Fool's Gold (30 page)

Alicia found the edge was taken off her joy when her employer spent the entire evening paying court to Miss Clarence, to whom she had taken an inordinate dislike. She watched him fetching and carrying dishes and glasses of wine to the arrogant young woman and her father until she felt she could bear it no longer. She willingly accepted Clive’s invitation to move into the other room to choose some music for the second half of the evening.

‘Not more music!’ complained Miss Clarence languidly. ‘What we really need to liven up the evening is some dancing!’

‘Excellent idea!’ cried the young man on whose arm she had draped herself. ‘That is, if Miss Letitia approves …’

Letitia smiled. ‘Of course. It is quite some time since we have had any dancing.’

‘Dancing!’ sneered Belle. ‘Lamarr! You may take me home. Too rustic by far.’

The carpet was soon rolled back and the floor prepared. It was quite comical to see Miss Clarence’s face fall as Jack Cornish picked up the fiddle.

‘But can’t Mrs Owens play for us?’ she demanded pettishly.

‘Of course not!’ replied Henry Bryant, none too politely. ‘We need all the ladies we can find to make up the sets. We certainly can’t spare Mrs Owens!’

‘Nonsense! There are plenty of women!’

‘At the moment. But just watch all the older ones drop out! They can’t go on all night, you know. And when they go, we’ll have barely enough left to make a decent set.’

‘Oh,
country
dances!’ she denounced with a curl of her lip.

‘What else?’ enquired Clive Revel. ‘This is the minister’s house, after all. Did you expect waltzes and mazurkas?’

She was on the verge of uttering a sharp retort to this man who stood there mocking her, the detested housekeeper on his arm, but became aware that a number of people around were listening to the exchange in some amusement. She decided to let it pass.

Alicia loved dancing, remembering long evenings in Sonora when Robert was up in the hills and she and Angelina had danced late into the night on the many feast days. That had been in the early days, of course, before the bars and dance halls had opened and to dance there had been to brand yourself an available woman. Here, however, there was no such restraint and she danced the evening away happily to the cheerful strains of Jack Cornish’s fiddle.

He played indefatigably: ‘Turkey in the Straw’ and ‘Money Musk’, ‘Roger de Coverley’ and ‘Maypole Weavers’, mixed in with unknown English tunes which the dancers still managed to follow with enthusiasm and agility. At last, Brenchley relieved him and played for them for the rest of the evening. As they changed places, Cornish couldn’t resist teasing him.

‘The pleasures of betrothal fading already?’

‘Not in the least,’ he replied with a grin, ‘but take my word for it, country dancing’s not the place to tell your girl what you feel about her: every time you get in full flow, you have to move up the set and find yourself pouring your heart out to her mother, or Letitia!’

‘Seems to suit you well enough.’

‘Try it some time,’ grinned Brenchley. ‘Might suit you too.’

It was late when the gathering broke up. Alicia, who had been to fetch her wrap, came into the hall just as the Clarences were taking their leave.

‘I look forward to seeing you in church tomorrow morning,’ Letitia was saying. ‘And in the afternoon we have a meeting for the ladies, with readings and sewing for the poor from three. And the gentlemen join us for tea. We’d be delighted to have your company.’

‘A sewing bee!’ exclaimed Miss Clarence. ‘I thought they had gone out with the ark!’

‘Now, Geraldine!’ her father chided her.

‘Oh, Papa!’ she pouted. ‘You know I can’t sit and set stitches!’ Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Colonel Cornish, lounging against the newel post.

‘Shall you be at tea tomorrow, Colonel?’ she asked coyly.

‘We only rarely get into Sacramento on a Sunday, Miss Geraldine,’ he replied, eyebrow raised and a half smile playing on his lips.

‘We?’ She saw Alicia in the doorway. ‘You don’t bring your housekeeper?’

Letitia stepped hastily into the breach. ‘Goodbye, Alicia. My love to Tamsin, dear child. And come to see us again soon. We all miss you.’

