The Spoils of Sin by Rebecca Tope

old, I shall live on a hilltop in Old Europe, as my great-grandmother did, and think back on my colourful life.’
    â€˜A lonely fate,’ murmured Marybelle. ‘And an unlikely one. Whoever heard of an American born and bred settling down in Europe? What can you imagine it has to offer you?’
    â€˜I intend to go to see for myself,’ said Carola stoutly.
    â€˜You are mere children,’ the older woman observed. ‘Making up your romances and your dreams to evade the unpleasantness all around you.’
    â€˜What, then, would you have us do?’ asked Fanny, with narrow eyes. Hugo, picking up her tone, pricked up his ears and gave a low growl.
    â€˜Mercy! I meant no offence. I
admire
you, I do truly. But be that as it may, I cannot help worrying on your behalf.’
    â€˜There is no need,’ said Fanny.
    â€˜I see that there is
less
need than I expected.’ Marybelle shifted in her seat, clasping her hands together tightly. ‘It is so very hard to find the words. I allow that life here is quite different from that in California. From the little I have seen, it has every appearance of a paradise by comparison. I see scarcely an Indian, and not a single firearm. I counted no fewer than five goodwives, between the town hall and here. The talk on the bark was all of families and orchards and peaceful settlement. Oregon is growing famous for its serenity,’ she summarised. ‘A respite from the insanity that has gripped humanity not so far away from here.’
    â€˜Bark?’ echoes Carola. ‘You came here by sea?’
    â€˜Along the coast from San Francisco to Astoria and thence a river steamer. It is a lovely trip. If you have ambitions to travel, I suggest you begin with your own doorstep.’
    â€˜You diverted from your main point,’ Fanny reminded her. ‘You
allow
that we live in a paradise, and yet…?’
    â€˜And yet you immerse yourself in the one practice that polite society universally condemns. You wilfully permit yourself to be spoiled and tainted beyond recall.’
    â€˜Beyond redemption,’ murmured Fanny, remembering her Catholic upbringing.
    â€˜You did the same thing yourself,’ Carola pointed out. ‘Are you telling us that you regret it now?’
    â€˜Not so simple a message as that,’ sighed Marybelle. ‘Besides, as we established already, it is too late for such feelings. The damage is done.’ She looked from face to face. ‘But perhaps not,’ she mused.
    â€˜We are not fools,’ snapped Carola. ‘We are protecting ourselves from disease. The men we service are clean and healthy. Those who are not, we send away.’
    â€˜I regret a number of the consequences,’ Marybelle returned to the question. ‘Many of them only apparent to me in recent months, when I at last succeeded in wrenching myself away from that life. It came as a great shock to me to find how very difficult that was.’
    â€˜So it was a good life. You missed it?’ The older girl leaned forward challengingly. Fanny remained quiet, still hearing the word
redemption
ringing in her ears.
    â€˜That is the puzzle. How could I say it was a good life? My body was used, night after night, with no – or very little – affection or concern. My own sensations never held any significance for those men, other than the few who enjoyed inflicting pain. And yet, it is a trivial thing in itself. An easy thing. An animal instinct like an urge to scratch an itch, quickly satisfied. If they willingly part with their dollars to gain that satisfaction, then someone must take advantage of that willingness. They poured gold down my bodice and filled my boots with it. I worked six hours each day, at most, and have profited immensely, since they first found the gold, barely half a year since. I was already on the spot, you see. Many would opine that I was the most fortunate of women, thanks to that accident of