City of Schemes

by Victoria Thompson

  Now it was Gideon’s turn to smile, this time with true amusement. “If you think Elizabeth needs me to protect her, you don’t know your daughter as well as you think.”

  “Well, I’m sure of one thing. The two of you make a formidable team.”

  Gideon hoped he was right. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to know what you have planned for Thornton.”

  “Nothing yet, but no blood will be shed, I assure you.”

  Only later, after Mr. Miles had gone, did Gideon realize the Old Man hadn’t agreed to tell him anything at all.

  * * *

  —

  What is this all about?” Anna asked, eyeing Elizabeth with good-humored suspicion. They were seated in the parlor of Cybil’s house in the dying sunlight of the winter afternoon. Anna had come by after her Thursday classes at Hunter College were over, at Elizabeth’s invitation.

  “I need your help with something.”

  Anna didn’t actually rub her hands together in glee, but she did sit up straighter in her chair and her blue eyes sparkled with delight. How had Elizabeth ever thought her plain? In the year since they’d met, Anna had grown positively beautiful. Confidence could do that for a woman. “Do you want me to shoot you again?”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help musing that if Anna had liked boys, she would have been a good match for Jake. Maybe she’d have been able to keep him honest. But then again, maybe not. Jake was probably a hopeless case. Also, Anna didn’t like boys, so he and Anna would always just be good friends. “Sadly, no, I don’t need you to shoot me again.”

  “But please say you want me to help you with a con,” Anna said.

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Does it involve Thornton? Have you figured out a way to get rid of him?” she asked eagerly.

  “No, I’m going to leave that up to the Old Man.”

  “You are?” Anna looked disappointed.

  “I know, I’m furious about it, too, but he came over last night and we talked it over. He thinks it’s too dangerous for me to be involved, and he’s probably right, although I’d never tell him that.”

  “Then is your father the one who needs my help?”

  “No, I do. I’m going to run a con of my own.”

  “Not on Thornton, though.”

  “No.”

  “So what do you need me to do?”

  “I need you to be the roper.”

  “Like a cowboy?” Anna asked, highly amused.

  That made Elizabeth laugh. “Not exactly. Your job is to rope in the mark and help me tell the tale.”

  “I remember what the tale is. That’s the story you tell the mark to get him interested.”

  “That’s right. Your part is easy but very important. You’ll be helping me, and we just need to make sure the mark meets the inside man and knows who he is.”

  “Don’t you mean the mark needs to know who the inside man is supposed to be? Because the tale is all made up, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, Anna, I fear we have completely corrupted you,” Elizabeth said.

  “And thank heaven you did. You have no idea how dull my life was before I met you, Elizabeth.”

  Actually, Elizabeth did know, but since they’d met, Anna had spent time in prison and started attending college and committed a murder, albeit a phony one. Not bad for the first year. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Just tell me who the mark is.”

  “Rosemary Westerly.”

  * * *

  —

  Oscar Thornton pushed away his empty plate, glanced around the crowded restaurant, and pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. The days moved so slowly now. Why had he thought returning to New York City was a good idea? He’d left here, nearly bankrupt, over a year ago. What had made him think his luck would be different this time?

  But it was already different, he reminded himself. If he hadn’t returned to New York, he never would have seen the newspaper, and he wouldn’t have known that Elizabeth Miles was still alive. So that had been a good thing.

  If only he hadn’t given Bates an entire month to come up with the money. He just might die of boredom in the meantime if he didn’t find something useful to do with his time.

  Thornton looked up in annoyance as a man passing behind him bumped his chair.

  “Excuse me,” the fellow muttered. “It’s so crowded in here.” Then he stopped and frowned. “Thornton? Oscar Thornton?”

  Thornton frowned back at the man who did look familiar. “How do I know you?”

  The man smiled, obviously pleased to have his suspicion confirmed. “I’m Leo Vo—” He caught himself and glanced around guiltily, as if worried someone might have heard. Then he lowered his voice and leaned in close to Thornton’s ear. “I was Leo Volker, but I’ve changed my name. I’m Vane now.”

  Thornton nodded. Lots of people with German names had changed them during the war. Too many “good Americans” were reporting everyone with German ancestry to the American Protective League as spies, even though virtually none of them were.

  “I sold you some rifles last year,” Volker-Vane recalled. His grin widened. “I realized later that I should’ve waited, though. I’ll bet you made a fortune on them.”

  Thornton hadn’t made a dime on them, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Vane. “I remember you now. I hope you did as well in the war as I did.”

  Vane’s smile vanished. “Not as well as some, I’m afraid, but I did all right. Actually, I wonder if you might have something going that I could get in on.”

  He did all right, eh? “I might. Are you heading to an appointment now?”

  “I was going to run some errands, but they can wait if you have time. I’d rather talk about making money.”

  “I’ve got a suite upstairs,” Thornton said, throwing his napkin onto the table. “We can talk there.”

