Far From Home

by Val Wood

  She had chosen to travel to New Orleans before the winter snow closed in on Dreumel’s Creek, and also because Ted had advised that New Orleans was much more pleasant for English people in the winter or spring than in the summer. ‘The mozzies really bite, Miz Gianna. I was almost eaten alive.’

  She smiled to herself. Miz Gianna. That was the name which everyone in the community now gave to her. Everyone, that is, but Wilhelm, who called her Georgiana.

  The boat was crowded with farmers and businessmen and some ladies and their maids, who kept to their own little cabins. Georgiana, however, walked the deck several times a day to escape the stifling atmosphere of the saloon and cabins. She had to endure an acrid smell from the black smoke which issued from the furnace, chimneys and boilers.

  The passage was long and tedious and the sultry journey up the Mississippi slow, but on their arrival in New Orleans she thanked the captain for a safe and uneventful journey. Although on several days they had hit bad weather, the boat was stable and there was no sickness on board.

  He asked her if she was staying long in the city. ‘I have an introduction to the editor of the New Orleans Gazette,’ she said. ‘I am here to search for a relative and am hoping that they will advertise for him.’

  ‘An Englishman?’ he asked.

  She answered that he was and asked if he got many English passengers.

  ‘From time to time, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Our sister ship brings the Mormons here; some of them are English, but mostly Welsh. She anchored only yesterday.’ He pointed up the levee, where there were ships and boats of every size and shape packed along the length of the embankment.

  Georgiana shook her head. ‘He isn’t a Mormon, unless he’s changed his religion, which I very much doubt. His name is Edward Newmarch,’ she said. ‘And he came here, oh – about six years ago.’

  ‘Don’t recall the name, but then I’ve only been sailing this stretch of water for the last two years. Now, ma’am, I must warn you, seeing as you’re a lady on your own. Watch out for the wharf thieves. These fellows seem real friendly and obliging, but they know every trick there is and they’ll steal your luggage and smile at you whilst they’re doing it. Don’t be afraid of the blacks, and if you have any trouble at all, then ask for Rodriguez. He owns most of the town, including this ship.’

  Rodriguez? she wondered as she disembarked. I know that name.

  It had been raining hard and the streets were ankle-deep in muddy water. Boards had been put down so that people could walk across to the wide and high footpath at the other side of the road without getting their feet wet. The captain had asked a porter to obtain a carriage for her, and whilst she was waiting she was approached several times by men offering to help her with her luggage. The porter, a big black Negro who was loading crates into a cart, shouted at them to leave the lady alone. Drays and waggons trundled along the levee, which was crowded with cargo and merchandise, and she was beginning to feel oppressed by the noise and commotion.

  ‘Here you is, missy,’ the porter said as a carriage rolled up. ‘This fella’ll take care of you real good.’

  She considered, as they bowled along, that she would be fortunate if she arrived at her hotel in one piece and with her luggage intact. Although the streets were wide, they were thronged with carriages and carts and a mass of people who appeared to have nothing to do but merely stroll in the sunshine and were disinclined to move out of the way of the carriages, in spite of the drivers shouting at them or cracking their whips.

  How lovely the women are, she thought, looking out of the carriage window. And the colours of their gowns, like those of a peacock! Even the young slave girls – for I must assume that is what they are, as they are following behind their mistresses with baskets and shopping – even they are dressed so beautifully in their crisp cotton skirts. She turned her head to watch a barefoot mulatto girl in a colourful shawl and red skirt who was singing as she walked. If Ted is to be believed, there is no wonder that Edward became entranced by the women here, she reflected.

  The next day, after settling in at the hotel, she decided to walk to the newspaper office. The streets were laid out in squares and on enquiring the way she was told she should walk for two blocks to get there. She asked the desk clerk for Carlos de Lassus, telling him that she was expected. Wilhelm had written to de Lassus previously, asking if he would place an advertisement in his paper regarding Edward Newmarch, and had written again when Georgiana had determined to travel to New Orleans.

  Carlos de Lassus greeted her with a courteous bow and bade her be seated, and then sent out for a jug of orange juice when she declined wine or coffee.

  ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Gregory.’ He smiled. ‘I trust you had a good journey?’

