“Senator Stellmacher? Do you have a point of order?” Zhou asked.
“Yes. You failed to move that we accept this report as part of the record. Is that because you know it is inaccurate?”
“What are you implying, senator?” Zhou narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious of where this was going.
He sat up straighter in the high-backed chair and folded his hands across his lap, his every movement contrived to give the appearance of benevolent condescension. “Only that I think you’re being a little hasty, Senator Zhou. Which is very unlike you.”
Zhou did not bother to hide her desire to eviscerate Stellmacher for questioning her authority and her integrity. Jonathan suspected that the senator from Oregon’s lifespan had just been shortened.
“I move that the report on House Weldsmore’s contracts with the Abyssinian government be entered into the committee records. Second?” she asked, her eyes never leaving Senator Stellmacher.
Everett’s hand shot up. “I second.”
“Wait.” Senator Butler waved his pen in the air as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “What are you suggesting, Edwin? Is there something you’d like to share?”
Jonathan closed his eyes, sighed, then opened them again. He was beginning to see the pattern now. Hibbard was staying out of the fight but using Stellmacher as his proxy. Jonathan wondered what they’d offered him in exchange for his assistance in killing his deal with the Abyssinians. Senator Butler did surprise him, though. The little man could crunch numbers until they squealed, but he was not one for intrigue. What Stellmacher had done was cast enough doubt to make honest men question those they trusted.
Stellmacher shrugged. “Is it true, Mr. Weldsmore, that you have a group of men working on a secret project in Virginia? Or is it Maryland?”
“Everyone has secret projects, Stellmacher! It’s called research and development,” Everett snarled at him. “What’s your point?”
“Do we have to explain patent law to you, Edwin?” George added without bothering to hide his annoyance.
Jonathan knew he had to let his allies fight for him, but it was time to put a stop to this line of inquiry. He waved his hand in the air to get their attention.
“Madame Chairwoman, may I speak?” Jonathan asked Senator Zhou.
“Please do.”
“To answer Senator Stellmacher’s question, yes, I do have several projects in development. Maryland, Virginia, New York, and other regions. It’s not a crime to want to test and refine new ideas before bringing them to market.”
Senator Butler squinted at him. “That I understand. However, is there anything about these projects that could be considered harmful to our country?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Of course not.”
“But what if they are designed to be sold to a specific buyer overseas and not to the Great States of America?” Stellmacher threw that question at him like a lightning bolt.
“So what if they are?” Jonathan shrugged. “Not all products will sell here. It’s time we as the leaders of this nation spend more time expanding our markets overseas. That’s where future profits lie.” He glanced over at Stellmacher, who had a hint of a smile on his face. Jonathan knew he wasn’t done testing him yet. Stellmacher had picked up a pencil and now pretended to make notes on the report. Senator Butler, who sat next to him, leaned over and tried to see what he was writing.
It was all a distraction.
“What if . . . ? And this is just a ‘what if’ since I’m not privy to House Weldsmore’s research. But what if he were selling weapons to foreign countries without our consent? That would be illegal. Isn’t that correct, Senator Butler?”
“What?” Senator Carroll bellowed. “Are you out of your mind, Weldsmore?”
“Senator!” Zhou yelled back at him. “That behavior is not acceptable in this room.”
Butler bobbed his whole body up and down. “Yes, yes. That would be true. But why would any Great House want to do such a thing?”
“I have no idea. Why don’t we ask Mr. Weldsmore?” Stellmacher feigned deference and respect.
All of them turned to Jonathan.
Both Everett and George gave him a look of “we can’t help you now,” while Zhou pleaded with her eyes that he’d better make the next moment count.
“Senators. I would never jeopardize the safety of our nation. I’ve designed and will continue to design and build military ships for this country for as long as House Weldsmore stands,” Jonathan responded with complete sincerity.
The truth of his words resonated throughout the room. Even Senator Carroll gave him a grudging nod, but Stellmacher wasn’t done.
