“So a few of the workers died. What did they expect after protesting illegally?” Jonathan turned and walked toward a mahogany brass bar where a fine silver tea set lay. He did not notice Samuel clenching his fists, but Elizabeth did.
“I did not realize that Pinkerton hired out bodyguards,” Elizabeth commented, hoping to distract Samuel.
“They do, but I left them not long ago to start up my own business.” Samuel relaxed his hands and turned to her.
“Why?” Elizabeth inquired.
“It was time,” Samuel said without emotion.
Jonathan opened the teapot and glanced into it. “Tea?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Weldsmore. I don’t eat or drink on the job.”
“But Mr. Hunter, you’re not working now,” Elizabeth countered.
“On the contrary, miss. If I am to be your bodyguard, anytime we are together, I am working,” Samuel replied.
“That is what a professional is, Elizabeth.” Jonathan put the lid back on the pot.
“Father, I would like to know how this is going to work. I mean, is Mr. Hunter going to be shadowing me throughout the house?” Elizabeth asked.
“If you’ll allow me to answer, Mr. Weldsmore?” Jonathan nodded and Samuel continued. “I will accompany you to social functions inside and outside the house. In addition, I will be your escort whenever you leave the house whether it be to go shopping or simply to take a walk in the park. I will try my best to remain discrete and not intrude in your life, but I must insist that if I give you an order, no matter how outrageous it may sound, you must obey instantly and without question. Is that clear?”
Elizabeth gaped at him. The mere thought of having to spend so much time with a man who she knew was going to die was abhorrent. “Father, is this really necessary?”
“Elizabeth, why are you resisting this? You know this is only to protect you.” Jonathan looked at her dumbfounded. “You’ll have to excuse her, Mr. Hunter. She is usually the epitome of the perfect daughter.”
Samuel bored his eyes into Elizabeth as if he could see into her soul. “No one is perfect, Mr. Weldsmore.”
HER LIFE WAS AS MR. Hunter said it would be. Whenever Elizabeth had tea at the Hartstones’ or attended a gala at the Monplasirs’, Samuel Hunter was always in the background. He was quiet, discrete and ever watchful, and Elizabeth found it unnerving having this new-found shadow who never spoke unless it was necessary. The worst part was how he watched her when she wasn’t looking. She just hoped she never fell asleep in his presence and had a vision. It wouldn’t do to have him witness her thrashing about like an inmate in one those asylums people talked about under their breath.
But today was going to be a wonderful day, Elizabeth thought. The sun was shining. The air was clear and father was off on a hunting excursion in the wilds of Maine. It was her duty to christen his latest ship the Antigone out of their shipyards in Boston Harbor. Elizabeth enjoyed this task. She loved the salty fragrance of the sea and watching the massive bulk of the sailing steamships crash into the water. If she had been a man, Elizabeth decided she would have been a sailor. What a thrill it would have been to work the tiller, man the decks, or stoke the coal for the steam engine. Though she had traveled to Her Majesty’s Court and seen the castles off the Rhine, she was never allowed to observe the inner workings of these mighty machines. The reason, of course, was because she was not only a woman but heir to one of the Great Houses.
As Elizabeth stood on the edge of the dock near where the ceremony would take place, she glanced over to watch Samuel gaze across the bay with a hint of longing. She was saddened when she remembered he would die out here in some dank corner. But even if she told him, Elizabeth doubted he would believe her.
“Have you ever sailed, Mr. Hunter?” Elizabeth asked as she walked over to him.
“Yes, Miss Weldsmore. Sloops out of the southeastern dock.” Samuel gestured toward the far end of the harbor. “My father taught me.”
“I’m jealous, sir. It has been my heart’s desire to learn how to sail.” Elizabeth sighed.
Samuel turned to her. “I’m surprised to hear that. You being from a sailing family.”
“The men build the ships in our family. The women merely decorate them.” She gave him a sly smile. “Would you teach me, Mr. Hunter?”
He tried to hold back a grin, but failed. “Your father would have my head on a spike if I did that.”
