A World of Expectations_Book 2_The Confrontation

by Gayle Lynn Messick

  “There is a grave misunderstanding,” the clerk said while he examined the document. “This is not our stationery. I fear someone has perpetuated a falsehood, and I can assure you, good sir, it was not this establishment.

  “Nevertheless, might we register today? We are tired from our journey.”

  “All the available rooms are taken. In fact, all the rooms in all the hotels have been reserved for well over a fortnight for our annual year end celebration.”

  Rawlings released a long sigh, his every muscle tightened, and he knew if he had possessed any energy, he would have punched the man in the nose. His training on proper behavior took over. “Pray, tell me, sir. How do I find transportation?” Rawlings glowered..

  “To where?”

  “Mr. Livingston’s home in Manhattan.” His scowl increased.

  “Mr. Robert Livingston, the Chancellor?”

  “Yes. We are scheduled to meet with him tomorrow, but I suppose he might be the best one to locate a fine establishment for us for the night.”

  “Excuse me for a moment.” The clerk scurried to the back room, and within a minute, a well-dressed manager appeared.

  The manager looked the two men over from head to toe. “I beg your pardon. My clerk is mistaken. We have your room ready. It is the best suite we offer. Again, I beg your forgiveness for his error. I will take you to your rooms. Please follow me.”

  Logan appeared with the trunks, and Rawlings spoke quietly to the manager, who found a servant to handle their luggage. Rawlings grinned at Logan and waved him along as they made their way up the three flights of stairs.

  They examined the rooms, and agreed that while it was not equal to Lowell’s guest rooms in Boston, it was far superior to the cabin onboard ship.

  “It appears we have the whole floor to ourselves.” Logan said as he opened the first trunk. “

  “I suppose Mr. Livingston is a powerful force in New York. Meeting Lowell was providential. Let us hope our good luck continues.” Rawlings lifted his trunk and placed it on the wooden stand for the luggage, but when he began to open the lid, Logan raced over.

  “Sir, I will take care of your clothes.”

  “Rawlings! Call me Rawlings, not sir! I will finish unpacking my trunk. I have grown accustomed to performing valet duties. In fact, I would rather work than sit and watch you stay busy. There is nothing else for me to do. I am hungry, and waiting for you to unpack both trunks will delay my meal. So move away.”

  Logan relented, and the two men quickly dispensed with the unpacking and headed down to the inn’s dining room. Once the food arrived, the two men devised a schedule for the next day. Recognizing the first stop would be to find John Jacob Astor; Rawlings pulled out the documents and circled the location on the page Mr. Cuffage identified as Astor’s home. Rawlings emphasized that he could not afford any mistake tomorrow, as the global strategy was riding on collaborating with Astor. They finished the meal and headed out to a tavern recommended by the desk clerk. Rawlings was disappointed it did not possess any pub games, but realized Kent and the alliance could happily correct this situation. America caused Rawlings to bubble up with ideas; everywhere he looked, he found an opportunity.

  The next morning, the manager sent up a breakfast tray for the men, and they ate while Logan prepared his master for the day. Rawlings teased him about his preference for his valet duties, and reminded him in America, anyone could be anything. With an unspoken anxiousness, the two men finished dressing and left the room.

  The clerk, apologetic about the previous day’s episode, located a hired carriage for them and they headed towards the address they had for Astor.

  “Burned down?” Rawlings searched the area for any building still standing.

  The carriage driver laughed. “You are looking at the remains of the old Morris Warehouse. I heard tell it burned down four years ago. I thought you knew.”

  “We were informed John Jacob Astor’s establishment was here.” Rawlings squeezed his hands into fists. “Do you know where the man might be found?”

  “I only arrived in New York two months ago. Sorry, mister.”

  “There is a good fee if you can help us locate him.” Rawlings held up a bag of coins.

  The driver nodded, and headed to a tavern where his brother worked. He suggested several places, none of which proved to be successful. Apparently, many residents had heard of Astor, but none knew where to find him. The last place on the list was Staten Island, although it remained largely unsettled, but a few families had moved there ever since a ferry service had begun. Thinking it was worth a try, they headed to the embarkation point.

  A strapping young lad of sixteen or seventeen approached them while they waited for the boat. His gaze swept over the two men standing before him, and did not bother to conceal his curiosity, since his glance seemed to weigh the men’s importance. The young lad kept his surveillance on the men while he prepared the ferry for the trip to the other end. Once his tasks were completed, he sought out the pair.

  “Is there anything I could do to help you, sirs?” He waved the two men towards him so he could steer the ferry while they spoke. The boat lurched forward just as Rawlings and Logan joined him.

