Fool's Gold (11 page)

‘Now water,’ said Chen soothingly. ‘Better?’

The Colonel’s eyes stopped watering; he caught his breath again, and nodded weakly. ‘I could even manage some of your coffee and hotcakes, I think,’ he said resolutely. ‘But no bacon,’ he added hastily.

When the cook put the plate in front of him, he looked at it in some trepidation. ‘Tell me, Jo, how come you can make so many exotic concoctions and yet you can’t cook to make a dog hungry?’

Chen shrugged. ‘Just luck, I guess,’ he grinned.

After a few mouthfuls of coffee he put the mug down abruptly. ‘What day is it?’ he asked.

‘Monday,’ replied Kerhouan.

‘Hell and the Devil!’ exclaimed the rancher wrathfully. ‘I was supposed to be at a soirée on Saturday evening!’

‘I sent one of the lads in with your apologies,’ explained Kerhouan smoothly.

‘More to the point if you’d stopped me getting drunk in the first place!’ he snapped.

‘I want to pick a fight, I’ll pick me better odds than that!’ answered Kerhouan with a laugh.

‘What? Can you get better odds than a one-armed drunk?’ demanded the Colonel bitterly.

‘Half a Cornish wrestler is still more than I can cope with.’

The Colonel munched morosely at the food on his plate, then pushed it abruptly to one side.

‘Jo!’ he called. ‘I’m off to Sacramento now. Give me the directions for this here mapmaker of yours.’

‘Here it is, Colonel Jack,’ said Chen Kai softly, handing him a scrap of paper.

‘Right. And what stores do we …’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’ he demanded wrathfully. ‘Because if it is, you’ve picked a mighty fine time for it! Mrs Langdon? Isn’t that the poor woman who came here with you?’

‘That’s her,’ replied the cook calmly.

‘I need a mapmaker, not a bloody housekeeper!’ he exploded.

‘She’ll make you as good a map as anyone, Colonel, I promise you.’

‘But she’s a woman!’

‘She’s a good mapmaker. Talented. Army-trained, virtually. And honest.’

‘I don’t want a woman on Tresco!’

‘Do you have any choice,
mon ami?
’ asked Kerhouan reasonably. ‘Why not try her out? After all, there is no one else you can trust. And if she’s no good, pay her off and send her on her way.’

‘I’ll give her a trial,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But only for as long as the survey lasts — if she’s good enough to last
that
long! Don’t imagine I’ll keep her here just to suit you, Jo!’ he snapped. ‘That’s out of the question.’

Chen Kai bowed impassively and said nothing at all.

Not until he was on the ferry did the Colonel think to look at the scrap of paper for directions and he suffered another shock when he saw that her address was given as Carson’s Stores! Strange that he had not seen her there. Still, he reasoned, if you had an attractive young woman like Mrs Owens to serve in the front, you could afford to keep a worn-out, bad-tempered old husk of a woman like Mrs Langdon out back in the store rooms.

He would have had to call into the stores anyway, to see Mrs Owens and offer his apologies for failing to appear on Saturday. He began to run suitable phrases through his mind — called away urgently — unexpected emergency — desolated to have been unable to keep so pleasant an appointment …

He was still mulling over the best approach when he stepped up on to the sidewalk and in through the front door of the store. The bell jangled musically as he closed the door but no one responded to its summons, for all the occupants of the rear of the store were indulging in a vociferous exchange of insults and abuse at the top of their voices and the Colonel walked straight into it.

The giant Sullivan was standing in the archway that led to the saloon, remonstrating with someone just out of his line of vision.

‘Look now, me darlin’, would you ever put that thing away before she starts in with the hysterics again?’ he implored. ‘I’ll give you me word he’ll not touch you more.’

‘She’s mad. I tell you, insane! She should be locked up!’ screeched Missus Carson shrilly. ‘We should never have taken her on, a slut like her. Just look at her. A daughter and no wedding ring to her name! The Jezebel! She’s been tempting him to damnation since she arrived here. Well, she’ll not get her hands on him again, I swear!’

