Gritting his teeth, Ian thought, Uncle, you were the father I never had and I loved you more than I could ever say. I hope you approve of the wheels I just set in motion.
You used to tell me that a man, whether he be rich or poor, had only one compass he need follow…honor.
Well, my sense of honor will not let me rest until your murder is avenged. So, if you’re sitting at the judge’s bench in Heaven above, please smile on me now, as my justice is meted out.
Revell was unaware of the tears that streaked his cheeks as he stared out into the dark.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Annie
Annie Thurston stood on her bedroom balcony, staring down at the garden. The sun was setting, casting her roses into shadow and painting the lawn a gloomy shade of gray. Fitting, she thought. She had been in a gray funk most of the day.
It started when Matthew and Chance left this morning for the third day in a row, without saying goodbye. She was no clinging vine but, honestly, it seemed to her as though Matthew was a different man from the one she had met and fallen in love with last autumn. No longer was he the handsome, charming man she thought she knew, but a stranger with cold, dangerous eyes.
Then, to make matters worse, she had found out that young Tommy was killed in the street, right after arriving on the train from Spokane. Her chest hitched with grief and remorse…it was her fault the child was dead! Oh, she knew her hand had not done the deed, but Tommy and Chen Li would not have been in danger at all, had she not insisted they come!
Sighing, she allowed thoughts of Matthew to fill her mind again. She had sworn, after she became a widow over a decade ago, that she would not fall in love again, or let a man—any man —influence her heart. She had been in an unhappy marriage once, and had no intention of letting it happen again, thank you very much!
Her first husband, Andrew Gantry, was an Army man and Annie had known that going in. Still, she was young when he asked her to be his wife…young and in love with the dashing young officer. He had told her, honestly enough, that he was going to make a career out of military service and that he needed a presentable wife to support the civilian side of his life.
Annie understood his words and agreed to play her part but the reality of his commitment did not really sink in until years had passed. Andy was never, ever home. As soon as one conflict or war ended, he would sign up for the next. He was a soldier’s soldier, never truly at peace with his unruly heart unless he and his troops were engaged in combat.
In Andy’s mind, Annie was simply a means to an end. She was the respectability he needed to present to his commanding officers at military balls and parties, the gentle representative of a personality long ago honed to the sharpest edge by his love of fighting and the art of warfare.
When Andy was killed in the Spanish-American war, Annie held up remarkably well after hearing the news. Of course, to her, it was like hearing that a near total stranger had lost his life to war, a sad but remote statistic…for by then that was what he was to her—a stranger.
They hardly ever talked or enjoyed one another’s company, but Andrew felt that it was his duty as a husband to have as many children as possible, and he set his mind and body to that task with rough enthusiasm whenever he came home.
Annie was unable to fulfill that simple requirement, which turned an already cool husband as cold as ice in his disappointment. The last time she saw her husband—almost a year before he was finally killed—he had not spoken to her at all.
She had sworn to herself, after Andy was killed, that she would never bring another man into her life. She did not need or desire one. She had plenty of money, she had her beloved father…and she had her work as a journalist. The fact that Matthew Wilcox managed to sweep her off her feet was a curious and unwelcome surprise to her.
Unfortunately, the fact that Matthew was turning into another version of her husband Andy was no surprise. She had known, instinctively, that she did not trust men, and now she remembered why. Growling under her breath, she stepped back inside her bedroom, closing the glass doors behind her.
Angry, Annie walked briskly to her vanity table and dried her cheeks. The next time she saw Matthew Wilcox, Annie vowed she would tell him that she was no longer interested in pursuing a relationship.
She would turn her nose up and lift her right brow in scorn. She would…she would tell him to go jump in a lake! Tears filled her eyes again…she had held such high hopes!
Annie jumped when she heard a knock on her door. “Come in!” she called out, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her body and standing to walk to the door.
Matthew stuck his head inside, and for a moment Annie thought about throwing him out on his ear. She tried raising her eyebrow in scorn but the look of heavy sorrow on his face undid her anger and she dissolved into tears. Matthew took five quick steps and put his arms around her miserable, shaking body.
“Oh Matthew,” she sobbed against his chest. “What happened? How did Tommy and Chen Li get mixed up in this?”
Matthew sighed. “It was just a horrible coincidence, Annie. Tommy and Chen Li had no sooner got off the train before they saw me and Chance drive by in the wagon. They only thought to track us down, but ended up right in the middle of a planned assassination attempt. I am so sorry!”
Annie shook her head. “No! It was me…it was my fault they came!” she wept. “You thought it best if they stayed home in Spokane, where they’d be safe, but I went against your orders and brought them here!” She stepped back and stared up into Matthew’s eyes. “You know, Marty is a Godsend but I’ve met his sister and she’s a horrible woman…I thought to keep the boys safe from her sharp tongue…and now look what’s happened!”
Her body shook with the force of her sobs and Matthew picked her up and carried her to her bed. “You lie down now and rest for a while, okay? I just came to see how you were doing and to apologize for not paying more attention to you over the last few days…”
Annie stared up at his face for a moment and then her left hand sought his. “Matthew, do you still want me in your life?” she blushed. “I know we have never spoken of the future, but I…well, I guess I thought you were interested in something more than a few dinner dates?”
