Читать книгу Gold Rush Bride - Shirley Kennedy - Страница 11

In the library of his home on Beacon Hill, Garth sat behind the ornate mahogany desk and nodded with satisfaction. His business here was finished, altogether a successful trip. Gold shipment safe in the bank, investments in excellent shape, and Mother appeased and relatively content, despite his lack of interest in the empty-headed Miss Becket. Mathew had just completed arrangements for their return by ship to California. Those treacherous sixty miles across the Isthmus of Panama were nothing to look forward to but by far the shortest route and well worth the risk. At least they would set sail in the new steamship, Mirabello. With its new, double paddlewheels, they’d get to Chagres, Panama, in no time. According to what he’d heard, the Mirabello had one hundred thirty first-class, luxury cabins. Thank God, Mathew had managed to book Honoria’s cabin at one end of the deck, and he as far away as possible at the other. He’d made sure Mathew was booked in a quite respectable cabin in second class. No one could say he didn’t treat his employees well. Not so Honoria, who treated her maid like dirt and had booked the poor creature into the horrors of steerage.

A quick knock on the library door interrupted his musings. A maid poked her head in. “There’s a lady to see you, Mr. Morgan, Miss Leticia Tinsley. She said to tell you she’s Charles Tinsley’s sister.”

Charles. Ever since he arrived, he’d intended to visit his friend’s family but had been so busy he hadn’t found time. Now he heartily wished he had done so. No excuse, he should have made the time. “Please show her in.” He stood and waited.

Leticia. Charles called her Letty. He’d always spoken of his younger sister in the most glowing terms.

A fairly tall young woman with a graceful walk entered the library. She moved toward him with ease, not the least unsure of herself, as if she’d been here before. He wasn’t up on lady’s fashions but suspected her blue silk dress with the bell-shaped skirt would meet the criteria for Boston’s latest styles. Nice, how the small buttons down the bodice curved a beguiling path over her full bosom, ending at her tiny waist. Except for the blonde ringlets that circled her face, he couldn’t see much of her hair hidden beneath her bonnet. Charles hadn’t exaggerated when he said his sister was pretty. Wide-set gray eyes…small up-tilted nose…full red lips.

“Miss Tinsley.” He came around the desk and extended his hand. “How nice to meet you in person. Charles often spoke of you. I’ve been meaning to come visit and extend my condolences for your tragic loss.” That didn’t sound right. Too stiff and formal, and didn’t begin to convey how truly sorry he was about Charles.

“Mr. Morgan.” She had a cautious look in her eye as her small, gloved hand disappeared into his large one. “My brother referred to you as his good friend. When I heard from your employee, Mr. Hastings, that Charles had disappeared, I…” Her voice broke. She could not go on.

Damn. Why had he not paid that visit? “Please do sit down.”

He took her elbow and guided her to one of Mother’s prized Italian giltwood armchairs. She looked pale. No tears, but plain to see she was fighting to compose herself.

“Can I offer you some tea? A bit of brandy perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” She sat down and laid her beaded reticule carefully beside her. Fluttering incredibly long, dark lashes, she looked him in the eye. “I came here because I wanted to hear about Charles.” With her spine arrow-straight and shoulders stiff, she sat coolly waiting for his reply.

“But of course.” He sat in the matching chair that faced her. “I’m so sorry about your brother. He was a good friend. I admired him tremendously.” He hoped she understood how truly he meant his words.

She nodded, but didn’t smile. “How long had you known Charles?”

“Since shortly after he arrived in Empire. Did he ever mention me in his letters?”

“Only briefly.”

“I own the Alhambra Hotel in Empire.” He left out the “Saloon” part. Boston ladies were inclined to believe anyone connected with drinking and gambling was going straight to hell, and that included Mother. “Charles came in one day, and we got to talking. I was immediately impressed with his knowledge of flora and fauna along with just about everything else. After that, he stopped by often and we talked of many things. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed our conversations. Charles was both witty and wise.”

“Was,” she repeated, her eyes growing damp.

