Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (10 page)

At this, Evelyn sighed with relief, while something about the way Brock spoke of his family caused an uncomfortable silence to descend upon the table.

Lucius shifted in his seat and decided to change the subject, for he was already bored with Brock Donnigan’s weepy tale.

“This very morning,” Lucius began, “I heard of a man who washed his face in a stream outside Sacramento, only to find sixteen dollars worth of gold dust stuck in his beard.”

Adele raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Surely you didn’t give credence to such nonsense,” she said. “Excitement is causing everyone to distort the facts, for
I
heard it was
twenty
dollars!”

Everyone laughed.

“They say that when the breeze blows, the gold catches in your curtains,” Mr. Billings announced, proud of his contribution to the conversation.

“This delirium of prosperity is stirring up the wildest fantasies,” Evelyn argued. “I have been listening to the way these men speak of California. They believe that the moment we lay anchor in San Francisco, they can just gallivant off the ship and start shoving gold in their pockets. They seem to think it grows up out of the ground!”

“Not far from it, Duchess,” Brock said. “The papers have reported tales of miners taking thousands of dollars from under rocks in creek beds after barely lifting a shovel.”

“The tales are valid, I’m sure,” Evelyn responded. “But look at all the men on this ship, and all the men that have sailed previously and shall sail hereafter. How many stories are to remain unwritten, unrecognized, and unpublished? Stories of disappointment and disillusionment? How many of us are to arrive in California to discover that some chap went before us and took every bit of shine to be had?”

“Please, Miss Brennan, suppress your optimism,” Lucius commanded sarcastically. “If the reports are true, this country is
made
of gold. There is enough to go around.”

“And what if there is
not
enough?” Evelyn challenged him. “What shall become of the poor souls who find nothing but dust without shimmer?”

“Then perhaps God did not wish to bestow his blessing.”

“And what if he should not wish to bestow his blessing upon
you
?”

Lucius looked hard at Evelyn.

“Then I shall seek comfort from the Whitfields,” he said, his features softening, “whose wealth is encouragement.”

“Indeed, we do not go to California to seek treasures on earth, but to add to our treasures in heaven,” Adele said with a smile. “We will help where we are needed, and if that is among the disillusioned, then perhaps we may offer hope.”

“I am curious what you think of our lot, Mr. Whitfield,” Lucius added, turning to Stephen. “As a man of the cloth, are you among those who lambast the adventurer in search of a better, richer way of life? Do you, like so many others, use your pulpit and biblically educated tongue to degrade and condemn us?”

“Indeed, I do not,” Stephen Whitfield replied. “I do not have a parish to call my own, nor do I have any intention to seek a pulpit. I like to think of my charge as the downtrodden soul before me, be it one man or a hundred; and contrary to popular belief, I see no evil in money, nor in its pursuit. Good and evil rest in the heart and intentions of the seeker. There are many who seek wealth as a means to deliver their families from ruin and poverty; and then there are others who possess less respectable intentions. If gold can be properly wielded as a tool, instead of elevated as an idol, then I believe much good can come of it. The question we all must ask ourselves is how we are to steward what has already been given us. If faithful with a little, we may be confident in our ability to wield much for the greater good of all.”

Everyone accepted this speech with a nod of approval, while Lucius ordered a drink and asked the other men if they would like one.

“I’ve got this, gents,” he told them. “I spend in faith that in just a few short hours, I shall see my recompense. Brock, Stephen, Charles: would you gentlemen care to join me in my next game of cards? Prove me a liar?”

Stephen emitted a pious, “no, thank you,” to which Lucius rolled his eyes, while Charles Billings slurred an eager, “yessir!” while already stumbling from his seat.

Brock sat back and crossed his arms.

“I play with high stakes, mate,” he told Lucius. “Perhaps I should not go all-in just yet. I have a feeling the opportunity will come around again.”

Lucius was about to retort when Adele spoke suddenly.

“And why should the women not be invited?”

All eyes turned on her in surprise.

Stephen grabbed her hand and gave it a little squeeze.

