by Joanna Shupe
“None taken,” Patrick said and sipped his bourbon. “I realize I’m not the only brewmaster in the country.”
Jack knew they wouldn’t be so flippant about Patrick’s genius if they had tasted the brewer’s recent Saaz lager. That revelation would come once Jack had Hatcher’s buy-in. “Such may be the case but we now have the perfect opportunity.”
Hatcher looked bored as he arched a brow. “Is that so?”
“The key to shipping beer across the nation is about maximizing profit and maintaining freshness. I’ve solved both problems. First, profit. For that, we need to buy a railroad. A number of them are in trouble.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Hatcher said. “Railroads and banks are failing across the country. President Cleveland is going to send this country into a depression. He’s completely inept to handle the financial crisis—despite my best advice on how to proceed.” Hatcher was a Wall Street wizard who could sink or save businesses with a well-placed word.
“Nevertheless,” Jack said, “we should capitalize on the current downturn. If we bought a centrally located railroad, we could ship anywhere in the country in just a few days.”
“And the freshness? How would you keep the beer cold?”
This was the best part. Jack sat back and held his palms out like he was making an offering. “Refrigerated train cars. I’ve seen drawings for them and talked to fruit growers in Georgia who use them for peaches. It would work for beer.”
“Hmm.” Hatcher scratched his jaw and stared at his bourbon. “If I’m being honest, I don’t relish going into business with you. The silent investor role is a hard one for me. And you’re talking a lot of capital for this venture.”
Jack could feel the other man’s interest like an electric current in the room. “I realize that and wouldn’t expect you to remain silent.”
“You are willing to share control?”
“Yes, to a degree. You and Patrick would both have a say.”
After a pause, Hatcher said, “The Northern Transportation Railway might work.”
Jack smothered a grin. If Hatcher was picking apart the idea and making suggestions, that meant he was on board. “I like the Great Lakes Northern better.”
“Yes, I’d forgotten about them. Regardless, I need to think about it.”
Jack nodded. He’d brokered enough deals to know when it was prudent to back off and let the information stew awhile. “You know how to find me.”
“Yes, I do. In the meantime, have the plans for the refrigerated railcars sent to me. I’d like to look them over.”
“Of course.”
“It seems you’ve thought this through, Mulligan.” Hatcher placed his empty crystal tumbler on the side table. “So, tell me. If Patrick is in charge of the beer and I’m in charge of the money, what exactly do I need you for?”
“It’s my deal. And you need me for my distribution contacts.”
“Don’t you have enough on your plate at the moment?”
Yes, but more money and power were always worth the trouble. Qui n’avance pas, recule.
He spread his hands helpfully. “I am happy to buy out your share in the brewery.”
Hatcher took the hint and dropped the issue. He stood and everyone else followed suit. “We’ll speak later, Mulligan, after I’ve reviewed the plans.”
“Patrick, are you all right with this?” Frank asked his brother.
“It’s worth a try.” Patrick shrugged. “Someone else will do it if we don’t. Thank you for considering the idea, Mr. Hatcher.” Patrick held out his hand.
“I like you, Patrick,” Hatcher said as he shook the brewer’s hand. “You’re a genius with hops and barley. It’s your partner that I am not sold on quite yet.”
Jack merely smiled. Hatcher would come around eventually to see things Jack’s way.
They always did.
Chapter Eight
Justine glanced over her shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time. Infuriatingly, the curtains of the Greene box remained closed. Where in Hades was Mulligan? He’d left with Frank and his brother more than twenty minutes ago.
What were those three up to?
The waiting was killing her. Every time their neighbors looked at her, Justine had to feign indifference and concentrate on the performance. Finally, the curtain opened and Justine held her breath. She exhaled. It was merely her oldest sister returning to the box.
Mamie slid into the empty seat next to Justine instead of taking a seat down front. Justine braced herself. While she loved Mamie dearly, she did not quite feel up to a heart-to-heart at the moment.