  She replied that the steamboat, Sancho, had been comfortable, though extremely full of passengers, which had worried her a little.

  ‘Ah, yes, the Sancho,’ he said. ‘It belongs to my cousin Rodriguez. It is well maintained, you need not have worried. Though it is true,’ he admitted, ‘that some steamboats do have fatalities; the boilers overheat or if the paddles are not properly protected ladies’ skirts can get caught. But not Rodriguez’ vessels, and he owns several. The Sancho is named for him and he has another beautiful ship which sails between your country and New York which he has named for his wife, Sofia.’ He added, ‘The Sofia carries the Mormons from Liverpool.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Señor de Lassus, I was given your name by Wilhelm Dreumel, who runs the Philadelphia Star and who thought perhaps you could help me to find a relative.’

  ‘Ah, yes indeed.’ He took a letter from a drawer in his desk and perused it. ‘You wish to find Edward Newmarch. Is that so?’ He looked up at her and his eyes scrutinized her intensely. ‘May I ask what relation he is to you? Your husband?’ His eyebrows rose quizzically. ‘Your fiancé?’ His voice softened on the words.

  Her lips parted in surprise. ‘Neither of those, señor, and I wonder why you should ask if he is my husband. I gave my name as Miss Gregory, which must surely imply that I am unmarried!’

  He shrugged and smiled. ‘What is in a name, Miss Gregory? In this country people often change their names. Some of the foreigners who come here have to, for their own are unpronounceable. I am even thinking of changing mine!’

  She laughed. ‘Yours is quite easy to pronounce.’

  ‘Ah, but—’ He leaned towards her. ‘You called me señor, which is Spanish, whereas I am an American – but no matter,’ he said. ‘It is not important. What is important, and you may well be surprised to know, is that your relative Edward Newmarch and I met some time ago.’

  ‘Really? Goodness! Do you know where he is?’

  He didn’t immediately answer her question, but commented, ‘He left New Orleans in rather a hurry.’

  ‘So I heard,’ she said. ‘His former valet, Robert Allen, told me that he had become involved with a woman.’

  Carlos de Lassus put his finger to his lips in a swift movement and looked towards the door. He dropped his voice. ‘We are in New Orleans, Miss Gregory. It is a city of intrigue. I would advise you to be circumspect and guarded in conversation.’

  She stared at him. ‘But why? Did Mr Newmarch do something he shouldn’t?’

  ‘Perhaps!’ He smiled in a charming way. ‘Miss Gregory. Would you give me the honour of dining with me? I will then tell you the story of Edward Newmarch, or as much as I know of it.’

  ‘You have just warned me that I must be careful of conversation,’ she said wryly. ‘Does that advice not apply to discourse with you?’

  ‘Indeed not.’ His eyes perused her again. ‘And may I ask, if Newmarch is not your husband or fiancé, what concern is he of yours?’

  She pondered for a moment and scrutinized de Lassus. He reminded her by his stature and demeanour of Wilhelm, except that she considered he might be inclined to be more light-hearted and possibly flirtatious, but he had an open honest face, like Wilhelm.

  ‘He is of no
real concern to me,’ she said truthfully. ‘But I come at the request of my cousin who is married to him. She wishes to marry again, therefore needs to know if he is alive or dead.’

  She agreed to meet de Lassus for lunch the next day at her hotel. She dressed in a cream silk gown, one she had purchased in Philadelphia, and wore a dainty hat with white feathers and lace which perched on her forehead, emphasizing her eyes. She had come down early, so she walked through the lobby of the hotel and stood at the door looking out at the hustle and bustle of the street. The day was pleasantly warm and the air not so heavy as it had rained during the night.

  A carriage drew up outside the hotel. De Lassus got out, then turned to assist a woman and a child. Georgiana drew in a breath. The woman was beautiful. Small and dainty with a creamy complexion. A lace cap covered her thick dark hair, which hung in curls about her neck. Her rustling silk gown was in a shade of rose, her ears and arms shimmered with gold jewellery. She held the hand of a small boy.

  ‘Miss Gregory,’ de Lassus greeted her. ‘I do hope we haven’t kept you waiting?’

