The Spoils of Sin (11 page)

Carola was in the small room, removing her travelling cape and gloves. There was no doubt that she had heard every word of the exchange. She came through with an expression of castigation for her friend. ‘Fanny! You know better, I hope.'

‘Enough,' decreed Matilda. ‘We will eat shortly, and Jeremy can expound on the glories of human understanding and development.'

‘Let me assist,' said Carola firmly. ‘We have fruit and cheese to contribute.'

‘I should see that Hugo has all he needs,' said Fanny briskly. ‘I hear him whining.'

She knew better than to raise the possibility of the dog sharing their room for the night. The fact that Hugo was permitted inside their own house, both upstairs and down, was probably something to avoid mentioning. Only small lapdogs could expect to share home and hearth with humans, in the opinion of most people.

‘He will be safe and comfortable in the barn,' said Jeremy. ‘And if he catches a rat or two, he will have earned his board.'

These words echoed in Fanny's mind as she went out to tend her animal. Were she and Carola expected to pay, then? The thought had never occurred to her, but now it had taken root, it seemed foolish to assume anything else. A room at an inn would require payment, after all. On the other hand, natural hospitality carried no price. The food they ate would be modest, and their own contributions enough to balance it.

Hugo rolled mournful eyes at her when she left him with a bone in the barn. His appetite was not sated, and any separation from Fanny's side was a grief to him. ‘Just another day,' she assured him, ‘and then you will be feasted like a king.'

When she went into the house again, there was a startling alteration to the atmosphere. Carola met her enquiring gaze and rolled her eyes in a warning not to speak. ‘We are discovered,' she said with a softening smile. ‘It seems our reputation is much greater than we knew.'

Matilda and Jeremy Hastings were also smiling. They appeared to be vastly amused, in fact. Matilda spoke reassuringly. ‘The two young ladies of Chemeketa have made a profound impression on the area,' she said. ‘Francesca and Carlotta, with their welcoming boudoir, are much talked of. And we have been greatly interested in this talk.'

Fanny could think of nothing to say. ‘Indeed?' she managed, through a tight throat. The smiles were not enough to persuade her that censure and rejection would not soon follow.

‘Give me time to get the food on the table, and we might talk more fully then. You will soon understand that Jeremy and I are in no position to judge you. Not that we would wish to, in any case.'

Carola was soon occupied with slicing bread to accompany the stew that simmered on the stove. Jeremy poured four glasses of ale, from a thick black glass bottle that caught Fanny's attention. ‘I have seen the like in Providence,' she said. ‘But never here.'

He showed her a crest in the glass. ‘It has travelled the world with me, like a mascot. I believe it was made fifty years ago or more.'

‘There is a glassworks in Portland, we hear,' said Matilda. ‘Strange, the things a person takes so utterly for granted. And yet glass does not make itself, nor grow on trees. A man of enterprise must erect a workshop, with a furnace and moulds and tongs and shelves for his wares. The same is true of books, of course.'

‘And lace,' said Carola.

‘And leather,' added Fanny, thinking of her father.

‘And pewter tankards.'

‘And porcelain plates.'

‘And good quality cutlery.'

They all laughed at the growing list. ‘They will import many of those items from China and India,' said Jeremy. ‘Although I believe it will be a very short time before these men of enterprise that Mattie talks of will set up their shops and get to work.'

‘It thrills me,' said Matilda, with sparkling eyes. ‘It is as if we are present at the dawn of creation.'

Jeremy snorted at this. ‘Steady on, old thing,' he protested. ‘Remember how deplorably behind the rest of the world this place is. All that mankind needs has already been created in Europe and Asia, centuries gone. We simply have to follow the pattern already set.'

‘Pooh!' scoffed the woman. ‘You'll be telling us about Uncle Isaac before long, I suppose.'

Somehow the meal was presented and everyone seated around the plain square table, using bone-handled spoons for their meat and gravy. Fanny remembered Hugo in the barn with his well-chewed bone and wondered if she might beg some scraps for him.