‘
My
hands on
him?
’ The young woman’s voice was incredulous. ‘My God! I wouldn’t touch him if I was drowning in quicksand!’

She stepped out into the shaft of sunlight that slanted across the main store from the window above the door, driving Samuel Carson before her. The wretched man cringed behind his brother-in-law, shifty eyes fixed on the broad carving-knife which Mrs Owens was waving under his nose.

‘Lay a finger on me just
once more
, I’ll cut your balls off!’ she hissed, emphasising each word with a slash of the knife.

Cornish blinked in astonishment, hardly able to credit what he was seeing and hearing.

‘Throw her out! Throw her out!’ screeched Missus Carson.

With a gesture of disdain Mrs Owens flung the knife down on the counter. ‘Believe me, if I had the choice, I wouldn’t stay here a moment longer than I needed!’ she said scornfully.

‘Go then, you — you Jezebel!’

‘Don’t be a fool now, Millie. Lose her and you lose a deal of custom. All the carriage trade, fer a start. Better you try to give that husband of yourn a deal more work to do out back and keep him out of the store!’

Cornish decided the comedy had come to an end. He picked up the bell on the counter and shook it vigorously.

Seeing the women distracted, Sullivan jerked his head towards the back door and Carson took the hint and fled.

‘
So
sorry, Colonel Cornish,’ gushed Missus Carson. ‘A little difficulty with the staff. So difficult to get good hired help these days, don’t you agree?’

He didn’t, but this was scarcely the time or the place to say so. Now that the message was finally getting through to even the most inveterate optimist that the easy placer gold was played out, there had been a steady influx of men into Sacramento and San Francisco, together with all those for whom life at the camps was no longer providing a living wage: camp followers, cooks, storekeepers who could no longer afford the credit needed to keep their heads above water. He had had no difficulty in hiring hands by the dozen even for such an out of the way place as Tresco; if only stores payed living wages, assistants should not be too hard to come by.

‘Just a few items, ma’am,’ he said, passing her a short list. He had more sense than to ask for Mrs Owens or Mrs Langdon by name: only get Missus Carson out of the store and he could make his own arrangements. Deliberately, he picked up a copy of the
Tribune
that lay on the counter and leant against the wall to start reading it.

Missus Carson called shrilly for the girl to come out and get the Colonel’s order together and stalked off out to the back where she could be heard haranguing her husband.

The Colonel lowered his paper and looked gravely at Mrs Owens as she hurried in, list in hand, and reached up to one of the top shelves to fetch down a box of tea.

‘Here, let me get that down for you,’ he offered swiftly. His greater height made it easier for him to reach it, although she noticed that he did not use his left arm and consequently had to inch the container forward with just one hand.

He set it down on the mahogany counter top and turned back to her.

‘Allow me to say, Mrs Owens, how very sorry I was to be unable to escort you to the soirée on Saturday,’ he began.

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘It makes no odds, Colonel,’ she replied coolly, with the tiniest inclination of her head. ‘The minister wa’ a worthy escort.’

He bowed, barely suppressing a chuckle. So she wasn’t impressed by his position in society! That made a pleasing change.

‘Will you take your order with you, Colonel?’ she asked as she assembled the last few items. ‘Or have it collected?’

‘I’ll take it with me,’ he replied. ‘Tell me, m’dear, is the other lady working out back today?’

‘Missus Carson?’

‘No, no. The older woman. With the child.’ Still she looked blankly at him. ‘Dammit, what was her name?’ He consulted the scrap of paper. ‘Langdon. That’s it. Mrs Langdon.’

She felt as though an icy hand were squeezing her heart. Her throat went dry and she could hardly get the words out. ‘There … there … is … no Mrs Langdon working here.’

‘But there has to be. Unless she has recently changed posts.’ He thought a moment. ‘In confidence, Mrs Owens, I need to find her fast. I hear she can make maps and one of the hands told me she worked here …’

‘Chen Kai …’

‘Yes, but how …’ His eyes widened as the truth began slowly to dawn on him. ‘It can’t be … You’re not … Good God, she was
old!
’

‘Not old, Colonel Cornish. Just sick and exhausted.’

