My body flared with heat as I found my voice. “My sister had no money of her own, and she left her jewels with Charles, at his insistence. She died penniless. Charles can’t get blood from a stone.”
“Yes, quite.” Mr. Swinton coughed as if to clear his throat. “I understand your late sister, ah, stole money from Lord Ainsley’s household accounts. A substantial sum, I believe.”
“If that’s true, I have no idea where the money is.” I thought of the letter I received from Hari’s bank. “Perhaps you should check back with your client, in case he has located the funds by now.”
“I will. And her wedding and engagement rings?”
Blood pulsed in my ears. “She was buried at sea with them.”
Mr. Swinton had the decency to lower his eyes. “I have only your word. Lord Ainsley will want proof.”
I clenched my jaw so tightly it started to ache. “What proof could I possibly have?”
“A bank statement, perhaps?”
“I don’t have enough money to have need of a bank.”
Mr. Swinton glanced at his pocket watch. “I’m not sure Lord Ainsley will be satisfied with your claim; however, I do see you live modestly, not as one would who recently had a windfall of a substantial sum of money.”
He replaced his hat on his head and took his leave. No doubt he would claim a hefty fee even if he hadn’t retrieved anything for his client, and hopefully this would be the last I ever heard from Charles.
I returned to the sitting room, and Sarah met me with a questioning look. “That was my former brother-in-law’s lawyer demanding money that my sister didn’t have. At least, if she did, I’ve never found it,” I said with a sigh. “Thank goodness I can close that chapter of my life now. I’m ready to make my own money, and I can’t wait to get started.”
True to his word, the following week, Mr. Roy took me around to the exchange hut out back of the assay office. A small but intense crowd had already gathered by the time we arrived and were closely peering at two large chalkboards set up on stilts in the alley. Men jostled for position in front of the boards, squinting to read the chalk scribbles. Some called out bids to buy shares or offers to sell while a clerk scurried to record the transactions.
It was a free-for-all, but as Mr. Roy explained what was going on, I began to make some sense of it. Speculation was the driving force for many investors who were buying shares in companies that were rumoured to have found gold in the hopes of a quick profit. Others appeared to have the confidence of inside knowledge and were buying and holding for the long term. Others still were selling their “losers” for whatever they could get for them. The excitement was contagious, and swept up by it all, I decided to get my feet wet.
Recalling the story of the half-starved miner with the big bag of nuggets, I purchased ten shares of the Horsefly Creek claim. It cost me all my savings, but as I tucked the share certificate into my purse, I felt butterflies inside, and happy daydreams of my future filled my head as we slowly made our way back home.
The next night, my table of gamblers, Mr. Harris, Mr. Canning, Mr. Hurley, Mr. Poole, and Sawbones Jones, was abuzz with news about Horsefly Creek. It was Mr. Canning who once again had the latest scoop.
“I’m telling you, boys, I never seen the like! Nuggets as big as pebbles—a hundred pounds a day. We had to send for a special coach with armed guards so we can ship it all south. If you want part of the action, you better be quick.”
The rest of the men looked interested but remained cool, calmly reading the cards I had just dealt them, but I was not fooled by their poker faces. I worked hard to keep from beaming and to focus on my dealing. This was very exciting news indeed, and I was quite certain each one of them would be at the share exchange hut first thing in the morning. I would check daily, and as soon as the news broke of the big strike, I would offer my shares to the highest bidder.
Chapter Forty
“He’s lovely, so funny and clever,” Sarah said. In the reflection of her mirror, I could see her eyes dancing. I’d asked her about Louis. He and Sarah had gone on a few walks, and he was stopping by again this afternoon. “He’s bringing me some red ribbon for the new bonnet I made. It’s hard to get it here.”
“That’s very sweet,” I replied.
“His French family were Acadians from New Brunswick till they moved to Upper Canada and became English speakers,” Sarah was saying as she checked her hair. “But they kept their old ways. He told me such stories of what they call their kitchen parties—can you believe they made music with spoons! He’s promised to show me.”
“And do you fancy him?” I asked.
She turned to face me. “I think I do,” she said seriously. “After my husband died, I didn’t think I could ever feel that way about another man. And when little Jacob was born, I felt he was all I wanted or needed.”
“But?”
“But Louis… has made me realize that I was wrong. The love for a child is a different sort of love, and perhaps I needed more. Of course, I want to take my time getting to know him better before anything changes.” She smiled. “But I do feel excited when he’s around. Like a young girl again.”
I was happy for Sarah. Of anyone, she deserved to find happiness again, but I had to tamp down the sprig of envy that
