by Joanna Shupe
“It’s what I want, Daddy. I do not wish to marry and settle down. I want my own business. And I’m good at cards and games of chance.”
He shook his head, his mouth twisting in a patronizing smile. “Besting the old ladies at your grandmother’s weekly euchre game is a far cry from running a casino.”
Lord, he would never understand her. “I am aware of that. If you would just give me an opportunity—”
“And have you considered the scandal? It would kill your mother. No, this conversation is over. Mr. Connors has asked to court you and I think it’s a fine idea. I’ll tell your mother to ask him—”
Florence couldn’t take it one second longer. Shooting to her feet, she faced him down. “I’ll never forgive you if you force me to marry.”
He blew out a long breath. “Sometimes a parent must make decisions in a child’s best interest. You’ll understand when you have your own children. So if this hurts you, I am sorry. But you’ll thank me one day.”
“No, I absolutely will not.”
Turning on her heel, she left the room, biting her lip to stem the tears threatening. Her father would never understand. He thought she was reckless and irresponsible. He wouldn’t approve of anything she wanted unless it was to get married. Trying to convince him was a waste of time.
She had to do this on her own.
“What happened last night?”
The voice came from directly behind her. Florence started and put a hand to her heart as she turned. For God’s sake, where had her sister come from? “Justine, you scared me to death.”
Her younger sister took Florence’s hand and pulled her into the shadows of the portrait gallery near the front entry. “I thought you heard me. I called your name.”
“No, I didn’t hear you. Why are you following me?”
“To find out what is going on. Daddy’s mood at breakfast was awful and Mama said she had no idea why. I heard him leave before the two of you came home last night. So what happened?”
Florence grimaced. Might as well come clean with it. “Daddy found Clay and me together last night.”
“Oh, no. He must have been furious.”
Florence lowered herself on a settee. “It was absolutely awful. We were at the Hoffman House’s saloon.”
“They don’t allow women inside.”
“Clay arranged it. He took me to see the painting there after we left Sherry’s.”
“Just the two of you?”
Florence nodded. A lump formed in her throat, a tight ball of misery and embarrassment. And anger, of course. “It was romantic. He was so sweet. I thought . . .” Never mind that. Whatever she’d thought had been wrong.
“I saw the way he looked at you last night on the street. He’s in love with you.”
“Justine, he is the person behind the development on Granny’s block.”
Her sister blinked, confusion clouding her gaze. “Clayton Madden is the one buying all those houses and tearing them down? Good gracious, why?”
“I don’t know. It has to do with revenge against Daddy.”
“That is a bit extreme. Was it over a business deal or some such nonsense?”
“I have no idea. But Daddy told me I cannot open my own casino and forbade me to see Clay ever again.”
“Oh, you know Daddy is full of bluster. He’ll change his mind once he cools down a bit.”
“I don’t think so. He wants Mr. Connors to court me.”
“Mr. Connors? But he’s . . . old.”
“Yes, he is. Don’t worry, I’ll run away before I let that happen. I don’t wish to marry.”
“Unless it’s Clayton Madden.”
Florence rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Justine believed love could cure all society’s ills. “I don’t wish to marry Clay.”
“Liar. It’s clear you have feelings for him. Mamie and I both commented on it during our ride home.”
Damn her sister’s perceptive nature. “My feelings for Clay don’t matter. He attempted to tear down our grandmother’s home.” Even saying it aloud was horrifying.
“In his defense, it’s not as if she wasn’t offered money to sell. Clay tried to purchase the property, as he did the others. There’s nothing untoward about what happened.”
“Except he intended to build a casino around her to force her to move.”
“I’m not saying I approve of that idea but Granny has enough money to go anywhere she wishes. In fact, she could buy land somewhere else, have the house torn down and rebuilt brick by brick. Being wealthy solves most problems.”
Justine volunteered with many charity organizations and fought for better services to aid the city’s poorest residents. She was constantly reminding Florence and Mamie of the privileges they enjoyed because of their family’s wealth.
“According to Daddy, the house will now be converted into a school. So Clay won’t get the revenge he hoped for.”
“Did you know?”
“About the revenge? Yes, Clay told me the night I met him that he planned revenge against Daddy.”
“So you knew from the beginning.”
“Yes, but there was no need to make me . . .” Fall in love with him.
“Aha! You were going to admit it, weren’t you?” Justine appeared triumphant. “Have you asked Clay about any of this? Perhaps he was as caught up in you as you were in him.”
“This is not a grand romance, Justine.” Florence pushed off the settee and began pacing. “Clay should have told me.”
“Why didn’t you tell Daddy of Clay’s revenge plot?”
“I thought I could stop it. That over time he’d come to care for me and realize my father was a decent man.”
“So you had a plot of your own, one you didn’t tell Clay about.”
“Do not take his side!” Florence snapped, her irritation and frustration boiling over. “You are so naive. Life is not all candy and flowers. Some people are just awful and terrible.”
