But she had her own task to accomplish.
Finding that necklace and eardrops would give her one more treasure to connect with Mama. And she would have it as an option to sell if she needed more money on her journey. She would never dream of taking anything from the Balfour home, but this…this was her own mother’s belongings that had been lost.
She turned to study the heavy oak chest of drawers against the far wall. It was an enormous piece, clearly built to last generations, and she could see why Bea thought it might need the men’s strength to move. But Rose had learned to be resourceful during her years in Virginia City. She’d had to be.
She pushed against one corner of the chest, testing its weight. The frame groaned in protest but shifted a little, revealing a sliver of dusty floor behind it. Her pulse quickened. If something had fallen back there during their hasty departure all those years ago…
Bracing her shoulder against the side of the chest, she pushed harder. The heavy piece scraped across the wooden floor with a sound that made her wince, but it moved another few inches. Dust danced in the afternoon light filtering through the window, and she could see more of the space behind the furniture now.
Nothing metal glinted there.
She pushed harder, her muscles straining against the stubborn furniture. The chest scraped another inch across the floor, leaving grooves in the dust. Still nothing but bare wooden planks and accumulated grime.
She wiped her brow with her sleeve. Perhaps the jewelry had never fallen behind the furniture at all. Perhaps Vincent had somehow gotten his hands on it years ago, through means she didn’t want to contemplate. He’d always been resourceful when it came to acquiring things of value.
But she couldn’t give up. Not yet.
With a final straining push, she managed to shift the chest far enough to reveal the entire space behind it. Her heart sank as she stared at the empty floor, marked only by the rectangular outline where the furniture had stood for years.
No glint of ruby. No jewelry box that might have slipped into the shadows. Just dust and disappointment.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her body drooping with exhaustion that had little to do with moving furniture. Of course the necklace wasn’t there. Nothing in her life had ever been that simple, that easy. She’d been foolish to hope that something so valuable would simply be waiting for her after all these years. Vincent had probably claimed it long ago, adding it to his collection of things that had once belonged to her mother.
She glanced at the wooden crate beside her, its contents now feeling even more precious. At least she had these memories, these tangible pieces of the life she’d shared with Mama before everything changed. The wooden doll gazed up at her with painted eyes that seemed to hold all the innocence she’d lost.
She may not be innocent anymore, but at least she had a plan. She’d escaped from Vincent, and by this time next year, she’d be in St. Louis.
Living her new life. A life she would finally have control over.
CHAPTER 11
The knot in James’s stomach tightened as he watched Mrs. Holbrook’s fingers tap against the telegraph key, each metallic click echoing through the mercantile like a hammer against his nerves.
They’d finally finished bringing in the hay—every piece now safely stored in their sheds, ready to see the cattle through whatever winter threw at them. Pete, Jake, and Bill Carter had earned every cent of their wages, working from dawn to dusk without complaint. The relief should be overwhelming.
Instead, all he could think about was Rose’s face when he’d left that morning, the way she’d watched him saddle his horse with worry flicking in those green eyes.
“There.” Mrs. Holbrook finally lifted her hands from the device. “Your message should reach your father within the hour, assuming the lines are clear all the way.”
“Thank you.” He’d asked Father to reply by tomorrow morning, if possible. He wasn’t certain how quickly his father could compile the list of legal contacts they needed though.
Mrs. Holbrook flashed a smile that seemed too bright for the gravity of what he’d just sent. “I must say, it’s exciting to think of all those important men your father knows. Judges and solicitors—what grand connections the Balfours have.”
The praise sat uncomfortable in his gut. The Holbrooks had started the mercantile around the time his family moved to the territory and built the ranch, so they knew of the Balfours’ aristocratic ties. “We appreciate your discretion, Mrs. Holbrook.”
“Of course, of course.” She bustled around the counter, straightening papers that didn’t need straightening. “I do hope everything works out for whoever needs the help.”
They’d kept the telegram vague—a request for contacts among territorial judges and attorneys, men of unquestionable reputation who might assist with a contract dispute. Nothing that would raise questions or draw unwanted attention.
Mrs. Holbrook looked up at him, as though she’d just remembered something. “By the way, I realized something about that missing person notice after you left the other day.”
Ice flooded his veins. But he forced his expression to remain casual even as every muscle in his body went tight. “Oh?”
“The woman’s surname is Prescott. Isn’t that the same name as the lady’s maid your mother used to have?”
His chest constricted even more. Of course she would remember. Mrs. Holbrook had made it her business to know every detail about the English family with ties to nobility that had settled in their mountains. And while his mother was alive, she’d insisted their family maintain some semblance of English propriety in the Montana wilderness.
“Your mother was such an elegant lady, always so gracious to everyone. And she was quite fond of Mrs. Prescott. They used to come to town together sometimes, shopping for fabrics and such. Whatever happened to that woman? She left suddenly, didn’t she, after your mother passed? And didn’t she have a daughter—a little red-haired thing who used to follow you boys around?”
