Elusive Lovers

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  Kristin's head jerked back at the blast of beer breath and thunder. Lottie stepped around Mr. Traube and led Kristin away, through the hostile mob of her brothers, past Minna, who gave her a cruel pinch and hissed, “What were you doing with Mr. Cameron?"

  Kristin wasn't sure herself as she made the long, difficult stumble up the stairs to her room and fell, fully dressed and semiconscious, onto her bed.

  "What has the man done to you?” asked Lottie as she began to work on Kristin's buttons and laces.

  "The family albums,” Kristin moaned. “We looked at—"

  "An’ why were you drinkin’ brandy?"

  "Because you said—” Kristin tried to remember what Lottie had said. “—that I must entertain him."

  "An’ the good sisters taught you that entertainin’ a gentleman included drinkin’ your father's brandy?"

  Kristin groaned as her stomach gave the first of several ominous heaves. “No, he poured the—"

  "I might have known. Quick! Here's the pot."

  Kristin closed her fingers around the handle of a porcelain chamber pot with blue cornflowers painted on the side. She thought for a moment that she might indeed throw up, but she fell asleep instead.

  "Maybe you'd like to explain yourself, sir,” said Mr. Traube.

  Jack Cameron discovered that he was more inebriated than he had thought. How much brandy had they consumed while waiting for his ill-mannered fiancée to present herself? Well, he was certainly not too drunk to stand up to piggy-eyed Heinrich Traube. Why his father coveted marriage to this family of ill-mannered German peasants was hard to understand. Except, of course, for the money. The Traubes made a fortune on their sausages and all worked like fat, beady-eyed beavers extending their business.

  Pitman Cameron, Jack's father, liked that in a businessman. “Money and hard work,” he'd said when Jack balked at courting Minna. “On Judgment Day, the Traubes will still be wealthy. They'll never lose their fortune in foolish investment schemes or wild expansionist business policies.” Pitman Cameron was a banker who liked to ally himself with others of his conservative leanings. He viewed his son Jack as a financial buccaneer, someone who needed guidance of a provident and thrifty nature, although the father was always happy to profit from his son's wilder investments.

  "Sir, I asked you a question,” thundered Heinrich Traube.

  "Isn't it a shame,” Jack responded calmly, “that your daughter, Miss Minna Traube, my former fiancée—” He noted with pleasure that Heinrich's anger turned to shock at the word former. “—is so ill bred as to keep me waiting an entire evening when we had an engagement.” Jack had planned a scathing confrontation with Minna when she returned, one that would cure her forever of her ideas about dominating him. This was even better because her father could bully her into submission and save Jack the trouble.

  Heinrich Traube turned enraged eyes on his daughter, whose smug fury evaporated. Even Minna, although she was his favorite, did not like to incur the anger of her father, and she obviously didn't want to lose her fiance. “Our engagement was for tomorrow night,” she said.

  "Far be it from me to question your memory,” said Jack, “but I sent you flowers this morning. The card mentioned our dinner at the Palmer House this evening. Are you so indifferent, Miss Traube, that you neglected to read my card?"

  "Lottie must have forgotten to deliver the flowers."

  "Shall we visit your chamber to see?"

  Minna's sallow face turned pale. “No gentleman would suggest going to a lady's boudoir."

  "Especially if, by doing so, his contention would be proved correct,” said Jack. “Well, what a pity. Now one of the great mercantile love matches of the century must fail."

  "Nonsense,” Heinrich Traube blustered. “We have a simple misunderstanding here.” He put a fatherly arm around Jack's shoulder. “I fear that you, young sir, have overindulged in my fine brandy."

  Jack noted that the family, since he had gone on the attack, seemed to have forgotten their anger with Kristin, which was just as well. He wouldn't like to think that she might suffer because he had amused himself for an evening in her company. Kissing the girl had certainly been a mistake, albeit a pleasant one, but now that he had put his future in-laws on notice, he seriously doubted that the incident would ever be mentioned again, not if they still wanted to ally themselves with the Cameron Bank.

  "Gentlemen will overindulge from time to time,” said Heinrich and patted Jack's shoulder.