  Thornton had chosen the hotel because it was cheap, but his suite was at least presentable. The maid had cleaned it that morning and stacked all his newspapers neatly. He and Vane settled down in the two upholstered chairs, smoked some cigars that Thornton had produced and drank a few shots of the whiskey he kept for visitors. Thornton felt obligated to make a remark about enjoying the liquor while they could, but he really didn’t find the prospect of prohibition very funny.

  Thornton outlined several deals he was working on. He’d struggled for a while after the debacle with the phony army contract, but only a fool could have failed to make money during the war. He’d managed to scrape together enough cash to buy up a few odds and ends that the army really had bought—unlike the deal that Vanderslice and Bates had arranged where his rifles and his money had completely vanished—and for far more than they were worth. He’d then used that money to buy more matériel and had managed to earn back at least a small part of the fortune he had lost. Now he was looking for more opportunities in the peacetime markets, and Vane could have some valuable connections.

  But after half an hour, Thornton came to an unfortunate conclusion. “So you don’t actually have any cash to invest right now.”

  “Not at this moment, but I will soon,” Vane said with apparent confidence. “I have a . . . a project I’m working on, and when it’s over, I’ll have plenty of money.”

  “What kind of a project is it?” Thornton asked with genuine interest. “Maybe I’d be interested in it, too.”

  “It’s not really a business deal,” Vane said apologetically. “It’s something personal.”

  “Something personal that will earn a lot of money?” Thornton didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “Do you have a rich uncle on his deathbed?”

  Vane laughed at that. “Not exactly, but something like that.”

  “Then come back to see me when he’s dead,” Thornton said.

  They talked for a few more minutes
without making any more progress. Then Vane pulled out his overstuffed wallet and located a business card. “How long will you be in town?” he asked, handing the card to Thornton.

  “A month or so,” Thornton said, managing not to sigh.

  “I’ll have the money before then,” Vane assured him, stuffing his wallet back into his coat pocket. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” He took his leave, pumping Thornton’s hand vigorously before stepping out the door.

  Thornton shook his head when the man was gone. Vane or Volker or whatever he called himself was probably never going to see a penny of his rich uncle’s money.

  Later, when he had finished reading all the newspapers he’d purchased that morning and was thinking about going out for the afternoon editions, Thornton noticed an envelope on the floor beside the chair where Vane had been sitting.

  It was postmarked from Mexico. Vane had obviously dropped it, probably when he pulled out his wallet. Since the envelope had already been opened, Thornton didn’t hesitate to pull out the letter inside.

  “Dear Cousin,” it began. “I have arrived safely in Mexico. I will always be grateful for the great risks you took helping me to escape from the Fatherland. I know it will be difficult for you to get me into America, so I am prepared to wait. Perhaps you can come to me and dispose of some of my holdings in American corporations. Would you be able to raise enough money to help me by doing that? I will be anxiously awaiting your reply. Please advise me. Your loving cousin, Berta.”

  How interesting. Was Cousin Berta the relative he expected to get money from? It seemed unlikely that anyone had escaped from Germany with any money at all, but who knew? If her holdings were in American securities, then maybe she hadn’t been able to negotiate them during the war. In any event, Vane would have the devil’s own time of it getting her into the United States. Nobody wanted any foreigners coming in just now, with the threat of communists and anarchists looming all over Europe, and Germans had been the first ones barred. Berta’s securities were another story, however. Maybe that was Vane’s plan, to meet her in Mexico and relieve her of them. If he succeeded in that, Thornton would happily advise him about what he should do next.

  * * *

  —

  Anna and Elizabeth had arrived early at Delmonico’s Restaurant on Fifth Avenue and Forty-fourth Street. Elizabeth wanted to make sure everything was arranged, although she should have known it would be. The landmark restaurant, known to locals as “the Citadel,” was doing a brisk business with Saturday shoppers and businessmen enjoying their time off from their offices, so she and Anna easily got lost in the crowd.

  The two of them were sitting in chairs off in a corner of the restaurant’s ornate lobby where they wouldn’t be immediately noticed when they saw Rosemary enter. She wore a stylish gown of emerald green that Elizabeth envied. Perhaps she should have accepted Rosemary’s offer to introduce her to her modiste.

  Anna rose and waved to catch Rosemary’s attention.

  “I feel so strange coming into a restaurant unescorted,” Rosemary marveled when she had made her way over. Until the war, few respectable eateries would seat women who did not have a male escort, and the few who did restricted them to ladies-only dining areas.

  “But isn’t it nice to be able to dine out with a friend without dragging along a man who doesn’t want to be there?” Anna said.

  “I suppose.” Rosemary didn’t look convinced. Perhaps she thought a male escort was an essential accessory, like a hat and gloves.

  “I’m so glad you were able to meet me today,” Anna said, and Elizabeth knew she wasn’t lying. Planning this luncheon engagement had thrilled her. “I haven’t seen you in ages, and we have so much to catch up on.”

  Elizabeth stood up then. Rosemary noticed her for the first time and stiffened with what might have been alarm. Or maybe Elizabeth was just hoping she was alarmed.

  “You know Elizabeth, don’t you?” Anna was saying as if oblivious to Rosemary’s reaction. “She asked if she could join us, and I thought it would be more fun with three of us, don’t you?”

