Matthew put his hand to his forehead. “I’ve no doubt they’d kill Stuart if he crossed them. Which, Georgia, is exactly what he is planning to do. Undercut the Chinese opium black market. He’d make a fortune—if he lives. Which I very much doubt he will, no matter how powerful he thinks himself to be. He’s in danger, Georgia. Grave danger. Stuart’s made enough enemies over the years. The highbinders would find him an easy target.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “And, Georgia, you need to understand this. Listen to me. I fear they wouldn’t hesitate to harm you to get to him. If Stuart fails Thursday night, he might pay for it in jail. But if he succeeds, then both of you are in danger. And Covington Enterprises is undone. Your world and mine could come apart Thursday night, and I do not know what to do about it.”
It became hard to breathe. Stuart was cunning, unscrupulous, but this? This seemed beneath even him. His holdings were doing splendidly—what need did they have of more money? Such dangerous money? From such a horrible source? “It can’t be true. Matthew, it cannot be.”
He ran his finger down the angled edges of a pewter candlestick on the study shelf next to him. “I would give anything that it were not so.” He looked at her, and she thought all the blue had fled his eyes, leaving them black and fathomless. He was afraid.
“Have you seen anything, heard anything, that might lead you to believe Stuart is up to something?” Matthew asked.
She looked at him—this man who was both a man and a hero—and felt her own fear ignite. Stuart had been acting strangely lately, and had indeed spent a lot of time with Dexter Oakman. He’d even started locking up his papers in a safe at night—something he had never done before. Could Stuart now be some stranger she did not really know? Some man capable of things she could not fathom?
“Perhaps. What do we do if it’s true?” she whispered, clutching suddenly at his shoulder. “How can we save him? Or me?”
“I don’t know how yet,” he said, pulling her to him. She heard the frustration in his voice, felt the urgency tightening his chest. “But I promise you, if there’s a way, we will find it. We,” he repeated, tilting her face up to his. “You and me together. Between the four of us—you, me, the Bandit and George, there’s got to be a way.”
“Six,” Georgia answered shakily. “I have a feeling we can count on Reverend Bauers and God as well.” She attempted a small smile, but it failed miserably. Her lips melted into a pathetic, trembling pout.
He kissed away the tear that pooled at the corner of her eye. She felt small and defenseless, unable to keep up any semblance of courage. “Just when I thought I could not love you more,” he whispered into her hair as he wrapped his strong arms around her, as if to keep the whole world at bay.
“Shut down the docks? We cannot simply shut down the port of San Francisco, Covington. It can’t be done.” Reverend Bauers, Georgia and Matthew sat around a table in the Reverend’s study, supposedly factoring the Bandit Ball donations into Grace House’s bookkeeping.
“I know that, Bauers, but we must find a way to effectively do that very thing.”
“Or,” mused Georgia, “focus so much attention onto the docks that the shipment can’t go through unnoticed. Oh,” she sighed, looking pained, “I hate this. I hate every single bit of it. I just can’t believe Stuart’s capable of something like this.” Her voice quivered as she added, “He’s my brother. My only family.”
Matthew grasped her hand. “You have me. And I cannot begin to understand what it must feel like to be plotting Stuart’s demise. But you must bear up, Georgia. You have it in you, I know you do.”
“How can I go home? How can I pretend everything is fine when I know it is all going to pieces right in front of me?”
He wanted to wrap her up in his arms all over again. “Because you are strong enough,” he said. “Because if Stuart suspects something it will be all the more difficult to seize the shipment.” He stared hard into her eyes, willing her to feel the strength in herself that he had seen from the first. “You are strong enough.” After a moment, he turned his gaze to Bauers. “We’ve got to paralyze the docks. Or at least slow the activity down substantially.”
Georgia let her head fall into her hands. “Goodness, we’ll need an army to do that.”
Reverend Bauers suddenly froze. “And we know just how to raise one. Glory! I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“Bauers?” Matthew questioned.
