The Tea Rose

by Jennifer Donnelly

  A sudden gust caught her skirts. She smoothed them. Her diamond, the one Nick had given her, flashed up at her as she did. Nick. How she wished he were here. She needed him now. From behind, a stronger gust blasted down upon her. It felt like a hand in the middle of her back, pushing her forward. She suddenly had a feeling – just as she’d had the day Teddy read her Nick’s will – that he was with her. That he’d swooped in from Paris or wherever his soul resided now, to be with her, to bolster her. She could hear him saying, “Go on, old shoe, go knock the stuffing out of him!” It gave her the courage she needed to walk up the steps and into the club.

  A steward met her in the foyer. “I’m terribly sorry, madam,” he said sharply, “but this is a private club. For gentlemen only.”

  Fiona regarded him as if he were some particularly repulsive form of insect life. “I am the Viscountess Elgin,” she said haughtily, the title tripping off her tongue as if she used it every day. “The Duke of Winchester is my father-in-law. I must see him immediately. It’s an emergency. A private family matter.”

  The steward nodded, suddenly accommodating. “One moment, please,” he said, then disappeared up a flight of carpeted stairs, past wood-paneled walls hung with English landscapes.

  Fiona took a deep breath. So far, so good. She had assumed her first role and played it well, but the next would be far more difficult. As she waited for the steward to return, Roddy’s parting words echoed in her ears. “Be careful, lass, be damned careful. I’ve seen people murdered over a pound, never mind a few hundred thousand of them.” She promised him she would be. Roddy had done so much for her. Without him, she wouldn’t be here now, only inches away from seeing her fragile plan succeed. He wanted this, too. She must not fail.

  The steward reappeared. “The duke will see you. Follow me, please.” He escorted her up the stairs and down a hallway into a private room. The door clicked shut behind her and she was left alone. Or so she thought until a man’s voice, clipped and cold, said, “You have a great deal of nerve, Miss Finnegan.”

  Fiona’s eyes fastened upon him. He was standing behind a desk at the far end of the room, a squat, fleshy toad of a man in a black dinner jacket. His face was exceedingly unattractive except for one feature – his remarkable turquoise eyes. Nick’s eyes.

  “Elgin. Mrs. Nicholas Elgin,” she said. “At least that’s what it says on my marriage certificate. I go by Soames, however. My late husband preferred it.”

  “May I ask why you have interrupted an extraordinarily good supper?”

  Fiona drew a copy of the Clarion from her briefcase and tossed it on the desk.

  “I am not familiar with this publication,” the duke said, eyeing it distastefully.

  “You may not be,” she replied, “but the editors of every major newspaper in the city are. I believe it would be in your best interest to read the lead story.”

  He bent toward the desk. She saw his eyes move across the headline. “Tea Merchant Accused of Union Leader’s Murder.” And under that, “William Burton Questioned by Police.” He turned the page and read the story. For a fraction of a second she saw a ripple of alarm disturb his carefully composed expression. As quickly as it had come, it was gone again, but a spark of hope flared inside her, giving her confidence.

  “What, exactly, has this to do with me?” he asked at length.

  “Nicholas called you many things, sir, but he never called you a fool. You know as well as I do that murderers are not permitted to remain at large. William Burton will be arrested, convicted, and hanged. His business will be ruined. I’ve had copies of the Clarion delivered to every single editor of every London paper, large and small. The story will be all over the city by tomorrow. Copies also went to Burton’s other major shareholders. I should think they’d be appalled at the idea of investing in a company belonging to a killer. By morning, they’ll be scrambling to unload their shares.”

  “Perhaps,” the duke said. “What do you want from me?”

  “Nick’s Burton Tea shares.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I will do everything I can to ruin Burton Tea. I own twenty-two percent of the company – that’s without Nick’s shares – and I promise you, I’ll dump it faster than you can blink. By noon, the market will be awash in Burton Tea. The stock won’t be worth the paper it’s printed on. The company will be ruined. And Albion Bank will lose the three hundred thousand pounds it invested.”

