The Darkness You Fear Page 10

  I have seen the hotel clerk trying to decide whether to grant me a room; I have noticed waiters arguing among themselves about who would serve me; I have had hansom cabs pass me by though I am hailing them. But people’s attitude changes completely when I pay them, and it makes things much easier from then on.

  Gold is a tool, nothing more.

  Love,

  Virginia

  Virginia and Angus followed Terrance Drake to the front of the hotel, where a magnificent carriage awaited them. It was the kind of carriage that Virginia had seen only at a distance, on promenades where she wasn’t welcome. She caught Angus ogling the coat of arms on the door of the coach, as if trying to figure out which noble family awaited them. As Drake opened the door for Virginia, she noticed the hotel clerk staring at them, his eyes wide in amazement that such a vehicle would be calling for the likes of her.

  She smiled to herself. He won’t be looking down on me again soon.

  Drake got in and sat across from her, while Sims and Franklin took up seats in the driver’s box.

  Angus sat next to Virginia. “I must say, Miss Reed, I think being your companion is going to be an interesting experience,” he observed.

  The carriage moved quickly through the crowded streets. It was as if the other coaches and pedestrians made way for it. They climbed into the hills until the city and the river was a panorama below them. The houses grew larger the higher they went, until at last they entered a long, winding driveway that led to an enormous house on the crest of the hill. In Europe, the structure would have been deemed a castle, but Americans called it a mansion.

  The coach went around the wide steps facing a magnificent rose garden and turned down a dirt path that wound around the mansion. It stopped at a carriage house. Not far away was a smaller home, from which a small man emerged. In truth, he was even smaller than he looked, for he stood extremely upright, his chin in the air.

  “I’m John Lee,” he announced. “I’ve been instructed to ask if you are hungry or thirsty. Mrs. Hoskins may not be ready to receive you for some time.”

  “See here, my good man,” Angus intoned, laying the English accent on thickly. “Is there some reason we can’t simply walk through the front door?”

  Lee appeared shocked that anyone would question Mrs. Hoskins’s wishes. “No slight was intended, sir,” he said. “The front entrance is being newly tiled; I assure you that is the only reason.”

  “Of course,” Angus said. “Naturally.”

  “I could use a drink of water,” Virginia said.

  “Come into my parlor, miss,” Lee said. “I’ll fetch you a glass.”

  Angus followed them into a small sitting room. “Do you have anything with a bit of spirit to it?” he asked.

  “Certainly not,” Lee said, looking affronted. “Would you like water, sir?”

  “Yes,” Angus said drily. “That would be lovely.” To Virginia, he whispered loudly enough for Lee to hear, “I thought I left all this phony folderol back in England.”

  Lee returned with two tall, narrow glasses that clinked while he walked. He handed one to Virginia, who almost dropped it, for it was unexpectedly cold. “We have ice shipped in weekly,” Lee said.

  Angus took a deep drink and looked up with a grin. “Almost as good as spirits. Jolly good.”

  Virginia rolled her eyes. When Angus was speaking to her, his English accent all but disappeared. It seemed he could put it on or take it off depending on circumstances.

  “Sit down and join us,” Angus said as he sat down in a large, overstuffed armchair. The appointments and furnishings in this butler’s house were more luxurious than those in Angus’s own home.

  Lee stiffened, as if the request was inappropriate. “I’m honored, sir. But I have my duties to attend to.” He turned to leave the room.

  “How did Mr. Hoskins make his fortune?” Virginia asked abruptly.

  “I’m sure I don’t know, miss,” Lee said archly, turning around. “It is none of my business.”

  Angus laughed. “Come now, you don’t expect us to believe that. What was it? Gold, lumber, wheat?”

  “Well,” Lee ventured, “Mr. Hoskins has extensive holdings in timberlands. Among other investments.” He hurried out of the room before he could be asked any more questions.

  “Interesting,” Angus said. “Do you know this Mrs. Hoskins, Virginia? Are we to presume she is the lady in question?”

