Elizabeth saw only blackness, but heard the boy she had called Gabriel crying out in alarm. Soon she felt nothing but her own heartbeat or that of the girl’s. She wasn’t sure. It was then Elizabeth realized that she wasn’t alone.
“Mrs. Callahan,” she called out in her mind, but her voice echoed back at her. “Rachel!”
As she stared into the blackness, Elizabeth sensed rather than saw movement. To her surprise it didn’t frighten her. Could it be Rachel? Or could it be someone else?
Curious, she reached her mind out, only to have it snap back. In a moment the vision was gone.
Elizabeth opened her eyes to see Samuel sitting on the edge of his chair ready to leap up and Rachel studying her from the other side of the table.
“A girl is missing,” Elizabeth announced.
“Aye, a lot of girls go missing on the South Side,” Rachel replied. “Most leave in search of something better. As for you, Mrs. Hunter, ever heard the saying about how curiosity killed the cat?”
Elizabeth nodded, pursing her lips.
“We do this a step at a time. Don’t you go chasing after things you don’t understand.”
“But that was you, wasn’t it? I sensed you.”
“Aye, but . . .” Rachel gestured that they were moving on. “You need to go now. Start ordering clothes and things like you promised. We can meet again in two days.”
Samuel stood up. “We’ll be back.” He held out his hand to Elizabeth, and she took it, but not before she stopped and picked up the trinity knot necklace Rachel had left on the table.
“Do all mediums have this?”
Rachel reached out and took the trinket from Elizabeth’s hand. “All mediums use something to focus on. You’ll figure out what yours be in time.”
9
From his warehouse office Jonathan stared at the flurry of activity on his new ship while waiting news that Samuel and Elizabeth had returned home safely. The thought of her on the South Side with only two Irish henchmen for protection made him crazy, but there was nothing he could do. Even the scion of a Great House had limitations. Besides, the Abyssinian envoy was due to arrive at any minute.
He remembered what Sampson often said to him whenever he was overwhelmed. “One thing at a time, sir. One thing at a time.” Jonathan smiled to himself and wondered what he would do when Sampson retired. It added to his already burdened mind, so he banished it from his thoughts.
The hiss of welding and the clanking of metal being moved into place got louder. Mr. Evans had opened the door.
“Mr. Weldsmore, your guest has arrived,” his assistant announced.
Jonathan turned to face a man who was his exact height, but who boasted a more muscular build and who carried himself like an officer: straight backed and focused. His skin was much darker than most American Negroes he had seen, and he had a triangular face and a broader nose. He shifted his brown woolen suit, trying to make it more comfortable. Jonathan suspected he did not succeed. Though only two copper filaments were woven into his cuffs and lapel, his bearing gave one the sense he should be dressed as a person from a Great House.
“Please, come in.” Jonathan gestured for him to enter as Mr. Evans closed the door behind him. “And thank you for the gift. The workmanship was exquisite.”
“It was blessed by one of our priests to ward off all evil,” the man replied in a clipped accent Jonathan couldn’t quite place. “If you believe in such things.”
Jonathan gestured to one of the wooden chairs. “Would you like to sit? Please excuse the lack of refinement and comfort.”
The man ignored his question as he turned to stare out the office window overlooking the construction of the new ship. “Is that it?”
“Yes. As per the agreed upon design with Mr. Abdul. And how should I address you?”
“Mekonnen,” he responded. “It is a title bestowed by his majesty to his top emissaries.”
“I was surprised when I heard Mr. Abdul would not be returning. I presumed His Majesty likes consistency.”
A hint of a smile crossed Mekonnen’s face. “You Americans presume much. Mr. Abdul was what you would call a ‘numbers man.’ I am a seaman and a shipbuilder here to inspect what you are creating for us.”
“Excellent. We can start with the blueprints, and then, when the workers are on break, I will give you the tour.”
