Come Be My Love Page 4

  Jon sensed a battle brewing, one he had no intention of losing. He raised his goblet and tipped it toward her in a silent toast. "Then, shall I assume it will begin tomorrow at the legislature building?"

  Holding his dark gaze, Sarah replied, "Yes, Governor, you may assume that, unequivocally."

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Mandi,” Sarah called out. “Please get my lilac bloomer costume with the braided trim out of the steamer trunk and locate the mauve hat box. It’s with the stack of hat boxes in the corner." Although initially she'd planned to wear conventional dress to the legislature building, Jon's cavalier attitude at dinner the previous evening still galled her so she was more determined than ever to introduce her bloomer costume to the women of Victoria as soon as possible.

  Mandi slipped the bloomer costume from the trunk and began smoothing out the folds. "Ah was wonderin' when you was goin' to start showin' off your things," she said.

  A smile played about Sarah's lips as she imagined Jon’s face on seeing her bloomer costume. Even though it was quite lovely, he would, of course, disapprove. The man was far too insular to do otherwise. But if she intended to promote her garments, she must get on with the business of doing so.

  Lifting the bloomer costume off the bed, she stepped into a pair of lilac, Turkish-style trousers and donned a tunic of matching foulard, the silk fabric richly embroidered with shades of purple and lavender and amethyst. A band of purple braid trimmed the loose garment at the wrists of the bishop sleeves and along a full hem that reached just below her knees. Standing in front of a long mirror, she positioned on her head a small straw bonnet trimmed with silk lilacs, several loops of leaf-green ribbon, two ostrich plumes, and a cluster of purple forget-me-nots. "What do you think?" she asked Mandi, when she stepped back to view herself.

  Mandi held up an over jacket of matching lilac foulard. "Ah think you look real nice," she replied. "And Ah 'spect you'll cause quite a stir."

  Sarah slipped her arm into one flared sleeve of the over jacket. "Yes, I imagine I will." She hoped she wouldn't cause too much of a stir. But once the ladies of Victoria realized how practical a bloomer costume could be, she was certain they'd all be anxious to own one. She opened her lilac silk parasol and twirled it against her shoulder. "Well, wish me luck."

  Mandi eyed her with mild concern. "Ah 'spect you'll need it, this bein' your first time goin' to town dressed in your costume and all. Ah'll sho' be anxious to know what happens."

  "So will I," Sarah replied. Snapping her parasol closed, she grabbed her gloves and reticule, and left.

  Esther met her in the entryway. "I've ordered the coach to be brought around for you," she said, gazing with interest at the bloomer outfit. She stepped back to observe it more thoroughly. "Your costume is lovely, and so sensible."

  Catching the gleam of envy in Esther's eyes, Sarah said, "I'd like very much to give you a pair of bloomers, if you'd accept them."

  "Thank you for the offer," Esther said, "but Mother would positively have a fit of the vapors." Esther's forehead puckered with a contemplative frown. "But, perhaps if I were to wear them only in the privacy of my bedroom. Yes, that's exactly what I'll do!"

  So, Jon's sister had a streak of rebelliousness in her.

  Esther eyed Sarah with concern. "I had no idea you planned to wear your costume today."

  Sarah pulled on a white kid glove. "Well, actually, neither did I. But then, I decided it was as good a time as any to introduce it." She only hoped the women of Victoria would be as receptive to the attire as Esther and Josephine had been.

  "I do wish you well," Esther said. "But it won't be easy."

  "I know," Sarah replied. "But I'm not one to shy away from obstacles."

  "It's a good thing," Esther said, "because I fear there will be many of them set in place for you. Right now, Jon and his cabinet are having some rather monumental problems with political and governmental issues, mainly the threat of unification with British Columbia."

  "Well, I hardly see how my selling bloomer costumes and shirtwaister dresses could have any bearing on unification with British Columbia or any other governmental issues," Sarah said, pulling on the other glove.

