by Jane Toombs
“Most inelegant, yet highly accurate. I promise you I shan’t go back to England with—well, in that condition.”
“Lady Pamela, you’re employing diversionary tactics again. Believe me, I’m fully aware of our common bond of country. But to give you five thousand dollars . . .”
“Not give. I asked you to advance me five thousand dollars, using my diamond earrings as collateral.”
“And with that money,” Gowdy went on, “you propose to travel to Sutter’s Fort and on to the gold camps where you intend to establish a commercial enterprise of some sort.”
“Not ‘of some sort.’ I’ll sell flour, salt, pork, clothing, pistols, pickaxes, shovels, pans, and whatever else the miners need. Sam Brannan has more trade than he can take care of at Sutter’s; I’ll do even better at one of the mining sites. At Coloma or Ophir or Hangtown.”
“There’s a considerable difference between you and Sam Brannan.”
“I admit he’s had vastly more mercantile experience in California. I have determination.”
“The difference I referred to is more fundamental. He’s a man and you’re a woman. And a lady, besides.”
“I’m sure the miners would rather deal with a woman than a man.”
Gowdy took a cigar from a humidor on his desk. “With your permission?”
Pamela nodded.
“To be blunt,” he said, “they would rather deal with women, but not in the manner you suggest. And I’m afraid they have no conception of what a lady is. You don’t realize what kind of men these are. They’re the remnants of the regiment Stevenson recruited from the scum of New York City to fight the Mexicans. They’re sharpers, gamblers, drunks, adventurers of every variety, Chinamen, Kanakas, Mexicans, Sydney Ducks.”
“Sydney Ducks? And what are they?”
“Convicts shipped to Australia by our countrymen. California is a golden magnet drawing every unattached ne’er-do-well in the world.”
“You’re exaggerating, Mr. Gowdy.”
He shook his head. “Besides being in a place with twenty men for every woman, you’ll have the elements to contend with. The snow in the mountains, the winter rains.”
“These Sierra Nevada’s can’t compare to the desert we crossed,” Pamela said. She raised the veil from her face and pinned it to her hat with a jet pin. “My face became so burned I looked like a red Indian. Look at me. Even now I’ve not regained a decent paleness.”
“Lady Pamela, you’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen. And the most obstinate.”
“If you’re unable to advance me the money, I shall understand,” Pamela said, glancing about the office. “I assumed you had the means, but perhaps this position as ship’s agent is not. . .” She paused.
“Damn it all, I have the money,” Gowdy growled. “How you do obscure a point! Haven’t you heard the tales of Mexican women captured by the Indians?”
“Are you referring to the Digger Indians?” She raised her eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware their men were warriors.”
“There are thousands of Indians in these mountains.” He jabbed his cigar at her, sending unreadable smoke signals curling toward the ceiling. “And you can’t trust one of them. They may prove to be even more dangerous than the Sioux or the Arapaho. On the way west we merely crossed Indian lands. Here in the California Territory they’re being forced from their very homes. Even a savage fights for what he believes is his.”
“Mr. Gowdy, you know better than to try to frighten me with stories of marauding Indians.”
“I’m not attempting to frighten you, Lady Pamela. Only to warn you. To stop you from making a grievous mistake.” He placed his cigar on a tray and leaned forward to put his hand over hers. “Because I have deep feelings for you, Lady Pamela. I realize you think of me as a tradesman, but say the word and I’ll be your devoted servant for the rest of my life.”
Pamela eased her hand from beneath his. “You forget I’m still in mourning,” she said.
“For a scoundrel who didn’t deserve you,” Gowdy muttered. “And, damn it, it’s been a time now.”
“I’d rather we didn’t discuss Lord Lester.”
Gowdy inclined his head. “Of course. Not the thing to speak ill of the dead, true though it may be. But I am concerned about your future. If you were my wife, you’d have no need to ask for money. I have enough and more. And none of it tainted. I’ll build you a house on one of the hills above Portsmouth Square. I’ll buy you fine clothes and an elegant rig. Though there’s no society as such in San Francisco, there will be.” He paused, then added with quiet emphasis, “I could provide Selena with a proper upbringing.”
