Jonathan watched as Mr. Gordon’s neck tilted to the side. “What? You do? Is Congress aware?”
That question was code for “Do the other Great Houses know?”
Jonathan shook his head. “No. It didn’t seem wise at the time to inform them. But since the contracts are complete and are also broadening in scope, I thought it best to keep the public apprised before news leaks out and the deal is misconstrued or misunderstood.”
“I see. Miss Price, are you getting all this?” Mr. Gordon asked, without taking his eyes off of Jonathan.
“Yes, sir.”
“And what would you like us to say in this article, Mr. Weldsmore?”
Jonathan took the next hour describing his original contract to His Majesty, the king of Abyssinia, without going into any details about the new design or the new alloys they were using. He also discussed how His Majesty was paying a premium wage for his men to go to his country and build three ships for their navy over the next five years. It wasn’t the first time a Great House had had foreign contracts, but the first where an American company was building a military warship for a foreign country. To some it would be deemed traitorous, but for Jonathan it served several purposes: it would make him a lot of money and it annoyed those who would seek to control him and others like him. Mekonnen may be African, but he had the same social standing in his nation as Jonathan did in his, which meant they were equals after a fashion.
Mr. Gordon had sat down after the first half hour, overwhelmed by Jonathan’s financial and political exploits. Miss Price forgot to take a notes, she was so mesmerized.
“What I don’t understand is why decide to reveal this now?” Mr. Gordon scratched his head. “It would have eventually come out, but by then there would be nothing anyone could do about it except complain.”
Jonathan shrugged. “I deemed this to be the most appropriate time. Besides, our citizens should know that we are part of a worldwide economy.”
“So you think we are too isolated?” Miss Price asked. It got her a harsh look from her boss, but she ignored it.
“Actually, I believe the Great States of America may have too much influence,” Jonathan replied.
Miss Price opened her mouth to ask another question, but Mr. Gordon cut her off.
“Thank you, Mr. Weldsmore, for coming to us instead of the Boston Globe.” The editor-in-chief wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Why did you?”
Jonathan glanced over at Miss Price, who already had the answer.
“Mr. Weldsmore and Mr. Pulitzer’s son went to school together. He would naturally want to give his House the first crack at this story,” Miss Price answered with just a touch of condescension in her voice.
Mr. Gordon scowled. “Miss Price, please hand over your notes to Mr. Stevens. He’ll be writing this story.”
“But, Mr. Gordon . . . ,” she protested.
“He is the senior financial reporter.” He gave her a look that told her not to argue.
Jonathan decided to make Mr. Gordon’s day more awkward. “I want Miss Price to write this story.”
“What?”
“She’s obviously qualified, and she understands the families involved.” Jonathan stood to leave. “There is no reason this should be in the financial section. Isn’t that right, Miss Price.”
She grinned. “Yes, sir. The real story is not about the contracts but about the men working overseas. How will it affect their families? Also, the relationship between not only House Weldsmore and the king of Abyssinia but the relationship of all the Great Houses with the world.” Miss Price thumped her pencil on her notepad. “This is a human-interest story with enough politics mixed in for the front page.”
Mr. Gordon gaped at the two of them in bafflement. “I suppose we could take that approach.”
“More people will read it, sir.” Miss Price chimed in. “And the circulation will increase. People love a good human-interest story.”
“Listen to the young lady, Mr. Gordon.” Jonathan headed toward the door. “I expect it to be in the paper no later than the day after tomorrow.”
Mr. Gordon leapt up from his chair. “It’ll be in tomorrow’s edition, sir. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Jonathan exited the room knowing full well that Miss Price would receive a dressing down, then be ordered to write the best story of her life. Based on her enthusiasm, he surmised that she would not only dig into his story but do research on the other Great Houses and their economic dealings overseas. It might reveal information that House Tillenghast would rather not see in any paper, causing them a minor scandal or embarrassment. Or at least he hoped.
