In Mr. Evans’s coded message, Jonathan had learned that His Majesty, the king of Abyssinia, was dead and that his shipyards had been destroyed. Jonathan and Evans had developed this manner of correspondence years ago for whenever Jonathan was traveling and phones were not available. They updated the messages for every trip, including this one. But as clear as the note had been in one regard, there was an underlying meaning. There was a chance Jonathan would be the next target and that the attempt might occur on the train. Whether they would try to blow it up, he did not know, but he would not risk the lives of the other passengers for his own convenience.
His guardsmen swarmed two unsuspecting taxi drivers, commandeering their cars. They searched the men and gave the vehicles a thorough inspection. Once they were satisfied, they escorted Jonathan to the first taxi, where one guardsman sat with Jonathan while the other rode shotgun. The other two guardsmen seized another taxi, promising the driver it would be returned with appropriate compensation. Together the cars sped off toward Du Pont’s Eleutherian Mills residence at Hagley in Delaware.
It took over two hours to get there, but it gave Jonathan time to plan his next move. As soon as he arrived at the Georgian style estate of his longtime friend, he would phone Elizabeth and order her to stay at the house. Next he would talk to Sampson or Samuel, whoever answered first, and find out anything else that might have happened. Then he would contact Mr. Evans to instruct the men working on his ships to go home and to lock down the shipping yards. Spies were in the work crew, but all of Jonathan’s informants had said they were there to glean information, not blow things up. However, their orders could change, and he needed to protect the workers and his assets.
The Du Ponts were far more powerful than House Weldsmore and wielded an immense amount of influence both here and abroad. Their nearest competitors for the top spot were House Carnegie, House Kennedy, and House Tillenghast. Each House had their strengths and weaknesses that balanced the power and provided each with an incentive to work together. However, Jonathan suspected in the future they would be challenged by the Great Houses in the West.
After being inspected by Du Pont security at the main gate, Jonathan and his guardsmen drove up the long paved driveway to the front entrance. They were met by several men wearing Du Pont livery and guardsmen dressed in their traditional uniforms of long maroon wool jackets with matching pants accented with black piping. Each had the Du Pont crest of a clock face sewn on their lapel. Unlike other Great Houses, the crest had nothing to do with their main business, which was manufacturing gunpowder. It was an homage to Pierre du Pont, a watchmaker and the man who had immigrated from France to the Great States of America to establish what became one of the most powerful families in the nation.
Everett’s house manager, Dawson, met him as the footmen opened the car door.
“Mr. Weldsmore.” The house manager’s sea-green eyes assessed the situation and the look on Jonathan’s face. “Mr. Du Pont is in his study. If you will follow me . . .”
Dawson always reminded Jonathan of a human praying mantis with his razor-thin build and elongated arms that swung like they could latch on to anything. He had been with Everett for as long as Sampson had been with Jonathan and he suspected bore many of the same responsibilities and access to critical information. House manager was often a position of tremendous power, though in some Great Houses their only duty was to safeguard the efficient running of the household.
The interior of Eleutherian Mills was not as impressive as most would expect. With wooden floors and Persian carpets, it was not as ostentatious as most Great Houses, including his own. Dawson led him to Everett’s study, which had antique French tables and chairs arranged to highlight the walnut desk that sat in front of two recessed windows. Jonathan found it to be refreshing and one of the things he liked about Everett. However, he had heard his wife had decided that the house was not grand enough and was interviewing architects to build a palatial estate in Pennsylvania.
“Sir.” Dawson gave a curt nod to both Jonathan and Everett before he marched out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Everett took off his glasses as he stood up and shook Jonathan’s hand. “Jonathan, I thought you were on your way home. What’s happened?”
They both sat as Jonathan filled him in. Everett ran his hands through his short, spiky gray hair before he reached for the telephone and called his son, William, who was a senator and a member on the Foreign Security Committee. The conversation was brief, but confirmed what Jonathan already knew—His Majesty, King of Abyssinia was dead and his shipyards destroyed. Hundreds of people had perished, and the port city of Massawa was still in flames.
