Mogul

by Joanna Shupe

  “I’m glad to be back,” he said when he reached the circle of reporters. “What did I miss?”

  “Did you see all my cables?” Jim asked. “You stopped responding there for a bit.”

  Calvin slapped the man on the back. “Jim, I have full confidence in your ability to put together the paper in my absence. I looked over the editions this morning and thought you did a fine job. The story on Senator Quay was insightful and interesting, as was the Oklahoma land rush. I’m not certain the fashion story belonged on the front page, but we may have attracted more female readers as a result.” He faced the group. “Now, what do we have today?”

  Ava Sloane, one of his most high-profile reporters and the wife of his friend, William, spoke first. “Cabot, I’ve asked Evans ten times if I can dig into the rumors of smuggling in the Greenwich Street Saloon.”

  “They’re only rumors,” Jim said with a shrug. “I think we should wait until the police come up with more evidence.”

  “Some of the best stories start out as rumors,” Calvin said. “Go ahead, Sloane, start digging. We’ll only give you two weeks, though. After that I’m pulling you to write about the shirtwaist factory.”

  “Because I’m the only female reporter?” she asked, shoving a pencil behind her ear and scowling at them. “You know I don’t want to cover just—”

  “I’m aware,” Calvin said, holding up a hand. Ava was smart and gutsy, with good instincts and a fierce competitive drive to best the male reporters each week. But she needed to quit pushing back on using her God-given talents. “Stop thinking of your gender as a liability. There are stories concerning female issues that need telling and you’re the only one who can get us on the inside. A man can’t write Nellie Bly’s stories or investigate the way she can. Two weeks on smuggling, Sloane. Get started.”

  Temporarily satisfied, Ava spun and quickly left, while Calvin began to answer questions from the other reporters. They pitched him story ideas and he gave them his thoughts and directives. After he’d assigned tasks for the week, he turned to Jim. “Follow me to my office. I have a few questions for you.”

  The two men walked along the pine floor toward the back, where Calvin kept his office. Calvin’s secretary, Miss Robbs, rose as he approached. The daughter of one of his typesetters, Miss Robbs was the most efficient secretary he’d ever employed. Calvin paid her well above the other secretaries merely to keep her happy.

  “Mr. Cabot. I wasn’t told you were coming in today. Welcome back, sir.”

  “Good morning, Miss Robbs. And how many times must I tell you, just Cabot is fine?” He threw open the door to his office. “Give me a few moments alone with Mr. Evans here and then you may shower me with cables and phone messages.”

  “Very good, Mr. Cabot. I will collect everything that has arrived in your absence.”

  No matter how many times he’d encouraged her to drop the formalities, Miss Robb remained staunchly proper. Calvin saluted her and then shut the door behind Jim. “She does that just to irritate me.”

  “At least she doesn’t moon after you, like the other secretaries you’ve hired.”

  “I cannot help it if I’m irresistible to the opposite gender.” Jim made a noise in the back of his throat and Calvin lifted a brow. “Something to say, my dear man?”

  “No, indeed not,” Jim answered. “I know on which side my bread is buttered.”

  “That’s right. Don’t forget it. Now, where do we stand with those stories on Chinatown?”

  “Should have the next piece the following week, I believe. Why?”

  “I want to keep the pressure on Lee. Hire someone to keep watch on Pell Street. Do we have anyone who can help us? One of his adversaries perhaps?”

  Jim bent his head and scribbled a few notes on a ledger. “I think several of the businesses surrounding Lee’s are unhappy with the payments he is requiring. We might be able to convince one of them to help us.”

  “Good. Let’s keep digging. Next, what do you know about Thomas Davies?”

  Long used to Calvin’s frenetic pace, Jim’s face remained unchanged. “As much as everyone does, I suppose. Heir to the Davies silver fortune, though the older sister’s been keeping the mining business afloat since the father’s death. No fiancée or even a hint of an intended. The sister looks ready to marry the Fields heir. She’s a stunner, but I hear she can be hell on wheels.”

  A gross understatement. “He have a mistress?”

  “None that I know of. Want me to have some of the boys check it out?”