Justine crossed her arms. “You think I am unaware of that? With all I’ve seen downtown, the disease and the starvation? Hopheads and gin holes. Children whose feet are frostbitten because they couldn’t afford shoes. Women forced to sell their bodies for coin to feed their families. Cholera and syphilis and phossy jaw. I have seen the ugliness our society offers those who suffer. So please, do not tell me I’m naive.”
Shame crawled across Florence’s neck. How could she have forgotten? “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just . . .” She let her arms fall uselessly at her sides. “Sad.”
“He made you happy, didn’t he?” When Florence nodded, Justine’s expression softened. “At the very least, give Clay a chance to explain. He owes you that.”
Hmm. As much as Florence didn’t wish to see Clay again, her sister might be right. What had happened twenty years ago between Clay and her father? Clay would have been just a boy downtown. Florence couldn’t see how he would have crossed paths with Duncan Greene.
Yet, something had happened. And that something had strangled her chance at a future with Clay.
“I’ll consider it.” She cocked her head and studied her younger sister. “How did you get so wise?”
“Watching my two older sisters get into trouble, I suppose.” Justine came over and clasped Florence’s hand. “Daddy and Granny are able to fend for themselves. You don’t have to protect them or try to fight their battles. And while I may not think a women’s casino is a good use of money or land, it’s your dream. So chase your dream, Florence. We’ll always be behind you, supporting you.”
She squeezed Justine’s hand. Mamie would’ve likely said the same and Florence was dashed grateful for her sisters. “Thank you. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Justine laughed. “Honestly, I don’t, either.”
Deep voices approached. The two sisters retreated into the shadows out of habit, one born of a lifelong curiosity of visitors to the household. “Who is it?” Justine whispered. “Perhaps Clay has come to apologize.”
Florence nearly choked. She couldn’t imagine Clay paying a visit to the Greene home, especially not after last night. “No, it couldn’t be.”
A tall man, nearly as tall as her father, appeared in the corridor, a leather satchel in his hand. Then their father was there, a huge grin on his face as both men walked toward the front entry. Who was this stranger and why did her father appear so happy?
Florence studied the guest’s face as he passed and a memory nagged in the back of her brain. She hadn’t met him, had she?
Williams helped the man with his things as her father hovered. “Crain, thank you again for the expediency. I think I’ll take a little trip downtown this morning and deliver the good news myself.”
Oh, yes. Her father had mentioned a Mr. Crain would arrive with papers to secure the city’s new school. This didn’t explain why Crain looked so familiar to her, however.
“You are the one doing the city a great service, Mr. Greene. This neighborhood desperately needs another school.” The men shook hands and Crain departed.
Their father addressed their butler before the door even closed. “Williams, have my brougham brought around. I need to pay a call to the Bronze House.”
A pang went off somewhere near Florence’s heart. Daddy is going to see Clay. Part of her wanted to sneak down to the casino and eavesdrop on their conversation. Perhaps then she’d finally learn the history between the two men.
A strange feeling, undeniable and strong, pulled her gaze back to the closed door. Her neck prickled with the sense that something was off. She’d seen that man recently. But where? Most of her time of late had been spent with Clay at—
She stopped breathing, her muscles locked, as the answer unfolded with perfect precision.
The Bronze House. Crain had been at the Bronze House to meet with Clay.
But that made no sense. Crain worked for the city. He had brought papers for her father to sign regarding the Seventy-Ninth Street school. Why would he also have met with Clay?
Every instinct was on high alert, telling her the two were connected.
No, you’re imagining things. Just a strange coincidence. Clay dealt with police and city officials all the time in his line of work.
And yet . . .
“What’s wrong?” Justine murmured. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m not certain. Something is bothering me about that man.”
“The one who just left?”
“Yes. I need to see Clayton and get to the bottom of all this.”
“Now?”
“Right now. I’ll go out through the gardens and catch a hack.”
“Be careful,” her sister whispered.
“I always am,” Florence said and slipped out the opposite end of the portrait gallery, through the door to the dining room.
One way or another, she would have answers today.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The midday routine inside the Bronze House screeched to a halt when Clay walked in the next day. He’d been gone all night, cooped up in a cell at police headquarters.
“Jesus.” Jack slammed down the crate of bottles he’d been carrying. “What the hell happened to you?”
Clay ignored his friend and turned to the nearest employee. “May I trouble you to fetch me some coffee, please? And whatever Cook has on hand to eat.”
The girl nodded and hurried away, leaving Clay to gingerly lower himself into a wooden chair. Every part of his body ached. Not only from Bill’s ham-handed fists but also from trying to get comfortable in a tiny cell for hours on end. He hadn’t managed any sleep during his incarceration. And, despite repeated requests, he hadn’t been allowed to phone his lawyers until daybreak.
He was starving and exhausted. Worse, a Florence-less future stretched out in front of him like a gauntlet of sharp metal spikes pressing into his skin at every turn. Painful, exhausting torture. It was too depressing to contemplate.
Jack dropped into the seat opposite. “I thought you were with your lady friend.”