  "It does seem a bit illogical," Esther admitted. "But you see, Jon is strongly opposed to unification. He's determined that Vancouver Island remain independent from the mainland, and he feels that only by maintaining a stable economy can he prevent unification. To do that, he must have the support of his cabinet, the city council, the House of Assembly, and the merchants, most of whom are Hudson's Bay men, and they don't want a woman merchant among them. Jon's efforts are further aggravated by caustic editorial attacks in our newspaper, the Colonist. The editor is Jon's political enemy, and he can be quite scathing at times."

  "Well, I'm sorry about that," Sarah said, "but I have no desire to become a teacher or a seamstress, and since today's woman has few other options, I have little choice. So in spite of the men of this town, I intend to pursue my business and see it become a success."

  "I share in your sentiments," Esther said, "so I hope for your sake you succeed. However, Jon feels otherwise. He believes a single woman in business would be a threat to the merchants' integrity, and that she would create contention and unrest in the community."

  Sarah looked at Esther with a start. "He told you that?"

  "Well, not in so many words," Esther replied, "but from last night's conversation you know what his views are on where a woman's place is to be. I suspect he'll be your biggest obstacle."

  "I simply cannot believe that I could possibly be a threat to anyone," Sarah said, "so I'll proceed with my plans, and your brother and his cabinet and the merchants of this community will have to deal with that as best they can."

  Esther stepped onto the porch. "I suspect they've already initiated something," she said. "Jon left unusually early this morning… said he was meeting with his cabinet and the mayor. He's up to something. I just know it."

  "At least he's true to his word," Sarah mused, on a note of disgust. "The fight is most definitely on."

  Esther gave the coachman instructions and again wished Sarah well.

  As Sarah rode, she felt a growing sense of resentment. She refused to believe that she'd managed to liquidate her savings, flee from Hollis and Tyler, and make her way to Victoria, only to be defeated by a haughty governor and his flock of boot licking bureaucrats before she'd barely begun. She had no idea what to expect. Options ranged from being issued a business license, then later facing whatever obstacles Jon and his council would concoct, or not being issued a license at all. But since Jon admitted there was no ordinance prohibiting a woman from running a business, there seemed no way the council could refuse...

  Brows gathered in concentration, it was some moments before she realized the coach had pulled to a halt. The footman helped her out, and when she looked up and saw the legislature building, she simply stood and stared. The architecture—part wood, part brick—combined a confused agglomeration of styles fancifully painted in various shades of red.

  The footman, following the direction of her gaze, smiled in amusement. "It's a bit of a controversy around here," he said. "It's been described as a Chinese pagoda, a Dutch toy, a Swiss cottage, and a Chinese wash house. Most folks around here just call it the Birdcages."

  Sarah chuckled. "Birdcages for a bunch of popinjays. That seems appropriate." She marched up the wide stairs to the main entrance. Once inside, she located the room dubbed House of Assembly and stepped up to a desk displaying a sign carved with the name, Joseph Porter, Esq., Clerk of the House. Leveling her gaze on the man behind the desk, she said, "I'm here to obtain a business license."

  The man inspected her costume critically. Reaching into a long drawer, he retrieved a bundle of papers and offered them to her. "Supply the information required," he said in a cool, dry tone, "secure the necessary signatures, and bring everything back here for the legislative council to review."

  Sarah stared at the bundle of papers
then looked at the man in bewilderment. "You apparently misunderstood. I'm only trying to get a business license."

  "If you wish to obtain a business license, then you must complete the papers I have given you," the man said, as if explaining something to a backward child.

  Expelling a weary sigh, Sarah took the papers from the man and sat on a long wooden bench. Paging through the documents, she noted that they had been hastily drawn. She scanned the information requested. Copious details about the location of the building and the nature of the business. An agreement to abide by oppressive restrictions and specifications for privies, including the exact hours when offal matter would be moved. A schedule for beating and shaking rugs, one for cleaning and maintaining the board walkway in front of the building and another for disposing of ammoniacal liquor, soaplees and other offensive matter. She was also required to provide character references and signatures from six local merchants, the backing of two local banks, signatures of the mayor and each member of the city council, and lastly, the signature of Governor Jonathan Cromwell.

  She stepped over to the man behind the desk and waved the papers in front of him. "There's no way a person could possibly follow all of these rules," she said. "I cannot imagine that every merchant in Victoria has been subjected to this in order to obtain a business license."

