Chapter One – The Sunflower's Angel

Alfred F. Jones had lived in the mining camps on the skirts of Virginia City for nigh on seven months. As soon as he'd turned sixteen, he'd rushed over from the California coast, lured by the whispers of silver in the Sierra Nevada. The Gold Rush was long over, but there were mountains of silver being discovered – or so the stories said – all ready for the taking by those brave enough to venture out into the wilderness.

And Alfred was going to make his fortune from it.

People told him that only inexperienced and naïve fools followed a mining rush, but he was Alfred F. Jones and he believed enough in his good luck and determination to give the adventure a go. Fortune had always seemed to smile upon him, giving him good looks, a great start in life, strong instincts and many talents, so he knew he must be destined for something great. And what could be bigger than unearthing a whole mountain of treasure all for himself.

So Alfred had ended up in Virginia City in the summer of 1860, and quickly managed to make a small fortune for himself. He may have been one of the luckier ones to be able to make such a profit, but then he'd always been like that.

And yet still, this treasure hunt wasn't turning out exactly as Alfred had expected.

First of all, the money Alfred earned seemed to disappear almost as quickly as he made it. He would save all his wages, and stay far away from the city pleasures on which so many of his messmates depended, but still the expenses of life out in the wild were draining. The businesses in town and the traders who passed through really knew how to exploit people, knowing the citizens had no other options out here in the desert, and just paying to live in the mining town could sap the livelihoods of the men who built the community in the first place. If it weren't for the miners, there would be no town here at all, but nobody seemed to give the workers the respect they deserved, and Alfred's fortune dwindled even as he saved.

It wasn't the meagre profit that was most disappointing, though. To Alfred, the greatest reward wasn't money or status but a sense of purpose and satisfaction, and sadly, Alfred soon discovered he felt neither of these from mining work. This job just wasn't the life he had dreamed it would be.

It didn't bother him that mining was hard and dangerous work; that was part of what attracted him to it in the first place. The risks and life-threatening nature of the job seemed just the perfect thing for a real adventure, like the kind Alfred had always dreamed of for himself. But he soon discovered that the novelty of mining quickly wore off after a few ten hour shifts. The work was too tedious for the danger to keep it exciting, and instead, the reality of the peril they were all in burst to light the first time Alfred walked home to learn that another man in his camp had died that day. Somehow the thrill of danger and riches wasn't so fun when coupled with the thought of being buried alive in the mines. And that was only one of a countless numbers of horrible deaths Alfred had to face every second of the ten hours he spent in the hot, cramped, inescapable tunnels underground.

Yet still, it was not the danger that was the worst part for Alfred, either. For some reason he'd never been truly scared for himself, trusting in his good luck to see him through every day. And he could have dealt with the low wages, too, just for the sake of staying with the friends he'd made at camp.

But no, there was something else about the mining life that haunted him day in and day out, until he couldn't handle it anymore.

He hadn't been prepared for the despair.

After seven months of mining, the deep darkness and claustrophobia of the tunnels in the mountains started to seep into your heart, too. Even when you left the mines, the dank gloom and oppressive silence seemed to follow you wherever you went, weighing down on you as if the earth were still hanging overhead. No matter how bright the light of day, or how many friends you gathered around yourself, or how deeply you breathed in the fresh air outside – nothing could dispel the sense of dread and desolation that clung to you from the mines, creeping in on you until the world above seemed no different to the tunnels below. As if there were no escape.

Alfred was a man of light and wide open spaces, and he simply felt wrong being in the mines. Down in the tunnels, you lost all your senses. You forgot what colours were, or what a breeze felt like, and it was frightening how easy it was to forget if it was day or night, winter or summer. It wasn't natural, being down there; it felt like he was living upside down. Most of the boontuckers around Virginia City didn't seem to mind, but Alfred was quickly realising this wasn't the life for him, and that was why he couldn't shake that sense of dread that followed him every day. He didn't belong down there, he realised. He needed his freedom.

So Alfred was starting to think that he should try a new adventure. There were plenty to be had across the vast lands of America, as the spirit of Manifest Destiny swept one half of the vast country and civil unrest boiled on the other.

This miner's life just wasn't for him. It was good while it lasted, but his future lay down a different path: out on the wide open plains, with the world at his feet – not hanging over his head ready to smother him. He was sure of it now. And thanks to his good luck and prudent savings, he had the freedom for a fresh start and enough money to kick-start his next adventure, whatever that may be.

So now Alfred was just waiting for spring so that he could pass over the mountains, and leave Virginia City behind for somewhere new. He didn't know where yet, but he put his faith in the good fortune that had shined down on him his whole life. He'd find what he was meant to do.

There was just one last thing Alfred wanted to do in Virginia City before he could consider this adventure complete. He'd accomplished everything he'd set out to do here, but there was something he'd heard about in the mining camps, a little idea that had got into his head, and now he wouldn't be able to consider this adventure complete, or feel ready for the next, until he tried it.