  Rosemary’s smile was slightly strained, but Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. “I know we got off to an awkward start, Rosemary, but I thought about what you said, and I agree. Logan and Gideon would want us to be friends.”

  “I’m so glad you feel that way,” Rosemary said, apparently relieved. “I would hate for there to be any tension in our relationship.”

  “Elizabeth?” a male voice asked.

  All three women looked up in surprise. A handsome young man in a well-tailored suit had approached them. His dark curls were artfully arranged to appear tousled, and his dark eyes danced with pleasure. A neat mustache and goatee gave him a continental appearance. He stood staring at Elizabeth with a questioning smile.

  “Elizabeth Miles?” he asked again.

  “Percy, is that you?” Elizabeth said in wonder.

  “Indeed it is. I wasn’t sure it was really you, though. You’re all grown up, and I never expected to see you in New York in any case.”

  “I would never have expected to see you here, either,” she said. “What on earth are you doing in America?”

  He glanced around nervously and put his finger to his lips in a signal for her to be quiet. “No one knows I’m here. It’s all very hush-hush, I’m afraid.” His British accent was delightful, and Rosemary and Anna were obviously impressed.

  “Then is it all right if I introduce you to my friends or is your true identity a state secret or something?” she teased.

  “Not a state secret, certainly,” he assured her with good humor, nodding politely to the other ladies.

  “Miss Westerly and Miss Vanderslice, may I present an old friend of our family, Mr. Percy Hyde-Langdon? Or should I say Earl Hyde-Langdon, now that your dear father is gone. I’m very sorry, Percy. We were all so sad to hear of his passing.”

  “Thank you. We miss him terribly, as you can imagine.”

  “He was such a dear man,” Elizabeth said, lost in her memories for a moment.

  “Did you say Earl Hyde-Langdon?” Rosemary asked, breaking the spell.

  He managed a polite smile. “Actually, I’m more correctly the Earl of Hartwood, but just Percy to my friends, and I hope we shall be great friends, Miss Westerly.”

  Obviously, she did, too. She offered him her hand, which he raised to his lips instead of shaking it. That brought the color to her pale cheeks and the light of calculation to her pale eyes.

  Not to be outdone, Anna gave him her hand as well, and he obligingly kissed it, too.

  “I suppose you ladies are meeting someone here for luncheon,” Percy said.

  “Oh no,” Rosemary said before anyone else could speak. “We were going to enjoy a little hen party, just the three of us, but if you aren’t otherwise engaged, Sir Percy, perhaps you’d join us.”

  “I’d hate to ruin your little tête-à-tête,” Percy said with just the proper amount of insincere regret, making it clear he would like nothing better than to do just that.

  “We’d love to have you join us,” Anna said. “We can talk to each other any time, but how often do we get to lunch with an earl?”

  “I am forever in your debt. I do hate eating alone. One receives the oddest stares, or even worse, offers of company from people one would never wish to dine with. You ladies have saved me.”

  Percy took care of getting the maître d’s attention and then having them seated. The waiter was very attentive, getting them something to drink and then explaining the menu to them. At long last, their orders placed, he left them to themselves.

  “How do you and Elizabeth know each other?” Anna asked as soon as the waiter was gone.

  He glanced at Elizabeth, who said, “We lived in England for . . . oh, I guess it was almost two years, back before the war. My father had business interests there, and he thought
it would be good for me to live abroad for a while.”

  “And you met the earl in England?” Anna asked.

  Elizabeth and Percy exchanged an amused glance. “Percy’s family sort of took us under their wing,” she said.

  “Mama is an American, you see,” Percy said.

  “She and my mother were old friends,” Elizabeth added. “So she treated us like family. All those house parties at Hartwood . . .” Elizabeth sighed at the nonexistent memories.

  “It was a very different time,” Percy said.

  “Please tell me the war didn’t reach Hartwood,” Elizabeth said.

  “No, fortunately, although all the horses are gone,” he added sadly.

  “Oh no, all those beautiful horses from your stables?” Elizabeth said.

  “Yes, the army took them for the war. There’s hardly a horse left in England now, I’m afraid. That’s one reason I’m here, to buy some breeding stock.”

  “Now you must tell us, Sir Percy, why your visit here is a secret,” Rosemary said. “And it can’t be because you’re buying horses.”

  “It’s Lord Percy,” Anna informed her. “That’s right, isn’t it, Lord Percy?”

  “Yes, but you may simply call me Percy,” he assured them both. “I do not wish to call undue attention to myself.”

  “But why?” Rosemary asked, plainly not willing to be distracted.

  Percy glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. Finding none, he leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. “I’m here on behalf of the British government. I’ll be negotiating some . . . Well, some business arrangements. I don’t want to bore you ladies with the details.”

  “Does that have to be a secret?” Anna asked.

  Percy shrugged one shoulder. “Not particularly, but if word got out that I am in the city, I’m afraid all the hostesses would insist on inviting me to parties and balls, and I won’t have time for anything else.”