All in Good Time (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  “I know this demands an explanation, and I’m prepared to offer one.” He swung his hands behind his back, clasping them there. “I’m sure there are few men, even at this distinguished table, who survived their youth without one indiscretion or another. I am, I’m afraid, no exception. But my indiscretion has to do with what brings us all together: money itself.”

  He paused long enough to glance over the table again, and Dessa was eager to catch his eye so she could tell him—even silently—that she still believed in him, no matter what he had to say. If youthful indiscretions, as he called them, couldn’t be forgiven, then she hadn’t a hope in the world.

  “I stand before all of you a thief.”

  Lionel Metcalf broke the stunned silence. He laughed. “Henry, my boy, I haven’t the faintest idea what’s gotten into you tonight, but I for one can vouch for the bank’s utmost integrity. Those books have been examined throughout the years and not once has a penny—mind you, not a penny—ever been missing. If you’re a thief, I’d like to know from where you’ve stolen.”

  “It’s true I’ve never stolen from the bank. I’ve taken nothing from any of you. But my initial investment, the money I brought with me to Denver, was at the expense of others. You in particular, Lionel, might find this rather difficult to accept. A large portion of my seed money came unwillingly from Wells Fargo, where everyone knows you’ve been heavily invested for some twenty years.”

  Mr. Metcalf sputtered, “Just how did you steal from them, then?”

  “It was a dozen years ago, in the area of Leadville. Three stagecoaches transporting money and gold from the mines to Denver were held up. Do you recall any of that?”

  “Stagecoach robberies aren’t all that rare—”

  “Successful ones are. Particularly if they’re carried out by one man alone.”

  Mr. Metcalf’s face lit up as if he’d recalled something far more pleasant than a robbery. “Along the Rafferty Canyon! I heard about the investigations, how every one of the . . . what was it, three robberies? . . . was thought to have been carried out by a gang. Only after the last one, investigators found nothing more than sticks, carved to look like rifles of the so-called bandits, in the boulders above. That was you?”

  Henry had only to nod once.

  “Ha!” Mr. Metcalf looked as if he were pleased to have figured out a long-held mystery rather than aghast that he knew the perpetrator. “But wait! That stolen money was repaid some years ago, with interest.”

  “That doesn’t excuse the way the money was taken in the first place.”

  “But a dozen years ago . . .” Mr. Metcalf stroked his chin. “It hardly matters now, Henry. No charges can be brought against you after this many years.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that,” Henry said. His eyes darted briefly to Dessa. “What I do know is that my bank was founded on a false assumption—an assumption that its foundational money was raised honestly. That’s not true.”

  Several people spoke at the same time, both men and women. Dessa looked at none of them. Rather she studied Henry. How was it possible that this man of such staunch values could ever have done anything so far outside the standards he was known to hold?

  Still, there was no question in Dessa’s mind. She, of all people, knew one act—one mistake—did not define a person’s character. Not forevermore.

  She wanted to tell him so, but he was already speaking again.

  “Please, there is more I’d like to say this evening.”

  The voices quieted—and Dessa realized just then that not all of them had been supportive. One man down the table had even stood, thrusting his napkin away, but Henry’s call to attention stopped him. He took his seat again.

  “I have two reasons for telling you this tonight.” His gaze shifted to land on Turk Foster. “One of them is that the origin of my investment has been called into question. I thought it wise to inform all of you rather than have you read about vague or misleading theories in the newspapers. I’m sure there will be talk about the reason for my abrupt resignation. The bank will continue, no doubt with a new name, but I wanted the scandal nipped before it even has a chance to bud.”

  “I’d like to know who thought to investigate.” This from Mr. Metcalf. “I must say, I’ve looked into your past myself, Henry, when I came to you about running for the Senate. I never found any of this.”

  Henry turned back to Mr. Foster, who returned the look stiffly from his seat.

  “Evidently Turk Foster’s investigation was willing to look further into the past.”

