Midnight Star

  “No, I wasn’t deflated,” she said. “You told me before we were married. I am trying to tell you the truth, Del, all of it. I decided to marry you because I would, of course, be close to you, live in your house, and be able to learn of all your business plans.”

  “Didn’t you realize that I would want you as my wife in every way?”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t certain what it was all about.” She raised her chin in defiance. “I decided I could bear anything, that I had to bear it.”

  “As I recall,” he said, his voice thick with mockery, “after the threat on your life aboard the Scarlet Queen, you very nearly ravished my poor body. Did you despise yourself afterward for being such a wild bitch?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that is honesty of a sort. And after you’d ruined me, what was your plan?”

  “To leave you. Tell you that it was I who had ruined you, and why.”

  “Ah, your profound desire to avoid conceiving my child. Do you know, dear wife, that I asked my mistress about contraception? Marie thought it a great joke.”

  “I could be pregnant with your child at this moment, Del.”

  He was drawn up at the soft pleading in her voice. “Yes, I suppose you could,” he said slowly. “Let us hope that I am not so virile, my dear. It would not be particularly pleasant for you to return to England carrying a babe in your womb, would it?”

  No, she would’t accept it. It couldn’t be over. She lowered her head in silent supplication. “I . . . I don’t want to leave. I want to be your wife. I want to have your children.”

  “Chauncey, I have been a great fool.”

  She raised her head, hope in her eyes.

  “If I were to allow you to remain, I would be that much greater a fool. All this time, I wanted you to trust me. Oh yes, I knew you were keeping something from me. But now I really don’t give a damn if you trust me or not, because you see, my dear, I don’t trust you.”

  He turned abruptly and strode from the room.

  “Del, wait!” But he was gone.

  He did not return the rest of the day, nor that night. The following morning, he came into the bedroom.

  “What are you doing?”

  Chauncey whirled about at the sound of his voice. She gestured helplessly at the open valise on the bed. “I’m packing my things.”

  “You will need different things where we’re going.”

  She stared at him, hope once again building in her. “What do you mean?”

  “When it rains, it pours, it would appear. I received a message late yesterday that there were more troubles at the Midnight Star mine in Downieville. This is the mine, you doubtless know, that earned such great amounts of money for Paul Montgomery. I can’t leave you here—I’m not that great a villain. You’d probably be found drowned in the bay within the week. I think it somewhat ironic that you should see the property that started this entire charade. You’ll need sturdy clothes. I’ll send Mary to you.”

  He turned at the doorway. “I am hoping that by the time we return, Lucas and my men will have tracked down Montgomery and . . . taken care of him.”

  She had gained more time. She felt dizzy with relief.

  “Then, my dear,” he added quietly, “you can return to your packing. Incidentally, wife, it is entirely possible that Mary won’t be leaving with you. It appears that she and Lucas have found that they care for each other. Life can sometimes be very simple and uncomplicated, can it not?”

  Delaney kept his face carefully expressionless even when she looked as if he’d struck her. Thank God he’d never told her that he loved her. He felt himself weaken. Words, cruel words, erupted from his throat as he watched her. “Of course I shall initiate divorce proceedings here. England is quite a bit more difficult, I understand. Because I am a gentleman, I shall take the blame. Adultery, perhaps.”

  “That probably won’t be untrue,” she said bitterly.

  “Ah yes, I keep forgetting that you know me so very well. I shall be certain that my next wife will allow me to court her. We leave early in the morning, Chauncey. No,” he added thoughtfully, “not Chauncey. Elizabeth Jameson FitzHugh shouldn’t have such an intimate, carefree nickname. Yes, Elizabeth. By the way, we are legally married. I checked with my lawyer. Even though you omitted your complete name, we are tied to each other—for a short time, at least. There is something else, my dear. It is quite possible that the agreement I signed before we were married, allowing you to keep control of your money, isn’t valid. Misrepresentation, I believe my lawyer called it. Wouldn’t that be ironic? But trust me, my dear, not to send you back to England a pauper. Not a complete pauper, in any case.”

