Forget-Me-Not Bride (28 page)

A small, sad smile touched Kate's gentle mouth. ‘That's because, like Lucky Jack, you're a gambler by nature, Marietta. I'm not. And this way I can at least keep my dreams.'

Later, as she sat at the dinner table with Captain Stoddart and Kitty Dufresne and Lucky Jack, Leo squeezed between Kitty and the Captain and Lottie seated between herself and Lucky Jack, Lilly found herself wondering what she would do if she were in Kate's position. The answer came almost immediately. Like Marietta, she would risk everything in the fevered hope that by doing so she would win a lifetime of happiness with the man she loved.

She looked across at the man in question, wishing she could talk to him about her amazing experience that afternoon in the Indian encampment, wanting to discuss with him her intention of becoming a schoolmistress in the Reverend Mr Jenkinson's school for Indian children. Because of the company they were in it was impossible for her to do so.

Captain Stoddart was saying quite flatly that in the months Lucky Jack and Kitty had been absent from it, Dawson had peaked. ‘Another few months, a year maybe, and it'll be a ghost town,' he said, stabbing a piece of moose-meat with his fork.

Lilli looked across at Kitty, hoping she wasn't going to let the topic of conversation distress her. Her worry was needless. Kitty was leaning towards Leo, whispering something in his ear, and Leo was giggling, his eyes aglow at receiving such attention from his magic lady.

‘Help Mr Jenkinson out at his school?'

It was nearly midnight and they were standing on a secluded section of the deck. The sun had set an hour or so previously, but there was still no darkness, only a glorious amber light diffusing the grey Yukon into tones of tawny splendour.

‘Yes. He intends setting up a school for Indian children. It would be such a privilege to be able to teach them! Nana was so quick and eager and …'

‘Hey, steady on a moment.' He looked across at her, wondering if he had misjudged the kind of background she came from. If his trip to Europe had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that upper-class Englishwomen were like no other breed he had ever encountered. With no need to work for a living they undertook volunteer hospital and educational work with ridiculous enthusiasm. Was Lilli's background far more privileged than she had admitted? Going by the classiness of her looks it was certainly a possibility. And she held herself like a member of the English aristocracy; straight and tall and with an air of pride.

He frowned. Lilli wasn't English. Or at least not wholly English. She was half-Irish. Would that preclude her from coming from the kind of background he had in mind? He had no idea. What he did know, though, was that her position as housekeeper at
The Eldorado
wouldn't give her time for the kind of commendable volunteer work she had in mind.

‘Time isn't going to be exactly hanging heavy on your hands in Dawson, you know,' he said reasonably. ‘Housekeeping is a major job. It needs a lot of time and effort to do it well.'

‘I know.' She was touched by his concern, but apprehensive also. She knew how taxing housework could be, especially when there were no conveniences such as piped water, for she had been a housekeeper to her father in just such conditions. It surprised her that Lucky Jack, with his air of careless extravagance, should be expecting her to run their future home without help, but she wasn't afraid of hard work and it wasn't that prospect that was filling her with dark doubts. It was the sudden suspicion that Lucky Jack was raising objections to her plans merely because, like many men, he didn't want his wife to have a life of her own outside the home. ‘I know,' she said again, wondering how best to broach such a delicate issue, ‘I'm very practised at running a house and caring for Leo and Lottie and I know I can do it in such a way that I'll still have time to help Mr Jenkinson …'

‘
The Eldorado
isn't a ranch house,' he interrupted gently, ‘it's big. Thirty rooms at least. And though the staff are pretty keen, they're also pretty itinerant. Half of them are only in Dawson in the hope of staking a claim on whatever new gold strike is made and it wouldn't surprise me if we returned to find half of them had already left for Nome.'

They were standing close together, as close as propriety allowed. Fifteen yards or so away from them, in the direction of the stern, Saskatchewan Stan was holding court, telling a group of first-timers all about the old days of ‘97 and ‘98. In the other direction the unmistakable pink of Marietta's ankle-length skirt sizzled in the copper-gold light. She was leaning against the deck-rails, Edie at her side. There was no sign of Susan or Lettie or Kate.