For a moment, he thought she might break down, but she drew a swift breath, blinked back the tears, and continued on.

“Even though we—my family and I—hadn’t heard from him for a while, we assumed he was doing well. And then… We were all so shocked. Mr. Hastings told us what happened, but I’d be grateful if you could fill me in on more of the details.”

“But of course, Miss Tinsley. I’m happy to oblige.” He earnestly bent forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Here’s what happened…”

As best he could, he described Charles’s excitement when he discovered that rich vein of gold and called it Golden Hill. “By then he’d moved from his boarding house and was living in a tent on his claim. He got to storing bags of gold in his tent, even though I warned him how foolish that was. Finally, I persuaded him to store the gold in my safe. I implored him to leave the tent and move back to town. I don’t know how many times I warned him of the dangers of living not only alone but without a weapon of any kind. Sheer insanity, but he wouldn’t listen.”

She nodded with understanding. “He could be quite stubborn.”

“Indeed, he could. He liked living alone among—how did he put it?—the beauties of nature. Trees, animals, and all that. When he wasn’t working, he painted the most fantastic sketches of birds. He gave me several that I treasure.”

At his praise of her brother, her shoulders lost a bit of their stiffness. Her eyes lit. “Charles was extremely talented.”

“Yes, he was. I can only wish he hadn’t been so trusting. I’ll never know for sure what happened, but I suspect he was keeping bags of gold in his tent even though he knew how dangerous it was. When he hadn’t come to town for a while, Mathew and I went to investigate. You know the rest. We looked everywhere, I can assure you. He had simply disappeared without a trace. There was only one conclusion we could come to, and that’s as my employee told you.”

For a time, she sat silent, as if she had something to say and wasn’t sure she should say it. At last, she cocked her head to one side and nailed him with a sharp, assessing gaze. “Is that all you have to say, Mr. Morgan?”

He was so taken aback that for a moment he couldn’t think what to answer. “Why, yes, Miss Tinsley, I believe so. What did you—?”

“I have a question for you.” She reached for her reticule, pulled out some folded pages, and held them up. “This is a letter from Charles I found in his belongings. Did you know about it?”

“No, I did not.” What was she getting at? Why did he have the feeling this conversation wasn’t going well?

She unfolded the pages. “I won’t read you the whole letter, just the pertinent part.”

What did she mean by pertinent? “Please do go on.”

She read from the letter, “I left a considerable deposit at his hotel yesterday. Garth is leaving for Boston tomorrow with his own gold shipment, and has kindly offered to take mine, too.”

She dropped the pages to her lap and skewered him with a probing gaze. “Well, Mr. Morgan?”

Outrageous. He, the most honest and trustworthy of men, had just been accused of stealing by this audacious female. But he must stay calm. He’d learned long ago never to let his emotions show. Several moments went by before he trusted himself to speak in a reasonable manner. “Do you honestly think I kept your brother’s gold for myself?”

“I don’t know what to think.” With great precision, she folded the letter and tucked it back in her reticule. “I was hoping you’d come up with a reasonable answer but apparently not.”

How dare she? A curse, which he caught just in time, nearly fell from his mouth. “I did not steal from Charles, Miss Tinsley. That you would think so is not only insulting, it’s beyond my comprehension why you would make such a ridiculous accusation.”

She bit her lip, obviously uncomfortable but not the least deterred. “Among his possessions, I also found his diary. The last few pages had been ripped out. Why was that, do you suppose?”

“I have no idea.” He was close to shouting. He made an effort to calm himself, but his heart raced totally out of his control, and his face had heated and no doubt turned red. “Where is this diary you speak of?”

“I don’t have it with me, but if you care to pay us a visit, I’d be happy to show you.”

“Are you implying…? Do you honestly think I have something to do with Charles’s death?”

“No, I don’t, but the rest I’m not so sure about.”

He was beyond fury. All he wanted was to get this woman out of his library, out of his house. He stood, walked to the door, opened it wide, and glared across the room to where she sat. “Please leave. You and I have nothing further to discuss.”