  The following morning they boarded the beautiful steamer Senator for the hundred-mile journey to Sacramento. Chauncey was wearing the only lovely gown she’d brought. She was thankful for the warmth of the burgundy velvet mantle, for the morning was chilly, with fog blanketing the city. How different this will be from our last trip, she thought, staring vaguely around her. Her eyes searched the crowds of people. Was Paul Montgomery there somewhere, watching her? Probably not. Delaney had been too careful.

  Delaney was carrying their valises, only two of them, for he told her that they would be traveling light once they’d left the steamer to journey inland. She’d spent several strained and silent hours the day before with Mary, Lucas, and Olaf following discreetly, buying the sturdy clothes Del had ordered. She had bought two split skirts in heavy wool and two loose-fitting linen blouses. Even her underthings were utterly practical. And stout boots. She paid with her own money.

  Late that evening the steamer turned into the Sacramento River, but Chauncey wasn’t aware of it. She dined alone in their stateroom, her thoughts in turmoil. Delaney had simply withdrawn from her. He was polite—oh yes, chillingly so.

  “You will stay here, my dear. I trust you have sense enough to obey me in this.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I will stay here.” She raised her chin slightly, her eyes searching his face. “And you?”

  “I think I will do what most men do—gamble a bit, smoke a cheroot, and drink a good glass of port.”

  “You will not dine with me?”

  “I believe it would be best if I did not. My civilized veneer just might peel away by the second course. I will see you later, my dear.”

  Oh yes, so polite.

  She ate little, though the terrapin was doubtless delicious, the green beans fresh and crisp. It was several hours before she fell into a restless sleep, her thoughts moving ahead to the trip they were taking. They would be alone, away from civilization. Please, she prayed to herself, let him forgive me. She wondered if his reaction would have been different had she told him herself who she really was and why she’d come to San Francisco, told him before he discovered it for himself. Would it have made any difference?

  She was jerked awake by an insistent hand shaking her shoulder.

  “We are getting off, Chauncey. Wake up and dress warmly.”

  “But it’s not even daylight,” she said vaguely, pushing her hair out of her face.

  “The steamer docks at five o’clock. We will board another, smaller steamer for Marysville. ’Tis but fifty miles, but I don’t want to lose any time.”

  “We’re in Sacramento?”

  “Yes, but you won’t see much of the town. We’ll board the Miner at seven o’clock.”

  She couldn’t prevent herself, and asked, “Where did you spend the night, Del?”

  She made out his sardonic expression in the dim cabin light. “I don’t believe you really want to know, my dear.”

  “No,” she agreed, “you are probably right.”

  Thirty minutes later, she stood beside her husband on deck as the Senator docked in Sacramento. She could make out little of the town, save that it had a very unfinished look due to the terrible fire of the year before. There were no vast sandy hills, just flat stretches with row upon row of wooden buildings. Even this early in the morning, the wharf are
a was chaotic with vendors, merchants, builders, drays, and every sort of wagon.

  Delaney took her arm firmly and guided her down the gangplank onto the wide wooden wharf. “The Miner is close by,” he said, pointing over to the next long plank of wood stretching into the river.

  Again Chauncey found herself marveling at the mix of people: Chinese men with their raven-black hair braided down their backs, Spanish men in colorful sombreros and vests, and black men, tall and muscular in their loose-fitting white shirts. But the majority of the men wore jackets, many of them torn and disreputable-looking, and dirty boots pulled up over their trousers.

  They remained in the main salon of the steamer. At least Delaney didn’t leave her side. She watched the men playing cards and chewing tobacco. Even young boys!

  “At least they don’t spit!” she said, remembering the times she’d winced at the sight of men, even well-dressed gentlemen, spitting in any corner available.