“So, Mulligan,” Mamie whispered behind her fan. “I cannot believe you brought him here.”
“I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice. Which meant part of you relished thumbing your nose at everyone tonight. Not to mention ruining my fundraiser.”
Had she? Justine hadn’t ever been brash and willfully disobedient like her two older sisters. No, she quietly volunteered and worked, instead of going to saloons and dance halls. If she were the type to thumb her nose at society, wouldn’t she have flaunted Billy around town when she had the chance? After all, even considering the drama of her sisters’ love matches, a Greene heiress with a plumber’s apprentice would have created quite a stir along upper Fifth Avenue.
No, that was not it. She’d brought Mulligan because she’d given her word about repaying his favor. Now they were even.
“You know I don’t care for attention,” she said. “This is the repayment for his favor. Nothing more. And it will not ruin your fundraiser.”
“Are you sweet on him?”
“Mamie, be serious.”
“I am serious. And your lack of surprise at the question makes me wonder.”
“A waste of time on your part, then. There’s nothing between us.”
Her sister made a noise in her throat. “Tina,” she said, using her childhood nickname for Justine. “There’s unsuitable, like Clayton Madden. And then there’s catastrophic, like Mulligan. Do not confuse the two. Daddy and Mama might come to terms with unsuitable. However, you’ll be shipped off to a convent in Europe before they allow catastrophic.”
Justine bristled, her shoulders pinching. She hated being treated like a child, especially from older sisters who had certainly caused their share of scandal. The truth spilled out of her mouth. “You do not need to worry about that. He flat out declared I am not his type.”
Mamie’s eyes rounded. “I don’t believe it. I saw how he looked at you. How he treated you. He’s interested. Mark my words.”
Ludicrous. Justine would never appeal to a man like Mulligan. Her sister Florence, a vivacious and beautiful vixen, was more his type. Justine wasn’t a woman to command a room; she was happiest in the background, helping people.
The first act ended and the audience broke out into polite applause. Mamie came to her feet. “There are a few boxes I must visit. I’ll return at the start of the second act.” She flung the velvet curtains apart and disappeared.
Justine didn’t bother getting up. She would rather poke herself in the thigh with a sharp stick than mingle in the ladies’ retiring room.
Her grandmother came up the aisle. “Would you care for a drink?”
“No, thank you. I’ll remain here.”
Granny sat and began fanning herself. “I am curious how you are acquainted with this dangerous man.”
“Through my work at the legal aid society.”
“He visits the legal aid society?”
“No, but I like to be in the neighborhoods, calling on the clients and helping out.”
“I do hope you are being safe. Does your father know you are unescorted on the streets?”
“No. I wouldn’t want him to worry.” Or lock me in my room.
“Indeed, I worry about what you are doing. It was bad enough your sisters went higgledy-piggledy in their day. What can you hope to accomplish through this recklessness?”
&n
bsp; “I am helping families. Women and young children in this city. People who are starving, who are struggling. The legal aid society offers assistance, but only in the short term. Which makes sense, given their resources. Frank cannot serve meals at the soup kitchen. Mamie cannot tend to five children for a mother who must spend all day looking for work. That’s the kind of thing I do. I assist them with seeing a physician, filing paperwork with the city. Locating a place to live. Mr. Mulligan helped me track down a wife deserter some weeks back. In exchange for his assistance I promised a favor in return. Tonight is that favor.”
“I admire your dedication but you could be hurt on any of those errands. At the very least, why not take a maid or one of the grooms? Someone else to serve as a chaperone.”
“The only people who care about chaperones live above Thirty-Fourth Street. I am perfectly fine downtown during the day.”
The crowd suddenly quieted and Justine glanced at the stage. She sucked in a harsh breath. Mulligan was walking across the stage.
Mulligan was onstage. Striding across the wood and rays of light like he owned the place.
What on earth was he doing?
