Fool's Gold (29 page)

‘Of course you do!’ stammered Hester. ‘You want him — they told me!’

‘I know it shows a lamentable lack of good taste, but I really don’t want him.’ Alicia paused. ‘Nor do you, of course, for you terminated your engagement.’

‘I wish I never had,’ groaned Hester, subsiding on to the grass without a thought for her elegant pale pink robe, or the insects that might be hidden beneath the blades of grass. ‘Mama said he — he would soon change his mind and take us all back to New York, but he — he isn’t going to, is he?’ she ended on a strangled sob, gazing up at Alicia with drowned eyes.

‘No, he isn’t. He’s happy here. And would you have been overjoyed if he had done your mother’s bidding?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘It would have been weak-willed and lily-livered, and I don’t think you want to leave California any more than he does.’

‘Yes, but Mama …’

Ruthlessly she cut in on the girl’s tearful protests. ‘You’re happy here, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, and so is Henry, but Mama …’

‘Mama wants to go back to New York.’

‘Yes. It’s her health, you see.’

‘I can’t think of a woman in more robust good health than your mother!’ protested Alicia.

‘You only see her society face,’ explained Hester mournfully. ‘When she is at home, she has the most dreadful palpitations … and fainting fits.’

‘I’m sure she does,’ agreed Alicia. ‘And if I guess aright, always when you or Henry decides to stand up for yourself!’

‘Do you really think so?’ Hester’s eyes were round with surprise. It had clearly never before occurred to her to question her mother’s claims of ill health, but Alicia could see her mentally going through the occasions and finding that they tallied. ‘But why?’ she demanded in an awed whisper.

‘Power,’ said Alicia bluntly. ‘Over you, over Henry. But it doesn’t just affect you, does it? I suppose you and Henry are entitled to ruin your lives to pander to her selfish whims, but now there’s Mr Brenchley’s life to consider too. And the girl, whoever she may be, with whom Henry will eventually fall in love. Think what a miserable time
she
will have if your mother is permitted to go on in this tyrannical manner.’

‘But how can I stop it?’ breathed Hester, awed by the vision Alicia was inspiring.

‘You need only be firm,’ advised Alicia.

‘But she will have spasms and — and — palpitations,’ she objected.

‘In public?’

‘You mean — tell her — here?’

‘You’ll find plenty of support, I promise you. And among the older women whose opinion she values. She’ll think twice before throwing a fit in front of them,’ she said unkindly.

‘But what if she does …?’ Hester’s voice trailed away as she contemplated the prospect with horror.

‘She’s never come to any harm, has she?’ asked Alicia cynically. ‘Look, Hester, you’ve got to make the decision — whether to upset your mother or Augustus. But remember,’ she went on casually, ‘then there’ll be nothing to hold him to Sacramento. He could go to San Francisco, or Stockton, or Marysville. You might never see him again.’

The girl went so pale that Alicia thought she might faint. Then a look of determination came over her pretty face. ‘I won’t let it happen,’ she said grimly, rising to her feet and setting off up the garden.

‘Even if it means Mama doesn’t get to New York?’ queried Alicia, hurrying after her.

‘Let
her
marry General Stokes,’ said Hester with a shudder. ‘The old fool’s going back east in a few weeks.’

Clive exchanged a look of shocked amusement with Alicia as they both followed Hester up the garden. On the verandah stood Brenchley, nervously smoking a cigar. Of the General there was no sign.

Hester tumbled up the steps and flung herself headlong into Brenchley’s arms. ‘Oh, Augustus!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘Tell me you won’t fight the General!’ Then before he could answer, she went on: ‘Please, please, don’t go to Marysville. You wouldn’t like it at all, really you wouldn’t!’

Brenchley, choosing the only option open to a sensible man, threw his cigar away and kissed her soundly.

‘Think she’ll stand to it when her mother starts on at her?’ asked Revel as he and Alicia walked away arm in arm.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered frankly. ‘I hope so, but there’s no more we can do. I feel totally drained.’

‘You didn’t mince your words, did you?’