  “No, but watch,” Delaney said. He was smiling slightly, but not at her. She followed his gaze to a boy no more than twelve years old. The lad was chewing tobacco. He pulled out a pocket handkerchief and spit the revolting brown wad into it.

  The passage to Marysville took longer than expected, for the river had had little rainfall and there was the constant danger of becoming stuck on barely submerged sandbanks. Chauncey stood at the railing, watching everything silently. Occasionally some hills came into view, and here and there were glimpses of a mountain chain. For the most part, though, the scenery was monotonous. Pale green hills dotted with occasional scraggily bushes and scrub oaks.

  “We won’t be stopping at Hock Farm,” Delaney said. “General Sutter and his sons are interesting men. Due north is Mount Shasta, the highest point of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.”

  Chauncey listened to the sound of his voice, not really caring what he said. He sounded tired, and she felt waves of concern. How ironic, she thought. How very ironic.

  She jumped at the sound of a shout from one of the sailors.

  “Marysville!”

  23

  Chauncey stared toward the small town coming into view. It was a motley collection of tents and wooden structures haphazardly set down, it seemed to her, with no rhyme or reason. There was not one tree within fifty yards of the town, cut down, she supposed, during the winter for fires. Still some hundred yards away, she could already feel the excitement and that particular sort of chaos that she’d sensed when she first arrived in San Francisco. There were men standing on the long dock wildly waving their felt hats toward the steamer. Chauncey moved closer to Delaney, for the passengers were spilling out onto the deck. Mrs. Dobbs, a most fascinating woman with the reddest hair Chauncey had ever seen, brushed by her.

  “Excuse me, dearie. Quite a crush, ain’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I find it most interesting.” She turned to Delaney. “Actually, I feel like I’m in a different world.”

  Delaney well understood what she meant, but to him Marysville had changed immensely over the past three years. Gold seekers had scored the virgin land, making it look raw and ugly as sin. That was doubtless what she’d meant. She scorned it. He refused to let himself be drawn to her, to understand her, to smile at her. The past day and a half had been a trial and he’d asked himself over and over why he had brought her here. He hadn’t believed she would be in any real danger in San Francisco.

  It is likely she’s in more danger here in the wilds.

  He refused to think about it and he refused to smile. He asked in a cold, indifferent voice, “It is not like your decadent, overripe England, is it?”

  “No,” she said slowly, her brief excitement crushed, “it is not.”

  He’s fighting me. He’s fueling his anger. She understood, but his flippant words hurt, hurt badly.

  She looked toward Mrs. Dobbs, now waving wildly toward the men on shore, laughing and shouting. “I hope her family is here to meet her,” she said.

  Delaney laughed coldly. “So you don’t recognize a kindred spirit?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your Mrs. Dobbs is a whore, of course. She’s like your England, a bit overripe and blown, but the men in Marysville will welcome her with open arms, so to speak.”

  At last he had drawn her. Her fingers itched to strike him, but she didn’t. She drew a deep breath and asked calmly, “Is a wife who responds to her husband considered a whore?”

  “Doubtless, if she does it for a reason other than . . . affection. I would at least consider you an honest whore had you demanded money from me.”

  “Very well. How much should I charge you?”

  “You’ve already taken all I would ever consider paying you.”

  It was no use, she thought. He’s keeping me at two arms’ lengths. She forced herself to shrug and look back at the town. “I cannot help but wonder what it will look like in, say, ten years. Surely the gold will be gone by then. Do you believe the people will stay and build up the town?”

  “It isn’t quite so bad as you think, my dear. Last time I was here, there were a good six thousand folk living in Marysville and they boasted a theater and two newspapers. More culture than most of your English towns have, I daresay. Why, there are nearly as many goods available in the stores as there are in Sacramento.”

  “What are the names of the rivers?”

  “We’re at the head of the Feather and the Yuba. We’ll spend the night here, then leave tomorrow morning on horseback for Downieville.”

  “There are many gold mines here?”