For Alfred F. Jones had lived in the mining camps on the skirts of Virginia City for nigh on seven months, and he'd never once been to The Sunflower saloon.

The thought that he could risk it now made him shiver in fear and anticipation. He'd never dared go before, but now that he was leaving, he could take a chance and visit there just once before it sucked him in.

He frequented the other saloons in town, of course, and for all that they were shabby and loud and dangerous, it was The Sunflower that he avoided like a deadly precipice. He had to: it was an act of self-preservation.

For The Sunflower concert saloon was probably the greatest danger a miner faced out in the wild desert mountains of the Sierra Nevada. Sure, the work underground could take your life in a hundred gruesome ways, and the lawlessness of a boomtown could leave you vulnerable to every single person who crossed your path. But The Sunflower saloon could do both, and take your soul, to boot.

Once you had a taste of it, you had to go back. The girls were too beautiful, the service too ready, the drink too good, and the opium too addictive. It wasn't like the other bordellos or concert halls in town, where the women were as cheap and ordinary as the shabby wooden buildings stacked downhill near the mining camps. The Sunflower was the silver among the rocks, the dream of every man who came to Virginia City to seek his fortune.

It wasn't so bad for the wealthy patrons who frequented the establishment – the investors, traders and entrepreneurs who had arrived after the Comstock Lode miners to do business and make money off others. The Sunflower was good to these men: nurturing them, making them dependent, slowly milking them for their money like well-tended cattle.

But the miners didn't have enough to feed the addiction, and letting yourself fall under the spell of The Sunflower would lead to ruin before you even knew what hit you. The Sunflower may have treated its rich patrons like a meal to be savoured slowly, but the miners and their petty savings were drained in an instant, chewed and spat out like a quick snack, and left penniless, broken, and never to be repaired. Forever after they would long for nights at The Sunflower, pining for its luxury, believing the women who treated them so well when they had money to flaunt must still miss them.

Alfred hadn't wanted to end up like that. Inwardly, he believed that he could handle one night without turning into a slave to The Sunflower, but he'd seen enough decent men ruined by the bordello to take the risk for himself. So even after all the whispers and infamy that crept out of that concert saloon and ensnared the other men, Alfred had managed to stay away all this time. He would allow himself the small consolation of listening to the stories that came back to camp every now and then, but he'd never dared step foot inside.

But now those stories were like fire in his veins, fantasies put together from the other men's stories coursing through him every second of the day and making his blood boil with anticipation. He was moving on soon, so he would be safe from the spell of The Sunflower. Surely it would be harmless to indulge in just one night there. One night to sink and bask in the earthly pleasures and decadence of The Sunflower concert saloon, and maybe even take a woman to bed for the very first time. He felt like he'd earned it after the past seven months of gruelling work in the silver mines.

And so one night, for the first time since he left home, Alfred found himself stepping out of a barren, rocky, colourless desert city and into a world of luxury: the soft glow of the lights warm and comforting, the smell of rich tobacco so smooth in his lungs, golden trimmings sparkling in his eyes from every surface…And this was just the entrance.

Already, Alfred understood how those other good miners had met their fates.

This was a complete escape. For the first time in months, Alfred felt like that despair from the mines was slipping away, leaving him free and content and willing to do anything to keep this sense of ease for a little while longer. It didn't feel like it could be the same world as the one he'd left outside. It was like stepping into a fantasy realm, so spending all your money here didn't count because it couldn't be real.

It was treacherous, indeed.

A deep cough made Alfred stop his gawking and turn to the guard at the door. It must have been so obvious he was just a lowly miner, but the guard made no move to throw him out of the establishment, so Alfred decided they must see his sort often enough to be used to it. He may get some dirty looks from the more wealthy patrons, as he'd feared, but at least they weren't going to turn him away completely.

Alfred handed the guard his good coat, tried to take an inconspicuous deep breath, and was shown through the second pair of doors into the parlour.

The Sunflower was by no means the largest concert hall or saloon or bordello in the city, nor even the only building that functioned as all three. But there was really no competition. Unlike the bare wood and shabby grime of the other places in town, here the grand saloon parlour was decked out in plush leather seats and dark wooden tables, and a rich, red carpet so soft Alfred could feel it through his shoes. The back wall was almost entirely covered by a pair of large gilded doors, almost two stories high, that led to the concert hall beyond. Off to the right, the dark wooden bar sparkled with so many bottles of fine alcohol that Alfred was intimidated by the choice – but what was even more nerve-wracking was the sweeping staircase on the other side of the room that led the way upstairs to the bedrooms.

And therein lay the siren song that led so many good men to ruin at The Sunflower.

Out here in the wild west, men outnumbered women a hundred to one, and the whores in Virginia City were as ragged and tired as the men who paid for them. But in the grand parlour of The Sunflower it was like stepping into a dream. There were women everywhere, like an extinct species brought back to life. Or rather, a whole new species, for these could not be the same as the adventuresses from the cheap bordellos in the lower parts of town.