  “I would assume so,” Virginia said. “I can’t imagine who else it would be.”

  Mr. Lee never returned, instead sending in a young Irish girl in a maid’s uniform who took their empty glasses and asked if they wanted more water. From her tone of voice, she was hoping the answer would be no, and both Angus and Virginia declined. Then they sat awaiting the pleasure of her ladyship for the next hour.

  Finally, the maid came and got them, and led them up a narrow path to a door on the lower level of the mansion. There was a laundry room beyond, and then a hallway with servant’s quarters to either side. They were ushered up a flight of stairs that were so narrow and winding that when they emerged into a large ballroom, it was as if they were being set free from a cage.

  Virginia saw a red-haired woman gazing out the window at the far end of the room. The maid curtsied and disappeared back into the warren of rooms below. The woman turned around.

  “Virginia!” she exclaimed. “I’m so happy to see you!”

  As Virginia stood motionless, shocked at the change in her friend, Mary rushed forward to take her hands.

  Mary, who had been but a wisp of a girl when Virginia had first met her, had grown into a full-figured woman, though Virginia couldn’t quite tell where Mary’s body began and where the regalia she was wearing ended. It was a style at least ten years out of date, even in the backwoods of California, but she looked stunning in the ensemble, a dress of black and white layers, frilled and soft-looking, and a large black hat sweeping over her red hair. Her freckles were hidden under face powder, and her green eyes stood out in bright contrast to her pale skin.

  She took off her hat, patting her curls into place.

  Angus was certainly impressed. He bowed to her and said, “Angus Porter, at your service.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Porter,” Mary Hoskins said. Her voice was low and deep, unlike the high, girlish voice Virginia remembered. Then it was as if all the starch went out of her, and she threw open her arms and embraced Virginia. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, and Virginia was surprised by the fervor of her hug.

  Mary broke away and swept an arm toward the pure white couches at the center of the room. “Please, sit. I’ll have Jane bring us some water.” She lifted up a bell sitting on a table and rang it. “We have ice, can you believe it?”

  “We’ve already partaken, Mrs. Hoskins,” Angus said as they settled onto one of the couches. “While we were waiting.”

  “Waiting?” Mary looked confused. “You were waiting?”

  “Below, in Mr. Lee’s cottage,” Virginia said.

  Mary’s skin was so white that when she flushed, it was startling, as if a fire had been lit just below the surface. “I gave strict instructions that you were to be brought to me as soon as you arrived.”

  Jane had reentered the room and was standing by the door. “Mr. Hoskins’s orders, ma’am,” she said quietly. “He wanted to meet the guests. He is on his way.”

  “Thank you, Jane, that will be all,” Mary said in an imperious voice. The second the maid left the room, Mary whirled around and sat down in the chair across from them.

  “I thought we’d have more time,” she said. “Virginia, I didn’t think you would come, but just in case, I left a message with Flora—or Rosie, or whatever she calls herself now. She saw you go into the madam’s chambers and sent me a message.”

  “Are you all right?” Virginia asked.

  Mary hesitated, then nodded. “I had no right to expect such a life as this,” she said. “I’m very fortunate.”

 
Which doesn’t answer the question, Virginia thought.

  “Much of what I know, I already told you in the letter,” Mary said. “If you have Mrs. Meredith’s journals, you know nearly as much as I do. But a few things have happened since I sent the letter. I’m now convinced that Jonathan Meredith murdered his wife and his two eldest sons, but I have no proof.”

  “You want to bring him to justice?” Virginia asked.

  “I want nothing more,” Mary said. “But if it were only that, I’d ask you to leave off now. It is too dangerous, and what is done is done. But…” She stood up and started pacing, her mind somewhere else. “I’ve gotten word that Becky is missing, too.”

  She stopped in front of Virginia, who felt compelled to stand up and take her shaking hands. “I can’t bear the thought that something has happened to her, or if she is still alive, that she is in danger.” Mary closed her eyes. “I tried not to have favorites, but I couldn’t help it. Becky is such a brave, resourceful girl. She…she reminds me of you, Virginia.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes,” Mary said. “I’ve heard stories about you, Virginia. And when my husband found out I knew you, he investigated you. He was quite excited to think that he might meet you someday.”