  “Indeed, and quartz mines as well. On the average, the quartz yields about thirteen percent of gold. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

  His voice was mocking, but she didn’t respond, only said quietly, “I should like to see how it is done.”

  “Perhaps, if you ever decide to visit again, you will see all the fascinating shafts and galleries, even the gold washings on the Yuba River. Shall I continue about the wooden channels?”

  “No, I cannot picture your words in my mind.”

  “But I’ve begun to believe you very inventive, my dear, particularly in bed. I vow that with more intense practice, you could rival even Marie.”

  She flinched, and did not reply.

  Marysville did boast a number of shops, stores, and countless gaming saloons. Chauncey walked beside Delaney down the main street of the town, careful to keep the hem of her gown out of the wide mud puddles. It was warm and she soon felt a trickle of sweat between her breasts. She was constantly aware of men stopping to stare at her, open admiration in their eyes. She found herself wondering if it was all worth it, the frantic search for gold, living in such primitive conditions, without the comfort of a family.

  “We will stay here tonight,” she heard Delaney say.

  The Golden Goose was a two-story hotel that appeared to have just been built. It looked raw and unfinished. A very old man stood behind the narrow counter. Too old to search for gold, Chauncey thought. He kept rubbing his lower back.

  Their small room was on the second floor and overlooked the main street. There were a narrow bed, a basin on an old commode, and a doorless armoire against one wall. Delaney would have to sleep with her tonight, she thought, and wondered what she would do.

  He was wondering the same thing. He needed a good night’s sleep, but knew at the same time that it would be misery to lie beside her and not take her in his arms. He cursed softly under his breath. He saw her stare at him, her expressive eyes showing uncertainty and bewilderment at his unexpected spate of foul language. There were many things he had to do, but he wasn’t quite so cruel as to force her to remain in their room the rest of the day.

  “Change into something more appropriate, my dear,” he said finally, “and we will see the town and buy supplies.”

  There was no screen, nothing. Chauncey said quietly to Delaney’s back, “I need your help with my buttons.”

  He ground out his cheroot and turned from the window. “Not much of a frontie
r wife, are you? Helpless without a servant to take care of you.”

  “With the new clothes I bought, I’ll not need a servant, shall I?”

  He felt like a fool, drawing her and baiting her. He frowned at her back as he fiddled with the tiny buttons. He wanted her to fight back, not respond to him with such damned reasonableness, as if she didn’t even care.

  “I see you still aren’t wearing a corset.”

  “No,” she said, trembling slightly at the touch of his fingers against her bare back.

  “Perhaps you should consider it. It improves a woman’s figure immensely.” Damned liar! You can span her waist with your hands!

  “Surely you would not wish me to wear one now?” she asked, wondering how her voice could sound so very calm and self-assured. “We will be traveling by horseback and camping in the open, won’t we?”

  “Yes,” he said, forcing his eyes away from the nape of her neck. “It will be an experience for you, the perfect little lady from England trekking about in the wilderness. Tell me, do you think you can even light a fire outdoors?”

  She shoved the gown from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor at her feet. Did she hear him suck in his breath? “You must know the answer to that,” she said, bending down to pick up her gown. She straightened and turned to face him, clutching her discarded gown over her breasts. “You must also know that I can learn, and I will. I won’t delay you, Delaney, or be a burden.”

  Why was she hiding her body from him? he wondered perversely. He said aloud, wanting to get a rise from her, “Really, my dear wife, such modesty. Isn’t it a bit late for this maidenly display?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, and came to a decision. Slowly she lowered the gown and tossed it to the back of the lone chair. She pulled the straps of her chemise from her shoulders and felt the soft satin glide down to her waist.

  Delaney stared at her breasts; he couldn’t help himself. His body responded, and he whispered softly, “Damn you, Chauncey.”

  “Is ten ounces of gold too little to ask?” She stared at him straightly, drawing back her shoulders so that her breasts thrust toward him. “Should I perhaps ask more?”