  The duke took a cigarette from a silver box on the desk, tapped it, and lit it. He took a long drag, blew it out again, then said, “I don’t think so. The police will question William. He will, of course, deny any involvement and within a few days the whole thing will blow over. No outraged investors, no panicked selling.”

  “I’ll start the panic. The second the market opens.”

  “To what end? The fact that you own twenty-two percent, plus your rabid determination to get your hands on my late son’s shares, tells me one thing – you want to take over Burton Tea. How will you accomplish that if you release all your holdings?”

  “I won’t. But I will have bankrupted the company. I will at least have that satisfaction.”

  Elgin mulled this. “Very possibly, but there are no guarantees. Someone could buy a large chunk of your shares, stabilize the stock, and save the company. I’ve seen it happen.”

  Fiona swallowed. She was losing her advantage. She dealt her trump card. “This is a banker’s draft for three hundred thousand pounds,” she said, pulling a piece of paper out of her briefcase and placing it on the desk. “The sum total of Albion’s loans to Burton Tea. The minute you give me Nick’s shares, it’s yours.”

  Elgin raised an eyebrow. “You’re willing to repay the entire loan?”

  “All of it. I’ll be at Albion at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. We can do the trade then – the Burton Tea shares for my money. He had other shares in the account. They’re worth a a good deal. Keep them. All of them. I only want the Burton Tea stock.” She paused to let her offer sink in. “What if you’re wrong? And I’m right? What if Burton Tea does go under? There are people in this world who value morality and justice above profit.”

  “Are there? I’m sure I don’t know any of them. A very pretty speech, my dear, but believe you me, investors care more for their purses than for some long-dead dock worker.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “I have rather enjoyed our little interview – my evenings don’t usually afford me such dramatic interludes – but I must return to my supper companions now.”

  The walls of the room seemed to close in upon Fiona. She suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  The duke walked over to her. He stood close to her, so close that she could smell the wine he’d drunk and the lamb he’d eaten. He gazed at her intently, then said, “Tell me something, Miss Finnegan. Are you a virgin?”

  It took a few seconds for her shocked mind to register the question. “How dare you –” she began, but he cut her off.

  “Did my son ever fuck you? Tell me the truth and we’ll put an end to all this nonsense. Did he take you like a man, or did he jam his prick up your shapely ass? That was his preferred method, I’m told. At least that’s what his roommate from Eton said. To my counsel. Just yesterday, in fact.” He smiled as her face went white. “What? Cat got your tongue? Not to worry, I have other ways of finding out. That laundress you fired three years ago – Margaret Gallagher – she’s a very talkative sort. And if all else fails, we can always get an independent medical authority to make an assessment. Some randy old codger who’s only too eager to part those slender legs and get a look at what’s between them.”

  “You bastard!” she cried, raising her hand to slap him. But he, surprisingly nimble for a heavy man, grabbed her wrist and jerked her to him. She struggled, but he held her fast.

  “When you bluff someone, you silly bitch, you need to make him afraid. Make him feel he’s got something to lose. I have nothing to lose. There may be a flap in the papers tomorrow, but it will pass.
Burton Tea will survive. William will continue to repay his loan. I will retain the sum I spent on his stock, and you, Miss Finnegan” – he tightened his grip until she thought he would snap her arm – “will withdraw your foolish claim.”

  He released her and strode out of the room. Fiona’s legs went weak. She slumped against the desk. It was over. She had failed. Utterly and completely.

  Chapter 77

  Asleep in a chair in her bedroom, in front of a fire long since dead, Fiona twitched, then moaned piteously, “No … please … help me … somebody help me …”

  The dark man had come for her and this time he had caught her. He’d followed her down winding streets, in and out of abandoned buildings, until she’d run into a warehouse with no way out. He held her fast now, despite her violent struggles. She screamed again, hoping that someone would hear her. But no one came. She felt his breath on her neck and saw the glint of the knife blade as he raised it above her. And then she heard it, a battering, loud and insistent. Someone was out there. Someone would help her. “Mrs. Soames!” the voice cried. “Are you there?”

