“When will the both of you call me Samuel?”
Mrs. Owen and Sampson glanced at each and said in unison, “Never.”
Sampson motioned for them to enter. “Come. Your father is waiting for you in his study.”
The newlywed couple followed the house manager inside.
Samuel watched as Elizabeth waltzed in as if her feet barely touched the floor. It amazed him that she never noticed the grandeur of the mahogany staircase or the chandelier that cascaded down from the top landing. Nor did she seem to appreciate the Italian paintings that graced the walls or the exotic birds-of-paradise that sat in crystal vases in the salon and library. A host of servants buzzed and hovered around her like a queen bee. Then he remembered: she was the queen bee.
“Elizabeth!” The voice of Jonathan Weldsmore boomed across the room.
Samuel watched his wife fly into her father’s arms.
Taller than Samuel by two inches, Jonathan’s lanky physique belied a physical and mental strength of which he was all too aware. He wore a long forest-green wool coat over matching trousers. Like those of his class, Jonathan’s lapels and cuffs were accented with three copper-and-gold wires woven into the fabric. His ensemble was finished with an iridescent gold satin cravat tied around his neck. Jonathan’s dark brown hair and mustache had turned almost completely gray over the year they had been gone, but none of the fierce protectiveness he had for his daughter had diminished, judging by the way he hugged her and glared at Samuel.
He knew that look. The man still wanted to shoot him.
“Samuel.” Jonathan released his daughter. “It’s about time you brought my daughter home.”
“Father, stop that.” She teased. “We are here now and that’s all that matters.” Elizabeth gave Samuel a wink behind her father’s back. Samuel struggled to keep from laughing.
“Fine. Come along both of you. We have much to discuss.” Jonathan turned and headed toward his study.
“But, sir,” Mrs. Owen called out after him. “Shouldn’t the lady rest first after such a long journey?”
Jonathan said nothing and marched away.
Mrs. Owen shrugged. “Off you go. I’ll get you both unpacked.”
Elizabeth reached out her hand toward Samuel. He took it, though he had the feeling that whether he liked it or not, the next few minutes would define the rest of their lives.
2
Elizabeth was worried as she walked into her father’s study. She was entitled to be married, happy, and have a life of her own, but there was always a fear in the back of her mind: Would the visions return? And if they did, what future would she see? And whose?
She had been nine when her first vision occurred in her sleep. At first Elizabeth had thought it was a dream—until she realized that some the events she’d experienced came true. After that, the dreams had continued, always in the same way. As she slept, her mind would enter someone else’s, and though she had no control over their body or thoughts, she could feel, hear, and even smell what they did. The vision could be years, days, or even hours ahead. Elizabeth had kept her ability a secret, fearing how her father would react if he discovered it. It wasn’t until one of her visions showed her Samuel’s murder that she decided to reveal her secret to her father. His reaction had not been pleasant.
“Elizabeth?” Samuel tugged on her hand.
She reached over and brushed a lock of his tobacco-colored hair off his forehead. “I’m fine. How are you?” She knew that some kind of melancholy plagued her husband from time to time, and it worried her.
“Nothing a good night’s rest won’t take care of,” he replied. “So let’s go talk to your father before he reneges on his promise not to shoot me.”
“Very funny.” Elizabeth took his arm as they walked into her father’s inner sanctum together.
A relic of the House Wars, Jonathan’s study had once been called The Sanctuary and was used to protect the family in case of an attack. The entrance to the room was barred by two massive steel doors with gears the size of a small carriage attached to the back. Each door was operated by Weldsmore guardsmen, who used a crank to rotate the gears to open and close them. They rarely closed those doors, but remained vigilant at all times. Though the war was long over, her father liked the historical significance of the room and kept many of the vestiges of that violent time.
Inside, one wall was lined with four amber-colored bay windows that could also be sealed and barred even though the massive gears that had controlled those mechanisms had been dismantled. A host of compound bows were displayed on another wall. Bookshelves took up a third wall from floor to ceiling with books on ship building in several languages. A loveseat was stationed off to the side while two matching walnut chairs with maroon velvet upholstery sat in front of Jonathan’s mahogany desk. A large drafting table dominated the room while Jonathan’s desk sat near the windows with a view of the bay. On it sat one of the first telephones in the city. A mouth piece perched on top of a long metal tube, which was itself attached to a wooden base. On the side was a handle that held the ear piece. All the Great Houses had one, and a few homes in the Middle District, but Jonathan’s had been installed by Alexander Graham Bell himself.
Business papers lay stacked in files on his desk, yet the drafting table was astonishingly messy with engineering diagrams and partial drawings of ships not yet built.
What Elizabeth loved the most about the room were the mechanical animals displayed in a small glass cabinet behind her father’s desk. There was an owl, two rats, a heron, and an automaton the size of a large doll. The owl he had built for her mother, Adaline, a few years after their marriage. The rats were a homage to a real one named Tinker that Jonathan had saved as a boy. Elizabeth had loved to listen to her mother tell the story of how her father had saved Tinker from an accident and then her cruel and stern grandmother. Even Sampson became complicit in the plot to save the rodent.
