Tears of Gold (4 page)

“And how about the O’Flynns? Can they afford to go on living?” Mara demanded in a tight voice, her words quivering in the cold silence of the cabin. “Is that why you were learning new lines, Brendan? Are we going back on the stage?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes,” Brendan finally admitted. “You know the Spaniard?”

“And what does he have to do with us except for knowing our business,” Mara demanded suspiciously. “I’ve no liking for him, to be sure.”

Brendan laughed. “Whether you’ve a liking for the man or not doesn’t matter. He may be our only hope. Besides,” Brendan added softly, “he’s the one I be owing money to.”

“Not him, of
all
people,” Mara sighed in exasperation. “So what is it he’s wanting?”

“Well now,” Brendan replied, rubbing his hands together to warm them, his good spirits returning now that he’d confronted Mara, “it would seem as though he’s in a spot of trouble. Come on and sit down while Brendan tells you what he’s wanting of us.”

Mara reluctantly sat on the edge of the berth and watched Brendan pace before her. His deep voice came easily as he explained.

“Don Luís is a Californian and has a
rancho
somewhere thereabouts—damned if I understood half of the names he referred to—but apparently he needs our help in some business transaction. It has to do with a rather delicate relationship between him and some other gent, and it would seem as though we’re the only ones who can help him out,” Brendan told her.

Mara gave him a doubtful look. “And since when have the O’Flynns been able to help anyone out of trouble? Into it maybe,” Mara remarked as Brendan stopped to pour himself a drink from a half-empty whiskey bottle. “And what’s a rancho, pray tell?”

Brendan shrugged. “A big estate, to be sure, only from what I’ve gathered, on a size that’d make even me swallow me own blarney.”

“And is it?”

“Blarney? To hear the Spaniard talk you’d be believing it was,” Brendan said, shaking his head in wonderment. “And yet, do you know, Mara, they do everything on a grand scale out here. Some of their ranchos are over a hundred thousand acres! Bigger than County Galway itself, I swear.”

Mara stared at him in disbelief. “And what would a person be doing with so much land?”

“Damned if I know,” Brendan admitted, “but I’ll be saying this. Land is a good thing to be owning. You can always do something with it. And out here there’s plenty of land, even for the O’Flynns.”

“Well, as to whether Don Luís is telling the truth or not, I have my doubts,” Mara commented.

“I’m taking his word for it, and I of all people should recognize a lie when I hear one,” Brendan admitted with unusual candor.

“So why is this Spaniard in trouble?” Mara asked curiously.

“Well now, me love, I’m not knowing too much about it, but Don Luís seems to feel that his business deal will fall through unless certain terms of an agreement can be met. It all hinges on one small relationship,” Brendan explained with a grin, his mouth widening to create a dimple in his cheek.

“Something tells me that I’m not going to be liking the sound of this,” Mara predicted glumly.

“Ah now, mavournin, here I was thinkin’ ye be willin’ to accept any challenge, that no role was too great for you to tackle.” Brendan sighed with regret and disappointment but continued to watch Mara out of the corner of his dark eyes.

Mara stopped playing with the lace of her sleeve and stared up at Brendan suspiciously. “And what kind of a role would ye be havin’ me play, Brendan O’Flynn?” Mara asked softly.

Brendan squatted down in front of Mara, his black satin waistcoat hanging open in front to reveal the morocco lining and fine ruffled linen of his shirtfront.

“How would you like to be pretending to be the beloved niece of Don Luís, and be feted at a rancho?” Brendan asked enticingly, his dark brown eyes bright with excitement.

Mara remained silent as she returned his look thoughtfully, a worried frown beginning to form on her brow. She knew she should ignore any scheme of Brendan’s, for they always seemed destined to go amiss. “Why am I to be posing as the Californian’s niece?” she demanded bluntly. “It doesn’t sound right to me. Besides, who’d be taking me, a poor Irish lass, for a Spaniard’s niece? I’m not quite that accomplished an actress,” Mara scoffed.

Brendan grinned, a secret look entering his eyes. “And who was saying the lass was Spanish? As it so happens, mavournin,” Brendan informed her with obvious relish at overcoming her objections, “she is half-English. Her name is Amaya Vaughan, and her father was an English sea captain who settled in California when it was a part of Mexico. He married a local lass, sister to Don Luís, and got himself a parcel of land. Apparently that was the only way you could do it back then. Even became a Mexican citizen and converted to Catholicism to get his land. Unfortunately the lady died a few years later, after giving him only a daughter. The captain, never having a liking for his Spanish in-laws, sent the wee girl off to his own relations in England. When he died a few years after that, well, the girl had no reason for coming back here, now did she? And the good sea captain should have stayed out at sea, for he was a failure as a landowner and ended up selling out just before he died.”