  The man blinked dispassionately. "If you wish to discuss it with a member of the legislative council, I'll schedule an appointment for you. The council is occupied with governmental matters at this time, but they might see you in, say, three weeks."

  Glancing around, Sarah noticed several men looking on in amusement. Obviously, they'd been party to this scheme. She drew in an extended breath through flared nostrils, and said, "I do believe I understand." Gathering her reticule and parasol, she left the room, the bundle of documents clutched in her hand, a scowl on her face.

  Marching down the hallway she located Jon's office and swept into the room. She was at once aware of the rugged, virile man sitting behind the desk. With his crop of unruly black hair and his broad chin with the shadow of a day-old beard, he looked more like a frontiersman than a governor. She was also aware of the penetrating dark eyes appraising her. But she refused to be distracted by the man. Standing before him, her eyes stinging with tears of outrage, she said, "You and your council must take me for a complete noddy!" She slapped the documents on his desk with a thud, sending Jon's papers fluttering about, then pursed her lips and waited.

  Jon leaned back in his chair, a smile tugging at his lips, which he suppressed, and allowed his eyes to range over Sarah. Her overtunic and the baggy trousers that draped from beneath it were almost clownish. The entire costume gave her a diamond-shaped outline, her bonnet with its tall plume forming the apex. On another woman the ridiculous costume might look sexless. But on Sarah, it looked provocative. The soft silk emphasized her female assets, which were rising and falling with her vexation, making him vividly aware of the enticingly woman beneath...

  "Are you quite through ogling?" Sarah snapped.

  "I was just admiring your... outfit," Jon said. Everything about the woman glowed. Her flushed rosy cheeks, her moist angry lips, her shimmering silk costume.

  Sarah's eyes narrowed as she jabbed a finger at the bundle of papers before him, and said, "I refuse to let a group of underhanded pettifoggers prevent me from achieving my goal."

  "Underhanded pettifoggers?" Jon smiled. Too true. The lot of them were exactly that. But Miss Sarah Ashley had the makings of a rabble rouser, and he intended to nip it in the bud. "Am I to assume you were not granted your request?" he asked, with mock innocence.

  "You already know that!"

  "I told you last night that the city council was opposed to women in business," Jon said, "and that you wouldn't find them very supportive."

  Sarah braced her hands on his desk, leaned toward him, and said, "But you didn't tell me they would stoop so low as to fabricate papers in an effort to undermine my efforts!"

  Jon looked into a pair of green eyes with enlarged pupils, and said, "Isn't that a bit strong?"

  "What exactly do you call it? I'm obviously being singled out as a scapegoat."

  Jon rose. "A scapegoat is one who bears the blame for others," he pointed out, while walking around his desk. "Is that what you're doing? Being a martyr for all the women who have suffered throughout the ages for their misfortune of... being a woman? What a pity. I find it most fortunate that you are a woman." He filled his nostrils with the sweet woman-scent of her—the fragrance of rosewater, and talcum powder, and a touch of something spicy he couldn't define—and folded his arms to keep from pulling her against him and kissing her senseless...

  "A scapegoat is also one who is the victim of unreasonable hostility," Sarah countered.

  Jon laughed lightly. "Believe me, I feel anything but hostility toward you."

  Sarah glared at him. “I see I'm getting nowhere here.” She turned and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind. He didn't follow, but Sarah could hear his deep, rumbling laughter echoing behind the closed door.

  At the end of the hallway, she lowered herself to a bench, hot tears of frustration stinging her eyes. Blinking to clear her vision, she saw a newspaper resting on the bench beside her. The heading, ECONOMY FAILING UNDER CROMWELL, caught her attention. Lifting the paper, she scanned the editorial, reading the words: ...in fact, we honestly believe that the man who will not ask Her Majesty's Government to remove Governor Cromwell and his council is a traitor to his country and unworthy of her protection...