  “You are young to be running the ferry. Is this a family business?” Rawlings asked.

  “Yes. It is if you count one as a family. Well, my mother did lend me the money, but it is my business.”

  “You! This is your ferry?”

  He nodded. “Yes, and I do a good business, too!” He waited a moment, and when no one spoke up, he asked, “You are from England? You appear to be gentlemen.”

  Rawlings sized the young man up. “Let me introduce myself, I am Gerald Rawlings from Staffordshire, England, and this is my associate, Mr. Logan.” Rawlings attempted to bow when he noticed an ungloved hand thrust his way.

  “We shake hands here, sir. I am Cornelius Vanderbilt.”

  Taking the lad’s hand in his, he felt the firm grip the young man had. “I shall remember that name. If you are successful at such a young age, I can only imagine where your life will take you.”

  “Shipping. I plan to expand my business to ships—schooners and steamships. Have you heard of them sir?”

  “Yes, in fact I have. Are you also planning to build a railway, too? They use steam engines.”

  “Railways?

  “Steam powered trains that move over the land on tracks.”

  “How do you know about this?”

  “I am acquainted with the nephew of the gentleman who invented those engines. He promises it will change transportation in the world. I even saw one in London.”

  Cornelius stood silently for a moment, reflecting on the railway possibilities until a wide smile stretched across his face. “We are nearly there.” He inclined his head towards the shoreline.

  “I must beg your leave. We are in need to find a gentleman who we believe resides on this island.”

  “Perhaps I know him. I have lived on Staten Island all my life, and I am acquainted with every family. What is his name?”

  “John Jacob Aster.”

  Laughing, young Vanderbilt shook his head. “No one named Astor rides this ferry. You will not find him here. I do not know where he lives, but, I believe the man you want took control of a large estate and house from Aaron Burr a few years ago. He subdivided the property, and I heard tell that he granted the tenants a twenty-year lease. Richmond Hill House is located on Varick and Charlton Streets in Greenwich Village. Just ask any hack to take you to there. Did you know General Washington had his headquarters there somewhere when we gave your kin a thrashing? Why he even slept at Burr’s house, I believe.” Cornelius laughed unabashedly.

  Ferrying back to the embarkation point, Vanderbilt and Rawlings discussed the future of steam and mechanical inventions. They promised to correspond and share information about the progress made in their own countries. Rawlings and Vanderbilt shook hands.

  Pleased his hired carriage had waited, Rawlings gav
e the man the new address, and his driver found the location easily. The home, however, was empty. Discouraged, the two men agreed it would be best to meet with Mr. Livingston and hopefully, as Chancellor, he would know Astor or have people able to locate him for them.

  Pulling up to the Livingston residence, Rawlings was impressed. The spacious townhouse with a white portico supported by four large wooden columns could rival any found in fashionable London.

  Two doormen, immaculately groomed and expertly uniformed, stood guard. The older one accepted the letter of introduction, and left Rawlings and Logan with the other doorman waiting on the top step. The cabbie pulled up further along the street, curious if the doorman would permit entry, He did not wait long before the two gentlemen went inside.

  “Mr. Rawlings, Mr. Logan, please come in. You are most welcome here.” Livingston said excitedly. “My good friend, Mr. Lowell, had sent an express earlier, and we have been expecting you. Where are you staying?”

  “The Westchester”

  “Oh no. That is a mediocre inn at best.”

  After Livingston led them into his study, Rawlings thought living here seemed remarkably similar how it is across the ocean. He felt like he was at his father’s home. The furniture was of English manufacture. The books along the wall included the Greek and Roman classics, British history, and even a few novels. He noted the wine carafes were filled, and with a quick study, he assumed that the landscape paintings on the walls must have been painted on the Continent. He admired one scene of a beautiful stretch of land alongside a river.

  “That is the eastern bank of the Hudson River. The brick home in the painting was burnt down by your countrymen during the revolution, but I had it rebuilt, and perhaps we can take a trip up to see my home before you leave.”

  “You are most generous, sir. And forgiving.”

  “And you, sir, saved my friend’s son from capture.”

  Livingston demanded they tell the whole story about the boarding of the Lively. Rawlings, a great storyteller, made the event seem much more exciting than it had been. Lowell had informed him Livingston enjoyed drama, and so it was a dramatic story he told. Livingston was enthralled, and poured drinks continuously as the story unfolded. When it ended and the conversation turned to the reason for the trip, Livingston was stunned.

  “Astor? You have come to see John?”

  “You know him? You may be the only one in this whole town. We have been searching all day. I had been given Water Street as his address.”