“Do you mean I haven’t?” Her words lashed out at him as she jumped to her feet.
“No, no, no,” Gowdy protested, also rising. “You’ve moved mountains as it is. Certainly Lord--the poor child has suffered enough. But how can you expect to look after Selena and work to provide for her as well—you, a woman alone here?”
Pamela sighed. “You’re right, of course. This isn’t the best place for Selena. She doesn’t belong in this raw, raucous town on the edge of nowhere. In London she would have been properly launched by now, even well married.” Pamela walked to the window and looked out at the forest of masts in the bay. From the street below came the jingle of bells on a mule team and the shouted Spanish curses of the muleteer.
“Someday,” she said, “we’ll board one of those ships and we’ll sail for home, for England. Selena will once again ride like a lady, not like a barbarian. Selena will be courted as befits her heritage, not leered at by ruffians lolling in front of saloons and gambling halls.”
She turned to face him and Gowdy shifted uneasily when he saw the fire in her eyes. “As God is my witness,” she said, “I’ll go back to England. Not as a pauper, as a lady.”
He waited a long moment before answering. “The route to England doesn’t go by way of Hangtown, Lady Pamela. Not for you. If you must go into commerce, stay here in San Francisco. Build your store on the land you already own near the Square.”
“I never would have been able to buy that land without your help.”
He waved her gratitude aside. “One day,” he said, “this will be the greatest metropolis on the eastern shore of the Pacific.”
“I don’t have the time to wait.”
“Not for five years? Ten or fifteen at the most?”
“I’m thirty-eight. When I lay ill with the fever at the mission at Santa Clara, I felt my mortality. Five more years?” She tightened her grip on her bag.
“Sit down, Lady Pamela. Please sit down.”
“No, I choose to stand. Mr. Gowdy, I want you to consider me as you would any other petitioner. Now then. Will you advance me the five thousand dollars or not? Needless to say, the diamonds are worth far more.”
“To hell with your diamonds. I may work for my living but I’m not a pawnbroker! I can’t let you have the money. Your blood would be on my hands. God knows, Lady Pamela, I’d give you money for almost anything else. Give it to you.”
“Tell me, then, who will lend me the money?”
“No one will. Merchants like Brannan might have the cash but they’d be fools to finance a competitor. Miners who’ve made their stake? No, the ones who haven’t lost their gold dust to drink or gamblers are already bound for the States.”
“What of the gamblers themselves?”
He scowled. “Men like W. W. Rhynne? You’d do better to try to shake hands with a grizzly than deal with his kind.”
“You paint a bleak picture.”
“I intend to. How else can I show you the truth? What you propose is a dangerous folly.”
“Thank you.” Pamela nodded at the papers on his desk. “I’m sure you have more urgent matters of business than mine. No, don’t bother—I’ll see myself out.”
She reached the door before he could get there. As she started to close it after her, Pamela turned and smiled at him. “I really do understand, Robert,” she said softly.
>
When she had gone, Robert Gowdy reseated himself, savoring the lingering scent of lilacs. After a time he relit his cigar. For him marriage to Pamela would in all probability be a disaster. She was as stubborn as only an English aristocrat could be. His people had been in trade for generations—not a title among them. And yet, if she would only smile at him once each day as she had just smiled at him, he’d run the risk twenty times over.
Avoiding the glances of passing men, Pamela carefully skirted mud puddles and made her way back to the Parker House. In the hotel, she found the manager perched on a high stool behind the front desk.
“Mr. Hotchkiss,” she said, “could you tell me where I might locate a Mr. Rhynne?”
“W.W. Rhynne?” The manager’s voice rose in surprise.
“I believe he’s a gambler.”
“Gambling is one of his ventures.”
From the man’s expression Pamela concluded the other ventures were even less respectable.
