Jon said nothing, but his silence said it all.
CHAPTER SIX
Jon marched into his mother's bedroom suite, and said, "You deliberately set up that meeting at the cottage to embarrass and humiliate Miss Ashley, and you brought Harriet Galbraith along so she could air it out on her dirty laundry line!"
Dorothy Cromwell lowered herself into a skirted lady's chair. "I did no such thing. Harriet and I were merely out for a ride."
"The devil you were!"
"Hold your voice down, Jon. The servants will hear." Dorothy snapped open her fan and began fanning herself furiously.
"I don't give a bloody damn about the servants," Jon said. "And I'll thank you to stay out of my personal affairs."
Dorothy gave Jon her most hoity-toity look, and said, "What kind of an example are you setting for your daughters?"
"Keep them out of this," Jon replied. "Whatever goes on between me and Miss Ashley is our business, and ours alone.”
"Well, if you are in the least concerned about the moral well-being of your daughters, you'd remove Miss Ashley from the premises at once. I have no idea what Esther was thinking, inviting the woman into our home. And certainly Louella and Josephine should not be exposed to her. But it is unspeakable what you are doing, dallying with a woman like that, a man in your position. Let me remind you that we are the first family of Victoria. You may be certain that every move you make is noted, and every individual with whom you associate scrutinized—"
"Enough!" Jon snapped. "I refuse to listen to another tedious lecture on my position. I've long since outgrown such ministerial diatribes." He'd known at once from the pinched white look about his mother's mouth that she'd been primed for such a discourse.
Her eyes flickered with impatience. She snapped her fan shut, slapped it down, and reached for her sewing caddy. "Very well, I will not lecture you. But you might at least explain your questionable demeanor and Miss Ashley's shameful appearance this afternoon."
Jon leveled his gaze on her. "I don't intend to explain anything." He went to his mother's bed table, poured a shot of brandy and tossed it down.
"Then I shall assume… what I shall assume. You give me no reason to believe otherwise." Lifting the pince-nez dangling from a black ribbon around her neck, she propped it on her nose and plucked a darning egg from her sewing caddy. "I shall also believe what Harriet told me about why Miss Ashley left San Francisco, that she left because of a scandal."
"A scandal that Harriet Galbraith no doubt conjured while she was there!"
"Don't be ridiculous. Harriet said everyone on the ship was talking about it. It had something to do with Miss Ashley and a married man, but Harriet didn't have the details."
"Of course not. She bloody well never does! But I'll tell you this much, Miss Ashley is a woman of high morals, and if you base your opinion of her purely on what a bunch of hypocritical scandalmongers say then you're no better than they are. And to set the record straight, the only reason Miss Ashley looked as she did was because I forced myself on her and kissed her against her will."
Dorothy pursed her mouth into the shape of a prune, drew in a long breath through flared nostrils, and launched into a terse narrative. "Surely, Jonathan, you do not expect me to believe such a preposterous claim. You have been raised to be a gentleman, and I refuse to accept that you would force yourself on a woman without provocation. And I would appreciate it if you would sit down while I'm speaking to you."
"No, I will not sit down, Mother. I'm too damned mad to sit down!"
"Then, if you expect me to believe that you kissed Miss Ashley against her will, I must assume you did so because she clearly flaunted herself. Wearing those shockingly revealing gowns at dinner and exposing herself to your view... I can only imagine what she might have exposed while alone with you in the depths of the forest."
"What happened in the depths of the forest is none of anyone's business but ours! And I'll thank you to remember that."
"Humph." Dorothy's mouth twitched with distaste. "Beyond the woman's disgraceful behavior with you, there is also the matter of those dreadful trousers she had the audacity to wear to the legislature building. It would be bad enough for her to parade around in the privacy of her own home dressed in such an offensive costume, but to make a public spectacle of herself, before government officials, by wearing trousers is unthinkable."
"She was not wearing trousers, she was wearing a bloomer costume! There's a distinct difference," Jon said, surprised to find himself defending Sarah's unorthodox dress. "As for making a public spectacle of herself, that's really immaterial." But true, he mused. The men enjoyed a rollicking good laugh after she left.