“I’m so sorry, Jonathan.” Everett offered his condolences. “I can’t imagine how much money you’ve lost. I’m only glad your men weren’t there.”
“Yes. A lot of talent would have been lost as well. Any idea yet how it was done?” he asked.
“Some sort of accident, but the consulate said they’ve never seen a fire burn so hot or so fast. They barely got out in time.” Everett scratched his temple. “He did say something odd though.”
“What?”
“He was running toward the car, and he turned to make sure his assistant was behind him. The fire was two blocks away, so they thought they had enough time if they didn’t dawdle. Out of nowhere, a tunnel of flames surged right down the middle of the street, setting fire to everything in its path. His assistant swore he saw a man inside it.”
Jonathan tensed up, gripping the arm of his chair. He willed himself to relax before Everett noticed, but it was too late.
“What is it?” Everett asked while peering over the tops of his glasses. The Du Pont heir might not be as brilliant as his predecessors, but he was very observant.
“You don’t want to know,” Jonathan replied. The last thing he would tell him was that demons might be involved. That would only result in Everett calling Jonathan’s doctor and having him committed, and he had no time for that.
“Which really means either you think I won’t understand or you’re too embarrassed to tell me.”
“Everett, you’re my friend and my ally. You need to steer clear of this. At least for now.”
“Don’t you think I’m aware that Tillenghast has been pressuring you to ally with him?” Everett sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers his nose. It was a gesture that meant he was going to say something that would sound like a suggestion when it was in fact an order. “You should do it. The two of you would control all the shipping on the eastern seaboard.”
“Why would you want that? It would put you at a disadvantage.”
“Not at all. I’d save money by paying for combined air and sea trade shipments.” Everett winked at him. “Think about it. But if you do decide to do it, keep Hal out of it. Your brother is a nightmare when it comes to business.”
Jonathan frowned. “Tillenghast doesn’t ally, he absorbs Houses.”
“Then don’t let him do to you what he did to Hibbard. They were weak. You’re not.”
“Everett, what if I told you I believe Tillenghast is responsible for assassinating the king and setting fire to the shipyards.”
“Do you have proof?” Everett’s face hardened.
“No.”
“Tillenghast thinks far too much of himself, but even that’s a reach for him,” Everett remarked. “Besides, he couldn’t get his men or their lackeys over there without someone noticing.”
“He may have had a different kind of help.”
Everett pursed his lips, waiting for him to say more, but Jonathan stayed silent.
“Fine. Don’t tell me, but you’re worried about what he’ll do next. I’ll have my men drive you up to Philadelphia to pick up one of my train cars to Boston.” He touched a button under his desk, and Dawson reappeared again.
“Dawson. Mr. Weldsmore and his men will be taking our train to Boston. Have the taxis returned to their owners in DC.” Everett turned to Jonathan. “You
want to eat lunch here or in the car?”
“Car.”
“Dawson? You heard him. Go!”
The house manager left again at a fast clip.
“Thank you, Everett. May I use your phone? I need to call home.”
“Of course.” Everett stood up and gestured for Jonathan to use his desk. His tone turned serious. “I think you’re wrong about Tillenghast, but I’ll look into it. I’d hate to think the House Wars were simply a precursor to a world war.”
“So do I.”
Everett left the study to give him privacy. Jonathan called the house only to discover that both Samuel and Sampson were out on a mysterious errand and Elizabeth was still in bed. The footman who answered said she had not been feeling well but was eating soup and crackers, according to Mrs. Owen. He also confirmed that his brother was gone as well as Thomas Rochester. Puzzled at Thomas’s sudden decision to depart, he was nevertheless satisfied that Elizabeth was safe. Jonathan hung up and called Mr. Evans.