Carola ate sparingly, her eyes darting from face to face, as if expecting some sudden surprise. Matilda soon noticed her tension and shook her head in a motherly gesture that spoke of self-reproach and concern. ‘Perhaps we should tell you our story,' she said. ‘It will set your minds at rest, I hope.'

‘If you wish,' Carola invited, somewhat stiffly.

‘Well, to begin with, Jeremy and I are not lawfully wedded. We are living in sin, as the saying goes. We each have a living spouse, back in England. I am as much a fallen woman as you two are, in the eyes of society.'

Jeremy's strangely small bare chin lifted in pride. ‘I am in the midst of a veritable harem of wicked women,' he proclaimed cheerily.

‘We saw no alternative but to emigrate to a land where we might pass ourselves off as an ordinary married couple,' Matilda continued. ‘It was an escape from a life grown intolerable. And yet, there are many who advocate a freedom in such matters, who write of the benefits of physical passion and the harm that comes from abstinence.' She waved at the bookshelves. ‘We have their writings here.'

Fanny's head was spinning. She thought of the staid matrons of Providence and the rigid morality they upheld without mercy. ‘I fancy there are no such writers in America,' she ventured.

‘In the east, perhaps not. But here in the west – which is like a wholly different country – we might live with greater liberty. Do you not think so? Is it not in fact your own experience?'

‘Our gentlemen are all unmarried,' said Carola slowly. ‘They have their bodily needs, and certainly, it is a pity for them to lack opportunities to release their …urges. We are confident that our services bring no harm, and in general carry benefit.'

‘Of course!' Matilda interrupted eagerly. ‘Of
course
they do.'

‘But you and Jeremy are lovers in a much wider sense,' Fanny put in. ‘It is about your feelings for one another beyond the bedchamber. Am I not right? The comparisons are faulty.' She flushed. ‘I mean no disrespect. It is wonderful that you do not treat us with contempt. It is just that…you seem to regard us as pioneers in some way, and I do not believe that is right.'

‘Perhaps I do. But then, is everyone here not a pioneer of some kind? But it is more the case that I see you as
independent
in a way I find extraordinary. Such very modern young ladies.'

Fanny met Carola's eyes and was relieved to find a matching bewilderment. Matilda's enthusiasm was unsettling. It arose from some theoretical line of thought that remained impenetrable. Jeremy came to the rescue. ‘We are somewhat starved for conversation,' he said. ‘Perhaps it overwhelms you?'

‘It is…unaccustomed,' Fanny admitted. She bit back an urge to add that it was as if these people had invited her and Carola to strip naked and dance before them. There was a nagging sense of transgression, which was surely perverse under the circumstances. Would she have preferred to present herself as a modest daughter, somehow separated from her family by mischance and travelling with a cousin to provide mutual chaperonage? Strangely, the answer came back in the affirmative. Approval from these odd intellectuals was as uncomfortable as it was unaccustomed.

‘But why travel so far?' Carola broke in. ‘Could you not find the same liberty to make a fresh start in Africa or the Indies? Why the need for such a very long journey?'

‘That, my dear, is where Uncle Isaac comes in,' smiled Jeremy, as if waiting for this very opening. Before Matilda could stop him, he was launching into a lengthy tale. ‘He was my father's much older brother, born in 1752. Almost a century since. He crossed the Atlantic at the age of twenty in a small sailing ship and married a girl from Boston. Together they settled in the Mohawk Valley in the northern part of New York State. Every detail of their lives is recorded in journals kept by Aunt Sarah. They survived the years of the War of Independence, though they lost both their children to Indians during a terrible attack.' He quoted sections of the journals from memory – the exact description of their cabin, the cow and dogs and crops and equipment. The courageous return to begin again after the war was over. The birth, after all hope was gone, of a final child in 1795. ‘My cousin Jacob,' he added. ‘We met him in Boston last year. He is a fine successful fellow.'

‘To cut things short,' Matilda interrupted, ‘it is Uncle Isaac's example that we follow now. He is our inspiration and our encouragement. He died at the age of ninety, still in full possession of his wits.'

‘And yet, we are nowhere close to him in spirit. The courage and persistence he showed puts us to shame. We are living in a golden age, by comparison to him.'