  Jack wanted to shrug the hand off but resisted.

  "My driver will not have put the horses away. Let me offer you transportation home. In fact, if you like, Ludovich can accompany you."

  "I hardly think that's necessary,” said Jack, looking as offended as he could manage considering that he was highly amused by their hasty scramble to placate him.

  "As you wish. My dear, see that the horses are brought round."

  Mrs. Traube, who was still standing in the doorway, her face reflecting the family movement from outrage to consternation to friendly smiles, hastened to carry out her husband's wishes as Heinrich Traube walked his future son-in-law into the great hall with its ludicrous suit of armor, its seven heavy side tables, all different from one another, and its over-gilded mirrors and high Victorian sconces. Jack glanced contemptuously from one piece of tasteless ornamentation to the next as he strode with perfect composure and seeming sobriety toward the carved double doors with their burden of gloomy religious stained glass. His future father-in-law evidently wanted the house to rival some moldering European cathedral.

  Hypocritically cordial good nights were exchanged all around, and Jack escaped, dropping into the seat of the Traube carriage with the satisfaction of knowing that he had turned the tables on his arrogant fiancée and her father. His satisfaction ebbed somewhat when he recalled Kristin's sometimes blunt, sometimes romantic statements about marriage. He supposed that his marriage to Minna would be unpleasant, but that was, after all, the way of the world. Marriage was a business alliance, seldom a source of companionship and happiness. Young Miss Kristin was in for a disappointment if she expected anything else.

  Inside the Traube house, Minna, who had arrived too late to see her sister and her fiance together, demanded to know what had happened.

  "Your sister disgraced herself and us,” said Heinrich.

  "With Mr. Cameron?” Minna's face turned pale.

  "We will not discuss it,” said her father.

  "She was trying to take him away from me, wasn't she?"

  "He's promised to you,” said her father, “and you'll have him. Now get to bed, all of you.” They scattered like chickens before a hungry fox, Minna among them.

  "So,” said Heinrich to his wife, “it is as I have always said. That child is not mine. Any fool can look at her and see that she is not the seed of my loins."

  "You are the fool, Mr. Traube, to say such things when the servants might overhear and gossip. You know very well that she is as much your child as any of them, and you only make such accusations when you are drunk or angry,” snapped his wife. “How many times do I have to tell you that she is the image of my grandmother? Hasn't my mother said so?"

  "Ah yes, your grandmother, the mysterious Kristin the First, no doubt some Swedish tart your grandfather brought home in his seafaring days."

  "She was no harlot,” retorted Hildegarde Traube. “My grandmother was a perfectly respectable girl, the daughter of another sea captain."

  "And who's to say that your grandfather was a sea captain? More likely he was a common sailor."

  "You say that to me? When your grandfather was a peasant farmer who raised pigs in Bavaria?"

  "He owned his own land and had the sense to come to this country a generation earlier than your people. And what were they? Bonded serfs on a lord's estate."

  "Ach, Heinrich, what are we arguing about?” said Hildegarde less combatively. “We have Kristin to deal with. Do you think she really has her eye on Minna's fiance?"

&nbs
p; "Who knows?” Heinrich turned and strode into the library, his wife behind him. Glaring around the room with its walls of expensive, unopened books, he caught sight of the offending sofa, where he had discovered his youngest daughter in a compromising position. He snatched the brandy bottle up, gauged the level, and swore. “Both of them must have been drunk,” he said. “Look at how much of my brandy they've consumed, and I paid a handsome price for it—on Pitman Cameron's recommendation. I'll take the money out of her hide tomorrow."

  "What was it you saw?” asked his wife, her voice lowered. “Do we need to worry that she's with child?"

  "She'd better not be,” snarled Heinrich. “Her hair and clothing were disarranged; that's what I saw, and she'd been lying back on the sofa. He was rising to his feet, but I'm certain they'd been kissing."

  "Dreadful,” muttered Hildegarde. “No telling what happened. I'll question her, and of course, you must punish her, but keep it from Cameron. You heard what he said."