“An army. I was thinking we needed an army to clear the docks, but that’s not it at all. We need an army to fill them. We’ve already done it once. It will be easy to do it again.”
“Reverend?” Georgia said, looking as baffled as Matthew felt.
“Don’t you see, Georgia? You called forth an army of Bandits for your ball. Hundreds of men dressed as the Bandit. They raised money because money was what they had. Now, call forth another army of Bandits for May Day, on Thursday. Call for a gathering of Bandits on the docks. They’ll raise a ruckus because that’s what they do. Think of it—the German tradition of the Maypole, all the ribbons—it’s as good as if we planned it all along. If you issue an invitation through the Herald, the police will be primed to show up in heavy numbers. The docks will be swarmed and no will know who’s who because there’ll be so many Bandits.”
“Are there that many German families here?” Matthew asked.
“Yes, but we don’t have to stop there. You could write something to invite everyone. Irish families. Italian families. Even Chinese families. Turn it into a spontaneous May Day festival. They’ll all have just finished reading about your Bandit Ball, and they’re all ready to have a party of their own.” Bauers reached across the table to take Georgia’s hand. “You could do it, Georgia. You could write something to stir them up.”
“I could very well start a riot,” she replied.
“A riot might be the best weapon we have,” Matthew answered. “It would both slow Stuart down and direct everyone’s attention to the docks. I daresay it might work.”
“How could I ever get something like that into the Herald? Stuart would never run it. Not only that, if I somehow got him to, he’d know in advance and divert the shipment.”
“Even if he knew in advance,” Matthew retorted, “he has no way of diverting the shipment until the boat is already at the dock. In which case all he can do is keep it on board and delay its off-loading. We’d still be in a position to expose him.”
“This is such a hideous business.” Georgia stood up, her anger rising. Matthew had expected it to eventually find its way to the surface, and she was more than entitled to her feelings. She’d held out such hopes for Stuart. Persisted in believing the best of him, only to have it ripped out from beneath her. She paced the room now, her hands flailing in frustration.
“Exposing,” she said bitterly. “Rioting. Why can’t we simply go to the police with what we know? Why must it be so cloak-and-dagger?”
“Because we don’t know who can be trusted,” replied Reverend Bauers. “If Stuart’s been buying off the officials for months, we’ve no idea who’s in his pocket and who isn’t.” The clergyman rose and walked over to put a hand on Georgia’s shoulder. “Try to think of it this way, child. If we expose Stuart, he’ll suffer time in jail. If we don’t expose him and he succeeds, eventually the highbinders will catch up with him, and I doubt their treatment will be anything as kind as jail. We are not exposing Stuart so much as saving him from himself.”
“I’m done saving Stuart,” she retorted, boiling over. Matthew was rather amazed that she’d lasted as long as she had. “Let him hang himself with his own greed.” She pulled away from Bauers’s grasp. “Who knows what else he’s done? Who knows what sorts of awful things have been putting food on our table or buying my clothes or paying for silly balls! I’ve been a fool! A naive fool.”
Matthew caught her arm as she stormed past him. “You’ve not been a fool. You have every right to be angry. And I admit, it’s tempting to leave Stuart to his own fate. But you kno
w you don’t mean that. You’re tired and upset and not yourself. Deserting Stuart is not who you are, even in anger. And aside from all else, it would put you in peril. I won’t have that.”
She turned to him, eyes blazing. “You won’t have that?” He immediately knew he’d chosen the wrong words. “Isn’t this my peril we’re discussing?” she countered. “Shouldn’t that be my decision?”
“Can’t you see that perhaps I am here to protect you?” Matthew squared off in front of her. “That God brought me here, to you, to see you safe?” He took her by the shoulders, almost wanting to shake her despair out of her, surprised at his own panic that she might do something rash. “That He has made you so dear to me that I will do whatever it takes?”