  “In here!” she cried. “Hurry!”

  “Mrs. Soames, I must speak with you …”

  “Help me, please!”

  But it was too late. She felt a searing pain as the dark man drew the blade across her throat. She was in agony, unable to breathe, as her own blood cascaded down her chest, and then she heard the battering again. And the sound of glass smashing. And then she was awake, panting with fright, blinking into the feeble light of a rainy morning. She sat up and looked around, reassuring herself that she was alive, and alone. She saw a half-empty bottle of wine on the table before her, a crumpled handkerchief. She looked down at herself and saw that she was fully dressed. She remembered collapsing into the chair, spent and broken, when she’d gotten back from White’s … hours ago … pouring herself a glass of wine, and then being overcome by a convulsive fit of weeping. I must’ve cried myself to sleep, she thought. And then she’d had that terrible nightmare. Just the memory of it made her shake. The dark man, the knife, all that blood. She vaguely remembered that someone had tried to help her. She recalled a voice, the sound of a fist battering on wood. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, then nearly jumped out of her skin as the battering started again.

  “Mrs. Soames! Fiona, are you there? It’s me, Neville Pearson. Please let me in!”

  Neville? What on earth does he want? she wondered. She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. She ran her hands over her hair. She could tell it was a mess. “Just a minute!” she shouted, trying to tuck the loose strands back into their twist. Glass crunched under her foot as she stood. Her wineglass. She looked at her skirt. There was a big wet stain on it. “Bloody hell!” she swore. “Coming, Neville!”

  She hurried out of her bedroom, through the foyer, and to the door. Three men were standing in the hallway: her counsel; a well-dressed man in his fifties who was slight and anxious-looking; and a man with a thick dark head of hair, not yet out of his thirties, who had a brash and pugilistic look.

  “Thank God you’re here!” Neville exclaimed, relief washing over his face.

  “Why are you here? What’s going on?” Fiona asked.

  “May we come in?”

  “Of course. Forgive me.” She ushered them in and led them to her sitting room.

  Neville glanced at her. “Have you not slept?”

  “Not really, I –”

  He cut her off. “No, I can’t imagine you would’ve. Not after last night. Terribly foolish of you, walking right into the lion’s den. Terribly brave, too.”

  “How do you know –” she began, but Neville didn’t let her finish.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of having breakfast sent up,” he said. “Should arrive, any minute. In the meantime, I’d like you to meet Giles Bellamy, the chairman of Albion Bank …”

  Fiona stiffened. She nodded at the man. This will not be good news, she thought.

  “… and David Lawton, Lord Elgin’s counsel. David and Giles told me of your meeting with the duke last night. They are here to oversee the transfer of your late husband’s shares.”

  “With the proviso we discussed, Neville,” David Lawton quickly interjected. “Mrs. Soames must be willing to honor the offer she made to Randolph Elgin. The shares for the banker’s draft. Those are the duke’s conditions.”

  “Yes, but things have changed a bit since last evening, haven’t they, David?” Neville said hotly. “I doubt the shares are worth a farthing now.”

  Fiona, tired, wary, and now terribly confused, could only say, “Wait a minute … what are you talking about? I saw Elgin last night, as you gentlemen somehow all seem to know, and he made it quite clear that he has no intention of giving me Nick’s shares.”

  Neville blinked at her. “Have you not seen the morning papers?”

  “No, I haven’t. I was up late, and then I fell asleep, and I –”

  “Here.” He opened his briefcase, took out half a dozen newspapers, and slapped them on the tea table. “Read those, my dear.” There was a polite tapping at the door. “Ah, that must be the breakfast. I’ll see to it. Do sit down, Giles. David, you, too.”

  Fiona picked up the Times. She had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for. The dolorous headlines about the British economy? A report of unrest in India?

  “Bottom right,” David Lawton said, settling himself into a chair.

  Her eyes traveled down the front page. And then she saw it. “Burton Tea on Brink of Financial Ruin.” She sat down, her eyes devouring every line of the story. Neville returned, leading the way for two waiters with a trolley. Tea was poured and breakfast served with great decorum, but Fiona was oblivious to it all.

