1
"Two men to see you, ma'am," the housekeeper said.
Mrs. Adam Cartwright stood up. She wasn't tall but the way she carried herself and her slender frame made her seem taller. "Please send them in; I don't suppose they have calling cards."
"No, ma'am." The small, plump, gray-haired woman turned to leave but Mrs. Cartwright called her back.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do they look like coffee or whiskey, Mrs. Fontaine?"
"Whiskey, ma'am."
"Then have Amanda bring in coffee. And a plate of butter cookies. I may as well be as gracious as possible since I am my husband's representative, so to speak."
"Yes, ma'am." The housekeeper smiled to herself while shaking her head in amusement. She had worked for Mrs. Cartwright when she was the former Mrs. Lafferty and she was well familiar with her mistress' cleverness. Mr. Lafferty had been no match for his brilliant wife, often left wondering what had occurred right under his nose but Adam Cartwright, he saw right through her and yet he had still wanted her. But some men like a bit of danger in their lives—become addicted to it, Mrs. Fontaine decided. She called out for Amanda, a young girl of fifteen who served as a lady's maid and helped Mrs. Cartwright dress, bathe, and fix her hair on formal occasions. She was fair in looks, plump and of a most pleasing nature.
"Manda, fix up one of the trays with the coffee service. And here, put this plate of cookies on it as well." And Amanda, as agreeable as always, smiled and did as she was asked.
While waiting for her visitors, Mrs. Cartwright smoothed out her skirts. She was dressed in the newest fashion of more narrow skirts and the neckline of the dress was high and prim. She wore her shiny dark hair pulled back with only a few tendrils to cut the severity. Her face was pale and heart-shaped and her eyes were a light blue-gray. Her mouth, though soft, rarely curled into a smile. Despite the coldness of her normal expression, she was beautiful and all men were struck by it. Nevertheless it didn't keep any of them from referring to her as that cold, Cartwright bitch. They joked that Adam Cartwright probably had to thaw out his cock after he poked her lest it snap off like an icicle when he took his piss afterwards.
Ultima Cartwright turned and two men were ushered in by Mrs. Fontaine who immediately left. They glanced quickly around the room. They were familiar with parlors but they had heard that Mrs. Cartwright had high tastes and thought that she was back living in San Francisco and her "drawing room" was supposedly an impressive sight to see. The men now knew why.
The fireplace was fronted with pure white Yule marble from Colorado that also composed the mantle. Every day that the fireplace was in use, Mrs. Fontaine had to rise early, along with the cook and Amanda, and then rush to clean it to remove any soot or she would hear the mistress' displeasure with her work. So while Mao Lin prepared breakfast for Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright, Mrs. Fontaine would scrub the marble, dust, carpet sweep and make certain that all was to her mistress' liking—even down to the placement of the sofa cushions and the antimacassars.
So the two men were impressed by the upholstered furniture and the rich wallpaper and rugs. The dark maple furniture glowed in the spring morning sun as did their hostess. The men were as taken aback as much by Mrs. Cartwright's presence as when they had been told to court the wife to get to the husband; they hadn't expected someone so delicate and so small—so vulnerable. And then they saw the look in her eyes and Mr. Sawyer, the shorter of the two men felt a shiver run through him; he had seen cold-blooded killers look upon him more kindly.
"Allow me to introduce us," The taller man said. "I am Mr. Murray and this is Mr. Sawyer. We have come on behalf of Mr. Matt Forsyth and his interests."
"A pleasure," Ultima said, "but if you have business to discuss, I suggest that you drive out to the Croesus mine and speak to my husband."
The two men exchanged looks. Then Mr. Murray turned back to Ultima with a smile fixed on his face. "We had been informed, Mrs. Cartwright, that your opinion weighs heavily in your husband's decisions—he looks upon you as an advisor seeing that your former husband, may he rest in peace, left the mine in your name."
Ultima smiled sweetly at the two men. "Please," Ultima said, "Won't you sit?" She took a seat on the edge of the sofa, daring either of the men to sit next to her—neither had the courage so they sat uncomfortably on the upholstered chairs which had curved, carved arms and legs. Adam had said that the drawing room looked like the inside of an high-class whorehouse but Ultima just looked askance at his derisive comments and replied that perhaps one day he would inform her how he knew what one looked like. And Adam had grinned broadly and then laughed and pulled her onto his lap.
Amanda brought in a silver tray with a fine china coffee set on it and also a plate of cookies. She gave a small half-curtsy and then left.
"Coffee, gentlemen?" Ultima said holding the coffee pot that was decorated with flowers painted is soft pastels. She smiled at them graciously and the two men looked at one another.
"Yes, ma'am," The shorter one said. "Thank you very much. Business is always easier to discuss with an air of hospitality and the sharing of bread." He blushed as Ultima merely stared at him. "I mean that merely as a metaphor. I know that it is not actual bread with which…"
"Shut up," Murray said. "You sound like a fuckin' idiot." He quickly realized that he had cursed and apologetically added, "Please forgive me ma'am." Ultima nodded slightly. "I would be most grateful for a cup of coffee—black, ma'am, and a few of those cookies as well. Life needs a bit of sweetness." He was the better looking of the two and more muscular but Ultima noticed as he took his cup and saucer from her, that the cuffs of his shirt were begrimed. That told her what she needed to know.
"Before I forget, ma'am," the man said placing his cup and saucer gingerly on his knee and reaching inside his jacket, "I have a small token of Mr. Forsyth's admiration." He pulled out a small fabric-covered hinged box and handed it to her. Ultima noticed that his nails had ragged edges as if he chewed them down instead of clipping and the cuticles needed cleaning.
She opened the box and took a breath. Lying inside on a small satin pillow was a glowing gold nugget the size of a lima bean and as thick as the tip of a man's thumb. Ultima had enough experience with gold and gold mining that she didn't need to bite down on it to test its authenticity—it was gold. She snapped shut the box and placed it on the low table alongside the tray of china.
"I shall send Mr. Forsyth a note of appreciation for such a valuable gift but please convey my pleasure upon receiving it. Now, what was it you said about business?" And Ultima smiled gently while Mr. Murray nervously explained Mr. Forsyth's interest. Murray found that Mrs. Cartwright, despite being cool and distant, made him nervous and caused his mind to run to thoughts of fornication and how he would change that serene look on her face to one of excruciating pleasure—yeah, he thought, he'd have her squirming and screaming for more—he'd put her in her place—underneath him.
Ultima smiled, noticing the sweat that beaded on Mr. Murray's brow and upper lip. She was enjoying the meeting very much despite the fact that the more the man sweat, the more he stank. Ultima would have quite the story for her husband that night and he would show her his admiration and appreciation for her insight in ways she always found most delightful.