“But we don’t have to tell him, do we?” Elizabeth tried to look coquettish, but the result ended up with them both laughing.
“Mr. Hunter, I do believe that is the first time I have heard you laugh.” Elizabeth smiled at him. “This place, this harbor… you’re happy here.”
“Yes, miss. This was… is home. On the eastern edge of the Middle District. My parents ran a shop for sailors. Sold them their kits and supplies.” Samuel looked wistful, as though he was remembering a fond memory.
Elizabeth was overjoyed. “It’s decided. We must go visit. I would love to see their shop.”
The happiness in Samuel’s face faded. “I’m sorry, Miss Weldsmore, but they passed on several years ago. Typhoid.”
The memory of that time caused Elizabeth to catch her breath. The horror of the dead being carted out by any conveyance available. Her father had insisted she live with her great aunt in upper New York until the sickness had run its course. However, she still remembered seeing the massive graves being dug outside the city as she was whisked away.
“I do apologize, Mr. Hunter. My request was thoughtless,” Elizabeth replied. “I can tell you have good memories.”
“Yes, miss. But I have more than that. The building where their shop belongs to me now. That’s where I have my office. If you can call two chairs, a desk and a cot an office,” Samuel answered trying to make a joke.
The crowd for the ceremony was beginning to gather, and the master of ceremonies, Mr. Peregrine Farmsworth, lumbered toward her in his faux military dress. He had on so many medals, the poor man sagged under the weight.
“Mr. Farmsworth, is it time?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, Miss Weldsmore.” The older gentleman tried to give her a deep bow, but he became alarmed when the medals from his chest threatened to topple him.
“Shall we go, Mr. Hunter?” Elizabeth looked over at Samuel as she took Mr. Farmsworth’s arm to steady him.
With one last glance at the harbor, Samuel nodded and followed her.
THE CEREMONY STARTED LATE, AND the gala afterward on the barge tired Elizabeth much more than usual. This surprised her. Then she thought about it and realized she had paid more attention to what Samuel was doing instead of tending to her social obligations. Several of the women tried to flirt with him. Elizabeth didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused even though they were not having much luck getting a reaction from the taciturn Mr. Hunter.
With her duties completed, Elizabeth motioned to Samuel that she was ready to leave. As usual, he scouted ahead for a few moments before escorting her off the barge. A light fog had begun to drift in, so many of the guests were departing as well. Their steam-powered buggies were creating a traffic jam, so Samuel decided to wait until it cleared.
He shook his head as the contraptions jerked back and forth like stray dogs fighting for the one spot of food. “Don’t they realize how much of a target they are bunched together? Where’s their security?”
“The days when the Great Houses fought are long over,” Elizabeth replied. “It’s simply not needed.”
“Then why did your father hire me?”
“My father tends to be over cautious, Mr. Hunter. You must have noticed that by now.” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him thinking she was stating the obvious.
“I disagree, Miss Weldsmore. Your father has a better grasp on the political situation than you may think. Come, the traffic’s clearing. Let’s get you home.” Samuel motioned for her to enter the buggy.
Elizabeth picked up her skirts as Samuel opened the door. She entered
and settled herself on the maroon cushion. Samuel shut the door behind her and stood on the runner. He hooked his arm through the open window to steady himself.
“Aren’t you riding inside, Mr. Hunter?” Elizabeth inquired.
“No, miss. I want to keep an eye on things.” Samuel motioned for the driver to follow the line of buggies exiting the dock.
Elizabeth leaned toward the window. “Mr. Hunter, you’re being paranoid. There is nothing wrong. Now come inside before you catch a chill.”
Samuel gave her a wry smile. “Begging your pardon, Miss Weldsmore, but it is my job to make sure that you get home safely. Whether or not I catch a chill is irrelevant.”
Exasperated, she slumped back in her seat. “Ah, you’re just like my father.”
The steam-powered buggy chugged along as the other vehicles dispersed among various roads and avenues. It rocked gently over the smooth stone road. Elizabeth found herself nodding off. She tried to stay awake, but the long day and evening had exhausted her, and she soon fell asleep.
