MAIL ORDER MOUNTIES

Bride for Colton

​

CHAPTER 1

 

“You’ll report to Mrs. Hannigan, our head housekeeper, tomorrow morning at six sharp. Not a minute later. We don’t tolerate tardiness here at the Ottawa Grand Hotel. Is that understood, Miss Spurling?”

 

Mr. Albury, the stodgy manager of one of the most exclusive hotels in Ottawa, rose from his seat and edged his ponderous frame around his small desk to open the door of his little office. He stood with his back ramrod straight as he peered down his bulbous nose at Gemma. As tall as he was, and as small as she was, it was a wonder he didn’t strain a muscle in his neck keeping his head held high. But Gemma didn’t care how he looked at her, just as long as he hired her.

 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Albury,” Gemma said, smiling up at the man as she stood and extended her hand.

 

He appeared bemused for a moment — as if no woman had ever offered to shake hands with him before — then deigned to take her hand. Her firm grip must have surprised him even more, because his rheumy eyes widened slightly, and Gemma thought she spotted one side of his thin-lipped mouth tweak upward. 

 

Mr. Albury was all business, and she knew from the moment they'd met he would respond to professionalism and confidence. Of course, she was careful to temper her boldness so he wouldn’t misconstrue it as insolence. No one wanted to hire an insolent maid, least of all a man like him.

 

“Very good, Miss Spurling. It was a pleasure to meet you. I trust you can find your way out.”

 

Without waiting to discover her answer, he nudged her out the door and closed it behind her. The click of a door latch had never sounded sweeter to Gemma. It meant he had no doubt about hiring her, and that knowledge lifted a lifetime of regret from her shoulders. The only problem was that his trust was misplaced — she had no clue how to find her way out of the bowels of the massive hotel.

 

No matter. What better way to familiarize herself with her new home than wandering around until she had a feel for it? The structure undoubtedly had innumerable hidden hallways and rooms, but there was no better way to discover them all than by exploring. Excitement bubbled up inside Gemma until she feared she might actually shout with happiness. But that wouldn’t do, not at all. 

 

So she kept a firm grip on her emotions, though it felt like a taut wire ran through her, and walked at a normal pace, though she felt like running. Finally, she could live life on her own terms, and she didn’t have to lie or cheat to do it. This new way of living was going to take some getting used to, but she’d longed for this moment for so long she couldn’t remember not wanting it. Not to be a maid, specifically, but to live honorably. 

 

“Excuse me, miss. Can I help you find something?”

 

Gemma spun around to find a lovely young woman in a maid uniform peering at her from around a corner. Her vibrant red hair was pulled back into a tight bun under a pert white mop-cap. One of her soon-to-be coworkers, and her open features and happy smile told Gemma she would be forthcoming about working at the Grand Hotel.

 

“Hi, I’m Gemma. Mr. Albury just hired me to be a maid, and now I’m trying to find my way out.”

 

She laughed at her own daftness as she shook the maid’s limp hand. Gemma instantly loosened her grip so the other woman wouldn’t feel intimidated or uncomfortable.

 

“Oh! Good to meet you. I’m Colleen Hennessy. When do you start?”

 

“Bright and early tomorrow morning,” Gemma answered cheerily, matching Colleen’s temperament. “But first I have to go home and pack up all my belongings. And before I can do that, I have to find out how to get out of this place.”

 

“Oh!” Colleen gasped. “I’m sorry, you said that already. Follow me.”

 

Colleen led her down a maze of dim hallways, chatting the entire way. Gemma appreciated that because she always learned so much more about people when she didn’t have to ask a bunch of questions.

 

“I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached to my neck,” Colleen sighed. “I’ve just been a little distracted lately.”

 

“Oh?” 

 

“Yes, my mother is pressuring me to become a nun. You see, my sister was supposed to join the sisterhood, but she got cold feet at the last minute. Miss Hazel helped her find a Mountie to marry, and now they’re the picture of wedded bliss.” Colleen paused to sigh dramatically. “If Mam doesn’t let up, I’m going to go have a talk with Miss Hazel myself.