Here the women seemed to shine somehow. They were clean and soft, as if untouched by the hardened world outside, and whenever a waiter girl passed by a sweet perfume wafted after her, dizzying the senses to a happy buzz. The glamorous hair and carefully painted faces made it look as if each of them had been made by an artist. And of course, the lavish costumes were scandalously skimpy: their skirts were so short that you could see the knees of every one of them, and their bosoms practically burst from the low cut tops of their brightly coloured corsets.

Alfred was sure the suggestive clothes were meant to be the main attraction, but for him, strangely, it was the smiles that drew his attention. Even Alfred, who had never been drawn to a woman before as the other miners were, couldn't help but feel lulled and happy when the women glanced his way, their smiles so friendly and inviting it felt as if they were genuinely happy to see him. After surviving so long in the barren desert and rocky mountains outside, a world void of gentleness, it felt so comforting just to see someone smile at him so tenderly.

Of course, to the usual patrons of The Sunflower - the wealthy businessmen and merchants of Virginia City - it couldn't be that special at all.

The parlour was full of these people – smoking, drinking, stumbling, talking loudly and laughing raucously with one another as the scantily clad waiter girls leant on their arms or pretended to shy away.

Alfred could tell at first sight that many of them were the type of people who lived off of exploiting him and his fellow miners. Rich, greedy businessmen who spent most of their time chasing pleasure, judging by their round bodies and hands unmarred by a day's work outside. From the way they lounged around so carelessly, groping the passing women without a hint of shame, it looked as if they indulged like this every day, thinking it was their God given right just for being successful. They were the type of men who took their wealth and fantastic lifestyle for granted, when so many other people in the west were struggling to get by. And Alfred resented that. He knew he was a lucky man himself, but he thanked God for it every day, and never pretended he was worthy of such blessings.

And yet, as little as he respected these men, Alfred knew he had come to The Sunflower for the same reasons as they had. He, too, was here to relax and indulge, to ogle women and pay for pleasure, so tonight he couldn't judge.

Although, as he looked around at the regular customers, so arrogant and demanding, he still couldn't help but feel nervous and out of place. These men may be able to swagger around and enjoy themselves without a drop of shame, but Alfred wasn't quite used to being so conceited.

He stood there at the doors of the parlour, not sure what to do with himself. Go and sit down and call over a waiter girl like he owned the place? It was much more awkward than he had thought it would be, despite the beauty and wholly informal and uninhibited atmosphere of the room. He just couldn't quite bring himself to act like these men, even though he knew the women expected it of him and wanted his attention so they could earn his tips.

But before he could spend too long feeling out of place, he noticed someone approaching him, and as he looked up to face the new arrival, his mouth fell open in surprise.

This must be the famous madam all the miners talked about. Platinum blonde hair hanging loose all the way down to her waist. The signature black ribbon about her neck – in memory of her absent brother, or so it was said. Eyes that made you want to shiver and beg for mercy, even if you'd done nothing wrong.

Natalia Bragisnki, the owner of The Sunflower saloon.

There was no doubt about it – she was heading straight for him. Was she going to throw him out perhaps? Alfred couldn't believe she took the time to greet every new customer from the working camps; the only accounts he'd had of her from other miners were just from passing glimpses or rumours spread by her employees. None of them had ever been spared her icy glance, let alone been approached directly. So why was she walking towards him? Alfred snapped his feet together and stood up straight, his body moving on its own, as he prepared himself for whatever might happen next.

Natalia stopped right in front of him, and eventually, Alfred managed to summon the courage to raise his head and look her in the eyes.

She was smiling.

It was the greatest shock Alfred had encountered so far at The Sunflower.

It was a pretty smile, and Alfred was too young and gullible to realise that it might be the fake, friendliness of a salesman. He relaxed instantly.

"Good evening, sir. We've been expecting you. I'm delighted that you could visit our little establishment tonight," said the famous madam, her voice sweet and feminine and low at the same time.

Alfred faltered for a moment. "E-expecting me?! Truly? I guess I told a few people I was planning on coming tonight, but I didn't think you'd hear about it. Ah, b-but you're welcome! It was no trouble. Thank you for having me."

Natalia's smile wavered for a brief second as her eyebrows drew together in confusion and suspicion. But whatever thought had just flashed into her head was quickly dismissed, and her inviting smile spread back in place before Alfred could take in what had happened or realise he had anything to worry about.

"Oh, nonsense!" Natalia smiled. "The pleasure is all ours. We live to serve. May I interest you in a drink, or perchance some tobacco?"

"Uh, sure! I mean, yes, please."

Natalia escorted Alfred to the bar where she ordered him a glass of the saloon's finest wine. He wasn't too fond of wine, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful. Was he even allowed to intervene, when she was being so kind to him?

"You'll take a private box in the gallery, of course," Natalia remarked suddenly.

"W-what?" Alfred asked, almost choking on his wine.

