Black Lace, Champagne and Twenty-One - Chapter Three
By Terri Geissinger, Smith Valley
Jonathan Logan dabbed beads of sweat from his forehead. It was an unusually warm February day. The stagecoach was at full capacity, the small interior was cramped and stuffy. He sat between two large women who swallowed up all the fresh air. Four ill mannered children were seated across from them. The constant bickering and hollering tested his tolerance and he was sure that if his shin was kicked a third time, he would curse out loud. He deeply regretted not taking a seat up on top with the driver. This dreadful mistake would be remedied at the first stop. To escape the uncomfortable plight, he found comfort imagining how it would be to see Eleanora again. It had been eight long months since Jonathan had spoken with the now famous Lady Gambler. He was anxious to get back to Nevada City, hoping that she hadn’t forgotten her promise to see him again. He had written her two letters with no response. Recent articles reported that she was “lovely as ever” and had successfully expanded her building with a business partner, David Tobin. He was a well known gambler from New York, spending the last several years in San Francisco. He also had a reputation for being a fast and accurate gunman. Jonathan felt a twinge of envy as he wondered if David Tobin was her lover. He dabbed his forehead again.
The sharp dressed man reached out and captured her hand, pressing it hard into his, pinching her fingers. Her other hand quickly disappeared under the table and held the derringer. “Please, Eleanora, listen to me. I can take you away from this place and give you all that you need. From the bottom of my heart, please, take my hand in marriage.” Eleanora remained calm and dangerously serious. “Mr. Shockley, my answer remains the same as it has for the last several weeks. My patience has thinned. If you do not let go of my hand this instant, you will be escorted out with less body parts than you came in with.” She pulled back the trigger, the distinct click sent a wave of heavy silence throughout the room. Within moments, David Tobin appeared at her side. “Mr. Tobin, this man is leaving, please see him to the door.”
David was a large man whose size intimidated most. As soon as he moved toward Shockley, the man got up and moved toward the door. Before exiting, he turned back and spoke through a broken heart, “I would have done anything for you.” Eleanora felt a slight pang of compassion mixed with relief that he was leaving. These types of occurrences were less frequent now that David was present.
The setting sun cast an orange marbled sky as the stage pulled up in front of Gleeson’s Hardware and Hotel. The past two days, Jonathan sat up in the open air with the driver. He was relieved the trip was finally over. The driver handed down his bag. Jonathan hoped the gift had survived the journey. His backside was stiff, it felt good to stand. He glanced down Main, toward the Vingt et un building. He was taken back when he realized that the building appeared twice the size as when he saw it last. Butterflies danced in his stomach. He hoped to see her tomorrow. He was certain that he needed a bath, not to mention a good night’s sleep.
As he approached the front doors, he was not surprised to find that The Vingt et un was now open 24 hours. A decorative sign advertised that the establishment sported the new game of Poker and three Faro Tables. ‘Morning Game Lessons are free.’ He handed the doorman his hat. The Vingt et un had not lost the elegance that Jonathan remembered. “Is Madame Dumont expecting you?” He suddenly felt foolish. “Well, no. Please, will you tell her that her friend, Jonathan Logan from the San Francisco Chronicle is here to see her?” The oversized doorman looked down at the wrapped package he held. “Wait here, sir.” The doorman disappeared up the staircase. Jonathan caught a glimpse of himself in the large rose etched mirror. He spit on his palm and smoothed down his hair. “She will see you in the parlor. Do you know the way?”
“Come in, come in. So good of you to return, Jonathan, you look well.” Her smile was radiant. The butterflies returned. She sat in the morning sun, near the open window. The light showered upon her shoulders making her look angelic. Her long dark hair was loose, thick curls cascaded down her back. The emerald green gown shimmered in the sunlight and revealed tawny smooth skin. He noticed her feet were bare. An awkward feeling came over him and he felt clumsy. Sitting down across from her, he handed her the colorful package. “Happy Birthday, Miss Dumont.”
“I am amazed that you remembered! Oh, I love presents...”she carefully opened the gift. Her dark eyes gleamed as she admired the carved music box. When she lifted the lid, a faint tune tinkled out. Jonathan was relieved that it had not been damaged and found pleasure watching the soft reminiscent expression wash over her pretty face. “When I was a young girl, Aunt Mez would cradle me in her arms and hum this tune to me. This is beautiful, I will treasure it, thank you.”
“Well, now, Jonathan, shall we get to the business at hand?” Eleanora sat back and watched him take out the pad and pencil. She liked Jonathan. There was something about him that was different from the other journalists. Although, they had not spent much time together, her intuitive sense told her that he could be trusted.