“Very nice, Mr. Weldsmore, but that doesn’t answer the question. Are you or are you not building new weapons?”
Before Jonathan could reply there was a rustle at the door and a clerk ran in and over to Senator Zhou. As he leaned over and whispered in her ear, another clerk entered behind him with a message in his hand. He walked over to Jonathan and tapped him on the shoulder.
“For you, sir.”
Jonathan took it from the clerk and ripped the envelope open. It was from Mr. Evans, his executive assistant He blinked a few times as he read it and reread it. The Abyssinian envoy Mekonnen was dead. His airship had never arrived in Abyssinia. Pieces of it had been found floating by a passing fishing boat. All aboard were presumed lost.
He folded the message up and tucked it away in his pocket.
“Mr. Weldsmore?” Zhou addressed him. “I believe that we just received the same information. I’m sorry. We will send our condolences to the Abyssinian government, but in the meantime several hundred Americans are dead in an airship accident, and we need to find out why.”
Everyone in the room gasped in shock except for Stellmacher. He’d known it was going to happen, and he didn’t care.
Stunned that Tillenghast and his stooges would be willing to kill so many innocents just to kill one foreign envoy to get at him made Jonathan realize how far his adversaries would go to destroy him. He knew he and his family would always be targets, but he’d never thought they would kill so many in an attempt to destroy his plans. Their actions were horrific, and they had to be stopped.
“I move that we adjourn for two weeks. During that time we trust that Mr. Weldsmore will not have any dealings with the Abyssinian government until we rule out that they are not responsible for the destruction of an American passenger airship. Second?” Zhou asked.
“Second.” Butler piped up, then turned to Jonathan. “My condolences, Mr. Weldsmore. It is always difficult to find good business partners.”
“All in favor, say aye,” Zhou commanded.
A series of resolute ayes echoed in the room.
“Then we are adjourned.” Zhou scooted her chair out and stood up.
George and Everett stopped on the way out to shake Jonathan’s hand. Stellmacher and Hibbard left not even bothering to linger and gloat. The rest scurried out as fast as possible, leaving Jonathan to contemplate his next move.
The contracts weren’t scuttled yet but would take more time to finalize. Jonathan considered sending Mr. Evans to Abyssinia on his behalf to finish negotiating the workers’ contracts. However, that wasn’t his concern right now. The next target might be him or Elizabeth.
“Get me on the first train back to Boston,” he ordered the lone remaining clerk.
***
Sampson watched as Samuel trudged through the front door with an older Irishman trailing behind him while Elizabeth chatted with two of the Weldsmore guardsmen. They followed them in to keep an eye on the newcomer until Sampson waved them off. The man didn’t appear young or muscular enough to be one of their escorts, so Sampson assumed he was one of the mediums he had overheard them talking about.
Both men carried themselves as if burdened with a preordained duty, while Elizabeth radiated an energy that surprised him. She held her head high and breezed in as if she’d had the best days of her life.
“I have no doubt that you’d both like to rest. I will have one of the maids bring tea and some food up to your room,” Sampson said as he cut the trio off before they reached the staircase. “Would this gentleman like to go to the kitchen for some refreshments? I’m sure Mrs. Owen still has muffins left over from this morning. Or I can have a fresh sandwich made.” He smiled graciously at the Irishman.
“Sampson, this is Andrew O’Sullivan. He’s . . . helping us on our first case,” Samuel volunteered.
The house manager gave Andrew a polite nod. “Mr. O’Sullivan.”
“Some tea and a bit of food sounds good,” the man replied. “Laddie, you’d best make sure the missus gets some rest. It be a hard day.”
“Any word from my father, Sampson?” Elizabeth asked.
“He should be on his way back.”
Elizabeth cocked her head to one side and studied him. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
Sampson kept a measured tone in his voice so as not to give away the fact he was the one who had sent the message that Mekonnen was dead. “Nothing that cannot wait until after your father has returned. However, he did request that you remain in the house until he does.”