  The entire table looked at Mr. Foster, but he remained still. If he regretted what he’d done, there was no way to tell.

  Henry held up a palm to reclaim everyone’s attention. “Which might mean Foster is competent in what he sets out to do. Turk Foster revealed to me tonight that he wishes to run for the Senate in next year’s election. He is here tonight with the hope of getting to know some of you—to test the waters, so to speak, about how society might receive such a man as himself for the job. I’m here to state that while I do not endorse his candidacy, neither am I against it. Our next senator will be for the people of Colorado to decide.”

  The table was quiet as they absorbed his words, so there was no competition for their attention when he spoke again. “I will add that Mr. Foster has shown a personal spasm of virtue—something this city has rarely even attempted in the past. Some of you are already aware that he offered to host a benefit to raise funds for Miss Caldwell. At the time, we were unsure of his motives. I now believe he was sincere in his effort, at least so far as it’s common sense to do something respectable if respect is what you’re after. In light of the fact that Pierson House, even now, is facing a unique challenge, and seeing Mr. Foster’s willingness to help, I’m inclined to believe that even though his motives might have been self-serving, he wanted the best result for Pierson House.”

  He looked at Dessa, and even if no one else saw his face soften, she did. She knew she didn’t imagine it.

  “Miss Caldwell’s reputation has proven she holds no boundaries in her willingness to help others. Recently she was tested in this attitude. Two young girls came to her seeking shelter, and she did not hesitate to take them in, just as her faith dictates.” He paused, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder as he addressed the others. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m telling you nothing that won’t be reported in the newspapers if Mr. Foster knows how to run a campaign. Those two young girls are Chinese.”

  A moment of fear rose within Dessa, despite Henry’s reference to her faith dictating her actions. How confident he must be that Mr. Foster’s help would avoid any trouble! Would others agree that she’d done the right thing, as Henry obviously believed?

  He waited a moment for reaction to that information, and it didn’t take long. There was yet another gasp, a murmur here and there.

  “Turk Foster is even now doing all he can to alleviate the tension that has risen because of the situation. This may not become a campaign slogan, but if you want to judge a man’s character, do it by his actions. In this, Mr. Foster has proven himself capable of doing the right thing. Just as Miss Caldwell did from the start.”

  Dessa glanced at Mr. Foster, who still looked steadily at Henry. Was he grateful? At least that Henry didn’t reveal his attempt to use blackmail as a means to gain their help?

  “And finally, ladies and gentlemen, I offer you my apologies for introducing so many topics that might hinder peaceful digestion. I knew there would be few other opportunities to make known all I needed to say. I am, as of this moment, free to discuss whatever you would like and will understand and forgive if there are those here tonight who wish to break off their association with me. I do hope any backlash will be limited to me personally, where it belongs, and not extended to the bank itself. The bank will remain in the capable—and thoroughly honest—hands of Tobias Ridgeway.”

  37

  HENRY HADN’T FELT so triumphant since he’d ridden safely away from
his final robbery. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how heavy a burden that mistake had become. Year after year had added nothing but weight.

  Most of it had lifted when he’d discovered God extended more than enough grace to cover his forgiveness, but the last of that weight had just now disappeared. No more hiding, no more secrets.

  He was more eager than ever to speak to Dessa, but as his guests proceeded back into the parlor, he was detained. Person after person wanted to speak with him privately, and when his mother escorted Dessa away, Henry could think of no reason to demand that she stay at his side.

  He did, however, take exorbitant reassurance in a smile she sent his way before walking off with his mother on one side and his aunt on the other. It was comforting, this feeling of family.

  “How did you take the news, dear?” Mrs. Hawkins asked Dessa as they went into the parlor.

  “I’m surprised, of course,” she admitted. “But anyone who’s dealt with Mr. Hawkins knows he can be trusted.”

  Both women seemed pleased. “Of course you’re right!” Mrs. Hawkins said.

