Ravenscraig

by Sandi Krawchenko Altner

  Chapter Three

  Sir Roderick Ballantyne

  June 10, 1895

  Since the nerve-rattling tour of Ravenscraig, things had gone well, indeed, for Percival Wright. He was ecstatic upon learning that Mrs. McDonnelly had accepted the offer, and greatly relieved that she refused to see him, choosing instead to communicate through her lawyer. Thus, it was a straightforward piece of business to finalize the deal for the sale of Ravenscraig Hall. The realtor was beside himself with glee and was intent on being indispensible to his new client.

  The opportunity came quickly. When Wright handed over the deed of sale to him, Rupert surprised him by asking a favor.

  “Now here’s the thing, Wright. You’ve proven yourself reliable, and impressed me with your ability to keep your silence. If you’re up for it, I could use your help in something I am trying to arrange. It’s a surprise for my wife.”

  “Certainly. My pleasure, Mr. Willows. Is it her birthday?”

  “No.” Rupert shook his head and chuckled. “It’s rather complicated and must be handled very discreetly. I will give you the details in time, but I have other things to attend to first. Do you know Sir Roderick Ballantyne?”

  “The financier, of course. He does work for our firm.”

  “Could you arrange an introduction for me?”

  “Yes, I do believe so.” Wright’s brow wrinkled. “He holds mortgages for a number of clients. Are you, perhaps, in need…”

  “What I need is an introduction, and that is all, Mr. Wright. He’s raising money to build a new orphanage. Tell him I am interested in helping and wish to speak with him.”

  Three days later, Rupert was escorted into the plush waiting room of Ballantyne, Biscayne and Taylor. Rupert judged the firm was worthy of its lofty reputation by the obvious expense invested in the offices. He had high hopes for his meeting. With the Ravenscraig mansion secured as his future residence, the time had come to find a sponsor to help him ascend to the upper class. There were several candidates he had been tracking in the newspapers ever since he had arrived in Winnipeg. He needed a man free of scandal who had considerable wealth and influence, but who was not a politician. He wanted a kingmaker, not someone who was in line for the throne.

  Rupert had whittled his list down to three candidates. Sir Roderick Ballantyne, a self-made millionaire and outspoken Scot was Rupert’s top choice. Not only did Ballantyne have the ear of the mayor and a leadership position on the Board of Trade, he also owned a spectacular home called Stonebridge, in Armstrong’s Point. Perfect.

  Fifteen minutes after he had arrived, a flustered young secretary appeared, frothing over with apology.

  “I’m so terribly sorry, Mr. Willows. Mr. Ballantyne is in a meeting that is going much longer than he anticipated. Do you mind waiting a few more minutes? May I offer you coffee?”

  Rupert was about to respond when a buzzer sounded in the room. The secretary smiled brightly. “He’s ready for you. Won’t you please come this way?”

  “Mr. Wallace, welcome! Do come in.” Ballantyne bellowed from his desk, his head down and his meaty hands shuffling papers. His heavy auburn beard, neatly trimmed and combed, stood in stark contrast to the wild and unruly crop of hair that billowed out from his head in a ball of untamed red fury. From his manner, one might expect to hear bagpipes droning every time he entered a room. Ballantyne pushed himself into a standing position. The burly man rose to his full height of just over five and a half feet and pounded his stubby legs around to the front of his desk to pump the hand of his visitor.

  Rupert was delighted. Ballantyne was everything he had hoped he would be. “It’s Willows, sir.”

  “Eh? What’s that?”

  “Willows, Rupert Willows. So good of you to see me, Sir Roderick.”

  “Aye, that it is. Remind me again why you are here?”

  “The orphanage. I believe I may be of help.” Rupert was at his charming best.

  “Oh, my. That’s the wife’s wee project. What on earth is happening with that? Have a seat, Willows. The gout is killing me and I need a drink,” he grunted.

  Rupert decided to play it safe. He explained that he was a local builder and was so taken with the project that he was offering to help with the construction, at no cost to the committee raising the money for the orphanage.

