The Brideship Wife

by Leslie Howard

“A worthy goal,” Mr. Roy said. “I’ve heard some awful stories about smallpox from prospectors coming in from the north.” He paused. “But why would you buy land when all you have to do is find a husband and get it for free from the Crown?”

  “I don’t believe that land is the Crown’s to give away,” I said, feeling my conviction harden inside me like cement. I was going to make a home for myself. “I know it’ll take me a long time to save enough, but I’m going to start tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “You look lovely,” Sarah said, clasping her paste-glass necklace around my neck.

  It was my first night of card dealing, and every muscle in my body felt tight with nerves. Mr. Roy said he was impressed with my dealing earlier that day, but he was an easy audience. Even the games on the ship where I had dealt paled in comparison to this. That was polite society, and these men were serious players. I fidgeted with my dress, an emerald-green paduasoy gown, and tugged at my white gloves. Sarah had piled my reddish-blond locks high on my head and held them in place with three jewelled combs and a green velvet ribbon. At least I look the part.

  “Good luck,” Sarah said as we parted ways in the hallway, she to the kitchen and I to the cardroom.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself forward. Some men had arrived and were bent low over their tables. Two of the other dealers were already in place, shuffling cards to warm up. Pungent cigar smoke hung suspended in the air, mingling with the biting aromas of strong drink and just a hint of human sweat. The Tiffany lamps cast a dark green hue over everything.

  As I sat on a velvet chair in the corner waiting for Mr. Roy to direct me to a table, two new gamblers walked in as if they owned the place. They preened like a pair of peacocks, dressed in the most outlandish garb. Small, wiry men, they both sported large handlebar moustaches and wide muttonchop sideburns. Their tight-fitting suits were made of the most bizarre fabrics I had ever seen. I tried not to stare.

  One man’s suit was made of a yellow-and-blue wool plaid, accented with a robin’s-egg-blue waistcoat and a white shirt with collar points so high that I marvelled at his ability to turn his head from side to side. His trouser legs flared and were hemmed inches above the ankles, in part, I guessed, to display a fine pair of high-heeled kid-leather shoes. Remembering the muddy streets, I couldn’t imagine more impractical footwear for these parts. Not to be outdone, the other man was dressed in a white raw silk suit, and he had accented his outfit with a white cowboy hat, a string necktie, and a pair of hand-tooled, black leather boots. I scanned the room, realizing that no one else seemed surprised by their appearance.

  They ambled over to the dealer next to me, and I tried to listen to their conversation but couldn’t make head or tail of it.

  “I don’t know if you heard tell of us,” the first man said. “But we’re the fellas who took out a hundred pounds of gold in just eight hours. We’ve been piling the agonies down in the mines till we’re all caved in. Took a trip down to New Westminster to spend a little of our blunt and now we want a good betting game.”

  He opened a cloth bag and poured a handful of shimmering, mesmerizing gold nuggets on the table. Never had I seen such beauty that represented such wealth, and I gaped in wonder. The dealer didn’t react, and I could only surmise that this was not an uncommon sight. I thought about the prospectors I met on the ship who all dreamt of gold. If they found it, did that dream become surreal? Did it cause them to lose all sense and squander their riches? It seemed these men couldn’t spend their newfound wealth fast enough.

  Mr. Roy waved me towards a table and pulled out a chair for me. “Gentlemen, let me introduce our newest addition, Miss Harding.”

  There was a great flurry of scraping chairs, as the five men leapt to their feet and doffed their hats. One man was slower than the others.

  “I believe I’ve already had the pleasure of your acquaintance,” he said. Standing in front of me was Jack Harris.

  “Mr. Harris,” I said quickly, sitting down. “You didn’t mention that you liked a betting game.” I placed my purse on the table, removed my gloves, and tried to hide my trembling hands as the men took their seats.

  “Let’s just say I’m a man who enjoys risk-taking.” He was dressed in formal clothes, all black, and they set off his looks very well.

  Mr. Roy beamed. “For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of Miss Harding’s company, she is a recent arrival from England along with my daughter, Sarah, who will be serving drinks any moment now.”