He felt the set of her shoulders give just a little, and he pulled her to him, feeling her soften against his chest. “You’ve been betrayed by someone you love, and that’s a terrible shock. But you are strong and clever. You’ve been saving San Francisco for years—do not stop now when it’s yourself you must save.” Her head fell against his shoulder and he planted a kiss onto her hair. “Go home. Plead a headache. Anything to keep to your rooms. I will ask Stuart to lunch or some such thing. Keep him occupied. He is no less a snake than many in London—I will be fine, even if I would like to wring his neck at the moment.”
Matthew tilted her head to look into her eyes. “This is a part I can play. The part only you can do, Georgia, is to write Thursday’s episode. Raise up our army. That is your gift. And now is the time to wield it.”
Chapter Forty-One
Georgia felt ill. Sad. Furious. The emotions came so quickly she couldn’t sort through them. How amusing, she thought to herself as she sprawled across her chair by the window. I do remember once considering my life rather uneventful.
Here she thought she had gained such courage over the past few weeks. Now, when it really mattered, when the storm of San Francisco’s corruption showed up at her own doorstep, she was weak and frightened. She knew Stuart better than anyone. She knew what a ferocious enemy he could be.
Then again, she didn’t know Stuart at all, did she? She thought she knew what he was capable of—but how sadly she’d misjudged how low he could sink.
Lord, help me! What am I to do? She remembered the story of Gideon, and fingered through her Bible to the sixth chapter of Judges. How she longed for an angel of the Lord to appear to her, to call her a mighty warrior and make her feel equipped for the task ahead of her. When Gideon asked, “If the Lord is with us, why has all this happened?” she felt as if the ancient warrior was voicing her own thoughts.
Why, if God had indeed been instrumental in all the extraordinary things happening in her life, had it all unraveled so quickly? Gideon pleaded weakness. So did she. God promised to be with him, to help him conquer with the small strength he had. Oh, how she longed to claim that promise for herself. Gideon had named his altar, the spot he built to mark his encounter with the Lord, “The Lord is Peace.” Gideon did not yet know how he was going to conquer his enemies. Yet he’d built an altar named for the Lord’s peace. She could feel the words taking root in her heart. And when she read the final detail, one most casual readers would probably dismiss, she knew God had sent her comfort. Gideon, it seemed, was too afraid to do his tasks in the daylight—so he did them at night. Just like her Bandit.
Guide my pen, Lord, she prayed as she took her place at her writing desk. Like Gideon, I am the least in my family and my enemies are great. My task is large. Be my mighty God, and do not leave my side for one second until I am through this.
She dipped her pen into the ink and took a breath.
“People of San Francisco,
Let us find the heroes among us….”
“Grand of you to have lunch with me today, Stuart.” Matthew shook his napkin open and signaled to the waiter to deliver the first course. He’d made sure they had the best table in the Palace dining room. Today, he was going to pull out every stop to monopolize Stuart’s attention. In the time since he’d sent the invitation over and received Stuart’s acceptance, he’d hatched a plan. It was extreme, rather risky, but Matthew doubted the circumstances called for anything less.
“Fine of you to ask. I’d been thinking we ought to chat, you and I.” Stuart picked up a fork and surveyed his food. “You’ve been seeing a great deal of Georgia.”
Ah, so he had been thinking along those lines. Matthew had suspected as much when Waterhouse agreed to the last-minute luncheon. “I have,” he said, keeping his voice intentionally neutral.
“She’s all I have in the world,” Stuart stated.
It should have sounded sentimental. Instead, it sounded to Matthew entirely too much like the opening bid in an auction. He hid the twist in his gut and smiled genially. “She’s a delightful woman. I find her talented and clever and of tremendous moral character.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Stuart, rolling his eyes the tiniest bit, “tremendous.”
They ate for a few minutes, talking cordially, testing the waters as each waited for the true nature of the conversation to surface. When the second course had arrived, Matthew cleared his throat.