‘I'm glad to know I'll have some help at
The Eldorado
,' she said, relief thick in her voice. ‘And as I am going to have help …'

She was just about to say that as she was going to have help she could quite easily organise her time so that she could also teach Indian children the rudiments of written English, when she saw The Pig swagger into view. He had two companions with him, both of them as repellent looking as he and they were walking with dreadful intent towards Marietta and Edie. ‘Oh God!' she said devoutly. ‘Quick, Lucky Jack! We've got to get Edie to a place of safety!'

From where he was standing, in the shadow of the overhang of the upperdeck, Ringan saw her anxiety quite clearly. And he also saw that there was no need for him to help her rescue Edie. Lucky Jack already had everything under control. As Lilli ran to warn Marietta and Edie, Jack was striding purposefully towards the brute intent on terrorising them.

Ringan watched the exchange that followed with grudging respect. Whatever Coolidge's faults, cowardice was obviously not one of them. When the brute looked as if he were going to deck him, Jack stood his ground, verbally threatening the brute, though with what, Ringan was too far away to hear. The threats proved to be startlingly effective. The brute and his companions turned on their heels and, as Lilli had disappeared speedily below deck with Marietta and Edie, Lucky Jack remained where he was, taking a cigar from his vest pocket and lighting it.

Ringan moved out of the shadows but not to join Lucky Jack. What would be the point? He could hardly catechise Coolidge as to whether he intended being a worthy husband to Lilli. On the face of it there was no reason why he shouldn't be. There was no reason why he should be worrying where Leo or Lottie were concerned, either. Coolidge obviously had an easy manner with children and both Leo and Lottie liked him well enough. He remembered Lottie's reservations about Coolidge's suitability as a husband and a glimmer of a smile touched his mouth. Wee Lottie was so perceptive at determining a person's faults she would probably have reservations about anyone her sister considered marrying.

Bleakly he walked towards the stern. Lilli would no doubt not enjoy coming to terms with Coolidge's often cavalier manner, but he had no reason to suspect that she would lead a miserable existence as Coolidge's wife. And so, if she was in love with him, and from what he had seen he was quite sure she
was
in love with him, he had absolutely no excuse for wanting, with all his heart and soul, to try and break the relationship up. No reason except that he was in love with Lilli Stullen himself. Deeply and irrevocably in love.

When he reached the stern he stood, staring broodingly down into the
Casca's
foaming wake, his massive shoulders hunched, his fisted hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets. God Almighty, but he'd never known what the word jealousy meant until now. Whenever he saw Lilli in Lucky Jack's company he was racked by it. Crucified by it.

Balling his hands into even tighter fists he thought back to the time they had spent together helping the young Indian woman give birth. They had worked together in absolute unison and afterwards, in their shared euphoria, he had felt they were in complete mental accord; that they both wanted exactly the same kind of things in life; that their values and ambitions were identical. And then, confirming everything he felt, she had turned to him and told him that she knew he had served time for murder and she knew it was a crime he was incapable of.

He had known then, absolutely and utterly, that all his instincts about her being the other, missing half of himself, were correct. But she didn't feel the same, God help him. She was in love with Coolidge and according to Lottie, Coolidge had declared his intention of marrying her.

On the far bank of the river a lone moose stood, dramatically silhouetted against the now blood-red sky.

A pulse throbbed at the corner of Ringan's blunt jawline. In comparison to Coolidge, what could he offer Lilli? He was going to be spending his entire time travelling up and down the Yukon Valley treating the various tribes of Indians who lived along its banks. During the summer his home would be a tent. In the winter it would be a log cabin. And even though that log cabin would be as comfortable as human endeavour could make it, it wouldn't remotely reach the standard of comfort Jack Coolidge would be able to provide for her. Coolidge was a man who had made himself as gold-rich as any lucky-strike prospector. And lucky-strike prospectors were able to live like kings.

The moose switched its tail and turned, plodding in stately splendour away from the river through fetlock-deep grass.

Ringan drew in a deep, shuddering breath. All through the years of his imprisonment he had been cooped in claustrophobic proximity to other men, and always he had felt alone. Loneliness was something he had grown accustomed to. A bitter smile twisted the corner of his mouth. It was just as well he had become accustomed to it because he knew now that his loneliness was going to become a permanent condition. Without Lilli by his side, and Leo and Lottie to care for, how could he ever be anything else?

