Free Blood Moon by Jana Petken Page B

well-earned money.
    She would be ruined within months – no, less. It would be no more than a few weeks. Everything here cost much more than she’d expected. The rotten winter snow had almost collapsed the roof, and she’d paid a bloody fortune to get it fixed. Slaves were more expensive than she’d first thought, and she’d lost four of the buggers already! Two of her horses had been stolen along with her guns – and as for Sheriff John Manning, well that had ended as quickly as it had begun. He’d dropped her like a hot coal, without an explanation or by your leave. She’d wondered why at first, until Jacob bloody Stone came to mind. She was convinced that he’d told tales about her to John. She wouldn’t put it past him to do a rotten thing like that. She had no proof, but John Manning had given her the brush- off, and it wasn’t because he didn’t like what she gave him in bed. No, Stone was waging war – and that meant their little arrangement was well and truly over. She’d gut the bastard! Jesus, the list of disasters went on and on …
    “Have some cake, dear,” she said to Elizabeth to break the silence.
    She watched Elizabeth clasp yet another clean handkerchief in her delicate hands. Christ almighty, how many bloody handkerchiefs did she have? she wondered. Madam du Pont would never have been forced to befriend someone like Elizabeth. She was weak and gullible, pitifully so.
    She sighed and ordered more tea, which seemed to cure all ails for spoilt Southern women. She banished her thoughts and concentrated entirely on Elizabeth and her continued weeping. “You really do need to eat something, dear,” she said. “You’ll be fit for nothing if you don’t get some food inside you.”
    Elizabeth sobbed once more for good measure whilst wringing her hands and shaking her head as if trying to clear her confusion. “Why, Margaret, I declare, I don’t know what to do. What do you think I should do? Should I stay with Ma and Pa until I find my own house or should I move into Portsmouth immediately?”
    “Well, dear, first of all, you have to decide where you want to live.”
    “I don’t understand,” Elizabeth said petulantly. “I told you not two days ago that I want to live in Portsmouth – just off Court Road, near the church, because that’s where all the most expensive houses are. I do so want to be in a good neighbourhood.”
    “Yes, of course you do. I remember now … Elizabeth, have you considered the ramifications of being a divorced woman?”
    “Ramifications … I’m not sure what you mean with that word.”
    Margaret sipped her tea and then put the cup back on the saucer. The stupid bitch didn’t even understand proper English. She folded her napkin and at the same time took on a pained expression. She was aware of Elizabeth’s eyes on her and that the girl was feeling uneasy. She looked up and shook her head in dismay. “Oh, my dear girl, I didn’t want to say anything to you, but seeing you in such a state is breaking my heart, so it is. I feel it’s only right that you should know …”
    “Know what? Please, Margaret, you have to tell me. What are these … ramifications?”
    “Well, when a divorced woman is beautiful, such as yourself, married women become envious and suspicious. It’s in their nature, dear. Jealousy knows no bounds, believe me, and they don’t call it the little green devil for nothing. What these married women don’t realise is that by constantly accusing their men of infidelity with other women, the poor cows end up doing more damage to their marriages than a newly divorced woman ever could. I know this through my own experience. I was younger then, of course, but after my dear husband passed, I lost friends. They suddenly saw me as a threat. I was cut off from all social gatherings – ostracised I was, as if I never existed. Elizabeth, I expect you’ll find this hard to believe, but I’m telling you that you won’t be accepted by these