As their buggy drew away behind the Clarence’s, Alicia said with a chuckle: ‘I don’t give much for the likelihood of Miss Clarence appearing at Letitia’s sewing bee if you’re not there.’

Cornish looked mockingly down at her. ‘Oh, but you are quite mistaken. Mr Clarence is very eager to find his place in Sacramento society. In fact, he will be dining out at Tresco a week on Thursday — business dinner, for about twelve. Think Angelina can cope?’

‘Of course.’ She stifled the urge to ask him why.

To her surprise the carriage turned away from the rutted path down to the ferry and moved a little further downstream. There, moored to the quay, steam up, was the
Tresco
!

She declined Captain Bateman’s offer of a cabin, preferring to stay on deck, watching the moonlight on the broad waters of the Sacramento. When the horses were tethered and the buggy secured Jack Cornish crossed to join her at the rail.

‘Clarence wants to invest in Tresco,’ he informed her abruptly.

‘His money or his daughter?’ she enquired, raising her eyes briefly from her contemplation of the dark, oily waters beneath them.

He looked at her quizzically. ‘Money, as far as I know.’

‘Does Tresco need outside investment?’

‘No. but at least through Clarence I’ve found out why Lamarr and his cronies wanted Tresco.’

‘Why?’

‘Railroad,’ he replied sombrely.

‘They want to bring it across your land?’ she whispered, appalled at the prospect. ‘Or do they want you to invest?’

‘I’m not certain,’ he replied brusquely. ‘Perhaps both. There seems to be some scheme they’re hatching to extend the Sacramento Valley Railroad across the Sierras and over the Rockies to the East Coast. If they can link down to San Francisco, they’ll have an ocean to ocean link.’

‘Sounds reasonable. Although if they could get through the Sierras, why didn’t they do it when they built the Folsom line?’

‘They had other problems then, starting out at the wrong time. They’d just got the grading underway and a good engineer in Judah when the dry winter touched off a run on the banks. Good object lesson in how not to invest your money. Those of us who had land, stock, some investments — well, we survived. Those who had everything in banks lost it all. Poor devils like Wilson, who’d ploughed all his money into his railroad dream, went broke before they laid the first rail. Folsom took over from him, but he’s dead. Judah’s good, and he may get the Government’s permission to go ahead, but you can bet they won’t put any finance behind it. Land grants aplenty though, to tempt the speculators in.’

‘But won’t it ultimately be good for California — to be connected with the rest of the States?’

‘Sure. There’s a deal to be said for an Atlantic-Pacific Railroad. Goods wouldn’t have to be shipped round the Horn, so they’d be cheaper; the markets for California goods would open up. But for me — I don’t need Eastern goods and I have all the markets I need right here. And I doubt Judah will be any match for Stanford and Crocker, and if Huntington and Hopkins get in on the act they’ll run rings round him. And if Clarence and Lamarr are supporting the scheme, they are right on the brink of legality. Before long, they’ll have the politicians in on it, fouling it up, pushing for it go through their county, not the next one. And I doubt San Francisco will support such a scheme, for their prosperity depends on the trade around the Horn. Oh, it’s a grand idea, but its time is not yet.’

‘Why do they want your support?’

‘Perhaps because of my contacts in San Francisco. Maybe they’ll try to buy them off by giving them a good route first — after all, they would hate to see Sacramento the terminus for the overland trade! Ye-es,’ he murmured slowly. ‘In some way, I think Tresco must be the bait for San Francisco. And if I know Lamarr — and Clarence — it will be something illegal, or at best extremely devious, and planned to put the maximum amount of lining in their pockets.’

‘Why don’t you just refuse to have anything to do with it?’

‘Because then I’d still be in the dark. This way I find out what they have in mind — and still have the option of staying out of it.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

The accident, when it happened, was as unexpected as it was shocking.