Mekonnen’s nose shifted as if an unpleasant odor permeated the office. “No. I want to see the men work. Their attitude is important for the finished product. But you already know that, don’t you, Mr. Weldsmore? The real reason is that you do not wish to have to explain why you are giving an African man a tour of this facility.”
“Mr. Mekonnen, I do not have to—” Jonathan attempted to reply before the Abyssinian envoy cut him off.
“Just, Mekonnen. Adding the ‘mister’ is superfluous.”
Furious at being treated like a servant, Jonathan took a deep breath before he continued, not wanting to add to the already increasing tension in the room. “I thought His Majesty wanted to keep our association a secret. Waltzing around the floor with you would be a bit obvious.”
“Oh, I realize the contract is secure. You did a most admirable job of leaking misinformation about a new project with an unnamed House. However, it is widely known that you have been courting various foreign nations for business.” Mekonnen leaned closer to the window and studied the men working below.
“That’s how I obtain and expand our market share.”
Mekonnen glanced back at him over his shoulder. “Even to the point of destroying shipping yards?”
“I had nothing to do with Glasgow and Brest.” Jonathan seethed, barely keeping his anger in check.
The envoy turned and examined him. Jonathan almost flinched under the stare of those dark and intelligent eyes.
“That is obvious.” Mekonnen relaxed. “You are an obstinate yet honorable man. Which is why His Majesty agreed to do business with you.”
“Then why insult me?”
“I was curious as to how you would react.” The envoy shrugged. “Are you a superstitious man, Mr. Weldsmore?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why would you ask that?” Jonathan walked over to the window to stand next to him.
“You have heard the rumors about how the shipping yards were destroyed?” Mekonnen tapped the glass with one finger.
“Demons?” Jonathan spat out the word. “Rumors to stoke fear. That’s all. The whole idea is ridiculous.”
“I am glad to hear you speak that way. I prefer to deal with a rational man in an irrational world. Too many of my people, and yours, are steeped in ignorance. It is only our innate superiority that allows us to overcome what others fear.”
Jonathan said nothing. The last thing he would discuss was his daughter’s ability to see the future.
“Ah, I spoke too quickly. It appears others like myself are welcome among your men.” Mekonnen gestured down to the work floor.
Jonathan frowned and glanced out the window. To his dismay, Hal and Thomas were wandering about with two Weldsmore guardsmen trailing behind them. “If you’ll excuse me.” He exited the room and walked down the stairwell with enough speed to show off his athleticism, but slow enough to appear unbothered by their unexpected appearance.
Thomas smiled at him as Hal talked it up with the foreman. “Mr. Weldsmore, please forgive our unannounced arrival, but Hal insisted the best time to see your new ship was before lunch.”
“I’d have been happy to give you a tour, but I’m busy at the moment,” Jonathan said in a measured tone, trying to hide his annoyance at being interrupted. “Tomorrow afternoon would be better.” He cringed at Hal’s boisterous laughter then continued. “We could even have lunch here.”
“That would be perfect. And once again, I apologize . . .” Thomas glanced over Jonathan’s shoulder. “. . . for interrupting your meeting with . . . ?”
The envoy extended his hand as he walked over a
nd stood next to his host. “Mekonnen.”
Thomas shook it while inspecting the Abyssinian. The young man took in every aspect of the foreigner’s bearing and clothing. It made Jonathan wonder who the real spy was from House Tillenghast, Hal or Thomas. Or perhaps both?
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Mekonnen,” Thomas replied. “You are from one of the African states. Correct?”
“Yes. I am a shipbuilder in my own country and Mr. Weldsmore graciously offered to demonstrate some of his innovative techniques while I am here visiting relatives.”
Jonathan noticed Mekonnen did not correct Thomas on how to address him, nor did he divulge where he was from.
“Jonathan being gracious? Bah!” Hal stomped over and barged into the conversation. “What did you pay him?”
Mekonnen’s face changed from friendly to stoic in a flash. Jonathan wasn’t sure how the Abyssinian would respond to such an insult and prepared himself for what he assumed would be a tirade of proportions befitting the envoy of a monarch who took ostentatiousness to newer and greater heights. When raucous laughter came out of Mekonnen’s mouth, he was stunned.