Other than a slight flinch of surprise, she gave no indication of distress. With great deliberation, she picked up her reticule. As she arose from the armchair, her skirt raised enough to reveal small feet shod in blue satin slippers and shapely ankles above. Taking her time, she crossed the library to the door and looked up at him. “I’m sorry I’ve made you angry. I didn’t come here to accuse you. I came hoping you could give me a reasonable explanation as to what happened to the gold Charles said he gave you for safekeeping. Obviously you cannot, so what am I to believe?”

“Good day, Miss Tinsley.” Get out of my house, Miss Tinsley. He caught a whiff of lavender as she exited with her shoulders back and nose in the air. When he heard the front door close, he headed for his desk where he flopped in his chair and tried to bring his breathing back to normal. My God. Never had he been accused of such dishonesty. If a man had made such an accusation, he would have been bodily tossed out on the street.

For a long while, he sat quietly, waiting for his pulse to return to normal. Was that a lingering whiff of lavender he smelled? Must be his imagination. Those trim ankles…that line of tiny buttons curving over her bosom…

For God’s sake, forget about that awful woman and get on with your day.

* * * *

That night at dinner, Letty made a pretense of eating, but her anger at Garth Morgan had killed her appetite, and she could hardly manage a bite. She didn’t want to talk about it, but her family was full of questions.

“Why was Mr. Morgan so rude?” Millicent asked. “Were you not being polite?”

“I was the very soul of politeness, as well as fair and reasonable, but he just wouldn’t listen and threw me out.”

Mother clucked with sympathy. “How absolutely dreadful. Do you really think he took Charles’s gold?”

Letty nodded emphatically. “Of course he did. Why else wouldn’t he allow a reasonable discussion?”

Her little brother had been listening with rapt attention. “Were you hurt when he threw you out? Did you land on your head?”

She had to smile. “He didn’t literally throw me out, William. That’s a figure of speech. He demanded that I leave, though, and that’s just as bad.”

“What does he look like?” Millicent asked. “I picture him as fat and bald with thin lips and beady, mean little eyes.”

“Not exactly.”

Her family needn’t know how her heart had taken a little leap that first moment when she walked into the library and laid eyes on Garth Morgan. What a gorgeous man. Tall, with a powerful build, he had great wide shoulders and dark hair that curled carelessly around his collar. He had straight, white teeth that contrasted with his olive skin, and eyes of the deepest sky blue. As if that weren’t enough, when he smiled, two captivating dimples appeared in his cheeks. Altogether, he was just so handsome, so strongly masculine that she had been nearly overwhelmed and had to steady herself before she could open her mouth to speak to him.

“Actually, he’s not so bad looking, but what do looks matter? The man is arrogant, conceited, and heartless.”

“Pretty is as pretty does,” her mother said, dipping into her vast collection of pithy sayings. With a furrowed brow she continued, “I don’t know, Letty. It’s all so hopeless, really. We can’t make Garth Morgan give the gold back. If that map Charles sent us is accurate, a fortune awaits us, but it’s three thousand miles away, and we have no way of getting there. That’s the sad part. We have no man to help us, so we’re totally powerless.”

Letty secretly bristled as she always did when confronted with the limits of her gender. Born with a streak of independence, she preferred to think she could manage her own affairs quite nicely, without the help of a man. “I suppose you’re right, Mother. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Are we going to be poor now?” William asked.

“Maybe a little, but don’t worry. We won’t be so poor that you’ll have to give up your school.” Letty made herself sound more positive than she felt. Mr. Winslow had said they’d have to cut back “a little.” Such a kind man, no doubt trying to break the news gently that the Tinsleys would soon be poverty-stricken.

William’s bright eyes gazed into hers. “Why don’t you go to California?”

Everyone laughed, including Molly, the maid, who was serving dinner. Even surly Elfreda, who’d just come from the kitchen, had a smirk on her face. Only Letty refrained from laughter. The idea wasn’t all that funny. “Why do you say that, William? Don’t you know I’m only a woman?”

