The Spoils of Sin by Rebecca Tope Page A

monotonous. One of Carola’s brothers had almost drowned at a river crossing. As they talked, Fanny found herself relaxing somewhat, until she began to look forward to seeing her parents again. ‘My father is a real Irishman. Singing, joking, always seeing the brighter side of things. He has a good heart.’
    â€˜My father too. He treats the workers well, I think. He is fond of his food and drink, and fine clothes. The horses are the best in the county. He has an excellent eye for a good breeder.’
    â€˜Will you ever see him again?’
    â€˜Who can say? It seems unlikely. But my brothers are very much closer at hand.’
    Fanny had almost forgotten her friend’s brothers, so seldom did she mention them. Their fate as they settled into Oregon ways was unknown. ‘We could maybe visit them sometime?’ she suggested.
    Carola shuddered. ‘I think not. Their views on the behaviour of women would ensure that I was lynched like a runaway slave if they ever learned of my activities. I must warn you, Fanny, that if I suddenly bolt into the trees or behind the nearest rock, it is because I have caught sight of one of the Beaumont boys, and am running for my life.’
    Fanny laughed, but there was something altogether sad in her friend’s words.
    It would be necessary to break their journey for the night, for which they had made only the vaguest plans. ‘We can fashion a shelter under a tree,’ said Fanny, ‘if no-one will offer us a bed,’ and had added a canvas sheet to the contents of the trap.
    But in the event it turned wet towards the end of the day, and neither girl felt equal to a night in the open with nothing but a sheet to keep them dry. ‘We must beg hospitality from a homesteader,’ said Carola. She seemed entirely comfortable with the proposition that two young women and a large dog might find accommodation with strangers selected at random along the way.
    Fanny was less inclined to adopt the idea. ‘How would we explain ourselves?’ she wondered. ‘Travelling unchaperoned, as we are.’
    â€˜We are returning to our family after a visit to the city. Perhaps we have a dying grandmother. Or perhaps nobody but the two of us has survived cholera and we are orphaned and seeking new lives. Or it might be…’
    â€˜Stop!’ laughed Fanny. ‘We are sisters, then? With such different accents and appearance?’
    â€˜Cousins. Stepsisters. One of us is adopted.’ Carola’s eyes twinkled. ‘Let your imagination run free,’ she urged. ‘We shall become whatever we can invent for ourselves.’
    Fanny smiled doubtfully. ‘We tell them anything but the truth – is that it?’
    â€˜Exactly so.’
    Two miles further on the horse was entirely willing to turn off the road and head for a low wooden building set back amongst trees. Hugo loped ahead, until Fanny whistled him back. ‘Might alarm the people,’ she told him with a smile.
    She need not have worried. A woman was already waiting in the doorway as they approached. Of middle height and perhaps forty years in age, she had pale hair pulled back from her face and a shrewd expression. Before Fanny or Carola could climb down from their vehicle, she was fondling Hugo’s ears as if she’d always known him.
    â€˜Good day, ladies,’ she said calmly, her accent a pure unsullied English that Fanny had not heard since leaving Rhode Island. ‘Jeremy!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘We have company.’
    The two girls stood a short distance from her, uncertain of their next move. After half a minute or so, a man in shirt sleeves appeared, standing behind his woman. Clean-shaven, with a high balding brow and a long nose above a small receding chin, he was an odd-looking character. ‘Welcome,’ he said in the same accent.
    â€˜We are Jeremy and Matilda Hastings,’ said the woman. ‘From Buckinghamshire,