  Dessa glanced back to see that although Henry wasn’t likely to be free anytime soon, Mariadela looked as if she would burst if Dessa didn’t speak to her. So as Mrs. Hawkins and Mrs. Ridgeway began to chat, Dessa found a way to excuse herself.

  But she made it no farther than halfway to Mariadela. A sudden tall shadow appeared at her side, followed by a steely grip around her wrist. The grim look on Turk Foster’s face made her guess he was angry that things weren’t going exactly as he’d planned. Yet what real harm had Henry done him? None, as far as Dessa could tell. Henry might not have endorsed him, but he’d offered respectable motives to everything Mr. Foster had done lately.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Caldwell.” He held up a note with his other hand. “One of the Hawkins footmen just handed this to me, from my man Thomas. If I’m going to live up to Henry’s words that I’m willing to help Pierson House and everyone in it, we need to leave immediately.”

  “We?”

  He nodded. “The girls need to be taken somewhere else for safety. They won’t trust anyone but you to take them away.”

  “But what’s happened? I thought you were going to pay off Yin Tung!”

  “And so I did.” Even as he spoke, he folded her arm through his and led her to the foyer, much to the chagrin of Mariadela, who stood staring at them from the side of the room. Dessa sent her a quick smile, hoping to convey that she knew what she was doing by leaving with Mr. Foster. She had no choice, but there was no sense alarming anyone else.

  “I didn’t think I’d need to pay off a mob from our side of the Fourth Ward too,” Mr. Foster added. “But evidently I should have thought of that.”

  “What?”

  Without even waiting for a footman to retrieve their belongings, Mr. Foster led her from the house. A familiar carriage waited outside—one with the same impressive pair of horses Mr. Foster rarely went anywhere without.

  “Thomas tells me a group of drunken whites went into one of the opium dens to make clear what they thought about the slave auction. That sort of thing isn’t likely to be welcomed around here, not even a Chinese slave for a Chinese master. Not with the memory of so many men who died fighting to free slaves in this country.” He eyed her, then raised his palms as if he wasn’t even sure of his own words. “Or maybe they were just looking for a reason to fight. That’s all I know. The fight that broke out hasn’t stopped yet, and the last Thomas heard, they were headed to Pierson House. Even Yin Tung won’t be able to stop this if it spreads.”

  The news landed like a heavy weight on Dessa’s chest. But when she saw an eerie light dancing above in the direction of the Fourth Ward, she looked out the window with stark terror.

  “Hurry, then, Mr. Foster!” She could barely speak the words over her shoulder. “Hurry!”

  A fire burned in the ward; she was sure of that even before she could smell the smoke as the carriage raced down the street.

  Not many blocks later, Dessa heard the whinny of the horses, Thomas’s shouts, and the crack of a whip. She peered out the window and saw that the street ahead was filled with other carriages—all heading out of the ward. Mr. Foster’s horses could barely go forward.

  It was not possible to proceed with any speed. Without even looking at Mr. Foster, Dessa pushed open the door and leaped to the sidewalk. Pierson House was only a block away. She had no choice but to do all she could to keep the sisters safe—no matter what resulted from her hasty decision to take them in.

  She heard footsteps behind her but did not stop to look. A moment later Mr. Foster outran her.

  “We’ll get the girls and take them back to the carriage—Thomas will turn the carriage and wait right here to take all of you away.”

  Not stopping, Dessa nodded.

  She rounded the corner. Amid the cloud of smoke she heard shouts from both men and women. Her heart pounding now, from both running and her fear, Dessa stopped short at the sight.

  There, lined up before a perfectly intact Pierson House, was a string of women arm in arm, shouting down a group of men fighting fist to fist. Chinese, white, black—it didn’t seem to matter. Whether they were defending or assaulting, Dessa could not tell.

  Frantically she searched the line for a familiar face. If Liling and Mei Mei were there, they were in grave danger.