  He introduced each man in turn, starting on my right. Albert Poole, a dentist, was a small man who looked up at me from under a bowed head with squinty-eyed distrust. Next to him was Josh Hurley, a successful gold miner who was flushing deeply, clearly having trouble recovering from the shock of having a young woman act as dealer.

  As Mr. Roy was speaking, Sarah arrived with a crystal tray of golden Scotch whiskies, and I took the opportunity to try and settle my shaky hands by shuffling and reshuffling the deck. The motions came easily to me, and some of my nerves dissipated.

  Once Sarah retreated, Mr. Roy continued the introductions. Dr. Nickolas Jones—“Call him Sawbones Jones,” Mr. Roy said—seemed more interested in the whiskies than anything. His pale, thin hand curled tightly around his shot glass as he bobbed his head in my general direction. And then there was Mr. Harris. Throughout the introductions, his eyes rarely left my face and the slightest of smiles played on his thin lips.

  The last player at the table was Dick Canning from the colonial assay office. He was a tall man with a high forehead and a pale, bony face, and he stared at the cards as I shuffled them, clearly anxious to get the game underway. I knew it as a sign of a recent big loser expecting to make back his losses. With quick, staccato motions, I began to deal. The men’s attention moved from me to the game at hand, which soon took on a life of its own.

  The feverish light of redemption shone in Mr. Canning’s eyes when he won the first two hands, one with no less than three kings. He did not begrudge my tips and made a show of the generous sum he tucked into my purse. With the next hand, he upped the ante dramatically, and I suspected he was bluffing, hoping to convince the others to fold. Mr. Harris called his bluff, and Mr. Canning was forced to display his meagre pair of twos for all to see.

  Mr. Harris’s tight smile widened, and he couldn’t suppress a small laugh as he spread his winning cards on the table. Instead of tucking his tip into my open purse as I expected, he reached across the table and folded some notes into my hand, closing his hand over mine as he did so. I felt an urge to pull my hand away. Was he merely being friendly, or was he interested in something more? If it was flirtation, I wished he’d stop.

  As the evening wore on, I felt more at ease. Mr. Roy moved silently from table to table, and his patrons tended to ignore his presence as they talked animatedly to one another. I thought about what he had said last night.

  Is it the same for me? As a woman, men naturally assumed I would have no head for the business of investing.

  By midnight, Sawbones Jones called for their third round of whiskies, urging the others to join him, and Mr. Roy suggested we take a break so that I could have some refreshment. While I sipped my tea, the men relit their cigars and pipes.

  “What’s the news at the assay office, Dick?” Sawbones asked.

  “Man came in the other day from the Horsefly Creek claim,” he replied, releasing a puff of smoke. “He dropped a big bag of nuggets the size of peas on the scales and wanted cash for them right away—had no grub, needed money so’s he could eat. We didn’t have enough cash on hand to buy the whole bag, so I gave him what money I had and sent for more on the next stage. He just grabbed what I gave him and ran off to the saloon.”

  “Horsefly Creek?” Mr. Poole, the dentist, echoed. “I haven’t heard of any big strikes up on the river since ’59. Didn’t know anyone was digging there.”

  “Group of Welshmen have moved on up there, couldn’t make a go of it here,” Mr. Ca
nning said. “Poor bugger looked half-starved, like he barely made it through the winter. Don’t know if the sack of gold was a whole winter’s work or just what they got since the snow’s come off. Be interesting to know, though.”

  Mr. Hurley, the miner, took a long pull of his cigar. “Sure would.”

  When our break was over, I dealt out a new round. Now quite comfortable in my role, I tried to parse what the men were saying, but they seemed to be talking cryptically—bids and offers, last trades, escrow shares.

  By one o’clock, Mr. Roy closed down the tables, and the men bid their goodbyes. The mood was jovial, as it seemed there were no big losers. Some were not ready to call it a night and talked of heading over to the Billy Barker for a nightcap. Jack Harris lingered and was the last to leave. Perhaps he wanted a last word with me, but I ignored him.