  “Yes. Quietly. I want to know his routine.”

  “You got it. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s all for now. Truly, excellent work in my absence, Jim. Take the next few days with your family. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Jim’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Thank you, Cabot. I know my wife would appreciate that, if you mean it.”

  “Of course I mean it. No one knows more than I how difficult it can be to oversee these papers. You’ve earned the time off.”

  “You might think about a day or two away from the office as well,” he said, rising to his feet. “You look like shit.”

  Yes, malaria, kidnapping, and getting shot at tended to shave years off a man. “I’ll take a break when I’m dead. Now, send in Miss Robbs.”

  * * *

  “Lily!” Dressed in a stunning pale pink evening gown adorned with flowers, Cora hurried across the Hewitts’ receiving room and threw her arms around her cousin. “I am so happy you’re here.”

  “It seems I had little choice, thanks to you and Mr. Fields.” At least the outing would not be a total loss. She hoped to speak with Tom’s good friend, John Drexel, who would no doubt be here as a cousin to the hosts.

  Montgomery kissed Cora’s hand in greeting. “Miss Hampton, you look stunning.”

  “Thank you,” Cora said. “You are dashingly handsome as well.”

  Lily had to agree. Though all the gentlemen wore evening dress, Montgomery carried the ensemble well. But he never causes your pulse to race. Not like Calvin does—did. Lily winced. Her feelings for Calvin were in the past. Definitely past.

  “Good evening, Miss Davies. Mr. Fields.”

  Everyone turned to find Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt approaching, the hosts wearing welcoming smiles. “How fortunate you were able to attend.”

  “Thank you for accommodating us,” Lily said as Mr. Hewitt bowed over her hand. “I had been feeling under the weather, but I experienced a sudden recovery this morning.”

  “We are glad of it, indeed. I believe you know everyone here,” Mrs. Hewitt said, motioning to a footman holding a tray of champagne glasses. “We’re among friends, so please make yourself comfortable.”

  A glass of bubbly was thrust into Lily’s hands. “Cora, walk with me for a moment?” Her cousin nodded and Lily started to lead her away from the group.

  “Not too long, Lily,” Monty said behind them. “I want to show you off a bit.”

  Though he smiled affably, the hair on the back of Lily’s neck stood up. Nevertheless, she did not want a tempestuous relationship with Monty. One in a lifetime was enough, thank you. She forced a nod. “Of course. I’ll return as quickly as I can.”

  Lily and Cora stepped to the edge of the room. “I don’t care for how he speaks to you,” Cora whispered. “Why are you constantly allowing him to dictate to you? I fully expected you to club him in the head with a champagne bucket just now.”

  “He means well. And he’s my escort, so I shouldn’t stray too far.”

  “It’s more than that. I believe you don’t want to argue with him, which is why you don’t see him very often. You stay busy and you travel so that—”

  “I think we should discuss something else. Are you having a nice time?” Sometimes, Cora was far too perceptive, Lily thought as she sipped from the crystal flute.

  “Yes, so far. I’m glad you’re here, though. Mama hasn’t let me leave her side all night.”

  “Why on earth not?”


  “I think she’s worried Mr. Drexel or Mr. Wright will try to corrupt me.”

  “So Mr. Drexel is here? John Drexel?” Cora nodded, and Lily craned her neck to see around the nearby guests. “Let’s find him. I need to speak with him.”

  Cora leaned in. “Last I saw, he was staring at Miss Underhill’s bosom.”

  “That does sound like John.” Lily hooked her arm through Cora’s and led them through the guests. Finally, they located him near the fireplace. A handsome black-haired man, John Drexel had become friends with Lily’s brother at Harvard. Lily found his inflated sense of self amusing, mostly because she didn’t have to put up with him very often.

  Drexel was indeed ogling Miss Underhill, who seemed to be relishing the attention, while a third member of their group, Mr. Wright, sipped a drink. Drexel straightened at Lily and Cora’s approach, his blue eyes registering surprise, and Lily was momentarily reminded of another pair of blue eyes, ones much more striking. She winced. Why had that image popped into her mind?