One of the undersecretaries answered and promptly put him through to his executive assistant. He had locked down the facilities and sent the men home on a brief vacation. They feared they were losing their jobs, but Mr. Evans took it upon himself to tell them it was a belated celebratory present on the occasion of Mr. Weldsmore’s daughter being married. He said he hinted that it was her idea. Before he hung up Jonathan approved of his initiative and promised a bonus at the end of the year.
Dawson knocked on the door and poked his head in. “Mr. Weldsmore, the cars are ready. Mr. Du Pont is sending along additional security for both the trip from Philadelphia and to Boston. Our cook prepared enough food to feed your men as well.”
Jonathan stood. “It’s much appreciated. Is Everett still available?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Du Pont had to attend to other business and regrets not being able to see you out.” The house manager bowed stiffly as Jonathan brushed past him.
As he exited, Jonathan glanced back to see Everett watching him from one of the windows on the third floor. He raised his hand to wave goodbye, but Everett turned away. That was all the proof he needed.
Somehow Tillenghast had gotten to his friend. Jonathan’s alliance with House Du Pont was severed.
***
Samuel spent the morning with a forger having new identity documents created for Thomas. He had arranged for Andrew to return that morning to help Sampson check Thomas’s wounds and then buy clothes and a small trunk for him. Elizabeth had been sound asleep when he got up, so he’d left her a note telling her he was following up on a lead for her father. He and Sampson had decided not to tell her the truth about Thomas. It might upset her, and she had enough to deal with right now.
He hated to admit it, but Elizabeth’s visions were the only thing giving them leads on locating the missing South Siders. They did not have enough manpower to search an area as large as the South Side, and even if they did, it would tip off the kidnappers. That might cause them to release their victims or kill them. Samuel didn’t like having his wife so deeply involved in all this, but they might not have any choice.
The forger took longer than expected, and Samuel did not leave his apartment until noon. He was on the far side of the Middle District and had to hire several carriages to get there and back. Samuel hoped Jonathan had returned so he could talk to Thomas himself before he left. If he wasn’t, Samuel would send Thomas on his way so as not to increase the risk to the family.
By the time he arrived back at House Weldsmore, it was almost two o’clock. Sampson had ordered most of the servants to take the afternoon off, leaving himself, Claire, and a footman inside. He’d used the excuse that in the upcoming weeks the House would be especially busy, so he wanted to make sure they took care of any personal business they needed to attend to so as not to inconvenience the family. Outside, he had doubled the guardsmen as per Jonathan’s orders.
As they entered the servant’s section, Sampson informed Samuel that Jonathan was taking the Du Pont train from Philadelphia and would be back later. Samuel asked the house manager why Jonathan wasn’t leaving from DC, but Sampson didn’t know as an underbutler had taken the call. Mr. Weldsmore had not deemed it necessary to give the young man any details.
When Samuel entered the servant’s room, Thomas sat on a bed eating a light meal of stew and bread while Andrew packed up the small trunk with the used clothing he had purchased.
“How are you?” Samuel asked as he handed Thomas a leather pouch with his new work history, letters of recommendation, and proof of his parentage and their freedom documents.
“I’ll live.” Thomas put the stew down on the bed and rifled through the paperwork. “You are a thorough man, Mr. Hunter.” He squinted at one paper. “Interesting, the freedom documents are accurate, just with different names.”
Samuel nodded. “It’s best to stay as close to the truth as possible when you are lying.”
“It also be easier to remember.” Andrew snapped the trunk shut.
Samuel pulled a third-class train ticket out of his jacket and handed it to Thomas. “Sorry for the cheap accommodations, but it’s something you’d better get used to. And don’t tell anyone where you’re going.”
“Aye. That be true. Will you be needin’ me for anything else, laddie? I need to go see about a job,” Andrew remarked, looking at Samuel.
“Yes, I do, and I’ll pay you for your time. If you wait in the kitchen, I’ll talk to you in there. Sampson, please have Claire check on my wife.”