  But the only face she recognized was Remee’s, right in the center and joined at each side by the girls from down the street. Though Miss Leola was not there, most if not all her girls were.

  “Go around the back,” Mr. Foster told her, pointing to the darkened gangway between Pierson House and the place next door. “Don’t let anyone see you, or you could be in trouble. I’ll meet you back at the carriage if I can, but don’t wait for me. Get them out of here.”

  She was only too happy to follow that order. Picking up her skirts again, Dessa broke into another run. Just as she slipped into the shadows, a shot rang in the air, first startling Dessa then ringing in her ear.

  She glanced over her shoulder. It had come from a gun in Mr. Foster’s hand! Had he been carrying it all evening?

  “Enough!” he bellowed.

  Dessa resumed her escape and could see no more. She rushed around the back of Pierson House, stumbling up the stairs to the rear door. It was dark and quiet in comparison to what went on in front.

  “Jane!” She was afraid to peal out a sound, even as she swung through the kitchen door to the unlit dining room and parlor. The voices outside were louder here, closer than ever on the street right out front. To her horror she saw the flicker of light—a torch. Were they going to burn Pierson House?

  She stumbled again, this time on the stairs behind the parlor. She went straight to the sisters’ small room, hoping they wouldn’t scream and alert those outside—if anyone out there could even hear over the din of the fighting.

  But though Dessa burst into the room, no one was there. It was empty.

  She dashed from room to room, finding each one vacant. The girls were gone.

  Had they been brave—foolish—enough to stand outside with Remee? Had Dessa missed them when she searched the line of women?

  She rushed back to the room Jane used, with a window to the front yard. Peering out from the corner of a windowpane, she looked again at the extraordinary women who could have only one goal: to protect Pierson House. If Dessa hadn’t seen it herself, she wouldn’t have believed it. She wanted to join them but knew her face, of all others, might incite more rage than ever.

  Neither Jane nor Liling nor Mei Mei were among them, so she had only one thing on her mind now.

  To find them.

  Henry entered his parlor at last, his gaze roaming for Dessa. He’d been caught up in answering one question after another: Yes, he was sure he wanted to resign. No, he did not think for a moment the bank would fail without him at its helm. Did he have any real hope that a man like Turk Foster would be a legitimate candidate? Perhaps. He needed
to see for himself, along with the rest of Denver.

  But Foster, he was intrigued to learn, was nowhere to be found. And where was Dessa?

  “She’s gone, Henry,” Tobias whispered. “One of the footmen told me he delivered a message to Foster, and the man all but manhandled her on the way out.”

  Henry’s pulse picked up, and he walked through the parlor past yet more of his guests who looked as if they wanted to engage in further conversation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know myself until a few minutes ago. Mariadela White came to me, concerned about it, so I went to speak to the staff.”

  “How long ago did they leave?”

  “Fifteen minutes, at least.”

  So long! Henry ordered his carriage to the front of the house, where he paced until it arrived.

  Tobias climbed in opposite Henry. “I suppose Foster wasn’t able to stop the trouble in Hop Alley,” he said, looking every bit as grave as Henry felt.

  Henry did not speak. As much as he hoped the Fourth Ward could avoid any trouble, he also hoped that was the only reason she’d left with Foster.

  The carriage house door was stuck tighter than ever. How was that possible? Having Mr. Dunne using it with regularity had loosened it long ago. Dessa called his name, but didn’t dare say it very loudly for fear of attracting the attention of those on the other side of the house.

  Nothing.

  She moved to look along the side of the outbuilding, through the opening between Pierson House and the shop next door. The carriage house was certainly safer than the house itself—or was it? The wooden slats she’d repaired all those weeks ago would easily burn, if the mob had burning in mind.

  Yet where else could the girls be hiding? Even now, standing in front of the carriage house, Dessa was afraid to be seen. If they weren’t inside, Dessa herself might find refuge here, at least until Mr. Foster broke up the mob. If he could.