“I do not think it is proper, my darling,” he said softly.

But his wife was adamant.

“Did not even Christ’s disciples cast lots to decide who would replace Judas?” she wondered. “If a
disciple
is allowed to gamble, I daresay a minister’s wife is no exception, or
any
woman for that matter. And Mr. Flynn, why should you order a drink for the gentlemen and not for the ladies? Can we not uphold our gentility
and
enjoy a glass of wine? There are only two of us grown women upon this vessel and I for one am feeling a little left out. This is a man’s world, and I want a piece of the fun.”

Mr. Billings guffawed, his face red from the exertion.

“A minister’s wife, indeed!” Lucius laughed. “Mr. Whitfield, if all Christians are allowed to be this amusing, please write my name in St. Peter’s book!”

Stephen smiled.

“My wife certainly puts a fresh face on things,” he agreed. “But if St. Peter
has
a book, I imagine he should be the one to write your name in it.”

“My dear Miss Brennan, you must agree with me,” Adele persisted. “Command your guardian to include us in the order of the drinks, as well as the dealing of the cards.”

Evelyn opened her lips to speak, but was interrupted.

“There is no need,” Lucius told Adele. “But I am not about to indulge you with wine, for you can drink wine in church. Tonight, Mrs. Whitfield, you drink like an Irishman. Beers all around!”

* * *

When it was time for cards, Lucius excused himself. Adele begged leave of her husband and laughingly followed Lucius and Charles Billings from the room. Stephen retreated to the stateroom, while Brock and Evelyn were left alone at the table.

They sat in silence for some moments before Evelyn emitted a small belch, which she found horribly embarrassing as well as laughable. She succumbed to a blush and a giggle, and pushed away the last of her beer.

“My, my, Duchess,” Brock smirked, “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

“Quite,” she agreed. “What a blessing I am not playing cards, for I am seeing two of everything.”

“Do you see two of me?”

“I do.”

“And which one would you like to escort you up on deck for a bit of fresh air?”

“Oh, both, if you please.”

Brock rose and offered Evelyn his arm, which she took gratefully. He led her away from the hall, and when they reached the open deck, they were greeted with moist, warm air.

“Uncanny, is it not,” Evelyn said. “Not long ago, it was the dreariest of winters and now, all of a sudden, I feel as though it is summer.”

“The tropics are lovely. They never grow cold.”

“Never!” Evelyn exclaimed, a bit too loudly. “I cannot imagine. Ireland was always cold, and New York had the most dreadful winters. What shall California be like, I wonder?”

“I can only speculate, for I have never been there.”

“But you have heard rumors, surely.”

“We have all heard rumors.”

“Do you believe them?”

“I believe I shall find out for myself soon enough.”

“Are you ready for the challenge, Mr. Donnigan? Of a new world, I mean?”

“I thrive on challenge, Duchess. That’s why I’m here.”

With the way he was looking at her, Evelyn thought she caught a double meaning. But at the moment, she was seeing a double of everything.

“Tell me,” she said. “What do you want from California? Are you a senseless greenhorn like all the rest?”

“A senseless greenhorn? Is that how you think of yourself, Miss Brennan?”

“Of course not! I never wanted to go to California in the first place. It’s Lucius’ fault I am here.”

“And why is that?”

Evelyn swallowed hard. She should watch what she said, lest she reveal her secret. Informing Brock Donnigan of her quiet marriage would only serve to complicate things. The subject was better left alone, yet she could not leave him with nothing, nor did she want to. She was tipsy, and her tongue was loose, and all she wanted was to talk to and confide in this most gorgeous of male creatures.

“Three years ago,” she began, “there was an incident. Lucius was involved, as were his father and mine. The Flynns survived, but my father…”

She closed her eyes against the memory. Perhaps she did not want to talk after all.

“What happened to him?” Brock asked, encouraging her to proceed.

Evelyn sighed. How could she refuse those blue eyes?

“There was a brawl. Lucius is always throwing himself into foolish situations. He has no regard for the way others get hurt when he refuses to control himself, and on that night, in consequence of Lucius’ stupidity, my father was…
murdered
.” She stopped, took a breath. “My God,” she murmured, “to this day, the word is somehow foreign. And nearly impossible to say.”