Dorothy’s hand moved in quick, agitated thrusts as she jabbed the needle in and out against the darning egg. “Trousers, bloomer costumes… it makes no difference. Both are a disgrace and an affront to women.”
Jon gave a short snort of derision. "The style might not be to your liking, but you have to admit, it covered her quite thoroughly."
"It's improper. Not Christian."
"Come now, Mother," Jon said, his anger waning, "You know you don't believe that bit of folderol. In Genesis it's stated, 'Unto Adam, also, and unto his wife, did the Lord God make coats of skins and clothe them.' Nowhere does it say that their coats of skins should differ in any way, that Adam's should be bifurcated while Eve's must drape from her like a tent."
Dorothy jerked on the thread. "Don't talk to me in parables. Besides, that's not the point. The fact that Miss Ashley is so boorish as to wear such atrocious dress is reason enough that you should not be seen in her company." She raised her nose as if a disagreeable odor hovered beneath her nostrils. "At best, she is the daughter of a commonplace merchant, a man of no background or position, while you were born into a noble family which proudly traces its ancestry back to royalty--"
"To the Cromwells, Mother. Any connection to the Stuarts is baseless. And might I remind you that Oliver Cromwell was a commoner. It's only through marriage that he gained title. I also suspect there are numerous skeletons in our aristocratic closet, some of questionable parentage, I daresay, who never made it into the family Bible."
Dorothy's bottom lip quivered with outrage. "That allegation is preposterous! You arrived in Victoria with impeccable credentials and are considered a man of excellent character, as was your father and is your brother."
"My brother?" Jon laughed heartily. "Dear Charles's moral standards fluctuate widely with the occasion, Mother. You're just not in London to witness it."
"That is simply not so," Dorothy insisted. "However, be that as it may, this appalling incident will undoubtedly demean your good standing in this community."
"If it were not for Harriet Galbraith's malicious mind and wagging tongue, this incident would go no further than her carriage."
"The only thing malicious is the effect Miss Ashley seems to be having on you and on your reputation," Dorothy said. "Need I remind you that your position as governor is most unstable right now? Even you have pointed out that if it comes to confederation, Frederick Seymour is clearly the choice of Her Majesty's government."
"If it comes to confederation, which will probably not happen," Jon said. But he knew union with British Columbia was imminent, especially with De Cosmos urging the assembly to agree to unification under any terms, proselytizing that Victoria would be doomed should it continue to struggle as an isolated British colony. "But if it should come to that, Victoria has a greater chance of becoming the capital city than New Westminster."
"Of course it does," Dorothy agreed, "but with Frederick Seymour as governor instead of you, unless you present yourself as a gentleman of faultless character."
Jon laughed heartily. "If Her Majesty's government uses character as ground for selection, Frederick Seymour, with his voracious appetite for drink, should not stand a chance." Though he knew that was not the case. Even with Seymour's penchant for drink, he'd presented on paper to Her Majesty's government what appeared to
be a thriving capital city, though one far from prosperous to the eye. Whereas Victoria's public accounts might look somewhat bleak, the city boasted a wealth of new and improved civil services, the Common School Act had been passed, real estate taxes were being collected, and Victoria remained a free trade port. But it had been hard uphill work, especially having to battle De Cosmos's attacks every step of the way.
Dorothy looped the thread and snipped it. "Nevertheless," she said, reaching for another sock, "Miss Ashley must find other lodging at once. I cannot impress upon you strongly enough the extent of the vicious gossip in which the town will be indulging if you do not stop this folly."
"Thanks to your bosom friend."
"Harriet Galbraith has nothing to do with this," Dorothy said, ruffled. "She is the wife of a preacher, a woman of the highest moral principles, who would not spread undue gossip."
"Oh, that's riotously funny," Jon said. "The old shrew has a tongue like a whipsaw. Not only would she spread undue gossip, but she'd salt and pepper it with all manner of indecent implications as well."
Dorothy shot Jon a censorious look. "I am appalled to hear you degrade a woman of Mrs. Galbraith's standing in our community."