But her favorite part was hearing how a teenage Jonathan and his rat had snuck aboard one of the family’s new ships and saved almost everyone when the steering system broke and the boilers blew up. It was a story of adventure, daring, and bravery. As a girl, it had sounded like a romantic fairy tale—cut short by the death of her mother from pneumonia. These days the mechanical rat served as a reminder of the time when her father had laughed and smiled more.
“Elizabeth.” Jonathan’s sharp voice brought her to attention.
“Yes, Father?”
“Sit.”
Jonathan walked around his desk and stared out a window. Elizabeth sat at the edge of her chair with her spine straight and her feet tucked under her skirt while Samuel leaned back with practiced ease and no regard for his posture or appearance. Annoyed that he was comfortable and she was not, Elizabeth scooted back a tad to settle into the cushy part of the chair.
“I see no reason to mince words with the two of you. Europe is unstable, and I fear there may be another war coming. Maybe not next year or the next, but it will come. And we must be prepared.” He turned around and gave them both a hard stare. “Neither one of you is suited to run this company alone. At least, not yet and not without help. Especially with this ‘gift’ of yours, Elizabeth.”
“Father, I haven’t had a vision in over a year,” she protested.
“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen again. And if it does, and others find out about it, it will ruin your credibility.”
“Sir—” Samuel began before Jonathan interrupted him with a wave of his hand.
“I know you will keep this secret, but secrets are often revealed whether we want them to be or not.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I understand. What do you need of us?”
A slight smile tugged at his face. “An heir might be nice. I presume that won’t be a problem.”
Elizabeth glanced over at her husband, who threw up his hands in surrender.
“Your wish is my command.”
“Samuel! Father!” Elizabeth sputtered. “This is most uns
eemly.”
Samuel grinned, but Jonathan clasped his hands behind his back and studied his daughter thoughtfully.
“I admit that I do not have the education to run a shipping business, but Elizabeth most certainly does.” Samuel added. “Perhaps you can find her a partner in case something happens to you while our children are still young.”
Jonathan nodded. “My thinking exactly.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I agree, but I insist that I be included in the process, Father. I don’t want to be stuck working with someone who is disagreeable.”
“Of course.”
“What worries me is that you think there will be a war.” Elizabeth clutched her hands and sat up even straighter. “What has happened?”
“While we were in Europe, neither one of us noticed anything out of the ordinary. At least, where we traveled.” Samuel commented. “However, we were a little preoccupied.” He reached over and held Elizabeth’s hand.
She was reluctant to let it go, but did anyway when she saw a fleeting look of sorrow cross her father’s face. “Father, you know something, don’t you?”
He pulled out the mahogany chair to reveal two small velvet pillows tied to it for back support. He paused, then sat down. “Yes, although it’s mostly rumors and innuendos right now. Nothing specific. But we must plan for the worst and hope for the best. That’s how this we survived the House Wars and . . . other things.”
“Speaking of planning for a family, Elizabeth and I will need a house. I think we should rent first on the border of the Middle District and Beacon Hill. That way we won’t be too far for her to come and visit. She could even walk,” Samuel remarked.
Elizabeth stared at him, almost too stunned to say anything. She glanced over at her father, who sat hunched down with his hands folded in front of him. By the way his thumbs twitched, she could tell that he was going to let her deal with it.
“Samuel . . . darling.”
Her husband flinched. “Ahh. You only call me ‘darling’ when I’ve said or done something stupid.”
“No, it’s that women like myself don’t walk. We stroll. Like through the park or visiting foreign cities.”
“Strolling is walking, last time I checked.” Samuel failed to hide his annoyance at where this conversation was heading. “But this isn’t about walking, is it? You want to live here.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to tell you before, but I’m not ready to live anywhere else yet.”
“But we’re married. We deserve a house of our own.”
“Of course you do, but that’s not the point,” Jonathan interjected.
“Then what is the point? If it’s money you’re worried about, I have enough saved up to find us something suitable. And I’ll go back to work.”
“As a bodyguard?” Jonathan shook his head. “Impossible. It would take you away from Elizabeth. You will work for me.”
“Sir, with all due respect, that’s not going to happen.” Samuel’s voice took on a hard edge.
“Samuel, please.” Elizabeth reached over and squeezed his hand. “This is all my fault. I kept avoiding this conversation hoping I could find a better way to tell you. The truth is I’m too afraid to live anywhere else.”
“What are you afraid of? We’ve already been through so much together.”
“What if the visions come back?” The terror of those nights flashed through her mind. She slipped her hand out of Samuel’s and clutched them in her lap again.
“Then we get you help. Someone to teach you how to deal with them.”
Jonathan stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over. “Out of the question. You cannot trust those people.”
“‘Those people’?” Samuel stood and leaned over the desk, facing off with his father-in-law. “Who exactly are you talking about? Your daughter is one of ‘those people’ now.”