  Drexel bowed over her hand. “I hadn’t realized you were back in New York, Lily.”

  The liar. “I returned more than a month ago. Did my telegram not reach you today?”

  “Telegram?” His brows lowered dramatically, a well-practiced effort, no doubt. “I never received any telegram.”

  “Oh, that is a shame. Good evening, Mr. Wright, Miss Underhill.”

  Mr. Wright was cordial, while Miss Underhill did not appear to appreciate the interruption. Lily turned to John. “May I speak with you privately?”

  “Can’t it wait?” He lifted his highball glass in Miss Underhill’s direction. “I’d rather not cut short my conversation with this lovely lady.”

  Quite a conversation, Lily thought, but she smiled. “I am certain Miss Underhill will understand—and I promise to return you shortly.”

  “Mr. Wright can entertain me until you return, John,” Miss Underhill practically purred. “Cora, dear, why don’t you run along? I’m sure your mother is anxious to tether you to her side.”

  Cora’s face fell along with her shoulders, the defeat in her bearing nearly breaking Lily’s heart. She snatched Cora’s gloved hand in her own, giving it a good squeeze for support. “Yes, how wonderful it must be to have a mother fretting over you, don’t you think, Miss Underhill? My mother died when I was young and I would give anything to hear her fret over me one more time. They say you never get over the loss of a parent and I certainly know that to be true. How lucky Miss Hampton is to still have a loving, caring mother nearby.”

  Miss Underhill, whose own mother was a shallow flirt rumored to be engaged in an affair with a much younger man, gaped like a carp on a dry riverbed. Lily ignored her. “Cora, I’ll find you in a moment.”

  Without waiting for him to refuse, Lily dragged John several feet away to talk privately. After a few steps he planted his feet and straightened his vest. “Always a pleasure, Lily. I’d almost forgotten about that sharp tongue of yours.”

  “She deserved it. And you should keep better company.”

  He gave her a crooked grin, hardly contrite. “I am but a man, Lily, and last I checked, it’s not a crime to speak to a beautiful young woman.”

  “Except you weren’t speaking to her, you were leering at her.” His face registered confusion, as if he didn’t know the difference between the two. She drew her hand down in a slashing motion. “Forget it. I need to speak with you about Tom. Have you seen him?”

  “Your brother? No, haven’t seen him in more than a month. Why? Did something happen?”

  “Never mind that. Did Tom . . .” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Does Tom know anyone in Chinatown or ever spend time there?”

  John leaned back and huffed a small laugh. “Tom, in Chinatown? He doesn’t even like crossing below Fourteenth Street. Why do you ask?”

  She couldn’t give him the truth, that Tom may have become involved with something unsavory. Despite John’s friendship with her brother, the fewer people who knew about Lee’s threat, the better. “Just something I found in his office. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  John’s expression grew unexpectedly serious. “If Tom is in some sort of trouble, I hope you’ll come to me first with your suspicions. He wouldn’t want you endangering yourself on his behalf.”

  “Does this mean you’ll answer my telegrams from now on?”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I know you and I don’t get on considerably well, but I would never purposely ignore you if there was a crisis afoot. However, no one should panic quite yet. Tom is a grown man, after all.”

  Meaning a grown man could not disappear or be hurt in some way? That testicles made one infallible? She didn’t know whether to laugh or pity him. Studying his arrogant face, she decided on pity. “Yes, I’m certain you’re right. Thank you for humoring me, John.”

  He patted her arm as if he’d solved all the world’s problems. “Any time, Lily. Happy to help.”

  As she watched him saunter back to Miss Underhill, she felt even more determined to find Tom. A task she would, apparently, need to tackle all on her own.

  Chapter Five

  Orderly rows of shops and restaurants, with their bright yellows and reds, lined Pell Street. The aroma of fish and incense lingered heavily in the air, though the darkness had already chased away the street vendors. Calvin found comfort in these familiar sights and smells, reminders of traveling the Orient with his missionary parents.

  We must speak the truth and enlighten those around us. Of course his father had meant religion, but Calvin believed in the power of the pen—not the prayer book.