“As we became of age, fourteen, one by one, my seven brothers were moved to New Orleans to live with our parents. They were groomed to what best suited them at the Gambling Palace, so that eventually, they would work and carry on the family business. I did not have a choice of what best suited me. I was to take over the bookkeeping. When I turned fourteen, mother insisted that I accompany her to the office to learn my fate. I will never forget the windowless room, located in the rear of the building. It was the dreariest of places. Muffled laughter and music seeped through the wall. I would sneak from the room and peek through the door and watch. The scene was exciting and it stirred something inside me. Mother would catch me and chastise me for not paying attention. Little did she know that I was paying very close attention. I knew where I wanted to be and more importantly where I did not.”
“By the time I was seventeen we were all well versed in handling the business. Our parents felt confident enough to take a long over due three month holiday to Europe. They left my oldest brother, Jean Pierre, in charge. I was elated and put my plan into motion the moment they left. At first I was subtle, before long, my pleading evolved to begging. He finally relented and agreed to allow me to deal one night. It was a Wednesday evening, the slowest of the week. I was mildly disappointed when he set me up in the far corner away from the mainstream. Jean Pierre stationed two brothers near me, in case there was trouble. I will never forget the nervous energy that had my heart pounding. Oh, I had a wonderful time. When it was all over and time to count my bank, I had made more money then any other table that night. Jean Pierre was pleased and allowed me to return the next Wednesday. Three Wednesdays later, a crowd waited to play at my corner table. I was elated, my brothers were extremely distressed. Jean Pierre informed me that I could not return for he was in fear that our parents would discover the truth.”
“Seventy three hours upon their return, Jean Pierre was questioned about the attractive young woman who used to run the corner table on Wednesday evenings. He folded like an old deck of cards. Mother was angry with both of us but reserved her sharp tongue exclusively for him. After that, Mother did not speak one word to Jean Pierre for six months. Father never said much either way. Upon reflection, I believe father was amused. One day, when we were alone, he questioned me about it. I answered honestly and told him that it had changed my life. He understood what he always knew, that his daughter was not going to be kept locked in a stale office.”
“When I turned twenty, I gained legal access to my trust fund. I began planning my future...”
Loud voices from downstairsinterrupted Eleanora. She turned her head to listen closer to what sounded like furniture being toppled. A loud shot pierced the air; a moment of silence was followed by fast moving footsteps up the staircase. Alarmed, both Eleanora and Jonathan sprang from their seats. Eleanora grabbed the shotgun from behind the curtain, Jonathan braced himself against the door. She immediately recognized the panicked voice of the doorman. “Madame Dumont! David Tobin has been shot.”
Based on a true story. Don’t miss Chapter Four, June Issue back to top
Black Lace, Champagne and Twenty-One - Chapter Two
By Terri Geissinger, Smith Valley
Relax Darling, you seem tense. Tell me, will this be your first time?” Eleanora gently continued, “The window of opportunity is brief, the doors will open in under an hour, we should begin.” They were seated in her private parlor upstairs. Although she was four years younger then he, she had an air of wisdom beyond her years. Jonathan Logan was embarrassed by his nervousness. He had traveled from San Francisco to meet the lady gambler and now that he was in her presence, he was surprised to feel a bit intimidated.
Fifteen months ago, Madame Eleanora Dumont had successfully opened a gambling establishment, The Vingt et un. Word spread quickly and business flourished. Four months after opening, she expanded the operation by opening three additional tables and employing four men. Journalist flocked to Nevada City to capture the unusual story of the ‘Lady Gambler’. Jonathan had read several articles written about the proper, articulate woman and assumed that they were exaggerated. After all, what kind of Lady would choose a profession in gambling? It was preposterous. He was determined to impress his editor by uncovering the real story. The long trip provided plenty of time for his imagination to conjure up an image of an uneducated rough woman who dealt cards to tough men in a rich mining town.
Now, sitting across from the petite young woman, realization crept over him, the articles were written in truth. She spoke eloquently, clear and precise, her intense beauty was startling, her charm, intriguing. The sharp dressed man reached to his vest and took out a pad and pencil.
“I was born 24 years ago, on February 14, 1831 in New Orleans. I am the youngest child of our family. Soon after I was born, our parents moved us permanently to the family estate in St. Charles Parish. The landscape is fresh and green, hundreds of varieties of flowers…Have you ever been there? My seven brothers and I grew up in what most would consider a privileged environment. Oh, I can tell you many fond stories of my childhood! Our guardians were two Negro sisters, Aunt Flo and Aunt Mez. Their kin worked for our Grandfather in the old days. How I wish they were here to cook for me…I miss the spice and their delightful company. Aunt Mez and Aunt Flo could talk chicken off the bone!”