‘There’s little enough happiness in the world. It makes me so impatient to see two good people wasting theirs because of a lack of guts to stand up to an emotional blackmailer!’

‘I know. But it can become a habit, letting your mother make all your decisions for you.’

Alicia felt as though she had been at the soirée for half a lifetime, but when she came back into the saloon from the garden, she found that the evening was still not even half over, for the doors to the dining room were still firmly shut.

The Leons were entertaining the company with a spirited rendering of ‘Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes’, Edith Pikeman accompanying them only half a bar behind. Over by the doors to the hall, on the far side of the room, the Reverend stood with Captain Sharples and his wife, benignly smiling on the assembled company; Letitia sat by the piano, nodding her head gently in time to the music, breaking off only to dart the occasional angry look at Belle Lamarr, flirting not too
sotto voce
with a thickset land agent with a raucous laugh. Beyond them sat Mrs Bryant and her son. He was amusing himself making eyes at Amy Pikeman, a precocious fifteen-year-old with shining dark curls and sparkling black eyes, the only one of the brood of eight not to have inherited her mother’s plain and pasty looks.

The usual polite applause greeted the end of the song. As Señor Leon and his wife stepped away from the piano, they exchanged a look of such warmth and affection that Alicia felt a lump come into her throat.

‘Touching, isn’t it?’ came a familiar voice from behind her. She turned to find Jack Cornish standing behind her, holding two sparkling glasses of wine.

She nodded wordlessly as she accepted the wine. She remembered what he had told her about the Leon’s childlessness and her face clouded over.

‘Life can be very unfair,’ she murmured.

‘Yes.’ He paused and took a sip of the cool wine. ‘Does Tamsin remember her father?’ he said unexpectedly.

‘Her f-father?’

‘Your husband.’

‘He’s n —’ she began, then shook her head. ‘He — no — I — he died in the big cholera outbreak in ’52. He never knew Tamsin …’

‘Jack! Do come and find something for Miss Clarence to play!’ called Miss Cooper, as two of her guests struggled in with the ornate harp which customarily stood in the hall.

‘Good God!’ exclaimed Revel behind her. ‘Letitia’s been trying to dragoon someone into playing that wretched harp for as long as I can remember! Don’t tell me she’s finally found someone!’

‘Miss Clarence,’ Cornish informed him with the ghost of a smile. ‘Of all things her elegant east coast soul has yearned for since her arrival in this benighted land, her harp heads the list. She is eagerly awaiting its arrival any day.’

‘She tell you so?’ demanded Revel.

‘No. Her father. He also told me that her exquisite sensibilities make it impossible for her to accompany any but the finest singers and instrumentalists, although she realises this must be a limitation at such gatherings as these.’

‘Good God!’ Clive’s face was a picture. ‘And why haven’t I met this paragon?’

‘If you and Mrs Owens had spent less time in the garden and a little more in the saloon,’ answered Cornish sharply, ‘you would have.’

There was a bustle in the doorway and several of the young men nearby hurried forward to offer an arm to an attractive young lady with wide blue eyes and glossy black curls dressed in the latest fashion. An elegant tarlatan robe showed off her narrow waist and sloping shoulders to perfection.

Behind the newcomer bustled a rather stout and florid man in his mid-fifties, somewhat overdressed for his surroundings. He followed his daughter in and fussed around her, commanding the Colonel to shift the harp a trifle to the left and adjust the spindle-backed chair accordingly. At last, satisfied, he stepped back, running his fingers around the inside of his elaborate cravat and mopping his sweating forehead before subsiding into a nearby chair. Miss Clarence permitted young Edward Sharples to hand her to her seat and began to tune the harp to the violin which Cornish had taken from the top of the piano.

‘Do you suppose there’s a Mrs Clarence?’ asked Alicia in a whisper as they took their places.

Clive Revel’s eyes gleamed wickedly. ‘Perhaps she’s following on, crated up with the harp!’ he joked. Alicia, who had just taken a sip of wine, laughed, spluttered and choked. As the two musicians chose that moment to finish tuning, her choking fit earned her an impatient frown from Cornish and a dagger look from the icy Miss Clarence.

