Alternative histories (Fiction); Science fiction; Time travel -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
That her complaisance was not the result of passion was soon obvious;
there was not so much a failure on my part to arouse her as a refusal
on hers to be aroused beyond an inescapable degree. Even as she
permitted our intimacy she remained as virginal, aloof and critical as
before.
“It seems hardly worth the trouble. Imagine people talking and writing
and thinking about nothing else.”
“Tirzah dear—”
“And the liberties that seem to go with it. I don’t think of you as any
more dear than I did an hour ago. If people must indulge in this sort
of thing, and I suppose they must since it’s been going on for a long
time, I think it could be conducted with more dignity.”
As my infatuation increased her coolness did not lessen; curiosity
alone seemed to move her. She was amused at my pathetic search for
knowledge. “What good is your learning ever going to do you? It’ll
never get you a penny.”
I smoothed the long, pale hair and kissed her ear. “Suppose it doesnt?”
I argued lazily; “There are other things besides money.”
She drew away. “That’s what those who can’t get it always say.”
“And what do people who can get it say?”
“That it’s the most important thing of all,” she answered earnestly.
“That it will buy all the other things.”
“It will buy you free of your indenture,” I admitted, “but you have to
get it first.”
“Get it first? I never let it go. I still have the contract payment.”
“Then what was the point of indenting at all?”
She looked at me wonderingly. “Havent you ever thought about serious
things? Only books and politics and all that? How could I get
opportunities without indenting? I doubt if the Vames are much of a cut
above the Backmakers; well, youre a general drudge and I’m a governess
and tutor and even in a way a sort of distant friend to Mrs Smythe.”
“That sounds suspiciously like snobbery to me.”
“Does it? Well, I’m a snob; Ive never denied it. I want to live like a
lady, to have a good house with servants and carriages and minibiles,
to travel to civilized countries, with a place in Paris or Rome or
Vienna. You can love the poor and cheer for the Populists; I love the
rich and the Whigs.”
“That’s all very well,” I objected, “but even though you have your
indenting money and can buy back your freedom any moment you want it,
how does this help you get rich?”
“Do you think I keep my money in my pocket? It’s invested, every cent.
People who come to this house give me tips; not just money, though
there’s enough of that to add a bit to my original capital, but tips on
what to buy and sell. By the time I’m thirty I should be well off. Of
course I may marry a rich man sooner.”
“That’s an awfully cold-blooded way of looking at marriage,” I
remonstrated.
“Is it?” she asked indifferently. “Well, youve been telling me I’m
cold-blooded anyway. I may as well be cold-blooded profitably.”
“If that’s the way you feel I don’t understand what we’re doing here
at this moment. I’d have thought you’d have picked a more profitable
lover.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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