  Angus had been turning his head from one woman to the other to follow their conversation. Now he broke in. “Your husband investigated Virginia?”

  Mary looked surprised by his question, then smiled shyly. “Yes, Mr. Porter. My husband always investigates the people in my life. And yes, my husband knows of my past. It doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact…” She shuddered slightly, but didn’t finish the thought.

  The door of the ballroom burst open and, as if summoned by their mention of him, a tall, elegant man strode across the room with a big smile. He wasn’t as old as Virginia had expected, perhaps only a decade older than Mary. His black hair and closely trimmed beard had streaks of gray in them, but his face was unlined. He too was dressed in clothing that was a little out of date, but on him, as with his wife, it looked fashionable. It was a statement, Virginia realized, that he could afford the best but didn’t care what others thought.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, dear,” he said to Mary. “I would have come sooner if I’d known we had guests.” He turned to Virginia and bowed. “Mr. Lee has told me who you are, and I must say, I am delighted to meet you.”

  She nodded, not quite sure what to say.

  He turned to Angus, who had gotten to his feet. “Mr. Porter, delighted to have you visit. I hope you’ve been offered a drink. No? Well, Mr. Lee doesn’t approve, so I’ll have to do the honors.”

  “We aren’t staying,” Virginia said. She looked over at Angus and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  “Sadly, Virginia is right,” Angus said smoothly. “We have to meet the cattle buyers early in the morning, and we need a fresh start.”

  “Are you certain?” Hoskins asked. “I have the finest single malt whiskey from Scotland. I save it for just such occasions. I understand you are a world traveler of some renown, Angus…if I may call you Angus.”

  “I’ve been here and there…Oliver,” Angus said.

  Virginia caught his eye and motioned her head toward the door. Angus continued, “And one thing is the same the world over. Business can’t wait.”

  “Yes, I know that well,” Hoskins said ruefully. He was standing behind the chair his wife sat in. Mary seemed to have melted, as if her bones were softening. She was staring at her feet. Her husband reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. She jumped, so slightly that it would have been easy to miss.

  “I really must insist you stay a while longer,” Hoskins said. “Mary has so been looking forward to seeing you.”

  Angus had started to get up, but he shot a glance at Virginia, and since she wasn’t joining him, he sat back down.

  “That’s better,” Hoskins said, in the tone of man who was accustomed to getting his way. “You have certainly traveled a long way for something as humdrum as buying cattle.”

  “We are looking for fresh stock,” Virginia said.

  “I’m given to understand that you are married, Miss Reed,” Hoskins said. “Or should I say, Mrs. Whitford. I find it odd that you would travel under your maiden name.”

  “My husband is a famous cattle rancher,” Virginia said. “I find that I can make better deals if I’m am poor helpless Miss Reed.”

  “Helpless?” Hoskins laughed. “Surely anything but that. But I’ve been told that the gold fields are not far from your ranch. Aren’t you tempted to search your own lands for gold?”

  Virginia tried not to show her surprise. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Hoskins was bringing up the subject of gold.

  “I have no interest in gold,” she said.

  Hoskins’s eyes grew cold at her answer, as if he was enraged by her evasiveness. For a moment, his face shimmered, as if it was an illusion. Beneath the sophisticated exterior, Virginia glimpsed the face of a brute, with thick eyebrows and a jutting jaw, and huge eyes and ears. His body appeared to grow, his shoulders taking up twice the space as they had before, his arms seeming to extend to the floor.

  And then the image blinked away, and Hoskins was speaking to her in a mild voice. “And yet I’m given to understand you pay for everything with gold nuggets.”

  Virginia looked around the room, but it was clear that no one else had seen what she had seen, except perhaps Mary, who appeared to have been pushed down even more firmly into her chair by the thick hands on her shoulders.