“It is nice see that someone in your family has a sense of humor.” Mekonnen’s laughter eased down to a chuckle. “When it is quite clear that you do not.”
“That’s Hal’s job,” Jonathan grumbled. “I’m too busy building ships.”
“A long time ago you had one, little brother,” Hal said with more warmth than he probably intended. The warm and caring brother Jonathan had once known leaked out then was promptly stoppered back up.
He missed that brother.
Hal covered up his slip by laughing again. Thomas joined him, though with less exuberance.
“Since we’re all here, why don’t you show us around now?” Hal suggested. “Save yourself some time.”
Jonathan shook his head. “I promised Mekonnen a private tour. And I keep my promises.”
“I’m sure Mr. Mekonnen won’t mind if we join him,” Hal responded.
“Ah, I’m afraid I must hold Mr. Weldsmore to his promise.” The envoy gave both Thomas and Hal an ingratiating smile. “My time is limited, and I have very specific questions that I’m sure will bore you.”
Jonathan laughed to himself. Here he’d thought he’d have to think of a way to brush off his brother, and Mekonnen did it for him. He was starting to like the man.
Before Hal could reply, Thomas jumped into the conversation. “We understand. Hal, we should go and leave your brother to his guest.”
With a harrumph, Hal made a beeline for the office stairwell. “Then we’ll just wait in the office. You still keep the good bourbon up there, don’t you?”
“I’ve had Mr. Evans lock up all the files, Hal. You might as well return to the house or to the club,” Jonathan called out after him.
Thwarted from his obvious attempt to snoop, Hal turned on his heel and walked away. “Come, Thomas. We’re obviously not welcome here.”
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” Thomas gave them both a quick nod of his head and followed Hal out the side door.
The noise from the room had quieted. Jonathan cranked his neck around to see his men watching the scene like it was a stage play. Whether they deemed it a comedy or a drama, Jonathan couldn’t tell. He motioned to his foremen.
Without wasting a beat, the foreman whistled and yelled, “Get back to it!” Soon the sounds of welding and metalwork once again filled the vast space.
Jonathan spent the next two hours showing and discussing the new design with Mekonnen, who proved as knowledgeable about shipbuilding as he claimed. Jonathan had forgotten how much he loved to ‘talk shop.’ His time was consumed with running the business, Great House politics, and now Elizabeth’s visions. The envoy seemed pleased at their progress on his nation’s first advanced military vessel. Jonathan was certain it would give the Austria-Germanic alliance pause before they considered colonizing another African nation. He had no love of their imperialist tendencies and thought a nation’s people should be governed by their own, no matter how corrupt or inept.
“Do you need my car to take you to your hotel?” Jonathan asked when they were finished with the tour.
Mekonnen shook his head. “No, thank you. My man is waiting. I will tell His Majesty what I have seen. I look forward to the sea trials.” The two men walked together toward the door. “I do fear you might anger some of your own allies when they discover our business dealings. I hope you are prepared for that.”
“You needn’t worry about them.”
With a polite nod, Mekonnen exited.
Jonathan waited until the door closed before he checked his silver pocket watch. He couldn’t allow Mekonnen to see him rush out of the office. He might get the wrong impression. So Jonathan watched the miniature internal gears as the minute hand move once then twice around the dial. After three minutes he bolted up the stairwell where Mr. Evans waited, holding his briefcase.
“Mr. Owen has the car running, sir.” The secretary handed him the leather satchel. “And be careful going down the stairs, Mr. Weldsmore.”
“Has Sampson called?”
“No, sir.”
Jonathan hurried back down as fast as he could without breaking his neck. The last thing he needed was to give Hal an excuse to ransack his office. With the Abyssinian envoy pleased with their progress, he could now focus on Elizabeth. Although he had to, he hated trusting Samuel. Samuel was Elizabeth’s husband and would look out for her best interests, but not necessarily the interests of House Weldsmore. It disturbed him that there was even a possibility that the needs of his daughter and that of the House might be diametrically opposed.