“That has nothing to do with it,” her brother stoutly declared. “You’re strong and as smart as any man. I think if anyone can find out what happened to Charles, you could. You’ve got that map. After you find out about Charles, you could look for the gold. You would find heaps and heaps of it. Then we’d be rich, and we wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

“Why thank you, William.” Letty was indeed flattered by his vote of confidence. The rest of the family might find his idea amusing, but she did not.

Later that night, Letty found her mother in bed, reading her Bible by lamplight. “Do you mind if we talk a minute?”

Mother closed her book. “Of course not. Are you thinking of going to California?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“I know you, Letty. How could you not want to go? As a matter of fact…” Her chin trembled. She fought back tears. “It’s the not knowing that’s the worst. I’d go myself if I could.”

Letty settled in a chair beside the bed. “Mr. Hastings said Charles is dead. I believe him, only there’s a tiny, irrational part of me that thinks maybe he’s not. What if he’s lost his memory and is wandering around somewhere, not knowing who he is? I know this is crazy, but if I go to California, I could find him and bring him home and…” She couldn’t speak over the lump that had formed in her throat.

Mother took her hand. “It’s not crazy. I think the same, only….” She sadly shook her head. “You’re a woman. You can’t possibly go traipsing across the country all by yourself.”

“Why not? I wouldn’t be the first female to head for the Gold Rush.”

“Those women are few and far between. Not only that, the ones that make the journey aren’t in the same class as you.”

“You’re saying I’m too refined to go? Too sheltered and delicate?”

“Not at all.” Mother took a moment to put her thoughts together. “I suspect the reason you’ve never married is you don’t want some man ordering you around.”

Letty smiled. “Partly, I suppose. But that’s not all. Except for Aaron, I’ve never found a man to suit me.”

“That’s because you’re too picky. You didn’t like Ben Hancock because he laughed too loud. You rejected Timothy Hogue, a perfectly nice man if I do say so, because his stockings drooped.”

“And his shoes were scuffed.”

Mother sighed. “You rejected Jonathan Barlow because—”

“All right, granted, I’m way too picky. The fact remains I’m single, in good health, and there’s nothing preventing me from going except society’s silly rules about how women must be treated like children and hardly let out of the house.”

Mother sighed. “How can we afford it?”

“How can we not?” Letty bit her lip. “I’m not sure. I’ll talk to Mr. Winslow.”

“I would only agree to let you go if you take Molly with you.”

“I don’t need a maid. I’ll manage quite nicely by myself.”

Mother’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “You will take Molly with you, or you won’t go.”

Letty had long since learned when she could win an argument with her mother and when she could not. “All right then, but I’m not at all sure Molly would want to go.”

“We’ll see.” Satisfied, Mother gave her a relieved smile. “I’m so grateful you’d want to do this, but do you fully realize the sacrifice you’d be making? What about the choir? How could they get along without you?”

“Oh, dear, I hadn’t thought.” For several years she’d been the featured soloist at the First Presbyterian Church of Boston. She loved to sing and always enjoyed those Sunday mornings when she stood in front of the chorus and sang to a packed crowd of worshippers. No one ever applauded in church, of course, but when Mr. Cannon, the choir director, raved about her “superb vibrato” and “the purity of her pitch,” that was praise enough. She liked bringing a bit of enjoyment to people’s lives and could see by the many pleased expressions in the audience that she did. “I would hate to leave and dread telling Mr. Cannon.”

“He would be devastated. He knows you’d be impossible to replace.” Mother frowned thoughtfully. “You have a nice life here, not only with the choir but with your work at the museum, and all your friends. From what I’ve heard, the minute you leave Boston, you’ll face hardships you never dreamed of. There’s no easy way to get to California. After you get there, judging from Charles’s letters and what others say, life in those mining towns is coarse and uncivilized. You’re so neat and meticulous, I don’t know how you’d manage.”