Hotchkiss glanced at the Seth Thomas on the wall. “This time of day you’re most likely to find him at Bidwell’s. He left here early this morning.”
“You mean he lives at the Parker House?”
“Yes, ma’am, he’s our guest when he’s in town. He rents a room from us permanent like. He checked in last night.”
Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Pamela grasped the edge of the desk to steady herself. She closed her eyes.
“Are you all right?” Hotchkiss asked.
Pamela took several deep breaths. “Yes, thank you. I’m merely tired.” She walked slowly toward the stairs.
“About Mr. Rhynne,” Hotchkiss began.
“Later,” Pamela said, her lightheadedness increasing. By holding the railing, she barely managed to climb the stairs. Her vision was blurring when she reached her room; she thought she would faint. Quickly, she unlocked the door and went inside to her dressing table. Through the thin wall she heard Selena singing to herself in the next room.
Opening a drawer, Pamela took out a bottle of amber liquid and poured a teaspoonful. She needed this medicine. When she swallowed it, a feeling of color came back to her cheeks. Since being ill with the fever she found that her strength ebbed rapidly and her natural optimism could turn to anxiety and depression without warning. At least Robert Gowdy hadn’t noticed her malaise, At least neither he nor anyone else knew how desperately she relied on the bit of laudanum she took for it.
Gowdy was so different from Lord Lester, feeling stronger, Pamela stared straight ahead and pictured her husband, recalling the early years, the good years before he was seized with his dream of being a king. The mad dream that destroyed him and almost killed Selena as well. She hadn’t loved Lester for many years. Indeed, toward the end she had despised him. And yet she would never love another man as she had loved him at sixteen.
The rapture of being young and in love could never be repeated. Not even Barry Fitzpatrick, the young guide who was her sometime lover on the wagon train west, had quite managed to do that for her.
And Robert Gowdy thought she might one day marry him. How absurd! She liked him and she knew she could trust him. As she had never trusted Lester. But she would never marry Robert. Indeed, she doubted if she cared to marry any man. Even for Selena’s sake.
She closed her eyes and listened to Selena’s voice:
“Oh, Susanna! Don’t you cry for me I’m bound for California with my washbowl on my knee.”
Selena, her cross and her hope.
Her cross because Selena never thought beyond the moment. Despite her own hard experiences on the trail, Selena just hadn’t grown up. She behaved as though she was younger than her nineteen years. By nineteen most girls were married. As Pamela had been. Actually by then she’d given birth to Selena.
But her daughter never seemed to care about her tomorrows, never planned for the future any more than she seemed to remember the past. So Pamela had to do it for her.
Selena was her hope because, despite the fiasco with Don Diego, she still could marry well. Even in this desolate land. Because the girl was so beautiful no man could resist her. Golden hair, honeyed complexion, a lilting laugh, a perfectly proportioned figure. Her beauty was not only in her mother’s eyes--everyone acknowledged it.
She was Pamela’s cross, her hope and, Pamela told herself firmly, her joy as well. At least she was a joy when she wasn’t acting the role of a young rebel. Directness, Pamela had discovered before, seldom succeeded with Selena, and had more than once been disastrous.
She had changed somewhat for the better since her father’s death, but what Pamela liked to think of as woman-to-woman talk still seemed to bring forth perverse reactions from her.
Thank God the girl had had the luck to find out about Diego before it was too late. For, in spite of all that had happened, Selena was surely lucky in escaping his clutches.
A movement caught Pamela’s eye. Looking up into the mirror she saw a man watching her from her doorway. She spun around and stood up.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He smiled. At least she thought that quirk of his lips must be a smile. About her own age, he was tall with black hair and a black moustache. He wore a short tan cloak with a vest of darker brown.
“W.W. Rhynne,” he said, his eyes challenging hers. “At your service.”
Rhynne? Of course, the gambler.
“They told me downstairs,” he said, “that you were asking after me.”
His eyes held hers and, unexpectedly, she found herself glancing away. She clenched her teeth to keep the color from rising to her face.