Li and his brother were repairing the roof of the largest house in the village, to be the new bunkhouse for the men, freeing the barn at the back of the yard for grain storage. Kerhouan and Juan rode into the village in the late afternoon to inspect progress and were exchanging jests with the men up on the roof when a thin, high-pitched scream came from the opposite cottage. All heads swivelled round to see what was going on.

The door of one of the cottages crashed back on its hinges and Pearl came staggering out, the left hand side of her face a livid red. Old Ho came behind her, raised his hand and cuffed her again.

Kerhouan jumped down from his horse and with Lachie ran across to separate them.

Cornish came out into the doorway to find out from Juan what was happening; Li, on top of the roof, craned forward with a hiss of fury, and relaxed the pressure on the heavy beam they’d been about to secure. Gathering speed, it slithered silently down the pitch of the roof, unheard and unseen by the small knot of men standing below.

Too late Juan turned at Li’s hoarse cry of warning and it seemed that he must be crushed but Jack Cornish sprang forward and at the last moment managed to drag Juan out of its path. The end of the wood whistled past Juan’s ear, caught Cornish a glancing blow down one side and crashed to the ground.

Juan went white as a sheet as he realised how close he had come to death.

‘You saved my life!’ he whispered shakily. ‘But you have hurt yourself, I think!’

‘No, I’m all right,’ Jack Cornish assured him, his face a little pale. ‘Just — jarred my arm, that’s all.’

But by the time Pearl and Kerhouan got to him, he was gritting his teeth, the sweat pouring down his grey face.

Kerhouan ripped the shirt sleeve open without hesitation; there was no visible damage but as he gently probed the arm, Jack Cornish gave a strangled cry and his knees buckled beneath him.

They put him on a hurdle to carry him back up to the ranch house, for fear that the falling beam might have done other, unseen damage.

Alicia, podding peas in the kitchen garden, saw the little procession pass through the heavy gates in the nopal hedge. The bowl and the peas were scattered all over the herb bed as she gathered up her skirts and raced down the slope.

As she drew closer and saw the familiar dark lock of hair flopping forward over his face, sick panic welled up in her throat and lent speed to her heels.

‘Oh God! He’s not dead?’ she cried despairingly.

Kerhouan began to speak, then Li burst in, white-faced, to excuse himself for his folly, with Pearl tearfully adding her mite, while Juan told her how Colonel Jack had saved his life — perhaps at the expense of his own.

Closing her ears to them, she slipped her hand inside his shirt. She could feel his heart still beating, although not strongly. With a sob of relief, she placed a cool hand on his forehead.

His eyelids flickered and he tried to speak, but a second later his head fell to one side again.

‘Get him up to Tresco!’ she ordered. ‘Someone run ahead and tell Angelina to clear the big table.’ Her heart lurched as she took in the unnatural angle of his arm and the jagged rip in his trouser leg. ‘And water — lots of hot water — and ice from the cellar! And somebody ride down to the water meadows and fetch Chen Kai. Take a spare horse for him. And hurry! For God’s sake, hurry!’

Angrily she brushed the tears from her eyes. No time for that now. She kilted up her skirts and walked alongside the hurdle, never taking her anxious eyes from the still figure beside her.

He was on the table and still Chen Kai had not come. She could not wait.

She took Kerhouan’s knife and as gently as she could, slit the shirt from him. His arms and chest were criss-crossed with the old scars from the mine accident. She had forgotten about that and the sight of them, white against the tanned skin, came as an added shock.

His shoulders and chest were covered with angry red patches, some of which were already beginning to show the purple of heavy bruising, but nothing else seemed to be damaged.

‘Did he strike his head?’ she demanded anxiously.

Kerhouan shook his head. ‘I don’t know. We didn’t see.’ He clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘If only he’d come round again …’

‘Best if he doesn’t,’ she replied crisply as she passed gentle fingers over his skull. ‘We shall have to see to that arm and he’ll be better off unconscious.’