Letty didn’t either, but she wouldn’t think about it, just go and make the best of it. Yes, she would go, despite the good life she led here. Her heart swelled with excitement. Up to now, California had seemed a million miles away. Any thoughts she had that she might actually go there seemed as real as a trip to the moon. Not anymore. “I’ll talk to Mr. Winslow tomorrow.”

“What?” declared Addison Winslow. “You want to go to California?”

Letty had never seen the dignified banker lose his impassive demeanor, but this morning his mouth had dropped open and he was looking across the desk at her in utter amazement.

She’d just finished relating the news about her brother and now gave the banker a firm nod. “Charles has disappeared. Likely he’s dead, but we don’t know that for sure. I plan to find out.”

“But—but—” Appearing totally perplexed, the banker drew in a deep breath. “You surprise me, Miss Tinsley. The California goldfields are no place for a delicate, well-brought-up lady like yourself. How you could even entertain the notion of traveling to such a place is—”

“I am not delicate, Mr. Winslow, and ‘well-brought-up’ has nothing to do with it. Can I have your assistance? I’m much in need of your valuable advice in arranging the finances.” She smiled and held out her hand palm up, a pleading gesture she’d long ago found men couldn’t resist. “Please? You have so much experience helping your many clients get to California that I’d hate to go to anyone else.”

“Well…certainly.” He relaxed and sat back in his chair.

“What’s the best way to get there?”

“There’s no good way to travel to California. I can only give you a choice of bad ways.”

She knew that already. “Please do go on.”

“You can travel the country in a covered wagon. Across the plains, up over the Rockies. After that, there’s a desert to cross. Then you must cross the Sierra Nevada Mountains before winter or you might get stuck in the snow. Doubtless you’ve heard about the Donner party? And there are others—”

“Please don’t.” She couldn’t bear to hear such horror stories. “What’s the second way?”

“You could take the Cape Horn route around the tip of South America and up the Pacific Coast. By the time you get there, you’ve covered fifteen thousand miles, five times the overland distance. Aside from the actual passage around the Horn—it’s always storm-tossed, I understand—it’s fairly safe, but then your ship’s likely to get caught in the doldrums, where there’s no wind and you spend endless days wallowing in the tropical heat. Takes at least five months, maybe more.”

“And the third?”

“The Isthmus of Panama. From Boston, you go by ship to Chagres, Panama. You cross the Isthmus to the Pacific, then take another ship north to San Francisco.”

“Which way is the fastest?”

“The Isthmus of Panama by far, but—”

“That’s how I’ll go.”

“Wait. Let me finish.” The banker leaned toward her, a glint of alarm in his eyes. “The Isthmus is the fastest but most dangerous. After you land at Chagres, you’ve got sixty miles of swamps and steaming hot jungles before you reach the Pacific. You travel the first thirty miles by canoe on the Chagres River, a trip, they tell me, that’s fraught with peril. I recently talked to a client who just returned. He referred to the entire Isthmus as a loathsome spot, a never-ending bed of slime, full of decaying vegetation, alive with crawling reptiles of all sorts. That’s not to mention diseases such as yellow fever, cholera and typhoid. According to him, there’s an excellent chance you wouldn’t leave the Isthmus alive.” The banker raised an eyebrow. “Well, Miss Tinsley? Do you still want to go via the Isthmus?”

Lord no. Mr. Winslow had painted a horrifying picture. Sixty miles wasn’t so far, though. How hard could it be? She must get to California fast as possible and could surely endure a few slight discomforts for that short a distance. “It’ll be the Isthmus. Could you help me arrange my transportation?”

The banker rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “You’re sure?”

“I…I…” Was she making a horrible mistake? She couldn’t even begin to picture where she was heading, just into the dark and dangerous unknown. Not only the Isthmus was frightening, but beyond that, how could she, raised in the safety and comfort of a loving home, fend for herself in a rough and lawless mining town? And yet… If she didn’t try to find her brother, she’d never forgive herself. So she had no choice, really, and should make the best of it, even though she wasn’t at all sure she’d survive. “I’m very sure, Mr. Winslow.”