Brendan stood up and stretched his long legs, in pale, gray-striped merino, and poured himself another whiskey, taking a hefty swig before continuing his story.

“The only problem was that the young lady had been affianced to a gent while still a child in California, and the Spanish relatives want that agreement legalized. So off goes Don Luís to fetch his niece back to the rancho and her Spanish fiancé. Did I neglect to tell you that the fiancé is the other
ranchero
—that’s what these fellows call themselves—who is involved in this business deal with Don Luís? No need to tell you how important this alliance between the niece and this ranchero could be to Don Luís’s position.”

Mara’s interest was caught, as Brendan had intended. “So what happened in England? Did Don Luís find his niece?”

“Yes. In York, to be exact. And a colder, more stiff-laced bunch of prudes you’ve yet to set your eyes on, or so they appeared to Don Luís.” Brendan gave a devilish chuckle. “Can you imagine how the don appeared to them? It must have shook them out of their very proper accents. Sittin’ around the tea table, their monocled eyes fair to poppin’ as their ladies fainted into their teacups. ‘I say, do get the salts, Smythe. I believe her ladyship has fainted. A pity, too, it was a demmed good cup of tea.’ I can hear it all now,” Brendan laughed, imitating an English lord to perfection.

Mara smiled reluctantly at the scene Brendan had painted so brilliantly. How horror-stricken and affronted they must have been when Don Luís, olive-skinned and very foreign, had walked into their very British parlors and demanded the return of his niece to California. “I can see you’ve caught the humor of the situation. Miss Vaughan had become quite Anglicized during her residence in England and was barely civil to her maternal uncle. Much less did she entertain the idea of journeying to California with this strange foreigner. Besides, much to Don Luís’s consternation, he found her happily contemplating her upcoming nuptials—to an English viscount, no less. Alas, he could not persuade her that she would do better to honor a fifteen-year-old agreement by marrying a Californian ranchero.”

Mara shook her dark head, her eyes shading into a rich bronze as she replied discouragingly, “And what would Don Luís gain by masquerading me as his niece? For there’s not a ghost of a chance that I’d be marrying this fellow.”

“Mara, me love,” Brendan laughed easily, “it’d never be coming to that. Don Luís only wants to gain a little time. That’s all. Would you be denying him all hope? What harm can it do to be pretending, just for a little while, that you’re this Amaya Vaughan? He’ll cancel all debts if we agree, and he’s even willing to pay us. And, Mara,” Brendan added, “think of Paddy and what this will mean for him. It’ll keep him from the streets. Ye’d not be havin’ an O’Flynn turn beggar, would ye?” Brendan warned in exaggeration, his dark eyes narrowing. “As well as keeping you from the streets, maybe? I’ve no money, which means you and Paddy have none. And will you be turning Jamie out too? She’s too old to be finding herself new employment. And how will we be eating? Especially if Don Luís has me arrested, or killed, for not payin’ me debts. This way we’ve got a chance, Mara. I can get out to where the gold is. Before you know it we’ll be rich. I might even be buying this ranchero’s land from him. Well,” Brendan demanded, “what’s it to be?”

Mara flushed angrily. “’Twould seem as though you hold the winning hand, Brendan. But I’ll not be playing the game for nothing,” Mara warned him as she got to her feet. She picked up her bonnet and muff and turned to face Brendan.

“You’ll not be taking me for a fool again. I’ll be having your promise that when Don Luís pays us,” Mara spoke softly, “I’ll be the one keeping our money.”

Brendan shrugged good-naturedly. “Sure. ’Tis fine with me. You may be appointing yourself anything you want—as long as you do as Don Luís tells you. He’ll be talking to you to acquaint you with your Spanish relatives, so be a good pupil and learn your lessons and we’ll be the richer for it. And, Mara, me love,” Brendan added warningly, “don’t be troublesome. It wouldn’t hurt to be polite to Don Luís. Now, now, wipe that thunderous expression from your face, little darlin’. Remember—it’s for Paddy,” Brendan quickly reminded her.

At Brendan’s words a sudden thought struck Mara, and she said abruptly, “Speaking of Paddy, I’ll not be leaving him with you, even though you are his father. So where were you planning to be, Brendan, while I’m masquerading as Amaya Vaughan and earning our keep?” she demanded suspiciously.