  "Oh, don't worry. Pitman Cameron's not going to let his son back off. Minna's dowry's too fine for that. As for Kristin—” Heinrich's eyes snapped in anticipation. “Tomorrow I'll put the fear of God into her. She'll never look at Jack Cameron again.” He stopped talking for a moment to consider the situation, then added, “On the other hand, we want no scandal, so you must see that Minna and the boys keep their mouths shut. Because of her looks, I can make Kristin a fine marriage without putting up so much money. The changeling ought to bring us some advantage."

  "What if Cameron gossips?” asked Hildegarde Traube.

  "A bird doesn't foul its own nest,” said Heinrich. “He'll keep silent so that his own part in this doesn't get back to his father. You'd better go to Minna now. Tell her she's not to say a word to anyone—ever."

  "Lottie, I'm sick.” Kristin opened her eyes just a slit and squinted at the light streaming through the lace curtains as Lottie drew the pale blue drapes.

  The housekeeper turned from the window and eyed the girl, who was curled miserably in bed. “'Tis the brandy,” she said and turned back to reclose the drapes. Kristin had just discovered that the slightest movement made her queasy, her stomach like a jelly quivering in a serving dish. She moaned, but even that minor sound contributed to the throb in her head.

  "Go back to sleep, lass,” advised Lottie. “That way you can avoid the family storm for a while."

  "What storm?” asked Kristin, anxiety forming at the far horizons of her mind.

  "Don't you remember what happened last night with Mr. Cameron?"

  "I'm not sure,” said Kristin wretchedly.

  "That's no surprise. Between the two of you, you finished off a half bottle of your father's best brandy."

  "We did?"

  "Who knows how much you had, an’ he's no gentleman—gettin’ an innocent lass like you so drunk."

  "I was drunk?” echoed Kristin with dismay.

  "Aye, an’ I heard mention of kissin'” said Lottie. “God knows what else happened. Did you lose your virtue?"

  Eyes wide open with horror, Kristin stared at the housekeeper. “I don't know,” she said, remembering the kiss, the touch on her breast. Evidently she had.

  "And ‘twas your sister's fiance."

  Kristin groaned and huddled deeper under her embroidered sheets.

  "Go to sleep, lass. We'll worry about the consequences later, when we ha’ to."

  "They've been angry with me before,” said Kristin, trying to reassure herself. “I suppose I'll survive it."

  "Oh? An’ if you're wi’ child?"

  Kristin's eyelids, which had been closing, snapped open “With child? Oh, no, surely—"

  "Well, I don't know, do I?” said Lottie, “but your father was that angry. By the time I arrived, you were dressed but a deal more mussed than a good lass should be. Let's hope they lay the blame where it belongs—on that high-nosed Cameron. I mind me now the Camerons ne'er supported the true king. An’ no honorable man gets a little lass drunk an’ tries to ha’ his way wi’ her."

  Tears slipped from under Kristin's lids. Had she really committed “the act” of which Sister Mary Joseph had had so many terrifying things to say? Which was it? The kiss? The touch? Or both?

  "No use to cry,” said Lottie. “If you're in the family way, he'll marry you. At least he's rich, an’ money's a fine thing. An’ ‘twould spite that homely sister a yours."

  "She'd never forgive me."

  "Why should you care, lass? She's no a friend to you."

  "I think I'm going to throw up."

  "Swallow it down an’ close your eyes,” said Lottie.

  Obediently Kristin swallowed and closed her eyes, but she didn't think she'd ever sleep, not when she was brim full of anxiety, not when—and then she slept, in mid-worry.

  Jack Cameron awoke with a headache and an erection, both attributable to an evening of brandy and attempted seduction spent with his fiancée's sister. He remembered the whole thing with great astonishment. If her father hadn't interrupted them, what had happened in his dream might have occurred on the sofa in Heinrich Traube's library. Which would have been indefensible, not to mention inexplicable. One did not have the most delightful night of one's life with a naive, respectable, innocent, eighteen-year-old girl. In Jack's world there were two types of women, those who elicited overt courtesy and covert boredom, and the other kind, with whom one had fun. Look what happened when one had fun with the wrong kind! Potential disaster! Fortunately, he thought he had averted it. The Traubes were anxious enough for the marriage that they would avoid making any trouble about his unfortunate indiscretion with Kristin.