 

“Who’s Miss Hazel?” Gemma normally wouldn’t care about such life dramas, but she felt for the other woman. Gemma knew firsthand how difficult it could be to defy a dominant mother.

 

“Oh!” Colleen exclaimed again. Gemma suspected she’d hear it often in the future from the scatterbrained girl. “Miss Hazel Hughes? She’s a wonderful old lady who matches would-be brides with handsome Mounties all over Canada. She has quite a knack for it if my sister and her husband are any indication.”

 

She asked Gemma if she knew the street the woman lived on, which almost made Gemma snort. She knew all the areas of Ottawa — especially the poorest and the richest, and the neighborhood this Hazel woman lived in was the latter —but it might appear suspicious to say so. She settled for a noncommittal grunt.

 

“Well, hopefully I won’t have to worry about it, now that I have a respectable job here,” Colleen added as she rounded yet another corner. At the end of that hallway, though, stood the ornate door Gemma had entered through earlier.

 

“Your mother must be proud,” Gemma said, wondering what that might feel like.

 

Colleen sighed, then shrugged. “She thinks I’m too old to be a maid. She’s taken to calling me ‘Old Maid’.”

 

Gemma winced. “You don’t look that much older than me.”

 

“I’m twenty-six. How old are you? You don’t look old enough to be a maid here. Maybe a kitchen maid.”

 

“I’m eighteen,” Gemma replied, trying not to feel insulted. “Everyone thinks I’m younger than I am.”

 

Colleen laughed. “Well, enjoy it. That’s so much better than them thinking you’re older than you are.”

 

Gemma had her doubts about that, but kept her opinion on the matter to herself. She thanked her new friend and headed across town to her dingy boarding house with a bounce in her step. The proprietress was stern and cold, but fair. Gemma had been helping in her kitchen and performing some cleaning duties in exchange for a free room. She’d be doing the same work at the hotel — only a lot more of it — but now she’d be paid honest wages for honest work, and she would receive free room and board. The situation was ideal. So far in her miserable eighteen years, this was undoubtedly the best day of her life.

 

Gemma’s mood crashed when she recognized the figure loitering at the bottom of the boarding house’s front steps. Her feet hurt, and all she wanted to do was sit in her room for a bit, reveling in her success, then pack up her meager belongings. Now she had to deal with this. She paused half a block away, wondering if she could escape before she was spotted. 

 

She couldn’t.

 

“Gemma, love!” The shout rang up and down the street, drawing curious gazes from passersby. Accents weren’t unusual in the cosmopolitan city of Ottawa, but thick Cockney ones were less common — especially such loud ones. 

 

Gemma sighed, then took a deep, bracing breath before moving forward. “What are you doing here, Mum?” 

 

“Now what kinda hallo is dat for your poor ol’ mum? Give us a kiss!” 

 

Bronwen Spurling pulled her daughter into an awkward embrace and kissed both of her cheeks before Gemma could object. Releasing her, Bronwen gave her a sharp-eyed once-over.

 

“What’s different about ya?”

 

Gemma huffed. “I got a real job, that’s what. You should try it sometime.”

 

She tried to push past but Bronwen blocked her path. “Darlin’, you think I haven’t had me fair share o’ jobs? Where you working?”

 

Gemma rolled her shoulders back with pride. “The Grand Hotel. As a maid.”

 

Bronwen raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Done a job or two there in my time.”

 

“I’m sure,” Gemma said with a sniff, which her mother ignored.

 

“Speaking o’ jobs, I got one for us,” Bronwen murmured, smiling while glancing around for eavesdroppers. “Sundry shop o’er on Elm Street. Owner’s a pigeon if I ever seen one.”

 

“I told you weeks ago, I’m done with all that.” Gemma tried to move around her mother again, but again she was blocked. 

 

“Dearie, don’t pretend ya ain’t hard up for money. Me too.”

 

“That’s your problem. I have a job now.”

