The scene reminded Matthew of the passage in his namesake’s gospel where Christ said He would separate the sheep from the goats. Within the space of a minute, the police force divided itself squarely into men trying to cover things up and men trying to find things out. Pulling off his mask and hat, Matthew stepped into the light and headed straight for the latter.
Chapter Forty-Four
“I’m Matthew Covington,” he said to the one who appeared to be in command. “I’ve discovered this man trying to smuggle opium into the port through my shipping, and I want him arrested along with his accomplice, immediately.”
Dexter Oakman went white. The scent of opium smoke hung in the air as he stared at Matthew.
“I’m Sergeant Dickenson, Mr. Covington.” The officer extended a hand. “And what do you mean by accomplice?”
Matthew pulled a roll of ledger papers—unaltered ledgers he’d managed to dig out of some back files at his office after considerable searching—from one of the pockets of his trousers. “A quick study of these should point straight to Stuart Waterhouse. You’ll find him at home awaiting a report from our friend here.”
Dickenson briefly riffled through the papers. “I’ll have to get someone to look at these more closely, but this is a serious charge, Mr. Covington. I wouldn’t make it lightly.”
“Nor do I set fire to my own cargo lightly, Dickenson. This was to be the first shipment Waterhouse smuggled in, but I gather with a little digging you’ll find a host set to come in behind it. I’ve marked the involved transactions in these ledgers here. I’m prepared to cooperate fully with your authorities and open up all of Covington’s books to your perusal. But I’ve found many of my books to be altered. And I guarantee you, Waterhouse will disappear within the hour if you don’t move quickly.”
Several other policemen, the ones in obvious disagreement with Dickenson’s planned course of action, came up behind them as they spoke. “I hope you know what you’re saying, Covington,” the sergeant warned. “Waterhouse is not a man to count among your enemies.”
“I know full well what I’m saying.”
Dickenson motioned to two of his colleagues. “You two, go bring in Stuart Waterhouse for questioning.” They looked as though they’d been asked to wrestle a cobra with their bare hands, but they went. “You’ll need to come with me, Covington. Highly unusual, what you’re doing.”
“You don’t want to do this,” snarled a burly older officer from behind Dickenson’s shoulder. “You might want to think this over if you like yer job.”
Dickenson caught Matthew’s eye before turning to the man. “And you might want to think about what you’ve just said in front of a witness like Mr. Covington here. Just in case any of it might happen to be true. Which I’m not saying it is. I’m sure Mr. Waterhouse will be eager to tell us his version of the facts—” he returned his gaze to Oakman “—but for now we gotta put out this fire. Nasty smellin’ stuff, it is.”
Dickenson’s glower put Oakman in a panic. “Matthew,” he said, pulling against the pair of policemen who had just taken him by the elbows, “don’t. We’ll lose everything.”
“I’ve lost nothing of real value,” Matthew replied.
Dickenson glanced again at the papers, holding them up to a gaslight in the corner. “You realize what you’re doing? You ready to tangle with Waterhouse? It could get just as nasty for you. We can stop at your friend here.”
“I’m quite certain, Sergeant. It’s a matter of some personal consequence to me.”
Dickenson sighed like a man who had just resigned himself to a very nasty fight. “I been waiting for something like this to crawl its way up to Nob Hill. Like my mama used to say, it ain’t just cream that rises to the top—grease does, too.”
“Matthew,” called Oakman, “think of your family.”
“I am,” he said calmly. The one I will someday start with Georgia.
“You’ve a long night of questioning ahead of you, Covington,” said Sergeant Dickenson, tucking the papers into his coat pocket, “if we can carve our way through the sea of Bandits.” He pointed to the full-scale calamity enjoying itself farther up the dock. “Nice Bandit costume, by the way. You must have had a good time at Waterhouse’s ball, though—it looks a mite ragged around the edges.”
When Matthew rang the bell, Reverend Bauers opened the front door of the Waterhouse estate. The sun was just coming up. Bauers shook his hand heartily, then led him to the front parlor, where Georgia was dozing on the settee. She held a handkerchief with the initials SW embroidered on one corner in her hand.