  Once everyone was gone, I dumped the contents of my purse on the table and counted my tips. Ten American dollars! The men had been generous. I hoped the trend would continue. It was a good start, but I needed much more. I resolved to find out all I could about the market in gold-mining shares. If Henry Roy could buy a restaurant, then maybe I could buy ranchland.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Two weeks later, when Sarah and I had settled in more, I worked up the nerve to tell Mr. Roy about the conversations I had overheard while dealing cards and asked him how the whole investment game worked. It was Sunday, the restaurant was closed, and we were having a quiet cup of tea together by the warm, crackling fire after church. Sarah bathed little Jacob in a tin bucket next to us. The child splashed and giggled as she blew soap bubbles at him.

  “They’re talking about what goes on at the share exchange in the back of the colonial assay office,” Mr. Roy explained to me. “In a nutshell, the exchange was set up to let men buy and sell share ownership in the different mining claims. Once the miners stake a claim, the only way they can finance big operations is by selling shares to investors. Josh Hurley is a perfect example. He sold interests in his China Bar claim and that’s how I came to buy the ten shares that I sent to Sarah. Some of the richest men in Barkerville have never panned a single nugget of gold. They speculate on mining shares—and around here rumours run fast and furious.”

  Mr. Roy had carved a toy boat out of a piece of wood and tossed it into the tub for Jacob, who squealed with delight. He tried clumsily to pick the toy out of the water with his plump little hand.

  “Are you thinking of investing, Charlotte?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, I am. I’m just not quite sure where to begin with it all.”

  “Let me take you to the share exchange next week when it opens for the season,” Mr. Roy said. “You’ll get a better idea how it all works when you see it in action.”

  A knock at the door interrupted our conversation, and he left to answer it. He returned a few moments later and told me there was a gentleman wishing to speak with me in the parlor.

  “Me?”

  He nodded. What gentleman would be paying me a visit? I wondered for a moment if it was Mr. Harris but was too embarrassed to ask, so I smoothed my skirts and stepped into the front hall, where I was met by a young man dressed in a brown tweed three-piece suit and a matching brown derby hat. Judging by his clean, polished shoes, he was new to Barkerville.

  “Miss Harding?” he asked.

  I bobbed an uncertain curtsey.

  “Cecil Swinton, of Swinton, Smithers, and Carlyle,” he said, removing his hat. “We are a law firm in Victoria. My client has asked me to find you, and fortunately you’ve not been hard to locate.”

  “Your client?” My heart gave a dip. Was this about George?

  “I’ve been retained by Mr. Charles Baldwin, Lord Ainsley,” he said with emphasis. I guessed that not many lawyers in Victoria could claim an English lord as a client.

  I relaxed a little. Of course, this was about the money. I didn’t ask him to be seated, nor did I offer refreshment. He didn’t seem to take offense.

  “I understand he was your brother-in-law before the divorce.” Mr. Swinton’s mouth twitched. Was that a sneer?

  “That’s correct,” I said, straightening. “And why are you here?”

  “Under the divorce agreement with your late sister, my client is entitled to the return of all gifts and money he generously bestowed on his then-wife. Your sister forfeited all her rights due to the judge’s finding of adultery.” This time I was sure it was a sneer.

  My body flared with heat as I found my voice. “My sister had no money of her own, and she left her jewels with Charles, at his insistence. She died penniless. Charles can’t get blood from a stone.”

  “Yes, quite.” Mr. Swinton coughed as if to clear his throat. “I understand your late sister, ah, stole money from Lord Ainsley’s household accounts. A substantial sum, I believe.”

  “If that’s true, I have no idea where the money is.” I thought of the letter I received from Hari’s bank. “Perhaps you should check back with your client, in case he has located the funds by now.”

  “I will. And her wedding and engagement rings?”

  Blood pulsed in my ears. “She was buried at sea with them.”

  Mr. Swinton had the decency to lower his eyes. “I have only your word. Lord Ainsley will want proof.”

  I clenched my jaw so tightly it started to ache. “What proof could I possibly have?”

  “A bank statement, perhaps?”