 

Bronwen’s piercing stare had always made the soles of Gemma’s feet itch, now more so than ever. Dropping her gaze, Gemma watched the toes of her scuffed shoes like a scolded child. 

 

“Tell ya what,” Bronwen said softly, easing close in to Gemma so only she could hear. “I’ll break my rule and share the profits with ya, fifty-fifty. Even split. Then I swear I’ll leave ya be, just like ya asked.”

 

Gemma knew from years of painful experience that her mother never kept her word, not even to her only daughter. She’d keep coming back, no matter what she said. When she caught the scent of a mark, she tracked him down like a bloodhound after a fox. Nothing and no one — except perhaps the police — could stand in her way. 

 

“Mum, don’t you think I’m too old for this? No one will believe I’m a little girl anymore.”

 

“Pish! Ya don’t look a day o’er thirteen. C’mon, do it for ye ol’ mum. Just one more time.”

 

Bronwen wore the most motherly of smiles, but a chill rippled down Gemma’s spine at the spark of determination in her mother’s eye. Gemma would have to stand her ground for her mother to go away for good, but she found it almost impossible to summon the courage. Almost.

 

Closing her eyes, Gemma curled her hands into tight little fists. “No.”

 

Silence hung between them until she dared to peek open one eye. Her mother stood there stunned, but anger grew in the depths of her dark brown eyes. Finally, the shock wore off, and when she spoke, her voice quavered.

 

“What did you just say to me?”

 

The same old childish fear streaked through Gemma, but she stood firm. “I said no. I’m done with all of that. I have a good job now, and I’m going to build a respectable life for myself.”

 

Bronwen’s upper lip quivered as she latched onto Gemma’s upper arm and drew her close. Her hot, stinking breath forced Gemma to turn her face away, but she couldn’t escape it — just as it appeared she couldn’t escape her past.

 

“Listen to me, little chippie,” Bronwen hissed, “you’ll do as I say or I’ll march right down to that fancy hotel and tell ‘em what ya really are. Then I’ll find the nearest constable and tell him.”

 

Bronwen had been forceful for as long as Gemma had lived with her, but she’d never stooped to threats. Worse, she clearly meant to keep her word. For the first time ever.

 

“But you’d go to prison too,” Gemma balked, tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

 

Bronwen shrugged. “So? Ain’t like it’d be my first time. But you…” She stroked a finger along Gemma’s cheek. “You never been. I made sure o’ dat. Far as I can tell, ya owe me.”

 

The tears finally fell. Just when she thought she was finally free of the sordid life her mother had raised her in, Bronwen wanted to drag her back into it against her will. 

 

“But—“

 

“No buts about it, dearie. Do this job and I’ll keep my trap shut. For now. Otherwise, you’ll get sacked before ya even start. Prolly have to go call on the brothels just to stop from starving, cuz no respectable place will have ya. Now stop yer bawling and get movin’.”

 

Bronwen ushered Gemma down the street as she tried to find a way out of this mess. But her mother was right. If Mr. Albury — prim and proper as he was — caught so much as a whiff of scandal surrounding Gemma, she’d be out before she could plead her case. Word would spread fast, and before she knew it, she’d be blacklisted and she’d never find a legitimate position. Once again, she had no choice.

 

Gemma barely listened as her mother filled her in on the details of their latest mark. Her mind raced, and a flicker of an idea sparked, but Bronwen’s prattling scattered it before it could catch. Something to do with the young woman she’d met at the hotel. What was her name again?

 

“…And just do like we always done. Trip o’er a basket or somethin’ and howl like a banshee. I’ll come runnin’ in and cry o’er my poor, hurt wee girl…”

 

Colleen! That was her name. But by then Gemma had lost the thread of her thought. 

 

“It’s not going to work, Mum. I’m too old.”

 

“Shaddup and get going.” Bronwen gave her a hard shove, her tone allowing for no argument.

 

Each step along the rough boardwalk seemed harder than the last, but before she knew it, Gemma stood inside the little shop. A kindly old man stood behind the counter, placing balls of wool into a basket. He looked up and smiled. 