  “It is the currency where I come from,” Virginia said. She rose briskly and turned to Angus, who also stood up. “I’ve enjoyed this visit, but I really must be going.”

  “Pity,” Hoskins said. “Well, perhaps on your next visit you can stay longer. I’ll call Lee and have him see you out.”

  “Jane can do it,” Virginia said. Jane was standing near the door, so quiet it was easy to forget she was there. Virginia started for the door before Hoskins could object. “We’ll be on our way.”

  The front entrance of the house was tiled nicely. It didn’t look as if any repair work had been done recently. Virginia and Angus walked down the broad steps, waiting for the carriage to be brought around.

  “Seems like an intriguing fellow,” Angus ventured.

  “He is a monster,” Virginia replied.

  Chapter Twelve

  Diary of Ellen Meredith

  July 16, 1845

  We have reached the western side of the Rocky Mountains. We have caught up with the main body of the wagon train and are no longer the laggards. This is due mostly to Bart’s insistence that we start early each day and travel till nearly full dark. We are weary, but the joy of finding the others has helped revive our spirits.

  The larger group has already been camped here for several days, resting for the final push across the last of the Great Desert. We are only weeks away from the borders of the Promised Land.

  But even in this restful place, there is disagreement. Jonathan wants to take the cutoff south to Fort Bridger and then on to California, where the weather is said to be milder than the wet Northwest. But those in the wagon train who wished to go that way already left a few days before our arrival at this camp. Thus, if Jonathan cannot talk our small group and a few others into going along, we would be alone in the endeavor.

  I fear that Jonathan is so stubborn that he will take this path with only his family, a single wagon in the wilderness. I have not said anything, hoping he will change his mind. But if I must, I will speak up for the sake of the children, though I fear what his reaction will be.

  I feel safe among this vast congregation of wagons, stretching as far as the eye can see. Campfires flicker through the trees, as if the stars of heaven have fallen upon the Earth and are still shining. Because we have so many companions, I have not worried about the children, nor have I had to pay as much attention to my husband, who seems as eager for company other than me as I am for company other than him.

&
nbsp; I wandered off on my own, ostensibly to find firewood, but in truth, I was happy just to be in these verdant pastures and tall trees. Why can’t we stay here? I wanted to ask, but I knew the answer. When winter comes, these foothills will be covered with snow, which might be fine for the mountain men who came before us but won’t do us farmers much good. No, we must push on to the valleys of Oregon or California.

  I still have my heart set on the Willamette Valley. I know it cannot possibly be as fertile as the stories tell us, but I do not doubt it will be better than the rocky Missouri valleys we left behind.

  I picked up an armload of firewood and, with a heavy sigh, began to return to our camp. Darkness was falling, but I had no fear of becoming lost, for I could still see the trail in the dimming light, and in the distance, I saw the campfires. When I heard familiar voices, I knew that I was almost home.

  “We can’t leave them,” I heard someone say from up ahead. It was Becky Catledge, her voice more stress-filled than I had ever heard. She was a sunny girl, and little seemed to bother her.

  “We aren’t leaving them,” Kerrie Parsons answered. “There are a thousand other souls in this wagon train. Let them join one of the other groups.”

  “But the others don’t know them like we do!” Becky objected. “They won’t know how Jed and Edwin are treated; they won’t care.”

  “It isn’t our business,” Kerrie said. “They are not kin of ours.”

  “Is that how you feel about us?” Gus Catledge said. “Will you abandon us when we become inconvenient?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Kerrie said. “You are friends and have been nothing but supportive and helpful. You don’t quarrel, you don’t—as far as I know—beat your wife.”

  There was a deep silence after this. I felt my face flushing in the darkness and wondered if I could back away without them seeing or hearing me. I stood stock still, hoping the darkness would deepen so they would not see my shame.

  “My wife is right,” Bart Parsons said, finally. “It is none of our business. What matters is that we get our families safely to Oregon. And Jonathan Meredith is a threat to that.”