The aged and liver-spotted hands of an old woman filled her vision. They grasped the handles of a small wooden cart half-filled with odd metal bits: a crankshaft of a bike, broken gears, and pieces of pipe. The old woman walked as if it caused her pain. Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe, so she stopped for a moment and leaned against a wall.
Looking through her eyes, Elizabeth wished she could scream in frustration. Now was not the time to be struck with a vision. She was sure if Samuel saw her tossing and turning, he would insist the driver take her to the nearest hospital. Then her secret would be out and her family, meaning her father, would be shamed.
A commotion caught the old woman’s attention. She looked up to see a group of men attacking a buggy in the street. Two dragged the driver off and beat him to death with metal pipes, but they were having a harder time with the other man. He shot two of them and struggled with a third. Startled, she tried to roll her cart away but ended up tipping it over, sending its contents crashing everywhere. They clattered over the pavement, causing an awful noise.
The men noticed her. One of them was Samuel. Elizabeth realized they were attacking her steam-powered buggy.
One of the smaller attackers broke off from the group and ran towards the old woman. He drew a knife as he approached her. “Don’t be lookin’ at me that way, you old bitch.” The woman raised her hands in a futile attempt to protect herself as the knife slammed into her chest.
Elizabeth woke up to Samuel holding her shoulders down against the seat cushions. The buggy had come to a stop. Gasping for breath, she looked into Samuel’s worried eyes and uttered the words, “They’re coming.”
Without hesitation, Samuel pulled out pistols from places in the buggy Elizabeth never even knew existed. They were the most amazing weapons she had ever seen.
Intricate yet sturdy gears supported a barrel on the inside of the pistol that held a small bandolier of bullets. There did not appear to be a hammer to cock back, but a switch Samuel pulled that loaded it automatically.
The weapon was built for one purpose—to kill.
With three in his belt and one in his left hand, Samuel reached out the window and grabbed hold of the top of the roof. He turned to her. “Get on the floor.”
She obeyed him without question as he swung out the door and climbed the outside of the buggy. Elizabeth heard him shout to the driver to drive faster. The vehicle lurched forward and picked up speed. Behind them she heard shouting and objects being thrown. Samuel fired from the roof. Without warning, the steam-powered buggy stopped, and a man’s hands grabbed the edge of the door and hauled the rest of himself in. It was same the man who had killed the old woman in her vision.
Elizabeth searched the buggy for any type of weapon, but there was nothing. He drew a knife as he stepped inside. Just like the old woman, Elizabeth threw her hands up to defend herself. He laughed. “I’ve always wanted to gut a nice fresh fish like you.”
He’d raised the knife to strike when the sound of a pistol firing and the light from the powder flash lit up the interior. The man looked surprised as he fell backward out of the buggy and into the road.
Elizabeth looked up from the floor to see Samuel hanging on the edge of the door window as the steam-powered buggy sped along. Gunpowder residue was smeared on his hands. He yelled at the driver. “Don’t stop until we get back to the residence.”
“Aye, sir.”
Still armed, Samuel opened the door and eased himself in. He offered his hand to Elizabeth and helped her off the floor. She curled up on the cushions and trembled. Never had a vision hit so close to home.
Samuel sighed. “Now, Miss Weldsmore, you and I are going to have a conversation. But not here and not now. Understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Hunter.”
THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE absolute chaos. Every house on Beacon Hill increased their security as well as the Weldmores’. Rumors swirled around the house that miscreants from the Southside were attacking wealthy patrons at random while others insisted something more sinister was happening. Whatever the truth, Jonathan gave Samuel permission to organize the overall security for the house and train the male servants in the use of basic pistol and sword techniques. Samuel thought teaching them swordplay was archaic and useless, but at least he’d be able to educate them on how to handle themselves and not panic.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth was imprisoned within the house. Every day she feared her father would barge into her room and demand she stop having her visions immediately. Not that she could, but he’d demand it nevertheless.