“He’s going to be all right, Georgia,” Matthew said when she opened her eyes, thinking it was what she needed to hear.
“No,” she said, pulling herself upright, “he won’t. But God is wise and kind, and no less God than He was yesterday.” She looked at him, rumpled and dirty in his Bandit costume. Her gaze traveled to his waist. “You’ve lost your whip. And your hat—where is your hat?”
Matthew smiled. “I gave them to Quinn. My mask as well. I wanted to say thank-you to him. You should have seen him, stirring up the crowd. Besides, I won’t be needing them anymore.”
“No more Bandit adventures? Matthew, whatever shall we do now?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea. Can you live with that?”
She smiled. “I imagine George and I can find a way.” She stood up and adjusted his collar, running her hand across the stubble on his chin. “Tell me, what do they eat for breakfast in England?”
Epilogue
London Times
“Madam Whippleton’s Most Delectable Social Gossip”
May 2, 1892
London’s finest were decked out in their swashbuckling best last night as Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Covington hosted what is sure to become a fixture in the spring social calendar. The First Annual May Day Bandit Ball, said to be a quaint tradition brought over by Mrs. Covington from her native California. The gala event raised funds to support the Willsbury Home for Orphaned Children, a most worthy cause that has been a focus of Mrs. Covington’s since her arrival here two years ago. Festive touches such as a cascade of white ribbons and a traditional German Maypole added to the theatrical atmosphere of the evening. London’s finest joined in the spirit of the costumed event, making generous philanthropic gifts for the privilege of dressing as Robin Hood, Aladdin, the Three Musketeers, Blackbeard the Pirate, or any number of legendary bandits throughout the ages. Good show, Mrs. Covington—this author, for one, delights in your spirited contribution to London’s stoic social offerings.
Now, on to the loathsome qualities of Miss Edwina Dyson’s gown at the opera last Thursday. Surely someone should speak to her seamstress….”
Dear Reader,
Those of us who write can’t help but imagine what the world would be like if our characters came to life—especially one as handsome and heroic as Matthew. Sometimes, in our pursuit of an idealistic dream, it’s easy to miss the heroes right in front of us every day. I hope MASKED BY MOONLIGHT not only entertained you for a few hours, but made you think about what’s possible in our real world and in the people around us. Not to mention what’s possible within ourselves. We serve an amazing God who can do astounding things with ordinary people—and I believe that provides us with the best adventure of all.
And if you’re wondering what Quinn’s going to do with that mask, well, let’s just say I’m hoping you won’t have to wait too long to find out….
As always, I love to hear from you at www.alliepleiter.com or by mail at P.O. Box 7026, Villa Park, IL 60181.
Blessings,
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
If you could create a heroic alter ego for yourself, what would she/he be like?
Was Matthew right to step into the Bandit persona? What would you have done in his “boots”?
Is your faith journey more like Matthew’s or Georgia’s? What are the differences and how do they affect your journey?
Why do you think G
eorgia could continue to put up with Stuart for so long? What made her able to pull away from him when she did? Was it the right choice?
Reverend Bauers quotes, “What we think of as disaster and calamity is often God’s prelude to a mighty victory.” Where in your life has that proved to be true?
If you were Reverend Bauers, would you have helped the Bandit? Why or why not?
Think about an everyday hero you know. What can you do to recognize him or her?
Georgia sympathizes with Gideon’s plea, “If the Lord is with us, why has all this happened?” Have you ever felt that way? What can you do about it?
Why do you think God sent Matthew into this circumstance? What about Georgia? What makes them such a perfect match for the challenges at hand?
If you were Matthew, when would you have told Georgia you were the Bandit? Does your choice differ with Matthew’s choice in the book? Why?
Play author yourself for a moment. What do you think will happen to Stuart? Is he a redeemable character?
If you, like Georgia, were asked to read your favorite Bible verse to someone, which would you choose? Why?
ISBN: 9781408937129
Masked by Moonlight
© Alyse Stanko Pleiter 2008
First Published in Great Britain in 2008
Harlequin (UK) Limited
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