  ‘Of course not. I am enjoying watching the activity of this colourful city.’

  They followed her into the hotel and de Lassus made the introductions. ‘I took the liberty of bringing Señora Rodriguez,’ he explained. ‘My cousin’s wife and their youngest child, Antonio.’

  The two women gave a slight dip of their knees in greeting. ‘Delighted to meet you, Señora Rodriguez,’ Georgiana said, though she was at a loss to know why de Lassus had brought her. Perhaps it is an old Spanish tradition, she thought. Designed to protect my reputation!

  ‘I wished to meet you, Mees Gregory.’ Sofia Rodriguez spoke English with an attractive soft accent. ‘Carlos told me why you were in New Orleans.’ She fluttered her eyelashes and Georgiana marvelled at their length. ‘I ’ave met your relative, Ed-ward Newmarch,’ she trilled.

  ‘He seems to have become well known whilst he was here,’ Georgiana commented. ‘So perhaps he will be easy enough to find?’

  ‘I don’t sink so,’ Sofia replied. ‘I ’ave thought all of this time that per’aps ’e is dead.’ She looked wistful for a moment and absent-mindedly stroked her son’s head.

  Is this the woman Edward was involved with? Georgiana was curious. He would be playing with fire if she was.

  They sat down for lunch and de Lassus continued the conversation. ‘I advertised in our newspaper when Dreumel first contacted me some months ago, but heard nothing. Then about four weeks ago, I received this note. I cannot say that it is a letter, for it is written by someone who has not a good hand.’ He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

  ‘The man you speak of mite be Bob. Englishman gone to Californy with sum of our boyz. Matt came back and said he was in San Fran. If there’s a reward send it to me, Moss at the saloon.’

  There was an address which she could not decipher.

  ‘It’s somewhere in the Mississippi swamps,’ de Lassus told her. ‘And it ties in with what we know of Newmarch.’

  ‘Which is?’ Georgiana asked.

  ‘My ’usband sent someone to look for ’im,’ Sofia said huskily. ‘’E was angry wiz ’im. Edward was going to marry my daughter, Elena.’ She lowered her lashes. ‘But ’e ran away when we found out ’e was already married to a wife in England.’

  ‘Indeed he is,’ Georgiana said, and pondered that there was something that this lovely woman wasn’t revealing.

  ‘Rodriguez sent someone after Newmarch,’ de Lassus said. ‘He was followed from his hotel then put onto a Mississippi flatboat, and the captain was ordered to dispose of him.’

  Georgiana was aghast. ‘What – not to kill him?’

  ‘Tst,’ Sofia censured. ‘No! That I would not allow. I sent a message to Sancho that ’e must not kill Edward. Just for ’im to disappear for a while. But ’e escaped from the boat.’ She smiled and her eyes sparkled. ‘But as you see by the letter, it seems that Ed-ward survives!’

  ‘California,’ Georgiana murmured. ‘That’s a long way from here. However would he get there?’

  ‘Cross-country. Waggon or pack train, there are regular trails to follow, though they are very difficult.’ De Lassus shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Is there no railway yet?’ she asked.

  ‘No. The railroad has not reached here, but it is coming. Soon we will have a railroad from the east into New Orleans, but not yet. As for further west . . .’ Again he shrugged. ‘Even the mail has difficulty in getting through. There is much debate in Congress, but ship and stagecoach, freight waggons and the Pony Express is our only option for the time being.’

  ‘So, how then will I travel to California?’ Georgiana murmured.

  They both stared at her. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Gregory,’ de Lassus said. ‘Did I hear you correctly?’ His expression was one of amused astonishment. ‘You cannot possibly travel to California! Not alone. It is too dangerous to contemplate.’

  ‘I travelled alone to New Orleans,’ she said briskly. ‘I have to go. If Edward Newmarch is there, then I must seek him out.’

  She saw what she thought to be admiration in de Lassus’s eyes and a wariness in Sofia’s.

  ‘Are you so very fond of Ed-ward that you travel thousands of miles to look for ’im?’ Sofia asked softly.

  ‘Fond? No! I had considered him to be dishonourable and irresponsible even before he married my cousin! But,’ Georgiana gave a slight sigh as she thought of what was in front of her, ‘I owe it to her. If Edward is dead she can marry again, and if he isn’t, she can’t.’