She scowled. “But we have work to do. We have to find—”
“We have to eat and rest. Where does he keep the good whiskey?” Samuel cut her off. “How about it, Andrew? Mind if I join you downstairs after I steal a bottle of House Weldsmore’s finest?”
“I know where he hides it,” Elizabeth chimed in. Instead of heading upstairs, she dashed off toward her father’s study.
“Elizabeth!” Samuel called after her, but she had already disappeared.
Andrew frowned. “You need to be keeping a steady eye on the lassie.”
Elizabeth ran back into the foyer holding a bottle of Jameson’s. “I used to sneak a bit of this when I was a teenager.” She giggled.
“I know.” Sampson deadpanned.
“What? You weren’t supposed to.” Elizabeth scowled at him, then grinned. “Thank you for not telling my father.”
Sampson gave her a smile and a brief nod of his head.
“Elizabeth, why don’t you give me the bottle and go upstairs and change?” Samuel suggested. “I’ll bring you up a glass.”
Sampson watched as her back tensed up as if she was going to argue with him, then she relaxed.
“Good idea.” She leaned in and gave her husband a kiss. “I am a little tired.”
Samuel looked surprised at this public display of affection but didn’t seem to mind.
As Elizabeth headed up the stairs, Sampson saw a slight change in her posture, as if she were pretending to walk like someone else. Andrew had noticed it as well and frowned as they watched her saunter up the stairs.
Samuel held the bottle up to Sampson. “Care to join us?”
“No, thank you, sir. Though it is appreciated, I have work that still needs to be done.”
“Sampson, I’m going to the library to have a drink, then I’ll head upstairs. Could you have dinner sent up to the rooms?” Samuel asked.
“Yes, sir.”
The house manager led Andrew down to the kitchen where one of the kitchen girls was already preparing a light meal for him. Made up of several rooms, the men entered the central kitchen where the food was prepared. Boasting two gas stoves, four ovens, a sink big enough to handle two crates of vegetables, and a large oak preparation table with several stools around it, the room was designed to create meals for an army. The adjoining rooms were for storage and a dining area for the servants.
“Ah. What a place where everyone knows what’s to be done before anyone else does,” Andrew hooted.
“That, sir, is the very definition of a well-run House.”
As Sampson seated Andrew at the servants table, one of the kitchen girls screamed and dropped a plate of cut lamb. Both men looked up to see Thomas Rochester limping in through the servants’ entrance. His face bloodied and bruised, he hugged one arm to his chest as if it were broken.
“Where’s Weldsmore?” he gasped right before he collapsed onto the floor.
18
Elizabeth sat in a robe on the edge of her bed and rocked back and forth, torn between doing what was reasonable and secure and what was needed to save people’s lives. All the men in her life sought to protect her, and she appreciated it, but it was time to step out of what was safe into what was right.
She had secreted Rachel’s trinity knot in a pocket in her dress when they left the South Side. She decided to use it again to find out where Rachel and the others were. Only this time, she’d have help. The entity, or whatever it was, that she’d met in her psychic limbo had come to her aid once, and she was certain he would do it again. Whether it was a “he” or not, she wasn’t positive, but Elizabeth was sure she’d sensed a masculine presence.
Nevertheless, Elizabeth was convinced that whoever “he” was, he must be a medium who had either gotten lost in that psychic limbo or was searching for others like himself. Perhaps he didn’t even live in the Great States, but in another country. She fantasized that he could be an emissary of sorts. And what if she was the first medium he connected to? The whole idea filled her with exhilaration and pride.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Sally, her maid, entered carrying dinner. She placed it on the table then arranged the plates, utensils, and food.
“Just leave it.”
The young Irish girl bobbed a little curtsy. “Yes, Mrs. Hunter.”
“Is my husband on the way up?”
The girl bit her lip. “He and Mr. Sampson are . . . are . . .”
“Ahh, I understand. It’s time he and Sampson got to know each other better anyway.”