“A gentleman,” she said, “doesn’t enter a lady’s room without her permission. Even in San Francisco.”
W.W. Rhynne smiled, showing even and quite attractive glistening white teeth. “Some of our leading citizens would scoff if they heard me described as a gentleman. As for your being a lady, I accept your evaluation pending evidence to the contrary.”
Pamela laughed, crossing her arms over her breasts and bowing slightly. “You have an unusual way with words, Mr. Rhynne,” she said.
“Any facility I may have with the English language I owe to my mother.”
“She was a schoolteacher?”
“My mother was a madam in a New Orleans bordello.”
Pamela blinked, studying him closely to see if he was baiting her. His face gave her no clue.
“She read constantly in her leisure time,” he said, “which, of course, was mostly in the mornings. She loved to read aloud, Shakespeare, Marlowe, Dickens, as well as Keats and the other romantic poets. Her favorite was William Wordsworth who, in fact, was the inspiration for my name.”
“You’re William Wordsworth Rhynne?”
“I have no middle name. I am Wordsworth Rhynne, though in these less than civilized regions I prefer being called W.W. Rhynne, your most humble servant.” He sketched a bow.
This Rhynne was a humbug and a charlatan, she was sure. A master of glib phrases, a man not to be trusted. Why did she feel a stirring within her? A quickening of her heartbeat? How foolish.
“Where can we talk, Mr. Rhynne?” she asked. “I have a confidential matter to discuss.”
“In my room? It’s just along the hall. Number twenty-three.”
“Certainly not. We may as well talk here, I suppose. Sit down, Mr. Rhynne. No, don’t close the door.”
He sat on a straight-backed chair with his tan wide-brimmed hat on his lap. For all his elegant words, she noticed, he hadn’t waited for her to be seated first. She smiled to herself, feeling better.
Though she was still lightheaded, it was now in an agreeable way. The medicine, as always, was taking more and more of a pronounced effect.
“I believe in being direct, Mr. Rhynne,” she said. “I have a pair of diamond earrings which were appraised in England for the equivalent of ten thousand dollars. With the earrings as collateral, I propose to borrow five thousand dollars from you to open a store in the mining country.”
His
dark eyes held hers. “May I be equally direct? I have some questions.”
She nodded.
“The extent of your experience in trade?”
“I have none.”
“Do you have a partner? Your husband perhaps?”
“I’m a widow, Mr. Rhynne. My daughter Selena will assist me.”
“Your daughter? And how old is she?”
“Nineteen.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I would have said from the looks of you that she couldn’t possibly be more than ten. No, wait, don’t protest, false modesty isn’t at all appealing. Is she the lovely golden-haired creature I glimpsed a few nights ago in Whittaker’s?”
“We have had dinner there, yes.”
“Your daughter is a phantom of delight.”
“Wordsworth?”
“Wordsworth.” He stood and paced to the door and back with his head down, his hands clasped behind him.
“I agree to advance you the five thousand dollars,” he told her.
Startled, she said, “You agree?”
“If you meet certain conditions.”
Pamela waited.
“First, you will pay interest at the usual rate.”
“Which is?”
“Two percent per month. Second, in addition to selling provisions, our establishment will offer entertainment and games of chance.”
“You mean it will be a music and gambling hall.”
“Those are words commonly used to describe such places. I’ve just returned from the north. In the right location and with the proper management, we can clear two thousand a month.”
“Two thousand! I hadn’t expected so much. But I find gambling distasteful. I’ll need time to consider, Mr. Rhynne. May I have a week?”
“Agreed.” He stepped to her, bent down to grasp her shoulders and kissed her lips. Pamela gasped, her lips opening, and for an instant, no more, she responded to him. Then, turning her head away, she suddenly grew angry. Before she could strike out at him, he stepped back.
“If we become partners,” he said, “consider that as payment in full of your first month’s interest.” He turned only to stop short.
In the open doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape, stood Selena.