  Sarah surmised that the author of the editorial was the editor that Esther mentioned, the political adversary of Jon's administration. Searching for the man's name, she found the peculiar appellation, Amor De Cosmos. She contemplated the name, deliberating whether it was genuine. Then, deciding it made no difference, she continued to read, smiling at the conclusion, which described Governor Cromwell's House of Assembly as ...a wizened contrivance which has kept its doors so closed to the invigorating popular breeze that it has become asthmatic...

  A flash of insight sent a burst of hope rushing through her. Mr. Amor De Cosmos would certainly not give a scrap whether one addle-minded female got a business license or not, but she was willing to bet he'd listen to her plight and turn it against the bureaucrats.

  With a renewed sense of confidence, she left the building and instructed the coachman to take her to the office of the newspaper. She settled back, and after a short ride around the bay, the coach pulled to a halt in front of a brick building with brass letters on its tall facade that read, The British Colonist. At first, she made no attempt to leave the secure confines of the coach, reconsidering her brash move. After all, she was a guest in Jon's home. But he and his cabinet were also behind the scheme to prevent her from acquiring a license.

  "Well, if I am to be a lone sheep among wolves," she mumbled, collecting her parasol and reticule, "then I must learn to defend myself." She stepped down from the coach, raised her chin, and marched into the building.

  A tall, lean man with black hair and a short-cropped black beard appeared from a back room. When he saw her, a flash of amusement crossed his face. As he approached, Sarah had the feeling that his dark eyes had taken in every detail of her attire, even though they'd scanned her so quickly, she'd barely caught their movement.

  "May I help you?" he asked.

  "Yes," she replied. "I'm looking for Mr. De Cosmos."

  The man's eyes, luminous in the subdued light, narrowed into a fixed stare. "I am Amor De Cosmos," he said.

  Sarah felt a deep nagging uneasiness. Mr. De Cosmos, she realized, could turn an editorial against her as well, if he so chose. For a moment, she stood in stiff-backed silence, the thud of her heart suggesting she walk out...

  A deep, guttural sound emanated from Mr. De Cosmos, reminding her that he was waiting.

  Focusing on her reason for being there, Sarah introduced herself and began recounting the incidents leading to her predicament.


  Amor De Cosmos sat, hip propped on his desk, listening intently while she related the facts surrounding her impasse with the city council. When she’d finished, he stepped to the window and gazed out. "Are you familiar with the many brothels on Humboldt Street?" he asked, while continuing to peer out the window.

  Sarah looked at the man's back, puzzled. He seemed to be completely ignoring her problem.

  After a few moments, De Cosmos turned and fixed his eyes on her. "Sinks of iniquity and pollution. Disease in every form, and kindred vices in all their hideous manifestations, lurk there," he said, stabbing a finger skyward for emphasis.

  Sarah was beginning to see his point. Her predicament seemed insignificant. Chagrinned, she said. "I'm sorry to have taken up your time. I'll just be on my way and—"

  "Indian men sell their wives and daughters into prostitution for money to buy whiskey," De Cosmos cut in. "But this is not discouraged in our city. No! Businesses here depend upon the fur traders and prospectors who seek the prostitutes. To sum it up for you, Miss Ashley, Victoria has laws against brothels, but instead of abolishing the houses of debasement, the city council voted to license them as dance halls."

  "But I don't see how that makes the houses any more reputable," Sarah said. "They are still exactly what they are... dens of iniquity."

  "Exactly!" A sardonic smile curved the man's lips. "And this is the mentality of the present administration. As long as these venal agents of the Hudson's Bay Company continue to rule this colony, the desires of the fur traders and Indians will prevail over the dignity and sensibilities of decent citizens."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. De Cosmos, but I really don't know what this has to do with me, nor do I know, exactly, what you're trying to point out," Sarah finally admitted.

  De Cosmos stroked his black beard. "What I'm trying to point out, Miss Ashley, is this administration's scandalous disregard for the moral and legal rights of the citizens. Decent, honorable people have moved into Victoria, people who are offended and outraged by the habitual drunkenness and disgusting language being continually used in public because of the brothels. Yet the city council condones this depravity by issuing business licenses to brothels hidden under the guise of being dance halls, while denying a license to" —with a graceful flourish of his arm, De Cosmos extended an upturned palm toward Sarah— "one enterprising citizen trying to establish a mercantile business."