  “He worked there years ago. I am surprised the hired hackney was so ignorant about the man. Astor travels out west often, so I do not know if he is in town. His wife, Sarah, and his son, William, handle the business while he is gone. I am not aware what his eldest son does, but his second son is in charge of the business while he traveling. Sarah is the backbone behind that business. She has run it for years.

  “Might you share where we may seek him out?”

  Livingston provided directions, but suggested, since night was approaching, to wait until tomorrow to seek him at Water Street first. When it appeared his guests were about to leave, Livingston invited them to dinner. He would ensure they met with Astor, or at least his wife, the next day, he even offered to join in their pursuit. “And if you desire, you may reside here during your stay. Even George Washington slept here.” Livingston laughed aloud while Rawlings sighed.

  At dinner, Livingston learned the reasons for the two men were visiting America. He offered to arrange a special trip on the Claremont, and to set up a private meeting with Fulton. In fact, he announced he would host a party, at which they would be the guest of honor.

  Rawlings and Logan returned to the hotel, and informed the manager of their change of plans. They would be leaving in the morning, and requested someone transfer their luggage on the carriage Livingston was sending. Back in their room, Rawlings and Logan settled into their chairs with their evening brandy.

  “I fear nothing Cuffage imparted to us was truthful.”

  Logan refilled both their glasses. ”I do not doubt he fabricated his friendship.”

  “I no longer hold a good opinion of the man at all. I doubt he ever met Astor.”

  “Do you also doubt Cuffage was Mr. Gardiner’s victim? The Bennets did put the blame for their misfortunes on Cuffage.”

  “Damn. We must have been hoodwinked there, as well. But what purpose did he have to deceive us? My God. The entire global strategy rests on Astor, and it appears we have been targeted for misdirection, but why?” Cuffage had nothing to gain or lose by inventing a relationship with Astor. I cannot find a reason.”

  He and Logan spent the night ruminating over possible scenarios, none reflected in Mr. Cuffage’s favor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  During his uneventful trip to Water Street, Rawlings considered New York City as a budding and emerging London. The wealthy lived on the cleaner side, with the other parts of the city serving as home to ill-dressed residents and broken down buildings, with rubbish everywhere, and dead horses rotting in the streets. The stench smelled similar to the east end of London, and Rawlings had no doubt that disease was as rampart in the untended part of New York City as his own hometown’s dirtier sections. When asked, Livingston explained how Yellow Fever had claimed the lives of many off and on during the years. He cautioned them to stay clear of the area, as another plague was spreading.

  The carriage stopped. The men exited, and stood in front of a store with a large sign, which read: Musical Instruments. The inside was well organized; not an item out of place. Rawlings smiled. Good old German neatness! As soon as Mrs. Astor greeted them, Livingston asked after John; she nodded, returned to the back room, and reappeared with the man in question on her arm. Rawlings gasped, the hair on his neck stood up, and his palms began to sweat. He used his handkerchief to wipe his hands. Cuffage said this man was blond and blue eyed. Another lie. Where does this end? Who is Cuffage?

  Astor offered his outstretched hand to Rawlings as he had done with Livingston. Not accustomed to shaking hands, he followed up the American custom with a proper English bow. The more rampant the disease in a city, the less individuals should touch each other in public, and with Livingston’s talk about the plague; he wondered why they continued to shake hands without the protection of gloves.

  Everyone followed Astor to the back room, where he pointed to a closed door. “We can be more comfortable upstairs in my old home.”

  Rawlings trudged up the steps. “Are your ballrooms upstairs too?” Astor and Livingston glanced at each other with puzzled expressions. Rawlings admitted all dancing took place on what they would call the upper floors in England. Livingston said that while most did follow that lead, not everyone did, and his, for instance, was on the ground floor. Rawlings turned to him with a wide smile. “You, sir, are an intelligent man. I only hope the architects across the ocean do the same.

  Mrs. Astor served tea. Logan took a seat next to Rawlings. He had shaken hands, but did not speak beyond the normal civilities. While the conversation ensued, he listened, and studied everyone with great interest.

  Astor questioned Rawlings about his purpose for the visit. When he mentioned Cuffage, Astor gazed at him with a blank, unreadable expression. Mrs. Astor indicated that they had not heard of the man.

  Nodding, Astor agreed. During their conversation, Rawlings and Logan discovered an unpleasant fact. The man sitting with them, who supposedly had a relationship with Mr. Cuffage, had, in fact, stayed with a Mr. Edward Gardiner when he resided in London prior to his move to America. Gardiner assisted Astor in securing his passage, and he was the tradesman currently handling his trading deals in England.