She covered her mouth with her hand, too shocked to move. Her grandmother leaned in. “Is that Mulligan? What in heaven’s name . . . ?”
When he reached the center of the stage, he gave the crowd a dazzling smile. “Bonsoir, mesdames et messieurs. Good evening. My name is Mr. Jack Mulligan.” Someone in the audience gasped loudly. Jack merely chuckled. “It appears some of you may have heard of me.” He looked around dramatically. “Is this not the Bowery Theatre?”
Guffaws erupted throughout the audience, everywhere except the Greene box.
Then he gestured toward Justine and her grandmother. “Thank you to the Greene family for allowing me to come tonight so that I may speak about the legal aid society and their importance to the citizens of downtown Manhattan. You see, newspapermen like to focus on the fantastic stories that sell papers. They would have you believe that below Fourteenth Street lies nothing but sin and immorality, dirt and violence. They won’t tell you about the young girls who are forced to work in factories. Or, the mother who sews by candlelight to make ends meet for her family. The boys who work around the clock shining shoes and selling papers. The husbands breaking their backs on the docks and in the slaughterhouses.”
He paused and looked around the audience. “But I will. I see these people every day. I know their names. These are good people, decent people. Many have come here from faraway places, hoping for a better life. They live in one- or two-room flats, often with three and four to a bed. They work hard, but they may not know our language or customs as well as we do.”
Justine could see where he was going with this. It was a stroke of brilliance. Brazen, too. Who would have ever thought he’d do such a thing?
“That is why the legal aid society is so important. Mr. Tripp and his team of lawyers are able to help our city’s residents with tasks that would otherwise elude them. This is not just about funding a criminal defense in case of arrest. This is about helping those with unfair landlords and cheating employers. Completing job applications and citizenship papers. And”—his gaze locked with Justine’s—“even locating husbands who have deserted their wives and families. It is about sticking up for those who have been wronged yet lack the means to procure justice on their own. So tonight, we ask for your assistance. The legal aid society must remain free of politics and the heavy hand of the city’s government. This means they rely exclusively on private donations to operate.”
Every person in the audience was rapt, watching Mulligan with unwavering concentration. Intermissions were normally loud and chaotic. This one was quiet, with Mulligan commanding the room. A crusader for the underprivileged. Justine knew he was magnetic and had a powerful presence, yet it was glorious to see it on such broad display. And for such a good cause.
Warmth slid through her, a slow spread of heat that stretched and filled every part of her. Her breathing picked up, her chest rising and falling, and her breasts pushed against the cage of her corset. She could feel her heartbeat between her legs, and hear the blood rushing in her ears. The fan in her hand did nothing to stem the blaze inside her.
She might not be his type, but right now, at this moment, Mulligan was very much her type.
“And so I ask you, the very brightest jewels of New York society, won’t you open your hearts and your billfolds? I myself have donated fifty thousand dollars. I wonder if any here could match that donation. Mr. Cavendish?” He pointed to a box on the second tier. “Mr. Bryce? Mr. Irvin? Mr. Randolph? I look forward to hearing of your generosity, and the generosity of everyone else tonight. Thank you for listening, and now on with the performance.”
With a carefree grin, Mulligan strode to the wings. Polite applause ripped throughout the cavernous space.
“Clever man,” Justine’s grandmother muttered.
“Yes. That was quite a speech,” Justine said.
“It was more than that. He practically blackmailed those four gentlemen to match his donation or else.”
Justine frowned. Blackmail? Granny was being dramatic. Mulligan had issued a challenge to those men, but that was no blackmail threat. “No, that was not what he meant.”
“My dear, I have lived long enough to read between what is said and not said. A man like Mulligan must have damning information on nearly everyone of consequence in this city. If it suited his purposes, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it any way he saw fit.”
“I do not doubt it. But, why on earth would he care? Why threaten anyone here at the fundraiser tonight? What would he possibly hope to gain?”
“Clearly he hopes to gain the one thing he’ll never have: you.”