“Do you want me to draw you a bath?” Sally asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll take one later. You go on. Get your supper.”
“Yes, Mrs. Hunter.” The girl left.
Elizabeth got up from the bed and walked over to the door. She cracked it open to see if anyone else was in the hallway, but all she saw was Sally heading down the stairs. As she closed it, Elizabeth considered locking it but did not want Samuel to get the wrong idea. She also might need help if she found herself lost in one of her visions. Elizabeth could tell by Samuel’s and Andrew’s glances that they were worried about her, and she respected that. It would be stupid of her not to allow them to save her if she needed it.
She hopped back onto the bed, propping up the pillows so she could sit comfortably. Resting her head, she contemplated going to sleep, but the idea of Rachel trapped with that man drove her to dig out the trinity knot from her pocket.
Warmed by her robe, the metal felt smooth and supple to the touch. She placed the piece in her palm and rubbed it with her thumb. The action calmed her, and any lingering exhaustion fled. Elizabeth closed her eyes and concentrated on Rachel. The Irishwoman’s image floated around in her consciousness like a random spark, but it was as if Rachel had become the brass ring on a merry-go-round Elizabeth kept missing.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and frowned. She was certain Rachel was deliberately keeping her away, making sure they couldn’t connect. But why would she do that? Didn’t she want to be saved?
Elizabeth had an idea. Instead of searching for Rachel, she would search for the emissary, as she’d decided to name him. Perhaps he could help her find the medium.
Once again she closed her eyes, but this time she cleared her thoughts of everything but him. Her mind slipped from her body and entered that mysterious realm of darkness as the trinity knot blazed white hot and burned its image into her hand.
***
Samuel and Sampson helped Thomas off the floor and into a chair from the adjoining room.
“Claire, get Mrs. Owen’s emergency kit,” Sampson ordered the girl Thomas had frightened. She regained her composure and ran into the next room to return with a toolbox filled with iodine, bandages, needles, and thread.
Andrew grabbed it before Sam
pson had a chance. The house manager grumbled.
“Let him handle it, Sampson. He’s more experienced than you,” Samuel informed him. “Which is a good thing, by the way.”
The Irishman pulled out a needle and thread. “Aye. Though Rachel be a mite better at this than I am. Lassie, hot water and towels. Let’s get his jacket and shirt off.”
Fading in and out of consciousness, Thomas resisted them as they tried to remove his jacket. “No, stop,” he grunted. Blood oozed from his mouth, and his eyelids swelled from a terrible beating.
“Stop fighting us!” Samuel ordered. “We’re trying to help you.”
Thomas passed out again and fell off the chair and back onto the floor. An odd sound of metal hitting wood reverberated across the room.
The three men and the kitchen maid all look at each other, puzzled, but continued to help the injured man.
“Well, this makes it a wee bit easier to work with him on the floor,” Andrew commented.
He reached into the emergency kit, pulled out a pair of scissors, and immediately started cutting away Thomas’s jacket and shirt. As Andrew peeled the blood-soaked material off, he stopped suddenly and looked up at Sampson. “Send the lass away.”
The house manager frowned then gestured toward the girl. “Claire, that will be all. Go to bed, and not a word of this to anyone. Do you understand?” His tone lingered on threatening.
“Aye, Mr. Sampson.” Claire blanched, then bobbed her head and made a brief curtsy before she scurried off.
None of the men said a word until the girl was gone.
“Andrew?” Samuel’s implied question hung in the air like a dense fog.
The medium pulled back the torn and bloody shirt to reveal several damaged interlocking metal plates where Thomas’s left shoulder and part of his chest should be. Andrew continued cutting the shirt away. Finally getting it off, the men saw how Thomas’s entire arm was made of cables of various thicknesses and a multitude of gears. The cables sparked and hissed where they had been ripped out. Old burn scars were seared into the fleshy part of Thomas’s chest, while fresh blood poured from stab wounds—some deep, some shallow.
Boston Metaphysical Society Page 19