“Now, now, mavournin,” Brendan answered easily, raising his hands placatingly. “You’ve no need to get your feathers ruffled. Paddy will be going with you as your widowed cousin’s son. Don Luís seemed to think I should be along too. Thinkin’ we were husband and wife, he thought you might be gettin’ lonely for me handsome face and think about leaving before the job was done. I’m thinkin’ Don Luís isn’t trustin’ us,” Brendan said with an injured air.

“Then he’s smarter than I imagined,” Mara answered unsympathetically. “So you’re to be me cousin, are you?”

“Naturally. Brendan O’Sullivan, at your service,” he replied as he bowed extravagantly. “Your very best friend and trusted companion, protector and chaperone, business advisor—and accomplished dancer as well.” Brendan smiled his most charming smile. “I shall be welcomed into the bosom of the family like a long-lost son. However,” he paused reflectively, “due to past experience, I thought it best not to be usin’ our own name, just in case.”

Mara shook her head in exasperation and walked to the door. Before leaving, she turned and added, as a parting shot, “You’ve always been the better actor, Brendan, me love. Maybe you should be masqueradin’ as the niece. Ye’ve a pretty enough face for it, to be sure.” Mara laughed as she slammed the door, catching Brendan’s curses in mid-utterance. Her laugh faded quickly as she made her way down the narrow passage to the cabin she shared with Paddy and Jamie. She was troubled, but it’d never do to let Brendan know. He had ways of using your fears to his own advantage. She had to keep her head if she were to hold her own with him.

Paddy was lying on one of the berths, a small replica of Brendan as he stared morosely into space. At Mara’s entrance, however, his dark eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across his face.

“You’ve been ages, Mara. Ye know I’ve no likin’ to be left alone,” he complained. He slid his small hand into Mara’s as she sat down beside him on the bed. He looked up reproachfully, his dark brown eyes reminding Mara of a fawn’s.

“Using your father’s charm already, are you?” Mara demanded in mock indignation. “And only six years of age too. I want you to speak English correctly, Padraic,” Mara scolded him gently. “I want you to have at least a fair chance in the world, and speaking with an Irish accent isn’t going to help you any.”

“You talk with one sometimes, Mara, so why shouldn’t I?” Paddy asked bluntly. “Sometimes when you get real mad and your cheeks go pink, you sound so funny. I want to sound that way too,” he confided. “Besides, Papa talks that way too.”

“Well, Master Padraic, you are not your papa, and you should not be trying to sound like him. Your papa and I only speak that way when we’re teasing each other, and then only in private. We can speak perfectly good English when we desire to. Sometimes, I admit, when I’m in the heat of anger I do forget myself. Being actors, we can speak many dialects—it’s our job—and Irish is just one of them. But you,” Mara said, giving Paddy a direct look, “are still young enough to learn English the right way. It’s hard enough making a living in the world without having the burden of being an Irishman into the bargain.”

Paddy frowned in puzzlement at Mara’s words. He struggled to his knees on the berth, steadying himself against Mara’s shoulder as the ship lurched and he nearly lost his balance. His small hand found hers again, and spreading her fingers against his, he laughed as he compared his short ones against her long, slender fingers with their oval nails.

“Why’s it hard being Irish?”

“Because,” Mara sighed, “I’ve found that few people have the time for an Irishman. Only the Lord, it would seem, remembers that we’re his children. And after the famine starving so many families out of Ireland, well, I sometimes wonder if even He has time for us. We’ve got to make it on our own, Paddy. No one is going to be giving the O’Flynns so much as the time of day,” Mara told him sadly. “And I get so tired of the struggle at times. As your papa is fond of saying, ‘Jaysus, but it’s a fine day for doin’ nothin’.’ How I do wish that sometimes,” Mara whispered.

She playfully pushed the dark, reddish brown curls from Paddy’s forehead. “So you be speaking fine, like a fancy London gent, or I’ll be having you walk the plank,” Mara said. Then, glancing around curiously, she asked, “Where’s Jamie?”

Paddy laughed as he was thrown off his perch by another sudden roll of the ship. He sat back against the pillows and answered casually. “Oh, she got sick again. Jamie started to turn green, Mara, and she looked so funny. She said she’d better be doing it over the side, and then she ran out,” Paddy explained, then asked hopefully, “Do you think we’re going to be liking this place, Mara? I’m awful tired of this ship. There’s nothing to do, or anyone to play with. Isn’t it ever going to stop somewhere?” he asked with a petulant droop to his mouth as he stared up at Mara expectantly.