He saw the flash of contempt in her eyes and there was no longer any doubt in his mind that he had found Mrs Langdon.

‘Your goods are ready, Colonel,’ she said coldly, pushing his order across the counter at him. ‘Good day.’

‘No. Wait.’ He placed himself between her and the door. ‘I still need a mapmaker.’ He thought of Tresco and swallowed his pride. ‘To be honest, I’m desperate.’

She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Good,’ she said deliberately. ‘So now you know how it feels.’

‘But …’

‘Damn you, Colonel,’ she said angrily. ‘And damn your job.’

A child’s thin wail echoed through the back of the store.

‘Go see to your brat!’ yelled Missus Carson from the doorway to the saloon. ‘And mind, if she’s not any better by tomorrow, to the Asylum she goes!’

Her eyes widened in fear and she gathered up her skirts and ran down the corridor.

Tamsin was lying in the corner of the windowless store room which had been allotted to Alicia. A truckle bed had been dragged across to the door to catch any breeze there might be, but the child was hot and feverish, blonde hair clinging damply to the flushed cheeks.

‘Oh, Lisha! Beatrice thought you’d gone!’ she wailed in a thin thread of a voice.

‘No, my sweet,’ she said in a cracking voice. ‘Tell Beatrice I’ll always be here when you need me.’ She wrung out a cloth in a cracked basin of fragrant liquid and mopped the child’s face with it. ‘Now, Tamsin, drink up some more of Chen Kai’s lovely drink to make you better.’ She held a chipped mug to the child’s lips, but she kept turning her head from side to side and spilling the amber liquid on the bedroll.

‘Not lovely!’ she wailed. ‘It’s hobbable! And Beatrice wants Chen Kai …’

‘Chen will be very offended if you say that about his medicine,’ came a deep voice from the doorway.

Alicia whirled in fury to see the Colonel standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders propped against the frame.

Before she could speak the angry words that sprang to her lips, he had crossed to the bedside and taken the cup from her nerveless fingers. ‘Come,’ he commanded. ‘If you drink this up, Tamsin, I’ll take you to see your friend Jo Chen. Would you like that?’

Tamsin’s eyes opened very wide and she looked at him in some trepidation, but she did as she was bid, drinking down the liquid in noisy gulps. She coughed on the last few drops, but he still tilted it down her throat.

Alicia lay her back down on the bed and smoothed the curls out of her eyes. In a moment, she was asleep and Alicia stalked out of the room into the corridor, followed by her unwelcome visitor. Carefully she closed the door behind her before turning on him.

‘How dare you say that to her!’ she demanded indignantly. ‘I don’t want your job — or your charity!’

There was a swift footfall and he stepped back into the shadows as Missus Carson’s head came round the door. ‘If you can spare us some of your time, Mrs Owens,’ said the storekeeper sarcastically, ‘there are customers waiting …’

She would have gone, but his hand shot out to detain her.

‘If you stay here, she’ll have the child in the Asylum tomorrow — and how much chance d’you think she’ll stand there? Come with me, you’ll have a well-paid job for the month at least. And the child can have a decent roof over her head and proper fresh air. By the looks of it, the fever still has a day or two to run. Jo Chen will probably have a cure for it. I can’t think why you haven’t sent for him.’

‘I couldn’t — he’d have left his post, with or without leave … And the town is full of men eager to step into his shoes.’

He put out his hand gently to turn her round to look at him, holding her gaze with his own. ‘You know there’s no choice,’ he told her softly.

She knew it. Her own life she might take chances with, but not the child’s. She had seen too many children die since her early years in Yerba Buena. Not just children had died, of course; men and women by the hundreds had perished in the mining camps, and not just of cholera or typhoid. In camps where milk was scarce many had died from milk poisoned by a weed the cattle occasionally ate, or from contaminated food. Many after the long sea-voyages had been so weakened that they had died of something as simple as land scurvy because they had not the knowledge or the strength to seek out the native berries which would have saved them. But somehow it was always the children whose death seemed the most tragic: the hope of the future, dragged around the Horn or across the vast prairies and deserts, only to die in the Promised Land.