  ‘She is very ’ard, this woman,’ Sofia said with a sudden spurt of fire. ‘This May! She wishes Ed-ward dead, yes? And yet she is a cold wife, she did not welcome him to her bed!’

  There was a sudden silence. How does she know this? Georgiana wondered. Edward must have told her. And why would he do that?

  Sofia seemed to realize her blunder, and said petulantly, ‘I know this is what some Englishwomen are like. And that is why their ’usbands take a mistress. I ’ave been told of this!’

  Their lunch over and de Lassus having promised he would enquire into the best route if Georgiana was adamant about travelling, he left them and went to order a carriage for himself and Sofia.

  Georgiana smiled down at the little boy who had been very well behaved during lunch, though she wondered why Sofia had brought him with her. They must have servants in abundance to look after him, she thought. Wealth seemed to ooze from Sofia’s pores.

  ‘My little Antonio is ’andsome, yes?’ Sofia said indulgently.

  ‘He is,’ Georgiana concurred. Though without your striking good looks, she considered. He must take after his father.

  ‘We waited a long time for a son,’ Sofia continued. ‘I ’ave two daughters. One from my first ’usband and one from Sancho. But Sancho always wanted a son.’ She smiled down at Antonio. ‘And now ’e has one.’

  ‘I believe that most men desire a son,’ Georgiana said politely. ‘Señor Rodriguez must be very proud?’

  ‘Yes, indeed he is,’ Sofia agreed, then added swiftly as de Lassus appeared across the lobby, ‘Mees Gregory, if you find Ed-ward in San Francisco, you will tell ’im, please, that we ’ave a fine boy?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  ‘It is madness,’ de Lassus told her when they met again. ‘You cannot possibly travel alone. There are several routes but they are all fraught with danger!’

  ‘Tell me about them,’ Georgiana said. ‘I do not wish to put my life in danger. But I do know that women go to California. I have been told that they do.’

  ‘But not women such as you, Miss Gregory!’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she said, privately disagreeing and wondering why it was that men always said that of her. He thinks that I have lived a sheltered life, which I did until coming to this country. Isaac had told her about the women he had met in California. Saloon girls, dancers, whores. But even so, she had thought, these are women trying to survive
in a man’s world and they must be applauded for that. And there are other women too, women who travel with their menfolk and who endure hardship in the search for a better life.

  ‘I will describe the worst aspects to you,’ de Lassus continued solemnly, ‘and then perhaps you will see sense and change your mind.’

  ‘You do not know me, Mr de Lassus. If you did, you would realize that I won’t change my mind.’ She gazed squarely back at him. ‘But, please, do tell me.’

  ‘There is a route by Santa Fe and the Colorado River. Or up the Mississippi to St Louis in the State of Missouri. It is a distance of over a thousand miles.’ He gazed at her in concern. ‘Then along the Missouri, across rapids and falls, where you must change boats, then trek westwards across the plains to Salt Lake City.’

  She took in a breath. She had seen a map showing Salt Lake City, the home of the Mormons. It was a long way, thousands of miles, and she knew in her heart that she couldn’t travel that route, not alone.

  ‘Most of these trails are the old fur-trading routes,’ de Lassus told her. ‘They are meant for travellers with packhorses or waggons. I have heard many stories of men setting out on this journey and never arriving. Some stage-and mailcoaches ply the route from Sacramento to San Francisco, but the journey there is hazardous and uncomfortable. There are hostile Indians and dangerous men to contend with. I beg of you, Miss Gregory,’ he said earnestly. ‘Please do not attempt it!’

  She hesitated for only a second. ‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘I have much to live for. What is the alternative?’

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then opening them said in exasperation, ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are a very stubborn woman?’

  ‘Yes.’ She laughed. ‘Many times.’

  ‘Then – if you are determined to go, I advise that you should travel from here by ship across the Gulf of Mexico to the Isthmus of Panama. Cross that stretch of land by whatever means you can – since Columbia’s treaty with America, a railroad is being built, but it is not yet finished – then from there you go again by steamship north along the coast to California.’