Matthew smiled and, keeping his eyes on hers, kissed the top of her hand. He murmured, “Yes, I do and I am. In fact, I was going to ask if you would consider being my wife, but things have been so tense the last few days and weeks, it seemed like poor timing on my part. Still, there is no time like the present…Annie Thurston, will you be my wife?”
Annie’s solemn face went slack for a moment and she gazed at the room’s far wall in silence. Matthew had the sickening feeling she was about to say no. But then a smile broke through the misery on her face and she sat up in bed.
Taking both of his hands in hers, she said, “Of course I will, Matthew. But first, I think we should get through this mess we’re in, don’t you?”
Nodding, he agreed. “Yes, that’s exactly why I held off asking. There is too much at stake right now to let added distractions cloud my mind…” Matthew thought hard for a second or two and then he heard himself say, “Annie, I told you about the things that have happened in my life but, in many ways, you don’t really know me as a man, yet.”
Annie gazed at him, waiting.
Clearing his throat, he continued. “I don’t believe that I am a hard man, but I am careful…very careful when it comes to criminals and the people I hold dear. My loved ones have been used against me, more than once, so if I tell you…or Clyde or Chance to stay back, to stay safe, it’s only because I love you all, and need to keep you out of harm’s way.”
He sighed, adding, “I have been preoccupied the last few days, as you know, but that’s no excuse for keeping you at arm’s length. I think that you will need to teach me how to not be afraid to love, okay?”
Annie smiled and said, “I will, I promise.” She put her hand on his cheek and traced his lips with her fingers. “Co
me here, Matthew. Let’s seal the deal with a kiss, please?” He grinned and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her cheek.
Annie, however, had no intention of being chaste. She was a full-grown woman who had ceased being a virgin when she was nineteen years old. Her heart was broken by the news of Tommy’s death, and her mind was filled with equal parts joy for her own future with this fine man and terror at the thought of losing him in this dangerous game they were playing against the powerful Trinity member, Edward Branson.
Most of all, though, she was filled with desire. It had been years since she had felt a man’s hands on her body. Annie turned her lips so that they met Matthew’s and, within moments, their polite and formal kiss went from being soft and dry to red hot.
At one point, as Annie threw Matthew’s new hat into the corner of the room, he protested. “Annie! Your father!” He gasped as her fingers fumbled at his buttons and she peeled his shirt from his body.
“Shhh!” she murmured softly, “What my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him…” and then, Matthew was lost to all sensation except for that of the beautiful woman beneath him.
He ran his hands up and down her body, weighing her heavy breasts and exploring the soft folds of her most private parts while she shuddered and writhed with excitement. Then, as she gasped with frustrated desire, he penetrated her fragrant warmth and they moved together, as one.
Heart pounding, Matthew put his hand over her mouth to stifle the cry of her passion and then he felt his own release overwhelm him.
Thus, Matthew and Annie, still clutched together as one, celebrated life the way so many other human beings do when faced with sudden death. Although their hearts ached with grief at Tommy’s untimely demise, the two lovers pledged their hearts and bodies to each other with desire and in hope of a second chance at love, life and happiness.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Ball
Two nights later, a masked ball…to many of the city’s luminaries, the social event of the year…was about to begin. Cars and fancy carriages made their way through the blue and violet shadows of early evening toward one of the most beautiful and exclusive structures in Seattle.
Built to resemble a medieval church, the four story stone structure was glittering brightly with Edison light bulbs. Most of the large wooden doors were shut tight, as usual, but one small door had been left open to the public.
The arriving guests craned their necks at the Masonic Lodge in excited anticipation. Normally, the public was never allowed inside these hallowed walls. Indeed, only a scant few Master level Masons were allowed full access to every room in the building. The fact that the ball was being held in the basement level was no surprise to most of the invitees.
In truth, many of those folks would have been subtly disappointed if they were invited to view those secret rooms and hallways. Even the city’s elite felt that the mystique behind the tightly-drawn curtains of the Mason’s Grand Orient was too titillating for normal human beings to gawk at like crass voyeurs.
Many off-duty Seattle deputies patrolled the grounds against unwanted intruders, and a score of Fellow Crafters, at all levels, were playing the part of Tyler (or doorkeeper) for this evening’s festivities. Invitations were scrupulously studied and many a mask lifted, so the Tylers could ascertain the guest’s identities. This only served to thrill the lucky attendees further.
Ian Revell was one of the temporary Tylers. Normally a man at his level would never stoop to such a task, nor would he have been asked to. But Ian had volunteered for the job. There was a good reason for that, of course. Matthew might have been granted admission…his standing as a low-level Mason would have sufficed to get him and his plus-one in the door.
But his son Chance was not a Mason, nor was Clyde Thurston, who had long since disdained becoming a Mason. There were six more men coming tonight, as well, who would have never gained entrance without a thorough investigation… and a good deal of alarm. Ian was well-placed to make sure these guests were present tonight.