The arm was beginning to swell now, red and angry beneath the raised criss cross of white scars. Li hurried in from the ice house in the cellar; she filled the fish kettle with ice and carefully moved the injured arm into it.

There was a swift intake of breath and she looked up to find two green eyes regarding her.

‘Sorry … disappoint you …’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Not dead — yet.’

Just then, Chen Kai came running in. Swiftly he looked around and saw what she had done. ‘Good,’ he pronounced. Then, more urgently: ‘Your head, Jack — how is your head?’

The eyes flickered and closed, but no answer came.

With head injuries you just never knew; Alicia had never forgotten the cocky little Frenchman up at Hangtown who had banged his head on a protruding beam up at the diggings, been perfectly well for two days and dropped dead on the third.

‘Alicia!’ Chen Kai’s hand was on her shoulder, gentle but firm. ‘I need you.’

She gave herself a mental shake and hurried across to take Chen Kai’s medicine box from Juan, peering nervously around the door.

‘The little one is with Angelina and Josefa,’ he whispered reassuringly. ‘No worry.’

‘Thank you, Juan.’

‘And we all pray for heem.’

She hurried back to Chen Kai. His long, sensitive fingers probed a little more around the forearm, his eyes closed as if in a trance. ‘Curious,’ he murmured. ‘The old break, which I think has never healed over properly, has opened up again.’ Without opening his eyes he gave his orders. ‘A handful of leaves from the blue bag in a small cup of hot water. Then add three drops of number one. Quickly. The arm is already beginning to swell.’

She hurried to do his bidding. She had occasionally worked as his assistant before, usually with those settlers too poor to afford what they regarded as a ‘real’ doctor, and they had devised the system of numbered phials and coloured bags to avoid confusion.

When the strong-smelling brew was ready, Kerhouan raised Jack’s head and Alicia trickled it down his throat. He swallowed it automatically, a good sign.

‘I’m going to manipulate the arm now,’ stated Chen Kai.

‘Manipulate?’ exploded Kerhouan. ‘Move a broken bone? That is to risk the bone coming through!’

‘I can free his arm,’ he insisted. ‘No more pain too much to bear, no more fingers that won’t work for him.’

‘But the risk!’

‘Is a risk just to be alive,’ shrugged Kai. ‘But here the risk is very small. I can do it,’ he repeated confidently. ‘You know him best, Ker-hwan. Is for you to say if he would take the risk … the chance. But decide quickly. Or the swelling will be too much.’

Kerhouan hesitated only a moment. He thought of the frustration Jack lived with, the times when he had been so mad with the pain that he had taken to the bottle and in his drink had spoken wildly of finishing the surgeon’s task and taking an axe to the damaged arm.

‘Do it,’ he said softly. ‘It is what he would choose.’

Because of the swelling they had to start before the sleeping draught had properly taken effect. Kerhouan held the upper arm steady as Chen Kai, eyes closed, began to move the muscles around the break, flexing and straightening the injured man’s fingers, adjusting the position of the lower arm. After a few minutes he stepped back from the table and wiped the sweat that was pouring down his face. Under his direction, Alicia applied poultices and fomentations to the injuries, alternating the hot and cold cloths until Kai’s ragged breathing was once more under control.

They seemed to have been there for an eternity. As Kai once more folded the fingers into a ball and then straightened them out again, Jack’s body gave a convulsive jerk and he groaned.

‘Stop it!’ he cried in a tormented voice. ‘Alicia! Stop the pain!’

She stood irresolute, midway between the table and the fire, looking to Kai for guidance.

‘Talk to him,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Distract him, but keep him still.’

She hurried round the table. As he groaned again, she leaned forward and stroked his face.

‘It’s all right, my dear,’ she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘It’s nearly over. Hush now, my dear.’ She was patting him, stroking him, murmuring absurd nothings, meaningless noises such as one uses to comfort a child or quieten a hurt animal.