"Free of charge," she said, waving away the extravagant gift as if it were nothing. "I won't take no for an answer. I know you'll simply love the view from up on the second floor. Not that it isn't spectacular from everywhere in the hall, of course, but the gallery is perfect for those who can truly appreciate what we offer here at The Sunflower."

Alfred had no idea what she was talking about. What made her think he was so special and could really 'appreciate' the show better than the other men? Didn't he just look like any other man here for the pretty girls and fine drink?

He didn't know why she was being so considerate to him when he was clearly just another miner. Yes, he had bought some nice new clothes for the occasion (since he'd outgrown the garments he'd brought with him from California, anyway) but they were hardly a sufficient disguise. His suit still didn't compare to that of the rich men all around them, and he was too young to be mistaken for anyone of import. And besides, although he'd washed as best he could for the evening, Alfred didn't think he'd ever get the dirt and grit from the mines completely off his skin and out from under his fingernails for the rest of his life.

Perhaps the madam of The Sunflower was just trying to make him comfortable, so he let his guard down and threw all his money away! Or maybe she thought treating him nicely tonight would make him come back again and again until he'd spent every last penny…

Well, if that was her plan then not only was Alfred on to her, but he had an advantage: he was leaving soon, and he wouldn't be able to come back and keep spending all his money, anyway. If Natalia wanted to give him all these gifts of free wine and a gallery view just to manipulate him, then he might as well let her. He wasn't going to fall for it, and she didn't need to know that he wouldn't be back.

Besides, she and her girls had tricked and cheated plenty of decent men out of their money before. Surely she wouldn't be ruined if Alfred took advantage of her generosity for one evening. Let her have a taste of her own medicine, even if it was miniscule in comparison.

"That's exceeding kind of you, ma'am," Alfred said with a smile, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. He didn't feel too bad taking advantage of the rich madam for tonight, but he'd still heard plenty stories of how cold and merciless she could be to miners. He was taking a risk using her like this, so he had to be incredibly careful. "Don't mind if I take you up on that offer. I'd love to experience the show to its best advantage."

Natalia smiled once more and nodded briskly, before whisking away in a flash of white hair and rustling skirts, leaving Alfred alone at the bar. He felt like a winter breeze had just torn past him, and he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. So he remained on his stool at the bar, sipping occasionally at his glass of wine and wondering if he could leave it and ask for something else.

No waiter girls disturbed him, which he thought was a little odd. Weren't they supposed to be trying to encourage him to drink more and spend lots of money? Maybe seeing him with Natalia had put them off, because they thought he was a special guest. He wished he hadn't been singled out and taken care of like that – he felt too awkward to enjoy himself. But then again, being left alone seemed preferable to throwing himself into the depravity of the men around him.

After about five minutes of nudging his wine glass around on the bar top, there was a loud creak, and the grand, gilded doors of the concert hall opened.

The drunken patrons all hurled themselves out of their armchairs in eagerness, staggering forwards and sometimes hanging on waiter girls for support. They flooded into the concert hall in the blink of an eye, and Alfred was left to follow along.

The hall itself was truly magnificent. Like nothing Alfred had seen or even believed could exist out here in Virginia City. It seemed that every new room he entered in The Sunflower led him deeper into this alternate wonderland, further and further away from reality.

The floor of the concert hall was scattered with dozens of round tables, each surrounded by a few luxurious armchairs already filled with red-faced men and a few waiter girls who had been trapped and made to sit on their knees. The ceiling seemed as high as a church steeple, allowing an upper gallery to circle three walls of the room on the second floor, circling the stage that stretched across the back of the room. There were probably more tables and seats up there in the gallery, but the drunken patrons had eschewed them in favour of hanging over the balcony railings, watching the sordid goings on below on the ground floor as they waited for the show to begin.

Alfred was once again lost to the world as he gazed around in awe until a pretty waiter girl with warm chestnut hair in a bouncing ponytail appeared by his side.

"Good evening, señor!" she greeted, her voice bubbly, a hint of an Italian accent adding to the charm. "Madam Braginski has asked that I show you to a box in the gallery, if that would please you?"

Alfred turned his attention to the two grand boxes framing the stage on the left and right. They reminded him of a picture he'd seen of the palace of Versailles in Paris, only these were like miniature versions suspended like turrets on the wall. They had thick red velvet drapes that could hide the patron inside from view if they chose, and Alfred was sure that they were furnished with the best seats in the house. But what really drew him was the fact the boxes were the only place in the concert hall free of raucous businessmen. He was very tempted.

"Are you sure it's all right?" Alfred asked, cautiously, still baffled by the attentive treatment everyone seemed so willing to bestow upon him. He couldn't help but think it must be a mistake.

But the waiter girl smiled brightly, laughing easily. "Of course! Madam Braginski knows you've been looking forward to this visit for a long time, so she wanted to make sure it was worth the wait!"

Alfred didn't protest further, so she led him up the stairs to the box on the right of the stage. She unlocked the door, and stepped aside for Alfred to lead the way, but he could only stand and stare from the doorway.