Back in the car, Jonathan recognized that this would only distract Tillenghast for a short time. He would come at Jonathan again. But where and how Jonathan would have to figure out soon.
15
Elizabeth had changed back into a casual dinner dress made of pink silk with embroidered rose brocade on her corset and accents of freshwater pearls. She had to admit that the Middle District dress and jacket she had been wearing the last few days was far more comfortable. It might be worth her while to talk to her seamstress about altering her day dresses, especially if she and Samuel were to be spending most of their time at the docks with the new business.
There was so much going on, and she was thrilled at what she had accomplished. She didn’t find her visions to be exhausting at all, unlike what Rachel and Andrew told her would happen. In fact, they filled her with such excitement and energy she couldn’t wait to dive into another one and discover where the missing children and the other South Siders were. She not only felt a sense of purpose, but wonder and awe. However, right now Elizabeth had to decide how much she should tell Samuel about what had happened today. ‘Parse information out carefully,’ her father used to say. ‘But always hold something back so you have the advantage.’
There came a knock on the bedroom door.
“Come in.”
Sampson entered carrying a tray with a teapot, one cup, and dried mint tea leaves tied in a bundle.
“Sally should have brought that. I’m sure you have much more important things to attend to.”
He gave her a slight bow then walked over to a small inlaid wood table and set the tray down. “I wanted to speak to you, miss. I’m sorry . . . Mrs. Hunter.”
“Don’t be silly. Mrs. Hunter is too formal.”
Sampson poured hot water into the porcelain cup. “With the challenges your family is facing right now, if you ever need me, all you have to do is ask.”
Elizabeth walked over and patted his arm. “You are the best, Sampson. I don’t know what Father would do without you. Or me, for that matter.”
Sampson dunked the mint leaves in the water several times. “If you and Mr. Hunter are ever faced with the unhappy task of running House Weldsmore without your father, I will help in any way I can.” The tea having reached its desired color of green, he handed her the cup.
“That’s because you know where all the bodies are buried.” Elizabeth teased him.
“Miss!” Sampson pretended to be shocked, then looked serious. “Well, yes. Your education has focused on the politics and society of the Great Houses, which is of vital importance. On day-to-day operations you may not be as knowledgeable. Such as which employees you can trust. For instance, Mr. Evans but not any of the undersecretaries.”
“Duly noted, sir.” She gave him a mock salute and smiled.
Samuel trudged in, taking off his jacket in the process. “Sampson! What do I have to do to get some of Jonathan’s good whiskey?”
“Ask and you shall receive,” Sampson replied with a subtle grin as he left the room.
“Did you learn anything about Thomas?” she asked.
“He definitely has money in one of the banks in Liberty Row. How much?” Samuel shrugged. “Your father should be able to find out.” He sat on the bed and pulled off his boots and dropped them on the floor. “But why would he have money there
and not where it’s easily accessible in Chicago where he works? It’s not like he doesn’t have job security.”
He got up and walked into the bathroom where Elizabeth heard him wash his face and finish getting dressed for dinner. She sat at her vanity and adjusted a few pins in her hair until satisfied with the result. Finding herself with a spare bobby pin, she placed it into an ovoid-shaped cobalt-blue glass bottle and put the stopper back on. She peered at it for a minute.
“What if he was saving for a rainy day?” She called out to her husband.
“What?” he yelled back over the water running.
“What if he were keeping the money for a special occasion?” she yelled back.
Samuel walked in wiping the water from his face with a fluffy white towel made of Egyptian cotton. “He’s clearly saving it for a specific reason. But why hide it from Tillenghast? Wait.” He stopped wiping his face. “You said rainy day.”
Elizabeth stood up, took the towel from him, and dried off the spots he’d missed around his neck. “Yes, in case something happens and he can’t access it from the banks in Chicago.”
“Or he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s pulling money out. Or an unusually large amount.” Samuel kissed her hard on the lips. “You’re brilliant.”