With both men gone, Samuel sat on the lone chair across from Thomas, who held the train ticket like it would light on fire any second.
“Montreal? You’re sending me to the Queen’s Canada? Are you out of your mind?”
“Thomas, no one will recognize you there, and you can get a job in a factory that builds parts for airships. Or work as a rigger at a regional airship company. There is a large Negro population there of American ex-patriots. You’ll blend in.”
“Samuel, I have never ‘blended’ in. Even Philadelphia was too small for me. And now you want me to go north?”
“You don’t have any choice. The two Irish carriage drivers that have been working for me will take you. The locals are used to seeing them, so it won’t draw any undue attention. Can you walk?”
Thomas grimaced. “After a fashion. I’m sorry to be ungrateful, it’s just that I hadn’t expected my life to change so drastically. Any chance I’ll be able to withdraw my money from the bank in Liberty Row? Or if I can’t get it, perhaps leave permission for Jonathan to withdraw it for me.”
“I’m sure Tillenghast will have figured out where you’ve been hiding your money and have people watching the bank. I would. And as for Jonathan, you mention his name, and he’ll have even a bigger target on his chest.”
Thomas winced again. Samuel wasn’t sure if it was from physical pain or the knowledge that he’d probably never see his money again.
“One more thing. Do you know if anyone with your abilities is working for Tillenghast?” Samuel asked. “I’d like advance notice in case I run into one in a dark alley.”
Thomas shrugged. “I have no idea. But God, I hope not.”
Samuel stood up as he gestured to the leather pouch. “I put enough money inside to pay rent on a small apartment for a few months and feed yourself until you find a job.” He offered his hand. “Goodbye, Thomas, and good luck. I hope you’ll be able to use your talents again someday.”
They shook hands then Thomas went back to eating. Samuel thought it best to leave him to come to grips with his new situation. He understood a little of what it meant to have your life turned upside down, but in his case he’d had the privilege of marrying up while Thomas had been taken down a peg or two.
Exhausted, all Samuel wanted to do was to go to sleep, but he had to talk to Elizabeth and make sure she was all right. He trudged down the back stairs that led to the kitchen to find Andrew sitting next to the staff’s dining table waiting for him.
; “Where’s Sampson?”
“He be manning the phone in case Mr. Weldsmore calls again.”
Andrew handed him a glass filled with an amber liquid. Samuel leaned in and smelled the heady aroma of whiskey. He downed it in one gulp.
“That’s no way to treat a fine whiskey,” the Irishman grumbled.
“It is when you’re tired.” Samuel put the glass down on the table with a loud whoomp. “I know neither one us likes the idea, but I need you to anchor Elizabeth again. She needs to make contact with Rachel, Mary, or any one of the kidnap victims. They may be running out of time.”
Andrew shook his head. “Laddie, you don’t know what you be askin’. I fear the lass might be in over her head.”
“Then what do you suggest?” In frustration, Samuel paced. “We’ve run out of options. Would Elizabeth really be in any danger?”
The medium rubbed his hand over his face, thinking. “Rachel and I never be faced with something like this before. It’s hard to say. But the lass is strong.”
“If she gets into trouble, can you pull her back?” Samuel asked.
“I have before.” Andrew bobbed his head. “Aye. I can.”
“Let me go upstairs to see if she’s ready to do that. I’ll send for you.”
Andrew’s eyes crinkled up in amusement. “I hope you don’t think I be coming up to her bedroom for this?”
Samuel gaped in bafflement for a second until he understood what Andrew was getting at. “Ah, yes. The bedroom of the female heir to a Great House would not be the appropriate place for a male South Sider. I’ll let Sampson know we’ll need the library. Will that do?”
“A little fancy for my taste, but I won’t be gettin’ killed over it.”
“Before I forget.” Samuel reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills and handed them to the Irishman. “Here. I put aside some money to pay you for your time.”
Andrew stared at it, unmoving.
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