 

“Afternoon, little miss. Can I help you?”

 

Nearly in a daze, Gemma walked into the room, hating herself for what she was about to do. Instinct took over and she glanced about until she found the perfect spot — a sewing machine stood out in the aisle a little too far. One ‘accidental’ trip and she’d fall head first into a nearby table. She could picture herself writhing around on the floor holding her head and crying for her mama.

 

“Are you lost, hon? Where’s your mother?”

 

Her mother. The evil witch was right outside the door, waiting for Gemma to start screaming, but she couldn’t very well tell him that. This nice old man who only wanted to make sure she was safe and cared for. She hadn’t been either of those things since she was a little girl. 

 

As Gemma approached her target, her gaze landed on a poster tacked to the wall behind the counter. A handsome man in a uniform stood proudly with his hand raised to his stiff-brimmed hat in salute. Maintain the right! Join the Royal North West Mounted Police was printed in bold, black letters at the bottom.

 

Gemma stopped short of the sewing machine that would lead to this poor man paying off her mother after shouted threats of police and lawsuits. She stared at the recruitment poster and the idea that had sparked earlier burst into a blazing wildfire. She beamed at the man behind the counter, happier and more afraid than she’d ever been in her life.

 

“Do you have a back door?”

 

He looked puzzled for a moment, then pointed to a door. Gemma strode purposefully through it without looking back. Hopefully her mother would wait for a few more minutes, at least. That should give her enough time to reach the house of one Hazel Hughes.

 

* * *

 

“Keep your eye on the pea, follow the pea.” 

 

The man crouching behind a crate smiled at Colton and shuffled three walnut shells around the top of the crate. His hands moved so quickly that Colton had a hard time following the one that hid the pea, but he had a quick eye and he was smart. The Mounties didn’t recruit dolts. 

 

“Where’s it at, sir?” the man asked. 

 

Without a second’s hesitation, Colton pointed to the shell on the right. He already knew how he’d spend his winnings — a small bouquet of flowers for his bride. The very thought clenched his gut with anxiety and hope. The man flicked over the shell and Colton’s shoulders drooped with disappointment and confusion. He’d been so sure…

 

“Aw, you picked the wrong one,” the man said, pushing the other two shells forward. “Just ten cents for another guess.”

 

Colton dug into his pocket, ready to pick the center shell — it just had to be under the center shell — when a hand landed on his shoulder. Fear filled the eyes of the shell man, and before Colton could pull the money out, the man was gone, sprinting down the street, then darting behind a building.

 

“Constable Leeds, are you always this gullible?”

 

Colton turned to face Malcom Wilson, the commanding officer of their newly formed squad. “What do you mean?”

 

Malcolm shook his head and herded Colton down the street. “That chap was a swindler, Colton. The pea was hidden in his hand the entire time. It’s called sleight of hand, and he just suckered you out of your hard-earned money.”

 

Colton frowned, his confusion fading and anger growing inside him. “You mean he cheated me? On purpose? Why would he do something like that?”

 

“Where are you from again?”

 

“Randolph, New Brunswick,” Colton said proudly.

 

“Let me guess, a small town where everyone is noble and honorable?”

 

“Of course!” As if there was any other option. 

 

“Listen, Colton, you’re going to have to learn how to spot a liar. We see lots of them as Mounties, and we can’t have one of our own getting cheated at a silly shell game by a confidence man.”

 

They’d learned about confidence men during training, but Colton had assumed they’d be few and far between. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet one right off the bat, before he even made it to his first posting. Now he felt like he should be wearing a dunce cap and sitting in a corner.

 

Malcolm must have noticed the flush creeping up Colton’s cheeks, because he patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, kid. You’ll learn how to spot a liar and a cheat quickly enough. I’m sure you’ll never play another game of chance on the street again, will you?”

 

“No, sir!” All he’d ever wanted was to be the best Mountie he could be, and that meant learning everything he could from the more experienced men. “Can you teach me? How to spot a liar? No one ever lied where I come from.”