"Is it to your liking, señor?" the waiter girl inquired, anxiously.

Alfred wanted to laugh at her nervous tone, wondering if maybe he was displeased. On the contrary, this was all far too much. The splendour of the concert hall, the extravagance of the box – Alfred was convinced he couldn't be worthy of all this. He wasn't sure if he could even let himself give in and pretend just for one night. It was all so indulgent it felt sinful.

But as he let his eyes wander around his lavish surroundings, Alfred's eyes fell on the deep red settee, and he couldn't help but edge into the box, creeping carefully as if not to shatter the illusion around him. He took a deep breath and sank down onto the sofa.

It was the most comfortable thing Alfred had sat on in seven long months. And as he let himself lean back into it, the weight of mining life slipping off his shoulders, he knew he couldn't leave now. He may not be worth a place like this, but he felt he deserved to enjoy it just for one night.

The waiter girl took his order of drinks and tobacco (he was glad he forgot his horrible wine at the bar) and left Alfred alone in the box to admire the view below.

From here he could ignore the sleazy behaviour of the wealthier men on the ground floor and those up in the gallery beyond the secluded walls of his private box. Their voices still reached him but the noise was muffled, and being surrounded by the curtains and partitions made him feel like he was in his own little private world. And there was, indeed, a perfect view of the stage, drawing his attention to the front of the room and away from the sordid things going on elsewhere in the hall.

Of course, all he could see for now was the deep red curtain shielding the stage, so Alfred sat back and made himself comfortable, trying to calm the wild fluttering of his heart.

Over the past half a year, he'd only ever allowed himself little daydreams of this place when he needed to escape, but even that had been enough to fill him with excitement and high hopes. And yet now he was here, The Sunflower had still managed to blow him away. He didn't know what to expect anymore.

Once a new and better drink was in Alfred's hand, the lights dimmed, bathing the patrons in a glow like shining gold dust. The curtains were drawn back by an unseen hand, and the stage was revealed, illuminated so that all of Alfred's vision was focused on that one spot, and the rest of the room faded away into nothingness as if it no longer existed.

A man in a theatrical black suit appeared at the edge of the stage and his voice boomed out at the audience like the toll of a bell. "Esteemed guests, The Sunflower is proud to present our first act: The Snow Queens!" He waved his hand with a flourish, and two beautiful women appeared centre stage, as if from nowhere, seeming to glow softly in the pale white lights.

They were more like girls really, Alfred noted as he looked closer at the first performers. One of them seemed a little older than himself, but the other had to be at least several years younger. Both had white-gold hair pinned up in fantastic headpieces that sparkled in the light, and pale, beaded costumes that showed enough thigh and shoulder and cleavage that the men in the audience were already salivating before the girls had even opened their mouths.

The girls looked cold, though. Not physically – although Alfred wouldn't blame them with tiny costumes like that – but as if they were hardened and distant. Even whilst they sang and danced their beautiful, slow song, there was no light of emotion in their eyes.

Alfred couldn't really blame them. He'd heard how some girls fell into this line of work for lack of any other choices to turn to, and although he admired the girls' appearance he couldn't find it in himself to lust after them like the other men in the crowd.

He felt the same with the following acts as the show went on. They didn't all look as sad as the first girls, and they were all attractive women to be sure, but Alfred didn't feel as desperately aroused and needy as the other men seemed to be. Perhaps he just hadn't had enough to drink. But he didn't feel the need to do anything about it: he was content to simply enjoy the show for the incredible performance that it was.

'The Snow Queens' were followed by a few American girls, then a plump and pretty Belgian with a powerful voice and high kick, the bronze-skinned 'Island Child' from a British colony somewhere near Africa, and 'The Empress' from China, covered in a magnificent layered silk costume that was slowly stripped away as she sang.

And now, the lights dimmed until a single spotlight illuminated the stage, and Alfred knew they were reaching the grand finale. And it could only possibly be one thing.

The Britannia Angel.

He'd heard so much about her it felt like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.

His messmates all had their favourites, of course. Most of them liked the performers, for the extravagance and allure they emanated on stage, but some liked the waiter girls, too. Gilbert would go on about the cat heads on the Russian, whilst his brother Ludwig shyly mentioned that the bubbly Italian waiter girl was very nice. And of course Antonio would then jump in with praises for her twin sister, though nobody else had anything but complaints about that one.

But it was undoubtedly the Britannia Angel Alfred had heard the most about in the past seven months – and amazingly, it wasn't her beauty or sex appeal that really set her apart. It was nothing nearly so simple as being the most feminine or voluptuous of the women at The Sunflower, for by all accounts, the Britannia Angel was neither. She was beautiful, of course, but her magnetic charm was so much deeper than what met the eye.