Elizabeth realized she had made a difficult situation even worse. She reached over, grabbed Samuel’s arm, and yanked him back into his chair.
“Both of you, sit down!” When her father remained standing, she glared at him. “You too!”
He growled at her, then righted his chair and sat down with a thump.
“Now, this is what we are going to do.” She settled her shoulders back and held her head up. “Samuel and I will live in the house for at least one year. If the visions do not come back during that time, we will look for our own home.”
Her husband and father opened their mouths to speak, but she cut them off with a sharp glare.
“If the visions do come back, and only if, Samuel and I will explore the possibility of someone teaching me how to control them.” She turned her attention to her father. “And he will not work for you in any capacity unless he chooses to do so. Samuel will decide for himself what job he wishes to pursue.”
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed while Samuel put his hand over his mouth to hide a reluctant grin.
“However, if I decide to stay longer than a year, there will be no argument.” Her husband’s grin vanished. “But I promise you we will not live here longer than two. Do we have a deal? Father, shall I have your secretary notify the lawyers to write up a contract?”
Both men gaped at her. Jonathan recovered first. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” He reached for his glasses. “I will take you at your word.”
“As will I . . . dear.” Samuel followed up. Sarcastic undertones reverberated in her husband’s voice.
“Are we done, Father?” Elizabeth asked. “I would like to help Mrs. Owen unpack my things and get some rest.”
Jonathan gestured to Sampson, who stood outside the room holding a tray of coffee and sandwiches.
Elizabeth turned on the balls of her feet and marched out. “Sampson, if you could please send up tea instead of coffee, I would much appreciate it.”
The house manager gave her a quick smile. “Already done, miss.”
“Really? How did you know I preferred tea now?”
“You have a most attentive husband.” Sampson responded with complete sincerity.
Elizabeth stopped and raised an eyebrow at Samuel. He gave her an “Aren’t I perfect” look.
“Gah! You are the most infuriating yet wonderful man.”
“And you, Elizabeth Weldsmore Hunter, are your father’s daughter.”
Samuel strode right past her, paused, and held out his arm. She sighed then took it. Together, they walked out of the study and toward the staircase with two servants trailing behind them.
3
Jonathan watched his daughter and Samuel exit his study before noticing that Sampson had placed a cup of coffee next to his right hand. Like all of their fine bone china, it had the house emblem painted on it in gold leaf.
The house manager’s throat cleared, breaking his reverie.
“If you have something to say, Sampson, spit it out.” Jonathan picked up a small silver spoon and dipped it into the sugar bowl to retrieve not one but three consecutive spoonsful of sugar, dumping each into his coffee.
Sampson leaned over to pour cream into the cup as Jonathan stirred with a teaspoon. It was such a well-practiced routine that not a drop of cream or a crystal of sugar landed on the desk.
“There is no reason that Elizabeth and Samuel cannot live in a house of their own. He is perfectly capable of protecting her, and . . .” Sampson put the cream down. “She needs to strike out on her own whether she wants to or not. You have far too much influence on her, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”
“I do mind, but say it anyway.” Jonathan placed the spoon down in the saucer. “You’re right. Elizabeth is stronger than I give her credit for. I hate it, but she did well by marrying that man. Anyone else would have been a disaster.” He took a sip of coffee.
“Samuel Hunter is a man of honor, though he tends to suffer from what the Irish would call a ‘soul tainted by darkness.’” Sampson placed a small matching plate of sandwiches in front of Jonathan.
&nb
sp; “Is that what I sense about him?” Jonathan mused. “I suppose it has something to do with his time with the Pinkertons. I did hear there was some nasty business at the Homestead Steel Mill. He’s never discussed it, though.”
“Have you ever really discussed anything with Mr. Hunter other than your daughter?” the house manager asked.
Jonathan put the coffee cup to his lips then stopped and put it back down in the saucer. His eyebrows scrunched together. “He’s not exactly the kind of man you can sit around the club and drink with.”
“Neither are you, sir. You hate going to the club.”
Jonathan thumped his fingers on the edge of his desk as he glanced around the room in thought. He spied the compound bows on the wall. “Hunting.”
“Sir?”
“We can go hunting. I’m sure he’s never hunted using a bow. That’s a little too upper class for a Middle District man.”
“Or too low class. Depending on your point of view.”
“Sampson, why do you always have to be so—”
“Thorough?” Samson completed the thought for him. “That’s why you have kept me on all these years.”
“I thought it was because you saved my pet rat.” Jonathan’s face softened a bit at the memory. “Adaline cried for days after Tinker died.”
“I seem to recall you did, too, sir.”
He shoved the coffee and sandwich away. “I am not ready to let her go, Sampson. Not yet. But I agreed to her terms. Two years. No more. And I will hold to that.”
“Yes, sir.”
An underbutler rushed into the room carrying a wooden box about eight inches by eight inches. On the side where it opened sat an unbroken red wax seal. “Sir, this just arrived.” The young man stopped in front of the desk. He handed Jonathan the box then stood up straight waiting for instructions.
Boston Metaphysical Society Page 2