“But why?’ Elizabeth tapped a finger against her cheek. “He has everything. And why ask Father for money?”
“He needs more than he expected. Like for a mistress. Someone Tillenghast wouldn’t approve of.”
“No. They wouldn’t care.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Not unless it was one of Tillenghast’s daughters, and the only one who lives in Chicago is Charlotte, Hal’s wife. So I don’t think that’s it.”
“Wait. What if he’s planning to leave the country?” Samuel paced. “What better place to keep it than at a major point of departure. Especially if he can convince my father to let him berth on one of our ships. And no one would ever question a guest of your father’s.”
“Exactly.” Elizabeth batted her eyes at him for fun. “Didn’t I tell you we’d make a good team?” She leaned over to kiss him.
“But the question is why?” Samuel put a shirt on. Elizabeth buttoned it up for him.
“With all that’s going on, it could be a number of reasons,” Elizabeth remarked. “Or something we’ve never considered.” She frowned. “Do you think he knows anything about the missing South Siders?”
“That’s a leap, don’t you think? Which reminds me, how did it go today?”
“Good. I found Mary, Mr. Owen’s sister. She’s a medium, and I was sort of able to talk to her. But I still have no idea where they are being held.”
Stunned, Samuel took a step back. “And you’re just now telling me that? Have you told Mr. Owen?”
“No. Not yet. I didn’t want to give him false hope. Plus, trying to explain how I knew this would have been awkward.” Frustration seeped into her voice. “We were so close, but I also saw Abigail, the little girl from the candy store.”
“I talked to the owner. He said she had a fit outside the store. That’s about it. I tracked down some of her friends she went clamming with. One boy remembered a blond man in ill-fitting clothes loitering about.” Samuel put on his dinner jacket. “I want to see if anyone else has seen him. Though he’s probably just from the Middle District looking for a, ahem, lady of the night.”
“Samuel, you can say the word prostitute in front of me. I won’t melt.” Elizabeth returned to the vanity and picked out a necklace with a small ruby at the center of a circle of diamonds on a gold chain. “This is worth at least two truckloads of food and clothing,” she commented as she put it on.
“Probably more. You plan on selling it? It does look good on you.”
“Maybe. What do you think about opening more schools on the South Side?”
Samuel shrugged. “You’re asking me? That’s Great House politics.”
“Hummm . . .” Elizabeth frowned. “I’ll need more than charm to have that approved.”
“I’m afraid so.” He headed toward the door. “Ready?”
“Go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Samuel nodded then walked out, closing the door behind him.
Elizabeth sat down at the vanity again and pretended to check her makeup. Part of her wanted to tell Samuel everything that had happened, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. This ability to enter visions on her own had taken a very personal tone, and she didn’t want to share all of it. This was her achievement not Samuel’s, nor her father’s.
From the looks that Rachel and Andrew had given her today, they were surprised at her rapid progress. Shocked even. Was she as powerful as the older, more experienced, medium? Or was she more? And would Rachel try to hinder her to keep her in her place? The more Elizabeth thought about it, the more absurd she realized it was and tried to shake off the idea, but it kept gnawing at her.
And what about the thing that had tried to communicate with her? Not the man who’d whispered in her ear, but whatever had left the handprint on her boot and pulled on her dress. If that wasn’t a cry for help then what was? Perhaps it was even one of the missing people like Mary.
Elizabeth sat up straight and stared at her reflection. What she saw was a strong, attractive woman capable of doing anything she wanted as long as House Weldsmore permitted it. That’s when she decided that she would no longer be dictated to by a Great House or anyone else. It was time to steer her own course no matter where it led her.