The true magic of the Britannia Angel was that she seemed to know exactly what men wanted in their heart of hearts, as if she could see into their souls somehow. The miners who had been to The Sunflower would speak of her in hushed and reverent tones, as if unsure whether they could really explain the enigmatic allure of the Britannia Angel to those who hadn't seen her for themselves. They told of the power she commanded over her audience, leaving them feeling as if they had been touched by the person who knew them best. Men may come to The Sunflower to admire the pretty girls and enjoy their intimacy, but the Britannia Angel was the one who moved them in ways they had never experienced before.

She performed for everyone; her songs could move men to tears, while her sultry dancing set their bodies ablaze with passion and desire – definitely the best performer of all the dazzling spectacles The Sunflower had to offer. But of course, it was only the rich men who could afford to buy her for private time: the patrons who had been with every other woman at The Sunflower and had proven their loyalty to the owner enough to earn a night with the Angel. A common man would never get to feel her touch or be graced with her attention, like the memory of a dream you couldn't quite grasp.

So the miners told stories of her as if she were a mythical creature, a legendary figure of the mountain wastelands. And Alfred couldn't wait to catch a glimpse of her for himself, just to make sure she was real. He still didn't quite believe it: surely nothing like this angel could exist out here in the ugly, hard desert life of the Comstock Lode rush.

But then she appeared, and Alfred saw the real treasure of the Sierra Nevada. He knew instantly why so many men had lost themselves to The Sunflower if it offered treasure like this, even greater than that which they toiled for in the mines.

She was slim and petite, with a face so lovely it had Alfred craning forward over the balcony to get a better look. Her long fair hair was tied up in two bunches that looked like endearing rabbit ears, giving her the air of an innocent child, and the silken waterfall of hair spilled down her slender arms, making Alfred long to feel the soft brush of her golden locks against his own bare skin. Lacy black gloves adorned her delicate hands, matching the black choker around her neck which somehow made her bare shoulders and collarbone more noticeable and enticing. Her costume was a deep forest green embroidered with gold, and even from up here in his private box, Alfred could tell that the colour complimented her bright eyes just perfectly. It wasn't as bawdy as some of the other girls' dresses, but Alfred didn't find that such a bad thing. She looked more elegant in a proper dress, though the skirt was still short enough to be sexy. Petticoats and a bustle accented her hips, and the thick black lines of her tights highlighted long, slim limbs that suddenly made Alfred realise how attractive he found a good pair of legs. Her bodice accentuated the curves of her body, and though she looked rather flat-chested, she was still stunning. Even the glimpse of thick, dark eyebrows hidden behind her fringe didn't dampen her beauty and grace at all.

And it was that elegance and sheer, natural loveliness more than her physical beauty which Alfred noticed most as she began her song. It was a slow, sad melody, in a lower key than was commonly popular, but which sounded amazing to Alfred nonetheless. It told of an old toy left behind in England when the Angel had been dragged to America by a ruthless father, and it was one of the saddest stories Alfred had ever heard. There were tears in his eyes from the very start.

Alfred could tell the Angel felt every word of it, too. Nobody could be that good an actress. But even as she sang of something so nostalgic and tragic, the Britannia Angel remained proud and elegant, holding her head high and refusing to let her memories of hardship break her down.

Alfred was so enchanted, so completely and instantly lost to the Britannia Angel, that he didn't notice Natalia behind him until she clamped a hand over his shoulder.

"Did you enjoy her performance?"

Alfred jumped clear out of his seat at the sudden interruption. He looked at the stage and realised that the Angel was curtseying gracefully and walking away as the curtain fell and the master of ceremonies announced the end of the show.

"She was wonderful. I…I'd heard about her, and I wanted to see her in particular, but I didn't realise how amazing she'd be…"

Natalia nodded approvingly. "If you'll wait a few minutes, I'll show you to her room. I'm sure you will enjoy her performance there just as much."

Alfred gaped up at Natalia, eyes painfully wide and feeling like his voice was caught tangibly in his throat. Some incomprehensible gurgling spilled out of his mouth for a moment before he miraculously managed to shut it.

He worried for a moment that this was all a trap Natalia had laid out for him: make him feel welcome and important and give him the best seat in the house so that he couldn't refuse when she offered up the Britannia Angel on a silver platter. And then when his evenings with the Angel was over, she'd tell him how much it all cost and whisk all his savings right out from under him, like a bandit in the night.

He knew it was a possibility. And yet, right now, he didn't mind paying to meet the Britannia Angel. Whether or not he'd be able to go through with anything intimate was another matter entirely, but at least he could talk to her. And at that moment, he thought he would never want anything more than just to meet the Angel face to face, and tell her how much her performance had meant to him. If he had to stand up to Natalia at the end of the night then so be it.

"Yes," said Alfred at last, meeting eyes confidently with the Russian madam. "That would be most kind of you."

And so, a long fifteen minutes later, Alfred found himself in a luxurious green and gold room with the Britannia Angel. She wore wearing the same clothes as earlier, but had taken off her boots in favour of slippers, and her corset appeared to be loosened. Alfred's jacket was hanging on the back of the door and he already felt naked. His eyes darted of their own accord towards the big, soft bed resting against the wall, and Alfred gulped.

