Gold Fever by Vicki Delany Page B

buckets of tears at the worst song cranked out by the worst voice you’ve ever heard, but they weren’t laughing at this show.
    I walked to the back of the room and leaned against the wall. Lots of running around on stage, lots of shouting. One of them fell over a chair—that earned a round of chuckles.
    â€œWhere on earth did you find those two, Mrs. MacGillivray?” Constable Richard Sterling stood beside me.
    â€œThey brought letters of recommendation from theatres in the east.”
    â€œI should arrest them for impersonating comedians,” Richard said.
    I lifted one eyebrow. “I believe that’s the first time I’ve heard you tell a joke, Constable.”
    â€œI wasn’t joking, Mrs. MacGillivray,” he said, but the gold streaks in his brown eyes twinkled with something approaching mirth.
    Together we watched the show. The next skit involved the mother-in-law of one of them arriving at a dig and setting about organizing the mining activities. The audience chuckled at first, and before the end they were roaring with laughter. The mother-in-law character insisted on inspecting each piece of gold with her white gloves, and one miner fell off his bench in appreciation.
    Richard chucked, then his voice dropped, and he was once again all business. “How’s Mary doing?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œShe worked at the laundry today?”
    â€œAll day long.”
    â€œI don’t mean to interfere…”
    â€œThen don’t.”
    â€œShe can’t make a life for herself in Dawson, you must know that.”
    â€œShe will be safe with Mrs. Mann and me.”
    â€œFiona.” He turned to face me, full on. His eyes were now dark and serious. “You mean well, but I don’t know if you understand what it can be like for the natives. No one will accept her, at least no one other than Joey LeBlanc and her customers.”
    â€œPrecisely my point. I hope these fellows’ second act is better than the first. Perhaps I’ll see you later, Constable.”
    I edged my way through the rows of chairs as the vaudeville performers left the stage to a round of boos, and the chorus line danced on to a round of enthusiastic hooting.
    I didn’t worry about the boos. The audience always booed the male performers and cheered the females.

Chapter Ten
    Angus peeked through the door of the Savoy. Mrs. Saunderson often gave him a second breakfast or an after lunch snack; he visited his mother regularly, and sometimes he did his school work in her office. He considered Ray Walker to be a good friend and knew most of the dancers, bartenders and croupiers by name. The older of the dancers in particular seemed to like patting him on the head or pinching his cheeks while murmuring, “Isn’t he such a dear.” And as long as he wasn’t working for the establishment, drinking or gambling, the NWMP didn’t mind him being there, although Constable Sterling would sometimes roar for Angus to get out if things were getting a mite wild.
    Tonight he was with Miss Witherspoon, and he had a feeling his mother would not be pleased, even though he was earning money escorting the English lady.
    Miss Witherspoon paused at the doorway and took a deep breath. She’d changed into something approaching evening dress, although not what Angus was used to seeing his mother and the dance hall girls wear. Angus knew enough about women’s clothes to know that her dress, with its enormous bustle and tight sleeves, was very out-of-date. His mother hadn’t worn a bustle since they’d lived in Toronto. The dress was a dark, rich plum, draped with lace across Miss Witherspoon’s majestic bosom and around the high collar and the hem. Matching lace and plum silk and a cluster of fake plums made up an enormous construction of a hat. She wore spotless white gloves that climbed past her elbows and gripped her overlarge and quite out of place brown leather bag