As he leapt into the car, he couldn’t help but wonder why Elizabeth’s visions had started again after lying dormant for a year. Was it the house? Old memories? Jonathan didn’t know, but something in his gut told him he needed to find out. Right now, the only thing that mattered was Samuel would do anything to ensure her safety.
***
Sampson stood by the front door waiting for Elizabeth and Samuel to return. Mr. Weldsmore had instructed him to call his office as soon as they arrived back at the house. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was just as worried about Elizabeth as her father was. She was the daughter he had never had, having devoted himself to this family his entire life. It hurt him that Mr. Weldsmore had not taken him into his confidence with regard to Elizabeth, but their secrets were his secrets, and he would take them to his grave.
He had known about Elizabeth’s visions since she was a girl. Though it was Mrs. Owen who held her after she woke in terror, crying in the middle of the night, she’d always thought the girl was having nightmares due to her mother passing at such a young age. Her own Irish ways made her blind to the fact that someone other than one of her own could possess such an ability. It wasn’t until Elizabeth mentioned a trolley accident that didn’t occur until three days later that he wondered if she was a medium. His suspicions were confirmed when she begged him to not send one of the underbutlers on an errand. Later, the carriage he would have been driving broke an axle and would probably have killed him.
Sampson had the impression she had not had the visions during her honeymoon but for some reason they had started again. He would have to be watchful and make sure none of the other staff gossiped about it.
His reverie was cut short when he saw the horse-drawn carriage Samuel had rented drive up to the entrance. One of the underbutlers tried to get to the door before Samuel opened it but failed. Sampson sighed. For all his skills as a detective, Samuel Hunter failed to notice that his actions upset the staff. He would have to correct that.
He opened the front door as Elizabeth and Samuel approached.
“I hope you had a pleasurable day, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter,” he spoke in a casual tone.
“Fine. Thank you, Sampson,” Samuel replied, not taking his eyes off his wife.
Elizabeth gave him a wan smile as Samuel escorted her inside. Her drab clothing m
ade her face appear pale, but based on Samuel’s upbeat demeanor, he assumed their excursion had gone well. He suspected it had something to do with her visions, but thought better than to ask. Instead, Sampson did his duty and headed toward Mr. Weldsmore’s study to call him and let him know they had returned.
Before had walked two steps, he heard Mr. Weldsmore’s car returning. Both Elizabeth and Samuel did as well and waited for him at the bottom of the staircase. Sampson watched as Jonathan swept in and gestured for both of them to follow him. He saw Jonathan hug his daughter with more joy than he had seen a long time. Sampson smiled to himself, pleased that his employer could still show love. Maybe, just maybe, this would become a happy house again.
10
The tugboat horns distracted Samuel from his wife’s discussions with the deliveryman about the placement of the furniture. Even after everything she had been through the last two days, she had contacted a local clothing and food wholesaler and arranged for the new office furnishings. Samuel saw the tiredness set around her eyes and mouth, but it made him proud that she was so determined to not only do a good job setting up their detective agency but keep her promise to Rachel as well. He wondered if her self-imposed busyness disguised her anxiety over her upcoming session with the medium. The brusque Irishwoman was not one to be trifled with, but Elizabeth had dealt with her better than he had expected.
Her work on the warehouse was paying off. She had hired three Irish women to clean, and they had dug into it with a vengeance—but only after they had complained loudly at the poor state it was in. Now the warehouse was almost dust and dirt free. Sunlight poured through the windows, banishing the shadows that lurked in the most unlikely places.
“Bring the desk and the wooden chairs into the back office and the rest of the upholstered chairs into the front room.” Dressed in a somewhat dowdy Middle District skirt and blouse, Elizabeth instructed the deliveryman as she checked items off a clipboard. “I want our clients to be comfortable. And be sure to bring the ice box next time.”
Boston Metaphysical Society Page 9