  He stopped at number eighteen, a three-story building with a general store on the ground floor. The top floor housed a lavishly decorated opium den, while a fan-tan gambling parlor existed directly above the store. And because Wah Lee’s greed extended to every vice imaginable, prostitutes were readily available as well.

  Calvin pushed open the door and walked inside the store, Hugo right behind him. Exotic foods and savory herbs lined the walls, and an older Chinese woman stood behind the counter.

  He bowed politely. “Leih Tai, nei ho ma?”

  “Mr. Cabot,” Mrs. Lee responded to his greeting in English. “You have not visited us in many months.”

  Mrs. Lee was one of the few wives in Chinatown. Since the Exclusion Act had tightened the immigration laws a few years earlier, it was nearly impossible for a Chinese woman to gain entry to America. It spoke volumes of Lee’s influence that he possessed the ability to bring his spouse over, a fact that never failed to irritate Calvin. If Lee were sufficiently motivated, he’d find a way to bring Hugo’s wife over as well.

  “I would like to speak with your husband. Is Leih Saang upstairs?”

  She nodded. “Yes, he is watching fan-tan. There is big play up there tonight.”

  Lee would not like to lose money if he could help it, which explained why he would keep an eye on the proceedings. It was not uncommon for the parlor owners to rob the winners as soon as they left fan-tan parlors. Calvin bowed and started toward the door.

  “You will wait here,” she said to Hugo, who had followed Calvin toward the back.

  Calvin turned to his friend, who now wore a serious frown, unhappy at the prospect of leaving Calvin unattended in such dangerous quarters. “I should come with you, Calvin,” Hugo said quietly.

  While Calvin did not relish going up alone, he’d certainly survived more dangerous situations. Furthermore, forcing the issue would not give the appearance of a friendly meeting. Everyone in New York knew Hugo wasn’t really Calvin’s valet but a fierce protector and close friend. Lee could take the refusal as an insult.

  More importantly, Lee held Hugo’s future in the palms of his hands. Any misstep and Hugo would never see his wife again. They had both fought too hard for too long to let such a disaster happen.

  Calvin laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder and switched to French. “Wait in the carriage and give me twenty minute
s. If I haven’t emerged, come in and get me.”

  Hugo, still scowling, nodded and departed the store. Calvin continued to the stairs in the back, where a large man protected the door. Mrs. Lee called out orders in rapid-fire Cantonese and the door was opened. Calvin murmured his thanks and ascended the stairs.

  On the landing he was stopped by another one of Lee’s men. Calvin requested politely to speak with Mr. Lee and was shown into the fan-tan parlor. The room was sparse, merely bare walls and a wooden floor, and the furniture consisted of six tables covered with matting and stools for the players. Each table was surrounded by a group of Chinese men, all watching as the tan kun, the dealer, spread out groups of four small objects—in this case brass buttons—using a tan pon, or a black wooden rod. Players silently placed stakes on the square in the middle of the table, hoping to match the number of buttons remaining after all was counted out.

  The players ignored Calvin’s entrance, their concentration intent on the game, but a few of the tan kun glanced up. Before Calvin could wander, Mr. Lee arrived.

  “Mr. Cabot. Have you come to play?” Lee was short and thin, with stark cheekbones, and his dark hair had been tied into a tight queue down his back. Shrewd and smart, he spoke flawless English in addition to his native Cantonese. “Or perhaps you would care to visit upstairs?”

  “Not tonight. I would like a word, however.”

  Lee gave a forced smile, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth surrounded by a well-groomed beard. “Of course.” He turned to one of his guards and gave orders for tea to be brought to his office, then motioned for Calvin to follow. “This way, please.”

  Calvin trailed Lee to a small room at the end of the hall. Upon entering, they found two men writing in ledgers—accounting for Lee’s profits, no doubt—and Lee promptly ordered them from the room. He motioned for Calvin to sit in one of the chairs next to a low table.

  “Brisk business tonight,” Calvin remarked as they settled. “You are making quite a name for yourself these days. Some are calling you the mayor of Chinatown.”