“Stuart,” he said, leaning in, “I find you to be a direct man. I admire that, so I shall be direct as well. I find myself exceptionally fond of Georgia. I’d like to pursue her affections. I could give her a very comfortable life.”
Stuart smiled. “I’m not entirely surprised, Covington. I know my sister well enough to see when a man has caught her eye.” He cut into his chicken. “But I must admit, I hadn’t thought things to have already grown that serious between you.”
“These things,” Matthew said with a wry smile, “do have a way of escalating.” Stuart Waterhouse, if you only knew the half of it.
“Am I to understand you’re declaring your intentions?”
“I am.” Matthew reached for his glass. “I must admit, however, I’ve some doubts as to whether or not you’ll let her go.” He took a long drink, watching Stuart’s reaction. “England is far away,” he offered, “even with the railroad up and running.”
“She’s dear to me, Covington. I’ll not have her hurt.”
Not have her hurt? Have you given any thought to how you’ve placed her in danger just to stuff your coffers? It took a supreme effort of will to keep his voice cordial. “I think the world of her, Stuart. She’ll want for nothing.”
“Except me. I’ll lose her to you. Do you deserve her?” her brother challenged.
Do you? It had been years since Matthew wanted to knock a man across a room as he wanted to this very moment. “Will you let her go with your blessing?”
Stuart wiped his mouth with his napkin, making a show of considering the offer before him. “The idea has merit. Can you prove to me she’ll be well cared for?”
Matthew had anticipated this kind of thrust and parry, and he had a strategy prepared. “I’m prepared to place the San Francisco holdings of Covington Enterprises in Georgia’s name as an engagement gift. I’ll send for the papers tomorrow if you give me your consent to the marriage.” It was just the sort of offer Stuart couldn’t refuse—an importing firm in the family name. As such, it made the ideal setup for the final strike Matthew had planned.
“Does Georgia know of this?” Stuart asked, stalling his answer with another question. The man was shrewd, Matthew gave him that.
“I believe I know Georgia’s heart. But I would not approach her about this until I’d spoken with you. As a matter of honor.”
Stuart waited a full minute more before extending his hand. “Very well, then, Covington, it seems we are to be family.”
Matthew couldn’t think of a more disturbing thought. “Covington Enterprises will be hers by the month’s end. On one condition.”
Stuart’s brows shot up. “‘Condition’? Rather unconventional, wouldn’t you say?”
“You strike me as a man who understands a deal, Waterhouse.”
“That depends on the deal.” Stuart crossed his
arms over his chest, looking intrigued and not a little annoyed.
“I know more than you think I do, Stuart.” He lowered his voice. “I know, for example, who George is.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Stuart went very still. He stared at Matthew before saying, “Go on.”
“I value her role in that, because I value that part of her. So, if I’m to place my family holdings in her name—and within your family—I want to know you value it as well. I’ve declared my pledge. I only want one thing from you in return.”
“Not really your place to bargain, is it, Covington?”
“It’s simple, really. No effort from you at all. I just want your promise to run the Bandit episodes verbatim. Just as Georgia writes them, no editing. If she’s to finish out her run as George Towers, then I want her to have the freedom to do it as she pleases. Exactly as she pleases.”
“That’s it?” Stuart balked. “That’s what you want?”
“It’s important to her, therefore it’s important to me. I’ve read the latest installment, so I’ll know if it’s been altered in any way when it appears in print on Thursday.” He held out a hand. “Have we a deal, Stuart?”
“Is this how brides are won in England?” Confound him, Stuart was stalling to the end.
“It’s how this particular bride is wooed. Do we have a deal?”
Stuart shook his hand. “Done.”
“I’m grateful. I’ll speak to her tomorrow night, if that suits you. You’ll have your papers by Monday if I can manage it.”
Stuart gripped Matthew’s hand a moment longer. “She’s all I have in the world, Covington.”
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