. Her shoes at least, he noticed with relief, were practical.

  When he’d seen the enormous number of bags and boxes she intended to bring with them to San Francisco, he’d turned on his heel, gone back to the livery, and hired another mule. He didn’t expect half of her stuff to arrive in San Francisco with them. She’d dump it along the way when she realized how hard their journey would be, but he knew better than to argue with her at this point. Jed wasn’t one to waste his breath on losing causes.

  Now they sat side by side at a table in the hotel restaurant, a large map spread out in front of them. Jed pointed to a tiny squiggly line. He sniffed every now and then, inhaling her soft, sweet perfume, and wondering why her personality couldn’t be as enchanting as her scent.

  “That there’s the Rio Peñasco, Miss Grantham. We’ll follow it up into the Sacramentos. There’ll be water through the mountains there, but then we’ll have a long haul until we get to Alamogordo. The Mescalero reservation’s up there, but I expect we won’t have any problems with the Indians.”

  He saw Tacita shiver and hug her rat and wasn’t surprised. Nor was he surprised when she asked sharply, “And just how do you know that, Mr. Hardcastle? How can you be sure?”

  “I just know.”

  Tacita knit her brows as she studied the map, then turned and frowned at him. Jed found himself not amazed and braced for another skirmish. A man of action, he just hated having to talk sense into people who thought they knew what they were talking about when all they knew is what they’d read in the eastern press and a bunch of silly dime novels.

  “I’ve read that there’s a new Indian uprising going on right this minute, Mr. Hardcastle, and I’d just like to know how you can discount those reports.”

  Miss Grantham tapped the table with an emphatic finger and looked smug. So did her rat. Jed sighed.

  “Ma’am, if you’re talking about the Ghost Dance, it went on up in the Dakotas. Besides, it’s dead. So’re damned near all the Indians. When Sitting Bull got himself killed, it took the starch out of ‘em. And then when they had that fight at Wounded Knee, it destroyed the spirit of the movement. Not that it was much a fight, I reckon. Or much of a movement.” He felt a familiar twist in his guts and frowned. “More like a last gasp, if you ask me.”

  Her big blue eyes opened wide. Bedazzled for a moment, Jed had to remind himself that this was the sharp-tongued screecher who’d as soon have her slop-bucket terrier chomp a hole in his gullet as not.

  “You sound almost sorry about it, Mr. Hardcastle,” she said, clearly astonished.

  Jed thought for a minute, organizing his thoughts. He’d never been a man to ramble or to talk without thinking first.
r />   “Well, now,” he said at last, “I reckon I am. In a way.”

  Her eyes opened even wider—a feat at which Jed marveled—and she sat up straight and pulled slightly away from him, as if to avoid contamination. He guessed he’d better explain himself, although he resented the need to do so.

  “Ma’am, I was born in the territory here. I grew up in these parts and in southwest Texas. I’ve got no use for Indians. I’ve got no use for the Indian-lovers from back east who don’t know what it’s like out here, either. But I’ll tell you one thing for free.” He paused for breath. Miss Grantham seemed to be waiting for some gruesome revelation. “It weren’t—wasn’t—the Indians’ fault. They were just in the way.”

  He shut his mouth, having said more than he usually did about any subject not directly related to his job. She seemed to be waiting. He turned his attention back to the map open before him and resumed plotting their course.

  After a moment or two, she said, “I beg your pardon?”

  Jed sighed again. Aw, hell. She wasn’t going to let up.

  “Ma’am, those Indians who did the Ghost Dance were just trying to get their lives back. They didn’t have a chance against the settlers moving out west, nor against the army, and it was probably stupid of ‘em to try. They were already whipped. Beaten.” He drew his flat-handed palm across the table in a gesture he’d seen used by an old Indian fellow back home in Busted Flush. “Wiped out.”

  He leaned back in his chair, frustrated. This whole topic made him feel crazy. His insides knotted up and his head ached and his teeth itched every time thoughts of the Indian problem so much as tiptoed through his head.

  Tacita blinked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, and the knots in his innards throbbed.

  “I ain’t—I’m not saying the Indians were right, ma’am. Hell, I live here, and if any Indian told me I’d have to get out ‘cause they wanted my land, I’d fight. But that’s just it, don’t you see? They were just trying to keep their life the way it was. Reckon it was stupid of ‘em to try so hard, but I don’t expect I’d argue with a man who’d fight to keep his home.”