“I was in jail.”
Jack’s mouth fell open, his forehead wrinkled in disbelief. “You were arrested? What for?”
“Officially, assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest.”
“Unofficially?”
“Trying to beat the shit out of Bill.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. No doubt he deserved it. How’d he get the drop on you to arrest you, though?”
“Punched me in the throat.”
Jack shook his head and grimaced. “You always were terrible at protecting your head and neck.”
Of course Jack would say that. He’d been one of the country’s best boxers for years. “Well, feel free to give me boxing lessons, but let me catch up on my sleep first.”
“Want to tell me what happened?”
Clay proceeded to tell Jack the entire night, from the moment he and Florence had exited the Hoffman House saloon to this morning. “And they wouldn’t let me notify my lawyers until daybreak. Otherwise, I would’ve been released a lot sooner.”
The girl returned with a cup and saucer, along with some food, which she set on the table in front of Clay. “There you are, sir.”
“Thank you, Pippa,” Jack said before Clay could respond. “Would you mind giving us the room?”
She left and the other employees followed suit. When they were alone, Jack asked, “So Greene knows about you and his daughter. What does that mean for us?”
“Nothing. He’ll tell her to stay away from me and that’ll be that.” He shoved half a roll in his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing.
“I can’t imagine Greene isn’t going to attempt some retribution for consorting with his daughter. Not to mention your efforts to run his mother out of her home.”
“He’s welcome to try. He will fail, however.”
“We can’t fight threats from all sides, Clay. Something has to give.”
Clay sighed and drank his coffee. Jack was right, of course. An illegal business could only poke so many hives before it was swarmed and destroyed. “Florence will never speak to me again, so that’s over. And the house issue is nearly finished. Bill has played his only hand and my lawyers had the charges dismissed.”
“You don’t think Florence will forgive you?”
“For trying to tear down her grandmother’s house? I cannot imagine that to be a forgivable offense.”
“Was it worth it?”
Clay couldn’t meet Jack’s knowing gaze. He stared at his coffee instead. “It will be once I open the casino on Seventy-Ninth Street.”
“Liar. You’ll miss her.”
“Regardless, I knew this was coming. Her hatred was the inevitable conclusion to this little drama.”
“You are a grim bastard,” Jack said as he stood. “Get some sleep. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”
“Madden?”
Clay angled toward the doorway. Pete, the front doorman, waited. “Yes?”
“You have a man here to see you. I told him you weren’t available but he said you’d want to see him.”
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Duncan Greene.”
Clay dragged a hand down his face. He felt a hundred years old today. No sleep. No food. Still in last night’s clothing. Couldn’t this wait?
Get it over with. Then you can move on and forget her.
“I’ll see him.”
“I’m coming with you,” Jack said. “You’re in no shape to engage in another round of fisticuffs. You look worse than I did after that title bout in Coney Island.”
“He’s not going to attack me.” Clay groaned as he pushed to his feet. Christ Almighty. He was going to sleep for a week after this.
“I’m not taking any chances. If Bill could best you, then Duncan Greene has more than a fighting chance.”
“Fine. Show him up to my office, Pete.”
“Will do, sir.”
Pete disappeared and Clay headed upstairs. His ga
it was stiff and he could sense Jack’s impatience behind him. Jack remained silent, thank God, leaving Clay to struggle at his own pace. When they reached the office, Clay lowered himself behind the desk and Jack stood at his side.
They didn’t wait long.
Wearing a satisfied smirk, Duncan entered when Pete opened the door. Florence’s father carried a satchel, which he placed on the floor after he sat down. The door closed and Clay got right to the point.
“Why are you here, Greene?”
“How was the rest of your evening?” Duncan asked, looking pleased with himself. “Have a nice sojourn at police headquarters?”
“If you think a few hours in a cell bothers me, then you don’t know me very well. Now, I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”
“I’m here to update you regarding my mother’s home and your efforts to build a casino on Seventy-Ninth Street. Fair warning, you aren’t going to like it.”
“Is that so?”
“You know, it didn’t have to end up this way,” Greene said. “If someone from your family had come to me and explained the situation, I would have made restitution.”
“Really?” Clay’s upper lip curled. “Because I tried to speak to you. Twice. I was turned away both times.”
“I hardly would have engaged with an eleven-year-old boy. Your mother and father should have fought on your family’s behalf.”
“How do you know they didn’t try?”
“Because you would have mentioned it just now.”
“You have no idea what happened to my parents, my family, after you kicked us out of our home. Do not dare to say you would have cared about the displaced families under your boot heel.”
“You wish to paint me as a monster, Madden, fine. But I did care about the displaced families. I was told they all received fair market value for their property.”
“Then you were lied to.”
“I see I am wasting my breath.” Duncan reached inside the satchel on his lap, withdrawing a stack of papers. “I’ll get to the point. By buying up the land around my mother’s home you hoped to drive her away, whereby you could scoop up the property and build your casino. That will no longer be possible. I have sold the property to the city.”