  Burton Tea was expected to declare bankruptcy by the end of the day, the lead said. Most of its major customers had canceled their orders. In addition, all of its inventory was destroyed by unidentified men who broke into its warehouse last night. Panicked shareholders were expected to flood the market with devalued stock as soon as it opened.

  She gasped as she read the following paragraph.

  When asked why Montague’s, one of Burton Tea’s most lucrative accounts, withdrew its order, Joseph Bristow, chairman of the popular chain, said, “I have spoken with the authorities investigating the case and I am convinced of William Burton’s guilt. I would like to state, in the strongest possible terms, that Montague’s will have no further dealings with Burton Tea. We make our profits honestly and in a moral fashion and we do not support any supplier who does not do the same. Our customers expect no less. I speak not only for myself but for the entire Montague’s staff when I say that I am shocked and outraged that a member of the merchant class would employ such villainous means to derail the just cause of labor.”

  How had he known? she wondered, dazed. The story could not have made the evening edition of any other papers last night and she doubted he read the Clarion. How on earth had he found out? The article continued.

  Many of London’s leading retailers, as well as hotels and restaurants, eager to be seen in their customers’ eyes as inhabiting the same high moral ground as Montague’s, followed suit.

  Fiona read the names: Harrods. Sainsbury’s. Home and Colonial Stores. Simpson’s-in-the-Strand. The Savoy. Claridge’s. The Connaught. Even the Cunard and White Star Lines. She slumped back in her chair, her head reeling.

  “Keep reading,” David said. “You even got the union involved. Quite a feat, Mrs. Soames.”

  “Common vandals. Rabble-rousers.” Giles Bellamy sniffed.

  Fiona turned to page two and learned that overnight, dozens of men – their faces hidden behind scarves or sacking – had broken into Oliver’s Wharf and tossed every single chest, box, and tin of tea into the Thames. They’d destroyed the packing machinery, too. Roving gangs had barged into neighborhood shops in East and South London and thrown any Burton Tea they’d found into the streets. Shopkeepers had been warned not
to sell the tea; shoppers had been warned not to buy it. Workingmen and housewives were quoted as saying they didn’t need telling, they wanted nothing to do with William Burton’s bloodstained tea leaves.

  The article mentioned that no one knew who the masked men were, but suspicion was being leveled at the Wapping chapter of the dockworkers’ union. Peter Miller, its leader, angrily responded that the union did not condone lawlessness of any sort and that reporters might do better by hounding the real criminal, William Burton, instead of himself and his men. The article concluded with market experts predicting a staggering sell-off of Burton Tea shares fueled by an unwillingness on the part of merchants, and of the public, to patronize the company.

  Fiona looked at Neville, then at Giles, then at David. She was no longer confused; she knew why they were here. Last night, she had suffered the deepest despair. She’d been convinced she’d failed. But now it was clear she’d succeeded. She was going to get her shares. Because of three men – Joe Bristow, Peter Miller, and Roddy O’Meara. Roddy was behind this somehow, she just knew he was. Neither Joe nor Peter Miller could possibly know what they’d done for her, but they would learn. She would tell them. She would thank them. She would go to visit Peter Miller in person as soon as this was all behind her. He could say what he liked to the Times, those were his men who’d thrown Burton’s tea into the river and he’d told them to do it. And as soon as she was back in New York, she would write to Joe. He did not want to see her, and she would not compromise her pride a second time by going to see him, but he had done an incredible deed for her and she owed him her gratitude.

  “If we could get down to business?” Giles suggested, breaking the silence.

  “Certainly,” Neville said. “As I started to explain, Fiona, earlier this morning Lord Elgin authorized David to make a trade he says you requested – Nicholas Elgin’s Burton Tea shares for a banker’s draft for the sum of three hundred thousand pounds. David then came directly to me, accompanied by Giles, and we proceeded to you. I informed these gentlemen that I knew nothing of such an offer, and even if you had made it, I would advise against it. Those shares have little if any value now.”