More fluttering in her chest. “That’s absurd. We are acquaintances, nothing more.”
“After tonight, it had better not even be that. I do not want to see you hurt. And your father will never approve.”
“I hadn’t planned on seeing Mulligan again. You do not need to worry about me. I’m hardly Mamie or Florence.”
“That is precisely what worries me. For all their wild ways, your sisters are able to handle themselves in any situation. You are more thoughtful, more reserved. More trusting. I wouldn’t like anyone taking advantage of you.”
“Trusting and reserved do not equate with weak, Granny.”
“True, but you must admit that Mulligan is beyond the bounds of what your father or mother will tolerate. There are limits, Justine—and he is one of them.”
“I have no interest in him that way.” Her tongue felt awkward, the words sounding flat. Still, she soldiered on. “You are worrying for nothing.”
Granny patted Justine’s knee. “Good. See that it stays that way.”
Jack prowled the length of his office, restless despite the late hour.
He’d left the opera house directly after his speech. The reasons for the speech were complicated. He had no desire to dig deeper as to why he’d felt it necessary, especially when no one had asked such a thing of him. No, like an imbecile he’d volunteered.
But he’d hated the way they treated Justine for bringing him there. Recalling the look on her face after being snubbed made Jack want to punch the wall. God, he hadn’t felt this violent in years. Thought he’d buried it under his bespoke suits and fine manners.
In that moment, he’d wanted nothing more than to protect her. Soothe her. To hold her close with one hand while he ripped the offenders apart with the other. He hadn’t experienced the feeling since his mother died. Hadn’t even thought himself capable of it again until now.
Until her.
How could anyone ever find fault with her? Jack might have seen the lioness underneath the silk and pearls, but as far as everyone else knew, Justine was good, obedient and pure. Selfless and caring. An altruistic angel. Certainly better than her father, who’d inherited most of his fortune then earned the rest through means both fair and foul.
Oh, but when the criminals lived above Forty-Second Street, they were called tycoons.
Jack had seen them in the crowd tonight, the men he knew from years of doing business in this city. They might not recall their misdeeds—but Jack did. He remembered the ones who’d come to him for help, or the ones who’d begged forgiveness. Cheaters and thieves, murderers and swindlers. They might dine with Mrs. Astor, but they were no better than the men locked up in the Tombs. These Knickerbockers just had the funds for better lawyers.
He blew out a long breath and tried to collect himself.
Anger was a dangerous emotion, one he worked hard to suppress. Anger clouded a man’s head. Took away his ability to reason. Jack prided himself on remaining cool no matter the situation. It had kept him alive more times than he could count.
He rolled his shoulders. This was ridiculous. He’d have a beer and get to work. Soon, he’d relax and forget all about earlier tonight.
Striding to his office door, he found Cooper standing guard at the top of the stairs. “Have some beer brought up, will you?”
“Sure thing, Mulligan.”
Five minutes later, Cooper returned with a bucket containing ice and several bottles of Jack’s preferred lager. He set the whole thing down on the sideboard. “Want a glass?”
“What am I, an animal? Yes, a glass.”
Cooper placed a bottle and a glass on Jack’s desk. As Jack poured, Cooper said, “Brady is downstairs, waiting to talk to you.”
Brady was the man assigned to walking Maeve and Katie home each night. Walters, another one of Jack’s men, escorted the other dancers. Jack had ordered that Brady provide regular updates on any trouble or anything out of the ordinary. “Have him come up.”
By the time Brady walked in, Jack had downed half the beer in his glass. “Sit,” he told the other man. “Report.”
“Haven’t had any trouble until last night.” Brady lowered himself into a chair. “Katie always gets dropped off first. Then Maeve and I wind along to East First Street. Last night I noticed a man about half a block behind us, keeping pace. Head down, hat pulled low. He followed us across Bowery toward Second Avenue. I didn’t want him to see where she lived, so we doubled back on Houston. He kept after us.”