***
Sampson passed by the open door and noticed that Elizabeth had not gone down to dinner. He circled back and was about to announce himself when he saw her staring into her vanity mirror as if she were looking at a person other than herself. It was odd. He waited a moment or two before knocking in case she needed any assistance. From where he stood, he could see her reflection, but she was not able to see him. Sampson raised his hand to knock—and froze. Elizabeth’s eyes had changed. One minute they were her normal hazel color, the next a swirling morass of amethyst. Alluring and repulsive at the same time, Sampson had the urge to reach out and stroke her hair and gaze deeper into those eyes, but he shook it off.
Frightened, he turned and fled down the staircase and didn’t stop until he reached the bottom.
His first thought was to inform Mr. Weldsmore, but what would he say? Your daughter’s eyes changed color? He’d think Sampson had lost his mind. Not to mention it could be construed as inappropriate to be staring unseen at a woman in her private rooms. Even telling Samuel might end in Sampson being dismissed. No, he wouldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. He would watch over Elizabeth like he had done all her life. Whatever he’d seen, she was still acting fine as far as he knew, and as long as she remained that way, he would have nothing to tell anyone. However, if she was threatened in any way, he would act.
Elizabeth might be Jonathan Weldsmore’s daughter in name, but she was Sampson’s in spirit.
***
The look on Elizabeth and Samuel’s faces at dinner when Jonathan told them he had gone to the newspapers to announce his business deal with the Abyssinians was worth the trouble it would cause. Or so Jonathan thought.
The next day he had Sampson remove the phone from his office after two hours of nonstop calls from other newspapers wanting interviews, the heads of several Great Houses, and the Senate chairman of the Foreign Defense Committee for the Great States of America. Edgar Monplasir of House Monplasir barged in with his usual pack of followers without so much as a courtesy call, ranting about how was he supposed to ship his crops overseas if Congress shut Jonathan down for treason? Jonathan assured him that nothing of the sort would happen. His contracts with His Majesty were legal and did not violate any preexisting trade agreements.
Monplasir finally left in a huff with his trail of sycophants behind him, but not before they had touched, manhandled, and commented on every piece of furniture and artwork in the foyer and Jonathan’s office.
His contracts with the Abyssinians
would have leaked in time, but he still believed getting out in front of it was the smartest thing. It would also throw House Tillenghast off guard. They wouldn’t expect him to announce a deal that on the surface smacked of treason. The truth was Jonathan Weldsmore had beaten them to a market no one had ever considered or were too afraid to consider. Once he cleared the path, other Great Houses would follow in his footsteps to exploit foreign markets. Why colonize and conquer when it was easier to do business and make a profit?
The heads of House Du Pont and Bridgeworth and a few others either sent telegrams or called to praise his ingenuity and brashness, but most either expressed their outrage or stayed silent. Jonathan suspected those who were quiet were waiting to see how this all fell out before they acted.
He found it interesting that House Zhou from San Francisco sent a message written in Chinese that when translated said, “Strength and Good Fortune.” Most of the West and East Coast Great Houses had little interaction unless it came to cross-country transportation. House Zhou built their own ships out of San Francisco but did not have as large of a shipping yard as House Weldsmore, nor the wealth—yet. House Espinosa in the northern part of California produced wine and had little interest in the political machinations of the East Coast as long as it did not interrupt production. This would all change as more of the population moved west.
Now, Jonathan waited for the other shoe to drop. And it did, but much more rapidly than he expected.
By the end of the day, he was served with a summons by an official congressional courier to appear in Washington, DC the day after tomorrow in front of the House Foreign Defense Commission. He would have to face questioning by the same men he’d helped to elect on whether his contracts with the Abyssinians were legal or not. He’d expected such a summons, but not for at least a week. That would have been plenty of time to prepare. It annoyed him that he would have to scramble to put his allies in place to fight to keep the contracts intact.
The entire proceeding had House Tillenghast written all over it. No one had known he would go public since he had only decided himself a day ago. The only way this summons could have arrived so fast was if it had already been approved, which meant House Tillenghast had played every angle and had come out ahead. Tillenghast had likely heard about the contracts before the paper even went to press.
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