There was a grinding noise that set the teeth on edge and he jerked and yelled with the pain.

‘Keep him still!’ exclaimed Chen Kai angrily.

She propped her right hip on the hard edge of the table and leaned the top half of her body over his. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Kerhouan, strong calloused hands holding Jack’s upper arm and elbow rigid. She leaned forward, pinning his shoulder with her right arm, her bosom on his chest.

He groaned again. ‘Alicia!’ he gasped, pain contorting his half-dazed features. ‘Where are you, Alicia?’

‘I’m here, Jack,’ she soothed. She lay her face against his, feeling the sheen of sweat that glissed against her skin.

‘Ready,’ murmured Chen Kai.

‘I’m here, Jack,’ she repeated. ‘I’m here, my love, I won’t leave you,’ she whispered, letting her whole weight fall on him, pinning him to the table.

There came a dreadful grinding noise and his lips drew back against his teeth as he screamed. His eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out.

*

The opiates had taken effect, somewhat belatedly, and he was still sleeping soundly as the dawn came up over the Sierras. Quietly she pushed back the shutters and breathed in the fresh air, drinking in the view of which she never tired. She guessed that he had selected this room of all the others just for that view. Once the Sierras were in your blood, you found it hard to forget them.

Chen Kai and Kerhouan had divided the night watch up between them, but ripe fields waited for no man and soon they would be on their way, one to the wheat fields, the other to the water meadows, criss-crossed now with irrigation ditches. She was still anxious, but she knew Kai would not have left him if there were any danger.

She turned back into the room, looking at it properly for the first time. It was a stern room, she thought, as spare and unfussy as its owner. There was a large, heavily carved fourposter, a relic perhaps of earlier occupiers, and a tall brass bound chest of drawers, but the bed had been ruthlessly stripped of all its hangings and the boards were devoid of any carpet or rug. Behind the door two jackets hung on hooks, providing the room with its only sign of habitation.

‘Meet with your approval?’ came a weak voice from the depths of the fourposter.

She hurried across to the bedside. She passed her hand across his forehead and found it cool. His face was pale, but that was better than the flush of fever which had been so obvious in the night.

‘Thank God. The fever’s gone. Does it still hurt? No, what a stupid question. Of course it hurts.’

‘I can bear it,’ he declared. He looked down at his arm and frowned at what he saw.

The splinting had not taken long, but Chen Kai was determined the bone should not slip before the new setting could heal, so he and Juan had spent half the night devising a leather sleeve for the arm. A layer of soft calfskin had been stretched over the muslin bandages and then over that had been moulded a tube of tougher hide, wetted, beaten and left to dry on the arm. It had dried stiff and tough and the whole forearm, from wrist to elbow, was held rigid and immovable.

‘Is this damn thing really necessary?’ he demanded. He tried to raise his arm. ‘It weighs more than a ton of grain, I swear!’

‘Only because you’re not used to it, Colonel,’ she reassured him. ‘This time you want it to set true.’

‘I told you, there’s no stopping in a harvest month!’ he exclaimed angrily, shifting his weight onto his good arm. ‘Don’t just stand there looking at me. Help me up!’

She sighed heavily, hooked her forearm under his shoulder and heaved him up. When he was sitting, propped up against the pillows, the room swam before his eyes and he lay back, eyes closed.

When he opened them again a few moments later, she was still standing at the bedside, her hands on her hips and an exasperated frown between her eyes.

‘Go on,’ he said silkily. ‘Now say “I told you so”!’

She shook her head sadly. ‘I never waste my breath. When they’re as stubborn as you, Colonel, best they find out for themselves.’

There was a knock on the door and Angelina surged in with a tray. She exclaimed volubly over him and told him to get back under the covers before he caught a chill, then she surged back out again, leaving him staring with ill-concealed loathing at the array of dishes.