"I-I-I just wanted to say you were great," he stammered. "I mean, more than great. Exceeding great. Wonderful! I've never seen aught like it before, Angel. May I call you Angel? I wish I was better with words so I could tell you how really lovely you were. You made me feel so sad with that song. You're truly talented and – "

The Angel touched his arm lightly and Alfred's jaw snapped shut as if he'd been slapped. The Angel such incredible power over him it almost made him afraid.

She smiled shyly, hiding it behind her hand, somehow beckoning Alfred over to the bed without words. They sat down on the edge of the lavish blanket, and despite everything, Alfred couldn't help but groan inwardly at the temptingly soft mattress, so unlike his hard old bunk at the mining camp.

"Madam Braginski told me that you wanted to meet with me tonight," the Angel said softly, glancing coyly at Alfred's eyes then looking away demurely. "And I…well, I must say I'm nervous."

Good Lord in Heaven, that accent! Alfred barely registered what she was saying he was too busy soaking in that dulcet voice. Living in a boomtown like Virginia City, Alfred heard plenty of different accents from all around the world on a daily basis. But never had he heard one so sophisticated and enticing, that sent shivers through his body. This was no working class immigrant but a lady, born and bred. And not only that, it was her: the Britannia Angel, the source of so many stories and fantasies in Virginia City! It already felt more intimate and memorable than any other encounter Alfred ever had.

With a strange sort of acceptance, Alfred knew that he belonged to her now.

"I know I'm not exactly a stranger to these…activities," the Angel continued, pulling the American out of his thoughts and making him blush at the implications. "But when someone like you comes along and asks for me especially…well, it makes me feel like I'm brand new to it all. I just want to impress you so very much that I simply don't know what to do with myself. I hope you'll forgive me for being so timid with you."

Alfred didn't know what the Angel had to be shy about. She was so sophisticated and experienced, and he was nothing but a lowly miner. Perhaps she wasn't visited by virgins too often, and she wanted him to have a good time. Or maybe she just didn't have any young customers, the same age as herself. But whatever the reason, Alfred couldn't hide his relief.

"M-me, too!" he exclaimed, gripping the bedcovers in his hands. "I've never…been with a lady before, so I'm really nervous! I'm glad you are, too. I just never cared that much about doing it, you know? I don't understand why. I mean, I've been to these kinds of places before – but never as fancy as this of course – and I saw the girls but I just wasn't all that bothered. I told myself I was being good saving myself for the right person, but maybe I'm just not cut out for the sleazy stuff, doing it there never really appealed. Ah! Begging your pardon, I don't mean you're sleazy. Just the other places. I hope you'll forgive me! You're lovely and you're the first girl I've looked at and thought I wanted to try, and I hope you don't mind! I know it's your job, but if you don't want me, just tell me and I'll go. I won't push you at all. You deserve better than that! And if anyone ever gives you any trouble just call on me and I'll come make sure they don't bother you again. You deserve the very best!"

The Britannia Angel's eyes had narrowed throughout his babbling, as if weighing him up against some measure Alfred didn't quite meet.

"You're not really Francis, are you?" The Angel's voice was a little lower and a lot less shy than before.

And it was an odd enough question that it snapped Alfred back to Earth.

A/N:

I wrote this story in February 2012, and even though it's one of my earliest fanfics, and possibly not up to the higher standard I hope I've achieved in the last 2 years, I really wanted to post it here. I still really love this fic, so I wanted to share it.

I originally wrote this for the Sweethearts Week event on the USxUK LiveJournal community. 'Sweethearts Week' was a 7-day fanwork challenge with a different prompt for each day (like 'Music of My Heart' or 'Taking Care of Business') ending on Valentine's Day 2012. Participants had 24 hours to submit a fanfic/fanart or other fanwork based on that day's theme in order to earn badges, with a prize at the end for those who earned the most badges. For this event, I decided to write a multi-chapter fic where each chapter was based on that day's themed prompt. I had a full-time job at the time, so I could only write in the evenings, and with the 24-hour time limit for the challenges I didn't have a whole lot of time to write the chapters. I ended up with a 40k word multi-chapter fic written over the course of 6 days. Needless to say, the quality was pretty shocking and the story needed a looooot of editing before I could post it here. In fact, the editing process was so daunting that it's taken me 2 years to summon the courage to work on it so I could upload it to other sites!

I have edited it a lot from the original version, and I'm planning to add a whole new chapter that I always intended to have in there. That being said, the story is still not as polished as I would like it to be, but if I don't just take the plunge and post this now then I could sit here forever rewriting, editing and tweaking and never actually post it. I hope you can forgive the quality in some places!

Since this is a historical fic, I did quite a lot of research for the story, (considering the short time frame I had to write in). I looked at everything that was important to the fic – like homosexuality in the 1800s, brothels, the culture of the wild west – as well as the minute details of everyday life like food, common pastimes, clothes, etc. I do enjoy doing research, so I tried to fit in as many little details as I could to keep give the story an authentic flavour. However, a lot of details also had to be invented, and other times I just took liberties with the actual history I found. So I'm very sorry if anything is appallingly wrong, and I hope that the historical inaccuracies aren't offensively bad.