"Harriet Galbraith maintains her lofty standing only because she's the one who grubs up the dirt you women seem to need to keep the parlor gossip going. And that's exactly what she's done with Sarah, drudged up a lot of baseless, unfounded muck."
Dorothy's mouth compressed in a harsh line. "So, Sarah it is now. When did you drop the formalities?"
"Why should that surprise you?" Jon said. "After all, Sarah and I have spent some time together. Besides, you have no objection to my referring to Miss Windemere as Mary Letitia."
"That's completely different." Dorothy's eyes glowed with renewed intent. "And speaking of Mary Letitia—"
"I'd rather not."
"You are being a thickheaded ninny. Mary Letitia Windemere comes from a socially prominent family and her father is in a position to aid your political career, she is a cultured, sophisticated woman who would see to the proper guidance and upbringing of your daughters, and she is in love with you."
"She's in love with the idea of being the governor's wife," Jon said. "Should Seymour become governor instead of me, you'd soon see just how anxious she'd be to marry me."
Dorothy stabbed her needle in and out of the sock. "You are behaving like an utter gooseberry. Before the Ashley woman arrived, you were a reasonable-thinking man, courting a reasonable-thinking woman. Mary Letitia would make an excellent wife for you and a model mother for your daughters—"
"Stop!" Jon raised his hand in protest." I don't want to discuss Mary Letitia, nor do I intend to marry her." Dorothy tightened her mouth and said nothing, but Jon knew his mother had not dropped the issue of Mary Letitia Windemere. "As for Sarah finding other lodging, she plans to move to the Pemberton cottage, but until she does, you'll have to bear her presence. And as long as she remains a guest in our home, she will be treated with deference and respect."
"Very well." The darning needle went in and out, in and out, in short, quick stabs. "I have just one last thing to say on the subject, and then I will say no more." She paused from her darning and looked up. "The Ashley woman has obviously bewitched you, just as Caroline bewitched you, and you see where that got you."
Jon set the brandy snifter down abruptly and pinned his mother with a steely gaze. "Do not ever compare Sarah to Caroline, and do not ever speak Caroline’s name to me again!" He turned and left the room, slamming the door behind. He wanted it to be absolutely clear to his mother that there was no comparison between the two women. True, Sarah was beautiful as Caroline had been. And both women possessed high-spirited natures. But Sarah, for some reason, had sworn off men. Caroline thrived on them.
Oddly, until now, he'd never really thought of why Sarah had sworn off men. She'd explained why she was opposed to marriage, although her reasoning seemed somewhat illogical and ambiguous. But her mistrust of men verged on the irrational. Which worked to his advantage. Unlike Mary Letitia, Sarah was not looking toward marriage. Rather, she was avoiding it. By pursuing her, he would never find himself in another conjugal trap, because he would not be lured into being that fool again.
***
By the ocher light of several wall fixtures, Mandi dipped a small pail into the washtub and poured warm water over Sarah's head. "Ida said she heard at the bakery that someone saw you comin' out the Pemberton cottage with the guv'nor earlier this afternoon and that you'd been mussed up quite a bit."
Sarah pursed her lips. "I see the preacher's wife is doing her part in spreading the word."
"Ah don't know 'bout that. Ah only know what Ida said." Mandi poured another pail of water over Sarah's head, then said in a worried voice, "You sho' do have a lot of stuff caught in your hair. It's a good thing you's takin' supper here in your room tonight, 'cause we'd never have gotten it all out by then. Umm... umm.... Ah knew you shouldn't have gone ridin' without a hat, or with the guv'nor, you playin' up to him the way you was."
"I never played up to him," Sarah said. "I guess I just didn't discourage him as much as I should have." She squeezed her eyes tight and leaned forward as water cascaded over her hair and drained into the tub. She hadn't told Mandi everything about what had happened, only that Jon kissed her and that she hadn't exactly fought him off.