But the rampage never occurred. Her father looked in on her several times a day and asked if she needed anything, if she was all right. Would she like to go back and visit her aunt? Her answer was always a polite but firm no. Soon she realized that Samuel had not told him the details of that night, and she began to wonder why. Each time she tried to talk to Samuel, he was too busy doing her father’s bidding. She was sure he was avoiding her.
Until late one evening there was a knock on her sitting room door. Elizabeth was still dressed and reading a book by an obscure writer when she opened the door to find Samuel standing outside wearing sailing gear.
“Mr. Hunter? I wasn’t aware you were taking the night shifts,” Elizabeth said.
“Put on something that you don’t mind getting wet. And make sure it’s warm,” Samuel ordered. When Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, he continued. “My apologies, but we still need to have that conversation, and I prefer not to have it in the house.”
“We’re going somewhere?” she asked.
At this he smiled. “How would you like to go sailing?”
WITH AN ESCORT OF TWO armed men, the four of them left the house in a nondescript steam-powered buggy. Elizabeth squirmed on the hard leather seats but stopped when she observed the two guards not moving a muscle. It was a little unnerving.
Samuel sat outside with the driver. Elizabeth leaned toward the window to peek out, but one of the guards closed the drape. “I’m sorry, miss, but it’d be best that no one see you.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, of course.”
After twenty minutes of silence, the steam-powered buggy chugged to an abrupt stop. A light breeze blew through the window. Elizabeth could smell the sea air.
Samuel opened the door and extended his hand to help her. She took it and stepped out to a full moon and a quiet sea. The lights from the skyline reflected from the shimmering water. “It’s lovely,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Yes, it is,” Samuel answered, not taking his eyes off her.
“Where’s our ship?” Elizabeth asked, not bothering to hide her excitement.
“Our ship, my lady, awaits over yonder,” Samuel responded playfully as he pointed toward the end of the dock.
Elizabeth hurried past several fishing boats. Unlike on their first meeting, she wore plain leather boots and, a fashionable yet staid wool skirt with a dark cotton blouse tucked into its waistband. The long black leath
er coat fell the length of the skirt and would ward off any water that might splash aboard.
When she got to the end of the dock, Elizabeth stopped and looked around, but there was no ship. “Mr. Hunter, if you are teasing me, I will be very angry.”
He grinned at her and pointed down.
Elizabeth looked and saw a fourteen-foot sloop tied up next to the dock. It rocked gently in the waves. “It looks much smaller up close.” She frowned. “I can swim, but not particularly well.”
Samuel walked over and stepped on to a short wooden ladder on the side of the dock. He motioned for her to follow. “Then stay in the boat,” he teased.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and proceeded to put her foot on the first rung. She tested it for stability then took another step, then another, taking each rung in a measured fashion. Samuel held her lightly by the waist as she entered the boat. It rocked a little, forcing her to grab hold of his arm. “How long until I get my sea legs?” she asked.
“It depends. But I wouldn’t worry about that right now.” Samuel gestured to the tiller. “Why don’t you sit while I cast off?”
Elizabeth gave him a mock salute as she sat on the bench next to the tiller. “Will we have enough wind tonight?”
“It should do.” He untied the rope and pushed the boat away from the dock. The two security guards walked back toward the buggy. Samuel rigged the mainsail, then manned the tiller. A breeze caught the sail as they eased into the bay.
“Can I take the tiller?” Elizabeth asked, her enthusiasm getting the best of her.
“Perhaps I should teach you how everything works first,” Samuel responded, trying to be diplomatic.
Elizabeth glared at him, then proceeded to point out every major part on the boat. “Mainsail, jib, boom, tiller.” She pounded her hand on the tiller. “Aft, stern, port, bow.” She gave Samuel a droll look. “I may not have been allowed to sail, but I did pay attention.”
Samuel chuckled as he gestured out into the harbor. “Set course for somewhere out there. But let’s try not to head out to sea.”
Boston Metaphysical Society Page 6