The banker shook his head and made a clucking sound. “It’s almost unthinkable that you should travel to California without a male escort.”

“I’ve made up my mind. I shall manage.”

“At least you’ll have a maid?”

“Of course.” She hadn’t asked Molly yet, but she’d worry about that later.

“Very well.” Winslow nodded agreeably. He’d done his duty, lost the argument and was moving on. “You’ll need to speak to a travel agent. I recommend Mr. Abner Massey. He can tell you more about traveling to California and make the arrangements.”

Letty sat in the office of Mr. Abner Massey. A short man with a bald head and long sideburns, he seemed delighted to help her. “There’s a brand new ship leaving for Chagres, Panama, next week. I’d be happy to arrange for your passage. It’s expensive, I’m afraid. Five hundred dollars for first class, but I understand second-class cabins are nice. I could get you—”

“What’s the cheapest fare?”

“The cheapest? That would be steerage. Two hundred, I believe, but you would not want—”

“I don’t care to spend a penny more than I have to.” Judging from the expression on the travel agent’s face, a mixture of disapproval and horror, she’d better explain further. “My family’s financial situation isn’t the best, so I want to spend as little as possible. Is steerage all that bad?”

He hesitated but only for a moment. “Not at all. Your room will be only semi-private, but on such a short journey, quite tolerable.”

“How long is the journey from here to Panama?

“If all goes well, twelve days.”

“Is that all? I can endure anything for such a short length of time. I want passage for two, my maid and me.”

Mr. Massey beamed. “Of course. I shall reserve a semi-private room for you in steerage, which should be quite comfortable. There’s a ship leaving next Friday. Is that too soon?”

“It couldn’t be soon enough. What kind of ship will we sail on?”

“You’re in luck, Miss Tinsley. You’ll be traveling on a brand new steamship with double paddlewheels which should get you there in record time. It’s called the Mirabello.”

When Letty arrived home, the first thing she did was call Molly into the parlor and ask if she’d like to accompany her to California. “We’ll go partly by land, partly by ship. I know this is awfully short notice, but I must have a maid with me, and I want you to come.”

As she listened, the young, rosy-cheeked maid’s ordinarily pleasant expression changed to one of dismay. “Go to California?” She started shaking her head. “When me and my folks came over from Ireland, those weeks I spent on the boat were the worst in my life. Steerage is a horrible place.” Tears started rolling down her cheeks. “Please, mum, don’t make me go. I value my job, but I’d rather die than set foot on a ship again.”

The poor girl. Letty gently touched her shoulder. “I had no idea. Of course, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Tears still rolled down Molly’s cheeks. “You won’t sack me if I don’t?”

“Of course not.” Letty gave her a confident smile. “I’ll find someone else, so you can just get back to work and don’t worry.” Where she’d find someone else she had no idea, but she’d be a heartless monster if she forced Molly to go.

“I’ll go.”

Letty turned to see Elfreda standing in the doorway, the usual dour expression on her face. “What did you say?”

“I said I’d go with you to California.” Her voice was flat, totally devoid of enthusiasm.

Oh, no. The sullen cook was the last person in the world Letty would want to come with her. “I’m surprised you’d want to come. Aren’t you happy here?”

Elfreda gazed at her with hard, unfriendly eyes. “Does it matter whether I’m happy or not?”

“Well, of course it does. Only…” Damn, she always felt uncomfortable around Elfreda, and now she was stammering. She must think of something to discourage this unpleasant woman. “You don’t seem too enthusiastic, and I wouldn’t want you to feel you must make a sacrifice for my benefit.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be for you, Miss Letty.” Her expression held a note of mockery. “It would be for me.”

“Well, thank you. I’ll think about it.” What else could she say? She hadn’t much time, but somehow she’d find someone else.

“You do that.” Elfreda left without another word, leaving Letty in a quandary. What was she going to do? She couldn’t go unless she had a maid, but not their horrid, unpleasant cook.