  As his post-dream erection faded, his headache blossomed, and he could hear Kristin's clear, sweet voice, a bit slurred by drink, making revolutionary statements about marriage, as if marriage weren't a carefully negotiated business deal with benefits accruing to both sides. She dreamed of affection and companionship. With her, he thought wistfully, there might even be passion.

  A young girl's romantic nonsense, of course, but it did make the prospect of a lifetime relationship with Minna seem very grim. Why couldn't his father have affianced him to Kristin? But then he admitted honestly that had his father chosen Kristin, Jack probably would have valued the girl as little as he did her sister—well, maybe a bit more. He had eyes, and Kristin was a beauty, whereas Minna's looks were barely tolerable. Furthermore, Minna would turn into her mother within the next ten years, which was even more difficult to contemplate.

  Jack groaned and turned over on his stomach even as he heard the knock of his valet, bringing him his morning coffee. “Come,” he said unenthusiastically. God knows, he needed the coffee!

  "I can't,” Kristin wailed, having been awakened from a broken slumber that lasted all day. “I'm still sick."

  "Sick or no, you're to come to dinner,” said Lottie. “Your father said he'll no accept excuses."

  Kristin groaned and stumbled out of bed.

  "Here, drink this."

  "What is it?"

  "I make it for your brothers when they're the worse for a night on the town."

  Kristin drank the nasty concoction, but her head still hurt, and her fingers trembled so badly that Lottie had to help her to wash and dress.

  "Can you get down the stairs on your own?"

  "No, I want to go back to bed."

  "He'll be up to fetch you if you don't obey ‘im."

  Convinced that Lottie's prediction was valid, Kristin began the trek downstairs to face her family, the terrifying conversation with the housekeeper that morning surfacing out of the debris that cluttered her aching head. Lottie had said she might be with child. Then Mr. Cameron would have to marry her, awesome Mr. Cameron, who had sunk as low yesterday evening as she herself.

  Clutching the bannister tightly, she inched down, wondering if anything had happened beyond the kiss and the touch. Sister Mary Joseph, who had conducted secret classes on “the marriage bed” and “the act” for four years of girls at St. Scholastica before sh
e suddenly and inexplicably disappeared, had had a lot to say about “preserving one's virginity” and “remaining chaste even in the face of a husband's lust,” about submitting to “the act” for no reason other than procreation and many other confusing and frightening instructions.

  However, Sister had never told her students what “the act” entailed, nor had anyone else. The rites of the marriage bed were to remain a mystery until the husband revealed them; that much Kristin knew. But she had no husband, and if Mr. Cameron had revealed anything else to her last night, she couldn't remember it, which was perhaps just as well. She couldn't believe that he'd actually touched her breast. Worse, she had found it very exciting. She supposed that was part of the allure of sin—it took you by surprise and made you experience exciting feelings you'd never had before.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she panicked. Suddenly the family dining room was a more threatening place to Kristin than the lion's den in the story of Daniel. Daniel had at least believed that God would rescue him; Kristin, having evidently lost her virtue to brandy and Mr. Cameron, had no hope of divine intervention. She could hear their voices behind the double sliding doors, which were usually left open until everyone had assembled. Now they were closed.

  She fretted a moment, fingers clenched at her sides; then, tentatively, she slid the doors open a mere three inches and peeked through to find them staring at her, silent and condemning. When she reached her place at the bottom of the table, everyone sat down. Her presence acted on conversation like a blanket smothering a fire, and her fingers shook as she unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. Grace was said, soup served. Twice her spoon clinked against the edge of the soup bowl, but Kristin dared not look up to see if this breach of etiquette had been noticed by the rest.

  When the roast was brought in, her father spoke at last. “Well, have you nothing to say for yourself?"

  By this time Kristin was beginning to feel resentful. No matter what had happened last night, Minna and Mr. Cameron bore some responsibility. She looked toward her father, who held the carving knife clutched in a red fist.

  "You have disgraced us all. Now I want to know what you thought you were doing,” he said.