 

Malcolm snorted, almost as if he didn’t believe Colton, and hid a smile behind his hand. Colton wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or amused that Malcolm was so cynical that he couldn’t believe most people — at least most people in Randolph — were honest and true.

 

“Sure, I’ll teach you a thing or two. The first thing to look for is eye contact. If someone isn’t looking you in the eye, they might be hiding something. They also look down a lot, at the ground, their hands, the tips of their shoes. You can catch someone in a lie just by the way they look at you — or don’t, as the case may be.”

 

Colton filed the information away for future use. “That’s useful. I suppose I’d use it a fair bit in a big city like this, but what about in our new posting?”

 

“Oh, we’ll have a whole different set of problems in Reindeer Rock. It’s so remote and small, it’ll make Randolph look like the big city. The people there probably aren’t nearly as ‘honest and true’ as the folks from your home town, so I’m sure you’ll get the chance to practice your new skills at some point or another.”

 

“What kind of problems, do you think?”

 

“From what I understand, pretty minor stuff, such as fur traders trying to cheat the Indians, or worse, sell them alcohol. But nothing like murders and the like. Mostly we’ll be making sure everyone plays nice instead of rigidly enforcing the law.”

 

“Wait, we won’t enforce the law?” Colton asked, totally puzzled. 

 

“Of course we will, but our role in the more remote areas of Canada is to protect the people, rather than arrest criminals. That takes priority over following the letter of the law.”

 

This made no sense to Colton, who’d been raised to believe in right and wrong. There was nothing in between. One grew up following the law, no matter what. Or else. 

 

“Besides,” Malcolm continued, “there are far scarier things than a scuffle between French trappers.”

 

This piqued Colton’s curiosity. “Such as?”

 

“Blizzards, for one. We’re heading to the middle of Ontario in the dead of winter. It’s a safe bet we’ll see some cold weather, colder than you’ve probably ever experienced. Hope you have some warm clothes.”

 

In fact, Colton’s mother had loaded him down with a pile of hand-knitted mittens, scarves, hats and sweaters, once she’d learned where he was being stationed for his first assignment. He had enough to share with his new teammates, as well as his future wife. His stomach lurched again, just thinking about her and what she might be like.

 

“I dunno,” he said, swallowing hard. “I think where we’re going now is scariest of all.”

 

Malcolm chuckled, but didn’t disagree. “Nervous, huh? But I thought you wanted a wife to take with you.”

 

“I do, it’s just…” He shot Malcolm a sideways glance, wondering if he should admit his true feelings. If he couldn’t trust his fellow Mounties — and everyone else in the world were apparently big, fat liars — who could he trust? “I never had a girlfriend back home, and now I’m on my way to marry a gal I don’t even know.”

 

“Having second thoughts?” Malcolm sounded almost relieved.

 

“No! I want a family like my own more than anything. A kind and gentle wife who’s a good helpmate for me. Naturally, she should be a good cook and housekeeper.”

 

“Children?

 

“Three,” Colton said without hesitation. “Maybe four, if she wants. I grew up with a brother and sister, and we were the best of friends. I also hope she has a good sense of adventure, since we’ll be moving around a bit when I get reassigned.”

 

“I think we’re all hoping for that,” Malcolm said.

 

His tone left Colton wondering if he hoped for a bride at all. The rest of them had rather talked him into this crazy plan of marrying women they’d never met before heading up to Reindeer Rock. Hopefully Miss Hazel knew what she was doing in the matchmaking department.

 

They met up with the other two members of their squad — Calvin Montrose and Robert Barret — standing in front of a big, beautiful old house. Suddenly, Colton was drenched in sweat, even though there was snow on the ground and a chill in the air. This was it, the moment he’d been dreaming about and dreading. The door swung open and a portly older woman hurried out to greet them.

 

“Welcome, gentlemen! I’m Hazel Hughes, but everyone calls me Miss Hazel. Are you ready to meet your brides?”

 

Each man answered in turn, leaving Colton last.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You bet.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Um…”