“You see, mother and father own a large gambling palace on the waterfront in New Orleans. While we were growing up in St. Charles, their time was spent overseeing the business in the city. They would stay for extended periods of time and come home to visit at least three times a month. Our parents provided the best of everything, tutors, horses, carriages, fabrics, we wanted for nothing. Except, perhaps, more time with them.”
“Ah yes, I recall the days, when they were due home, the eight of us would ascend to the top of the barn and wait for their coach. From the roof we could see out two miles or more and we would scan the road for the first cloud of dust. Mother always brought gifts wrapped in colorful cloth. One time, Aunt Flo caught me climbing up the roof and spouted sharp words explaining why little girls didn’t behave that way. I risked a whipping by questioning her, Why did God give girls legs if they were only meant to sit inside and sew? My brothers were proud of me. Aunt Flo pretended that she did not know that I continued to climb, as long as we did not discuss it in front of Aunt Mez, and as long as I didn’t break my neck. Poor Flo and Mez, exasperation was expressed often.”
“Growing up in a house full of boys provided many opportunities to get into trouble. They were happy to teach me everything they knew and I was a willing student, much to the Aunts’ dismay. I learned how to fight, swear, spit and I am proud to say, I am a hell of a good shot. I suppose it was when I was around six years of age that they taught me how to play the card game, Vingt et un… I am sure you know that is the French word for twenty-one. When we were young, the ante consisted of objects such as marbles, tops or prized gadgets. It all came very natural to me, and soon I was winning more often then not. Of course, my brothers insisted I give back whatever I won. When Aunt Mez found me playing a hand with the boys, she sequestered me to my room for three days. I had to write on my slate, one hundred times each day, ‘Well behaved girls do not play cards.’ From then on, the games were held in secret. As we matured, the stakes became more valuable, the games were far more challenging and intriguing. When I was twelve, I won my oldest brother’s stud horse. My mother was appalled when she overheard a conversation and demanded to know the rest of the story…”
Eleanora broke off in mid sentence. Jonathan glanced up at the large clock as it chimed. He had lost complete track of time and felt a rise of disappointment that the session was over. “Madame Dumont, this has been most interesting. May I return and speak to you again? I have many questions.”
Outside, the anxious crowd waited for the doors to open, the restless murmur drifted up into the open parlor window. Eleanora stood, graciously offering her hand, “Mr. Logan, I will have you know that I have met with several columnists and you are one of the few who seems genuinely interested in who I am and not completely absorbed by my profession. Yes, I look forward to seeing you again.” Her hand felt warm, a pleasant chill swept up his spine. He expressed his gratitude for her time and asked permission to talk to a few of her patrons. She politely declined his request, stating she wanted no distractions. He was welcome to talk to the men who waited outdoors.
Everyone was in place. Three dealers, wearing crisp white shirts and dark red vests stood at their tables. Eleanora, dressed in an elegant black lace gown, took her seat at the center table. She immediately felt for the two derringers tucked underneath, upon the hidden shelf. The doorman stood near the entrance waiting for Eleanora’s signal to open the tall ornate doors. Jonathan was thoroughly impressed with the scene and was not surprised that he already missed her company.
A slight nod from the Madame and the tall doors opened. Men quietly rushed in, seeking the chairs at Eleanora’s table. Her table was always first choice. Instantly, the room was alive with conversation and the distinct sound of gold and silver coins jingling as the bets were placed. All available ‘waiting seats’ were taken, leaving standing room only which quickly overflowed outdoors. Jonathan immediately noticed that the clientele was far from what he first imagined. It was obvious that most of the patrons were businessmen, tastefully dressed, well mannered and wealthy. Other men, most likely miners, wore tattered but clean clothes, obeying the sign at the front door. There was no doubt; Madame Eleanora Dumont was the owner of a gold mine, without the dirt. She had created an elegant atmosphere that attracted the affluent. The high-stake games promoted inflated egos of men who enjoyed flaunting their wealth. Eleanora didn’t seem to mind.
Authors note: Countless reporters traveled hundreds of rough miles to Nevada City California to capitalize on the rare story of Madame Dumont. Her charming ways captivated the journalists, she stole their hearts and in turn, they wrote favorable articles describing the unique ‘Gambling Lady’ and her elegant establishment. Newspapers throughout the country printed the stories which catapulted Madame Dumont’s respected reputation far and wide.
Based on a true story.