  “I don’t have enough money to have need of a bank.”

  Mr. Swinton glanced at his pocket watch. “I’m not sure Lord Ainsley will be satisfied with your claim; however, I do see you live modestly, not as one would who recently had a windfall of a substantial sum of money.”

  He replaced his hat on his head and took his leave. No doubt he would claim a hefty fee even if he hadn’t retrieved anything for his client, and hopefully this would be the last I ever heard from Charles.

  I returned to the sitting room, and Sarah met me with a questioning look. “That was my former brother-in-law’s lawyer demanding money that my sister didn’t have. At least, if she did, I’ve never found it,” I said with a sigh. “Thank goodness I can close that chapter of my life now. I’m ready to make my own money, and I can’t wait to get started.”

  * * *

  True to his word, the following week, Mr. Roy took me around to the exchange hut out back of the assay office. A small but intense crowd had already gathered by the time we arrived and were closely peering at two large chalkboards set up on stilts in the alley. Men jostled for position in front of the boards, squinting to read the chalk scribbles. Some called out bids to buy shares or offers to sell while a clerk scurried to record the transactions.

  It was a free-for-all, but as Mr. Roy explained what was going on, I began to make some sense of it. Speculation was the driving force for many investors who were buying shares in companies that were rumoured to have found gold in the hopes of a quick profit. Others appeared to have the confidence of inside knowledge and were buying and holding for the long term. Others still were selling their “losers” for whatever they could get for them. The excitement was contagious, and swept up by it all, I decided to get my feet wet.

  Recalling the story of the half-starved miner with the big bag of nuggets, I purchased ten shares of the Horsefly Creek claim. It cost me all my savings, but as I tucked the share certificate into my purse, I felt butterflies inside, and happy daydreams of my future filled my head as we slowly made our way back home.

  The next night, my table of gamblers, Mr. Harris, Mr. Canning, Mr. Hurley, Mr. Poole, and Sawbones Jones, was abuzz with news about Horsefly Creek. It was Mr. Canning who once again had the latest scoop.

  “I’m telling you, boys, I never seen the like! Nuggets as big as pebbles—a hundred pounds a day. We had to send for a special coach with armed guards so we can ship it all south. If you want part of the action, you better be quick.”

  The rest of the men looked interested but remained cool, calmly reading the cards I had
just dealt them, but I was not fooled by their poker faces. I worked hard to keep from beaming and to focus on my dealing. This was very exciting news indeed, and I was quite certain each one of them would be at the share exchange hut first thing in the morning. I would check daily, and as soon as the news broke of the big strike, I would offer my shares to the highest bidder.

  Chapter Forty

  “He’s lovely, so funny and clever,” Sarah said. In the reflection of her mirror, I could see her eyes dancing. I’d asked her about Louis. He and Sarah had gone on a few walks, and he was stopping by again this afternoon. “He’s bringing me some red ribbon for the new bonnet I made. It’s hard to get it here.”

  “That’s very sweet,” I replied.

  “His French family were Acadians from New Brunswick till they moved to Upper Canada and became English speakers,” Sarah was saying as she checked her hair. “But they kept their old ways. He told me such stories of what they call their kitchen parties—can you believe they made music with spoons! He’s promised to show me.”

  “And do you fancy him?” I asked.

  She turned to face me. “I think I do,” she said seriously. “After my husband died, I didn’t think I could ever feel that way about another man. And when little Jacob was born, I felt he was all I wanted or needed.”

  “But?”

  “But Louis… has made me realize that I was wrong. The love for a child is a different sort of love, and perhaps I needed more. Of course, I want to take my time getting to know him better before anything changes.” She smiled. “But I do feel excited when he’s around. Like a young girl again.”

  I was happy for Sarah. Of anyone, she deserved to find happiness again, but I had to tamp down the sprig of envy that sprouted inside me. When was the last time I felt that way about a man, the only time, really? A flash of John’s handsome smiling face filled my vision, and then it was gone.

  It was not long before Mr. Roy called us downstairs. Louis was standing in the doorway next to a tall, dark-haired woman.