Mandi soaped her hair again. "Ah think you's sweet on him," she teased. Sarah didn't respond. The word sweet seemed incongruous. She couldn't banish thoughts of the intimate moment they'd shared: of the salty-sweet taste of his kiss, and the gamy aroma of leather and earth on his hands, and the raw male power behind his embrace. At first she'd been terrified, knowing too well the strength of a man moved by lust. Then, somehow, Jon calmed her fears. She wasn't certain how he'd done it, but the next moment she was allowing him to hold her while she stretched out with him on the ground. And it was so different from what happened in San Francisco...
"Well?"Mandi said, while scrubbing vigorously.
"Well what?"
"Are you sweet on him?"
Sarah shrugged. "I admit, I find him... attractive."
Mandi smiled and poured another pail of rinse water over Sarah's head. After Sarah's hair had drained and was wrapped in a soft flannel towel, Mandi asked, "What do you plan to do?"
Sarah stood. "About what?"
"About startin' your business."
"Nothing has changed," Sarah said. "Tomorrow, I plan to look for a building to lease so I'll be prepared when I have completed the papers for my license."
Mandi handed her another flannel towel. "You still plannin' on lookin' down near the waterfront?"
"Possibly. I saw several likely buildings when we were leaving the ship."
"Ida said that's where all the women keep disappearin'... that the last one went outside for a few minutes, even left clothes boilin' on the stove, and never came back. Ida said the police are lookin' for her but don't think there's much chance findin' her if she was shanghaied to the goldfields 'cause up there a woman's real easy to hide."
"I can't live in fear of what might happen," Sarah said. "If I’m able to find a store, I'll take it." Wrapped in a towel, she stepped out of the tub and onto a braided rug. While waiting for Mandi to bring a chemise and drawers, Sarah scanned the Berlin wool work hanging on the wall, and the antimacassars on the backs of the chairs, pieces Caroline Cromwell had done. Needlework, as she'd learned in school, was a respectable pastime for the leisure hours of a woman whereby she could show her love for her family. But she had no patience with the needle. Riding horses or chasing butterflies were much more appealing pastimes...
"The guv'nor sho' is handsome," Mandi said, handing Sarah the drawers. "You figurin' on ridin' with him again?"
"Of course not," Sarah replied. "I only went with him to see the cottage." But she couldn't deny that merely thinking about the kiss they'd shared caused her heart to flutter, her breath to catch, and a warmth to spread through her
. However, these new sensations would pass, and she refused to dwell on them. She had far more important things to consider.
After donning the chemise, she moved to the dressing table. While Mandi brushed her hair to dry it, she said, forlorn, "If you don’t have plans to ride with the guv’nor, then Ah 'spect you won't be seein' much of him."
Sarah eyed Mandi in the mirror. "You're a hopeless romantic,” she said, “and I fully intend to discourage the man. He is, after all, the enemy." She caught the doleful look in Mandi's dark eyes. "All right, if it makes you happy, I might see him in town tomorrow morning. So, before I leave, I'd like you to arrange my hair in plaits, with the plaits encircling a chignon." She knew the style was particularly becoming, especially with the bonnet she planned to wear.
Mandi smiled. "It don't sound like you's tryin' to discourage him," she teased.
Sarah dabbed a drop of oil of lavender behind each ear. "I am," she replied.
For a few moments Mandi said nothing, absorbed in working at a tangle in Sarah's hair. When the brush plowed freely, she caught Sarah's eyes in the mirror and said, "Ah didn't mention it but Ah met a handsome colored man at the baker's today. He said Ah was pretty, that Ah'd do any man proud by bein' his wife... that he 'spects it won't be long 'fore someone snatches me up."
"Well, don't go falling for that nonsense," Sarah said. "Besides, you mustn't depend on a man for your happiness, or let a man deter you from accomplishing your goals. When we get the business started and you learn how to sew, you'll be independent of them."
"Ah don't know," Mandi mused. "They's pretty nice to have around on cold nights. And Ah 'spect they'd be pretty nice for other things, too..."
While brushing Sarah's hair, Mandi continued chattering about the man she'd met. Oddly, as she talked, Sarah began to feel lonely, not the kind of loneliness that comes when a person is simply alone and wanting company, but the kind that settles in the heart and makes it feel heavy, yet empty. And with that loneliness came a longing for something she couldn't quite grasp.
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