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Black Lace, Champagne and Twenty-One - Chapter One
By Terri Geissinger, Smith Valley
I felt the overwhelming desire to reach out and slap him. His roving eyes turned my stomach. I wanted to walk away, but unfortunately, if I was to succeed in purchasing the property, I would have to endure his rude behavior. “My name is Madame Eleanora Dumont. I am interested in purchasing the lot across the street. I understand that you are the surrogate of whom I am to inquire. I was informed this morning that the gentleman who is responsible for the Land Office is out of town.” The short greasy man brought his colorless eyes up from my bosom. He annoyed me tremendously. His yellow grin showed tobacco oozing from the corner of his mouth. He straightened his posture with an air of self assurance. “I shoulda guessed you were a business woman…and you’re right, Mr. Marks has left me in charge until his return from San Francisco.” He turned to spit. “That lot there will cost quite a sum, it’s the last one available on Main…guess you’d be openin’ a brothel…” Ignoring his half statement, half hopeful question, I forced a tight steel smile and opened my velvet pouch. Spreading the cash out neatly on the counter, “Two thousand dollars…I assume that will cover the price.” His ugly jaw dropped slightly, exposing broken teeth. His stained fingers slowly counted the money. He stamped the deed with red ink, Paid in Full. Stepping out into the fresh air, a bolt of excitement shot through my middle. I did it. I now own a prime piece of ground in the wealthiest mining camp in California. Walking back to the hotel room, I found myself smiling as reality took hold. Nevada City was to become my new home.
The crowded saloons quickly spread the news of the land purchased by the attractive young lady. Whiskey rimmed rumors were poured and served to anyone interested in the latest news of the camp. The petite, dark haired woman had arrived in town just the day before. The stage driver was seen unloading several large trunks and was later overheard telling a friend that the woman paid the company an extra fee to travel alone. Later in the day, she was seen walking up and down the street, unescorted, as if she were looking for someone. Nobody seemed to know who she was or where she came from. The same question circled in and out of conversations, “What was she doing here?” Someone said she was a Madam from New York and was to open a brothel…
I am certainly not from New York and never did I say that I was opening a brothel. Nevertheless, it was the rumor that spread quickly. Not one to ruin a good story, I let the gossip run rampant. It was fairly amusing to overhear snippets of all the east coast prostitutes who would be arriving in town to work for me. The stories thrived and men were more than happy to help me in my endeavor. Nevada City was experiencing a building boom and available laborers were hard to find, but amazingly, I had no difficulty securing a building contractor. In fact, the construction of the church and other public buildings stood practically still while my building was completed in record time. It is hard to believe that I arrived here less than four months ago. In that time, an impressive amount of effort and money has been spent in order to bring my dream into reality. The grand opening of the ‘Vingt et un’ (French for ‘21’) will take place in just three days, on the evening of March 10, 1854.
Eleanora walked through the quiet, dimly lit room admiring the tapestry that adorned the south wall. It reminded her of the one that hung in her parents gambling palace, back home, in Louisiana. Red velvet covered chairs were strategically placed for her customers to sit comfortably while they observe the game and wait their turn. Again, she carefully scanned the large rose etched mirror for any cracks. It had traveled many miles over rough roads and she was not yet convinced that it survived the trip unscathed. It took ten men to unload it and as many to secure the mirror to the wall behind the massive, beautifully carved bar. No hints of cracks, she felt a slice of relief. Her slippers fell silently on the thick green rug as she crossed the room to sit in her high back chair at the large mahogany table. Her palms skimmed the cool dark surface, smooth and flawless; as it should be, it had cost her a fortune. She tried to visualize what it was going to feel like, dealing cards to the eight players who would bet their gold and silver against her experienced hand. Instinctively, she reached under the table and felt the hidden shelf where she will tuck the two derringers. She was familiar with the risks; the possible scenarios continually ran through her mind. Her intention was to operate a reputable and safe gambling establishment. In order to protect herself and the business, it will be critical to enforce strict house rules right from the start.
Women were not allowed inside the ‘Vingt et un’, nor were they to hang themselves over the men outside the doors. Eleanora was not interested in cheap distraction. She wanted the men to lay their money on the table and play cards. The sign that hung on the door was clear; All Patrons Must Be Freshly Bathed. The last thing she wanted to do was to sit across from a working man who stunk to high heaven. They were in the presence of a Lady, she would demand respect and therefore, language would be clean as well. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, “If you expect to be treated like a lady, you must insist on cleanliness and manners.” Beer made a man sloppy. Whiskey made a man rowdy. The ‘Vingt et un’ would not serve these spirits but instead, sparkling champagne and cold milk.
Prior to 1854, the gambling world was known only to men. At 23 years old, Madame Eleanora Dumont would break the pattern and launch a career that would make her the first known and most famous gambling woman of the west.
Based on a true story.
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