So. Lucius Flynn’s charge held him in ill regard. Brock would have no competition for Evelyn’s affection, and he congratulated himself by reaching out and lightly touching her hand.

“I understand. Go on.”

She nodded and fixed her eyes on the dark sea before them.

“We immigrated to New York from Limerick on account of the famine. After my father died, the senior Mr. Flynn took me in and cared for me until I was of age to… to travel on my own. You see, Lucius is like a brother to me; a dreadfully annoying, foolish brother, whose duty it is to see me safely to my cousin in California. He and his wife are traveling from Oregon to the gold fields, and he has offered me a home, as well as an occupation. I shall be governess to his children.”

She added this last part for good measure, playing upon Brock’s pity.

“A governess?” he repeated, dubious. “Not the most glamorous occupation for a duchess.”

“No, I’m afraid there is nothing glamorous about my situation. Women are not granted control over their destinies. When my father died, my happiness died along with him.”

“And what of your mother? Did she remain in New York?”

“My mother has not been a part of my life since I was an infant. I have never known her. If she is alive, she is in Ireland, starving along with the rest.”

“Yours is a very sad story.”

“Indeed, and I have lost the desire to dwell upon it.” She shifted her weight as if to shift the subject. “You never told me why
you
are here, Mr. Donnigan. What waits for you in California?”

“Land.”

“Land! Was there not enough land in Australia?”

“Plenty.”

“Perhaps I am too bold, but if there are not floods in California, there will be fires.”

“I am not running from the rain, Miss Brennan.”

“Then from what
are
you running?”

“I have no desire to resurrect a demised piece of property, nor live without the lives that were claimed therein. And I do not speak only of crops and cattle.”

“You lost your family?”

“My parents drowned and the land was destroyed. Shortly after, my sister moved to Sydney and married a banker. She moved on, and so did I.”

“Alas, mine is not the only present tale of woe,” Evelyn sympathized. “I am so sorry to hear of what happened.”

Brock nodded, and there was a moment of silence.

“I have read stories about the Oregon Trail,” he said presently. “I wonder what should happen to you if your cousin and his family decided to turn back… or worse?”

“Then I shall be forced to remain with Lucius.”

As was already the course of her future.

            “Then he is not to return to New York?”

            “No. He wishes to prospect.”

“He would subject you to that kind of life? Could he not put you back on a ship to his father?”

“I would rather be returned to Ireland.”

“Ireland? To starve?”

“I have the means to survive without potatoes. The Brennans were not poor farmers. My father’s house was on the sea, with land to call his own. Upon his death, Brennan House fell to me.”

 “It is tragic to imagine you walking the halls of a great house alone, Miss Brennan.”

“Aye,” Evelyn agreed, her eyes lingering on the dark expanse of sky overhead, where the stars bedazzled a black ceiling. “Unless I were to marry, of course.”

She waited for him to respond, but he merely watched her in silence. The ocean was calm and hushed as the
Steam Rose
advanced, the only clue to its presence the soft rustling of the wake and the occasional splash of water against the side of the ship.

“I find it difficult to believe,” Brock began, “that a man such as Lucius Flynn could possess the self-control to refrain from claiming you- an heiress with money, land, and astonishingly good looks- as his own. Surely the idea crossed the minds of both your fathers. I wonder how the two of you avoided an arranged marriage.”

Evelyn nearly choked.

“Narrowly,” she murmured.

“You are correct to say that Lucius is a fool, and a blind one at that. If I should be in his position…”

“I should hate it if you were.”

“And why is that?”

“I should be bored of you. If we had known each other all our lives, all mystery would be lost.”

“So you enjoy my mysteriousness?”

“Thoroughly.”

“Then perhaps I should stop talking and bid you goodnight. I would like to drag this out as long as possible.”

“You aim to please me and torment me.”

“Absolutely. Shall I see you to your room?”

Evelyn did not know whether to be delighted or offended.