Once inside, the guests were hustled downstairs, but many of them later told their friends and families about the softly gleaming solid oak wall paneling, and the electric chandeliers that graced the hastily glimpsed entrance hall. More than one person actually caught sight of a few of the heraldic crests which hung on the walls. It was rumored that many of the Masons in this particular lodge were members of French, British and Scottish royalty and (some days later), the rumor mills thrilled with credible evidence from their more reliable witnesses.
Stepping into the ballroom, people gasped at the magnificence of the room itself and the accoutrements of their hosts. Scores of large, marble-topped tables and chairs lined three of the room’s four walls. Each table boasted a large, solid silver candelabra which flickered with the soft glow of a dozen white candles.
There was a raised stage at the back of the room where a full orchestra played softly, and behind the stage area a number of glass doors were flung open to opulent gardens, statues and water fountains on the grounds behind the main building.
On the room’s left side, just beyond the entrance, was a full bar with a champagne fountain and food buffet that bustled with activity. Masked men and women helped themselves to some of the finest cuisine—the expense of the dishes enough to give even the richest guests pause.
There was fresh lobster, King crab legs, mussels and oysters on the half-shell. A suckling pig with an apple in its mouth and maraschino cherries in its eye sockets graced one end of the table, while a number of prime rib roasts turning slowly on metal spits above a steel basin filled with glowing coals took up room on the other end. Silver bowls in front of the meats were filled with gravies, sauces, horseradish and onion rue.
The next table groaned under the weight of fifty separate side dishes—roasted potatoes, piles of fresh salad greens, green beans with slabs of bacon, brilliant red tomatoes in vinegar, glistening ears of corn, bisques and fragrant soups filled the air with delightful odors.
A third table held piles of freshly baked and still steaming loaves of bread and dinner rolls with one of the most precious commodities available…sweet cream butter. No one knew better than the super-rich how dear butter was those days, and more than one of the guests briefly considered stealing a few pats on their way out the door.
The furthest table held sweets and was flanked by two French pastry chefs, whose haughty expressions dared complaint. Their concoctions were nothing short of works of art. Tiny bon-bons, cream-filled éclairs, fragile lace cookies and a towering twelve-layer cake sat in splendor on the lace tablecloth.
One elderly matron who had more money than common sense walked up to the younger of the two chefs and asked if he would like to work for her rather than the older man standing next to him.
She was met with a disdainful sniff and a nasally rebuff. “I am the owner of the finest French restaurant in Seattle, Madame. Claude is my assistant—not my employer, so thank you…but no! Now move along, please, there are others waiting behind you…”
The old lady beat a hasty, humiliated retreat, but she later told her friends and family that she would only eat at the little Frenchman’s restaurant if she was forced to dine in public.
This was a masque rather than a costume ball, so although the guest’s faces were covered by gorgeous, intricate masks, their tuxedos and ball gowns were on full display. If the necklines were too low, the cut too narrow, the colors too gauche, or the sheerness of the material “more air than there,” this was one occasion that forgave the wearer and allowed the outlandish to be “stylish.”
Matthew looked like a tall, dark shadow in his formal suit and tails. He wore a black and gray mask, styled to represent the horned visage of a “Death’s Head moth.” The mask’s mottled gray and silver swirls and long, feathered horns were cunningly crafted and caused more than one lady to gasp and shy away in alarm when he approached.
Annie, on the other hand, resembled the moth’s more beautiful cousin—the bu
tterfly. Her multi-layered chiffon gown sported no less than fifty colors, from the palest cream underskirts to brilliant rose, salmon, scarlet and purple outer skirts. Her brilliant, spangled mask fell to an exotic point just above her painted, crimson lips and swirled a foot over her forehead into two long antennae.
Chance and Hannah had chosen to wear white—which, surprisingly, made them stand out, even in this glittering crowd. Chance’s russet hair was brushed back and fell in glossy waves across his silver-white mask, almost to his shoulders.
Hannah wore a simple, white lace gown and shoulder high silk gloves, but she had defied tradition by wearing her long, black hair loose and unadorned. It fell in dark waves to her buttocks and seemed to glitter and gleam with a life of its own. More than one society lady squirmed with anger at the audacity of it…especially when they saw their husbands and lovers following the girl with their eyes…imagining, no doubt, running their hands through that dark mass of femininity.
Clyde Thurston took up the rear of their party. He wore a fine, black worsted and an equally fine silk mask but it was already bent and sitting askew on his brow. Clyde was no Mason but he was a very popular man in Seattle, and he had stopped to say hello and (after lifting his mask) shake at least ten hands since entering the ballroom.
He was immediately forgiven, though…Clyde had always been extremely generous with his charitable donations and ready to lend a hand to all men, whether they be rich or poor. That kind of man was a treasured commodity in Seattle’s elitist circles…even the wealthy craved the friendship of a truly decent man (especially if that man had enough money to buy the moon).
Matthew and his companions stopped and stared at a large, rather battered but gaily-striped tent that sat (like a sore thumb) in front of the stage. A hand-painted sign at the apex of the tent doors read:
Second Chance (The Deadman Series Book 5) Page 18