‘Susan isn't eating,' Lettie said next morning when they all met for breakfast. ‘She knows you all want to sympathise with her and console her, but she says she just can't face seeing anyone.

‘Oh God,' Marietta said graphically. ‘Oh hell.'

No-one censured her for her language, not even Kate.

Lilli pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. ‘I need to talk with Mr Jenkinson about the Indian school he intends opening in Dawson. Perhaps I'll be able to talk to him about Susan as well.'

‘I wish you luck,' Lettie said dryly, spreading honey on a sourdough hot-cake. ‘He wouldn't say a word to me. I don't think he even knew who I was.'

When Lilli stepped out on deck she was immediately aware of an air of expectancy amongst her fellow-passengers. Dawson was only a few miles away and their long, long journey was finally nearing its end. She had dressed with care for the event, wearing her Sunday-best, white lace, leg o'mutton sleeved shirtwaist, a cameo that had been her mother's pinned to its high, mandarin neck. Her deep blue, seven-gored skirt was carefully brushed. Her high-button boots immaculately polished.

As always, every pair of male eyes in the vicinity swivelled in her direction.

‘Morning, Miss Stullen,' a crony of Saskatchewan Stan's called to her.

‘Morning, ma'am,' a half dozen others said, eager to be the recipient of a greeting back. ‘We'll soon be in Dawson now and we've got a right fine day for it too.'

It was a fine day. The sun was high in the brassy blue bowl of the sky, the air milk-warm, heady with the pungent scent of fir and pine. A herd of caribou were in the river, swimming against the current. On the far bank Indians were drying fish near their cluster of tents.

Mr Jenkinson stood near the stern, looking unseeingly at the scenic glories unfolding before him. Lilli felt her stomach muscles contract in shock. Even though Lettie had warned her that Mr Jenkinson was nearly as distressed as Susan, she hadn't expected to see such a startling physical change in him. All his bouncy perkiness was gone. His moon face was haggard. His shoulders slumped in such a manner that he looked altogether diminished.

‘Excuse me, Mr Jenkinson,' she said hesitantly. ‘I wonder if I could have a word with you for a few moments?'

He turned towards her, staring at her as if he had never seen her before.

‘I'm Miss Stullen. A friend of Miss Bumby's.'

‘Ah, yes …' His voice was vague, his eyes still dazed. He no longer looked middle-aged. He looked old. Old and vulnerable.

‘I …' Lilli hesitated. It was quite obvious Mr Jenkinson was in no condition to exchange pleasantries. ‘It's about the school you intend opening in Dawson for Indian children,' she said, plunging straight in. ‘Would you engage me as a teacher? I want to work with the Indians and though I'm not a registered teacher I've had a very good education. I could certainly teach the children to read and write in English and …'

‘School?' Mr Jenkinson looked at her in pathetic bewilderment. ‘There won't be a school now, Miss Stullen. I won't be staying in Dawson you see. Not now. No, I couldn't possibly. I couldn't begin my ministry knowing that Miss Bumby was … was … no, absolutely not. It would be impossible. I shall stay aboard the
Casca
and return immediately to Whitehorse and from there I shall return to Seattle.'

‘But is that really necessary?' Lilli queried, appalled. ‘If you and Miss Bumby are so … so well-suited and happy in each other's company, why should the circumstances of her being a Peabody bride ruin your future happiness and hers?'

At the words ‘Peabody bride' Mr Jenkinson had shuddered, shooting a hand out to grasp onto the deck-rail for support.

‘Mail-order brides … Dance-hall girls … little better than … It seems incredible. Miss Bumby so refined. So educated. I can hardly believe …' With his free hand he fumbled for a handkerchief, pressing it against his mouth as if to prevent himself from vomiting.

Despite her sympathy for him Lilli felt a flare of annoyance. ‘I don't think your being very sensible about this,' she said in a manner not far removed from Susan's schoolmarmishness. ‘Mail-order brides are
not
dance-hall girls.' She thought of Marietta and hoped she would be forgiven. ‘Mail-order brides are respectable young women yearning for a husband and a home.'