The association in Fanny's mind came quickly. ‘Golden indeed, if the stories are true,' she said. ‘They are digging up gold this very day in California, are they not?'

Jeremy waved a careless hand. ‘Hysterical madness,' he said. ‘A sickness that must not be allowed to engulf the whole nation.'

‘Really?' Fanny frowned. ‘Has it not already gone too far for that? As we left Chemeketa, there was yet another man arrived with his saddlebags laden down with gold. He left seven weeks ago and has made his fortune in that short time. And there are waves and waves of them to follow. Since the president confirmed it, the excitement appears to be unstoppable.'

‘Many will fail,' Jeremy Hastings predicted. ‘And many will die in brawls and drunken stupors. More will gamble their gains away.'

‘You have not been tempted to join the rush, then?' asked Carola coolly. ‘We are well placed here in Oregon to reach the California goldfields ahead of those from the east. As we have just agreed, the journey is long, however you choose to travel.'

‘I am not tempted,' the man agreed. ‘I have all I require, and the prospect of prospecting has little appeal.' His play on the word raised only faint smiles. ‘Cold and wet, with uncertain reward and hostility from competitors. I am not fashioned for such an adventure.'

He threw Fanny a very direct look, which gave her a hint of the adventure he
did
feel fashioned for. Her heart lurched. It was an expression she had observed on many men's faces in recent months. She had no need to glance lower down his body to know what was stirring there. And yet – what could he have in mind? What would his woman say to any plan he might have? Surely the mere fact that they were a couple living contrary to the moral laws of England could not imply a wholesale debauchery such as seemed to be suggested?

Before she could form further thoughts, a great wave of resentment rushed through her. For all his fine words and fancy wall charts, the man was no less of an animal than any other. He saw her and Carola as fresh meat for his appetites, and nothing more. The realisation came to her that she had viewed this trip as a holiday from work – and that meant no male fumblings for two whole weeks. No sweaty gasping and sticky ejaculations. No bruised breasts either. This was to be a time of recovery and normality. She fixed her attention on the bowl before her, in which a pottage of stewed apple and dried plums swam in a lake of cream. How to manage this unexpected development? Her mind suggested and dismissed half a dozen strategies.

A low cough from her friend brought her gaze up again. The two girls exchanged a look which confirmed that Carola knew what was proposed as well as Fanny did, and was no more favourably disposed towards it. Her friend tilted her head quickly towards the little room and Fanny understood that they should adjourn for a quick discussion as soon as possible. She nodded with a feeling of great relief. Nothing bad could happen if the two were united.

‘This is most delicious,' Carola told their hostess. ‘The cream? Do you make it yourself? I have seen no signs of a cow.'

‘It is produced by a neighbour,' said Matilda. ‘We have an agreement whereby our river frontage is made accessible to his beasts in return for a weekly delivery of milk and cream.'

‘Has he no water, then?' Fanny recalled enough of the division of land at Oregon City to know that every allocation included at least some running water for livestock, as well as the human settlers.

‘He has a hundred thirsty beasts trampling the banks of the river. It is preferable in every way if they can spread out and do less damage,' said Jeremy. ‘He is upstream of us, and the resulting muck spoils our stretch of river if the beasts are too crowded. While it suits us, we are content to abide by the deal.'

Carola frowned. ‘They have a hundred milking cows? Surely that is impossible?'

Matilda gave a scornful laugh. ‘Seven milch cows, at the last count. The remainder are draught oxen, beef steers and youngsters. The homesteader has purchased a few dozen oxen from those arriving on the Trail from Wyoming and Kansas. He has good business sense.' She finished on a careless note, as if the subject held little interest for her. Fanny had realised from the outset that her friend had merely intended a diversion from the dawning intention in Mr Hastings' eye.

‘Well, now,' said the man, leaning back in his chair. ‘A good meal, my dear. And the night is yet young. Might we provide a little diversion for our visitors? Something they might find suited to their talents.'

Matilda gave him a long steady look. ‘For myself, I prefer not to participate,' she said, with no sign of anger or reproach. ‘I shall remove myself to the barn and pluck a chicken for an hour or so. I dare say I might venture back after that time, and find coffee brewing?'