Also, just in case anyone was still wondering: this is an Alfred x Arthur fic. I have used some nyotalia characters in the background (this chapter featured fem!Italy, fem!China, fem!Norway and fem!Iceland, for example) but the main pairing is still good old fashioned USUK.

And another quick note: there will definitely be more dialogue in later chapters! This one had so much exposition, but the story does actually include characters having conversations, I swear!

Glossary and Historical Notes

Sierra Nevada - Nevada was not a state yet. It was part of Utah territory.

the money seemed to disappear almost as quickly as he made it - it sounds strange, but miners often struggled to become rich even though the Nevada silver rush ended up making hundreds of millions of dollars in total. Merchants and businessmen who followed the mining rush took advantage of the fortunes the miners were making by overcharging them for basic living necessities, so the ones not doing any of the work ended up making all the money. Later on, mines were bought out entirely by companies and the independent miners (like Alfred) were exchanged with low-paid salary miners to work for them.

boontucker - old guy (slang)

Manifest Destiny – I'm sure this is a common term to Americans, but to readers from any other countries: Manifest Destiny is "the 19th century American belief that the United States was destined to expand across the continent." (So says the almighty Wiki.) The term apparently fell out of use in mid-19th century when the Homestead Act of 1862 let people start working and cultivating the land of the Wild West, and it wasn't so wild anymore. But this story is set just before the Homestead Act, so I thought that as the west hadn't exactly been tamed and settled yet at this point, maybe people still believed that Manifest Destiny had some life left in it, as there were still things to accomplish in the west.

civil unrest - this story is set just before the American Civil War. Bonus historical fact: $400 million of silver made during the Virginia City silver rush was contributed to the Union to aid in funding the Civil War.

concert saloon - a saloon was a place to drink and gamble (like a bar), and a concert saloon would also include a show. Most likely featuring lots of girls.

boomtown - a town built up rapidly due to an influx of miners, either in a gold or silver rush.

bordello – brothel

Comstock Lode - the silver rush that began in Nevada, 1859.

men outnumbered women a hundred to one - this was a statistic I found during my research, which explained why prostitution was such a big business during this time. In a lot of the boom towns, there were practically NO women. These were not communities with families like a regular town: it was just all single men who'd come to mine and earn money. It was either have sex with each other (more on that next chapter), or hire prostitutes. So despite the 19th century being a more strictly religious time, prostitution was sort of excused/expected in places like this. (Not the human beings are hypocritical creatures, of course.)

adventuress - a whore

waiter girls - the girls whose job it was to pay attention to and faun over the patrons and get them to spend lots of money on drinks and tips (and trinkets for themselves sometimes).

the girls' clothes - It was so hard researching what authentic saloon girl costumes looked like! All I could find were pictures of the cheap costumes you can get at fancy dress shops for Halloween, which are obviously nowhere near accurate. The Internet totally failed me on that one. This was where I took many liberties with history, but I did include as much authentic detail as I could find. For example, the girls dresses were a lot longer than the average person might expect. Anything above the knee was considered scandalously kinky, so the girls weren't necessarily walking around just wearing corsets and stockings – they could have a full skirt, and then men would still find it outrageously sexy. According to the pictures I found, the tops were extremely low cut – even more so than a lot of clothes people might wear today. So they could be full skirts on the bottom, and their busts almost hanging out of their tops.

madam - pimps didn't really exit yet. Instead there were 'madams,' women who ran the brothels and looked after the girls. (Of course, this is Natalia and her idea of 'looking after' someone is slightly skewed.)

cat heads - breasts (slang)

the Russian – for the purposes of this story, Natalia and Yekaterina are both Russian (as is Ivan, of course, though he doesn't appear in this story). In a real world/historical fic, it's hard to find legitimate reasons for a normal family to all be split up and considered different nationalities, and I didn't want to make up a convoluted backstory just to be able to call Yekaterina Ukrainian and Natalia Belarusian. So in this story, the sisters are Russian along with their brother. It's a shame not be able to include any little mentions of the canon characters nationalities, but it's really not key to this story where they're from, so I hope the change isn't too bad.

The Britannia Angel's song – this was based on a real song called 'The Old Oaken Bucket,' which was apparently fairly popular in the 19th century. In it, the singer remembers precious details from her childhood that they can still picture clearly, even down to the old oaken bucket that hung by the well near her house. It's nostalgic and sad, conjuring images of a more innocent time that has been lost or torn away from the singer.

My Sweetheart is Out in the Crowd Tonight - while we're on the subject of contemporary music, I should mention that the title of this fic is based on a popular 19th century saloon song called 'The Boy I Love is Up in the Gallery.' It was written in 1885, so doesn't fit in the year of this story, but I decided to adjut the title and use it for this story.