Assured that everyone’s attention was on them, Miss Clarence began to play. The duet was pretty enough and the sound of the harp sufficiently unusual in their gatherings to be attractive, but the comments at the end, under cover of the applause, were very mixed.

‘What a delightful pair they make!’ exclaimed Mrs Sharples, smiling acidly at Belle Lamarr, sitting to the right of Mr Clarence.

‘Exquisite!’ exclaimed Mrs Pikeman.

‘No it was not!’ snapped Claudia Revel, fortunately at the back of the room and out of hearing of Clarence. ‘Wooden!’ she pronounced.

‘My dear Mama!’ whispered Clive ruefully. ‘As ever, tactless, but right! Miss Clarence is technically competent, but quite devoid of any heart. It rubbed off on Jack too — never heard him play with less verve!’

Alicia’s attention, however, had strayed, for Hester and her former fiancé had just slipped into the room and stood arm in arm, gazing happily into each other’s eyes, oblivious to the rest of the world.

There was, inevitably, a clamour for an encore.

‘The next piece calls for piano accompaniment,’ declared Letitia.

‘Edith!’ suggested Mrs Pikeman, pushing her reluctant daughter out of her seat.

‘Mrs Owens plays much better than me!’ protested Edith. She had no desire to expose herself to Miss Clarence’s critical appraisal.

‘Then by all means let us have Mrs Owens,’ requested Miss Clarence, bored.

Reluctantly, Alicia allowed herself to be led forward. She nodded politely to Miss Clarence before seating herself at the piano, but received no acknowledgement, only a cold stare.

Cornish stepped forward to set out the music for her.

‘What the deuce is going on with Brenchley and Miss Bryant?’ he muttered. ‘Like April and May again!’

‘I hope they may have resolved their differences at last,’ she murmured.

‘With a little help from you?’ he asked shrewdly.

‘And Clive Revel.’

‘Whenever you’re ready, Mrs Owens,’ suggested Miss Clarence sweetly. Cornish grimaced, stepped back, took up the violin and counted them in.

It was not an arrangement she knew, but it was not too difficult, even though she was fairly sure that Miss Clarence had deliberately come in too early on several occasions.

She turned away from the piano at the end to acknowledge the applause then froze as Miss Clarence’s voice fell on her ears. ‘His housekeeper, you say? A housekeeper who plays pianoforte — how quaint! I had not realised one mixed socially with one’s servants in California.’

Before she could react, the Reverend Cooper was at her side, by intent, she was quite sure. He offered her his arm into supper, giving the signal for the gathering to break up and drift into the dining-room where supper had been set out.

‘Try to ignore her, Mrs Owens,’ he said, glancing across the room to where Miss Clarence stood, surrounded by young men all demanding to be allowed to take her into supper. ‘The novelty will wear off after a week or two and then they will judge her by her good nature, or lack of it. It is always so in a small society such as ours. And you have already earned your place.’ He handed her a plate and recommended some choice dishes to her, until Clive Revel appeared at his elbow.

‘I do believe, my dear Octavius, that you should wander over to our friend Mrs Bryant,’ he murmured. ‘She is about to be in need of your support.’

They followed his glance and saw Hester and Brenchley, pale but determined, bearing down on her mother, who looked as though she could scarce believe her eyes.

The minister almost dropped his plate in his haste to reach the far door before the young couple did. ‘Someone has been very busy!’ he said drily as he passed Revel.

It turned out just as Alicia had prophesied. In the face of general approbation, Hester’s mother, who had been on the brink of a severe attack of the palpitations, was left with no choice but to accept the inevitable. Led by the Reverend Cooper, enthusiastically seconded by Henry Bryant, who had seen which way the wind was blowing, they all drank to the health of the couple and urged them to name the day.

With the wind taken out of her sails, Mrs Bryant could only make the best of the
fait accompli
and she greeted with enthusiasm Mrs Crocker’s prophecy that Brenchley had a brilliant career ahead of him in this brave new state — she was, after all, married to a leading attorney who might, any day now, be a judge.