  “Well that’s wonderful news to hear on a dull day in June. And I will be happy to tell my wife about yer generosity. I accept and I thank you on her behalf. I’m sorry, Mr. Willows, how is it that we’ve nae met before? Would ye be new to town?”

  “No, I’ve been around a few years,” Rupert said. “My company is called Willows and Sons. My boys are not yet old enough to be in the business, but they will be one day.”

  “Is it yer father, then, who started the company?”

  “No, no.” Rupert chuckled to appear chummy. “My father knew nothing of construction. He was in your line of work. He was an investment banker and did very well in Toronto. A terrific man, he was. He was from northern Scotland. Orkney, actually.”

  Feigning discomfort, Rupert cast his eyes down. “They’re gone, my parents. They died in a fire when I was a child.” He hesitated for a heartbeat before he added, “this is my reason for the interest in the orphanage.”

  While most of this story was a well-practiced and often told fabrication, Rupert had been suddenly inspired to bring in the orphanage angle as a new twist to impress the older man. He regretted the extra words the second they were out of his mouth.

  “You were raised in an orphanage, then?” Ballantyne’s brow furrowed.

  “No, but I might have been had my circumstances not been so fortunate,” Rupert skated. “I think of that often and now I want to help children who are in need.” Rupert inwardly winced as he watched Ballantyne’s eyes squint in skepticism. He had greatly underestimated Ballantyne’s intelligence and was angry with himself for the slip.

  Ballantyne saw it all and pulled in his horns. He loved a good story more than anything and the best ones were never true. He was curious to hear where Rupert would go with the rest of his yarn, and jerked his chin up to have him continue.

  “I went to Atlanta to be raised by my mother’s people. Her brother, in fact,” Rupert said, regaining his stride.

  “Ah ha! Georgia!” Ballantyne slapped his knee. He poked a thick finger at Rupert. “That’s why ye sound like ye do. I could nae place the accent. Go on, then.”

  “My uncle was a Civil War hero and after the war he built a profitable construction business. When he died, the company was sold. I went on to university in Toronto and studied law. I married. Then things started booming here in the west and I moved my family here. I never cared much for the practice of law, but I know a thing or two about construction.” Rupert shrugged.

  Ballantyne nodded his head. He liked this brash fellow, working to appear humble, when he was anything but that. A smart one, indeed. Rather like he was himself in a younger day.

  “Aye. It’s a boomin’ town, all right. I came out with the old timers in the Wolseley Expedition many years ago, now. It seemed a terrific adventure to volunteer to come out here to put down the Red River Uprising.” Ballantyne rubbed his beard. “Humped canon and buckshot over half of creation, we did, cuttin’ through bush and climbin’ through muck, only to finally get here and find out there was no uprisin’ left to be put down. Louis Riel and his men had scattered. The only shots we fired that weren’t aimed at deer or rabbits were in a Royal Salute to mark our victory. Hell of a thing. Once I landed here with the lads I could nae stomach the thought of marchin’ through the blasted mosquitoes and blood-thirsty black flies to make me way back east again. By the time the railway came through in ‘85, I was already settled in like a fat flea on a dirty old dog, makin’ money hand over fist on land deals. Those were the days to make a dollar in this town. Aye. And ‘tis still a good place to make a man’s future.”

  “Indeed it is. I believe Winnipeg is the place to be, Sir,” Rupert nodded.

/>   “I am surprised we’ve nae met before. Where’ve ye been hidin’ yerself? And how’d ye get to me?”

  “It was Percival Wright, my realtor, who told me of the orphanage and suggested that we meet. I dealt with him when I purchased Ravenscraig Hall.”

  “You bought old McDonnelly’s place?”

  “I did.”

  “Bloody hell, you did!” Ballantyne exploded. “It isn’t even on the market yet and I know at least three of the old guard who are interested in that property!”

  Rupert was thrilled at the reaction. He could see the man was greatly impressed and was recalculating his estimate on Rupert’s net worth. It was exactly what Rupert had hoped for.

  “I certainly did buy it. It’s a secret, for now.”

  “A secret, ye say? What in God’s name for?”

  “May I ask you keep this in confidence, Sir Roderick?”

  “Aye. Ye bet yer wee hairy ass, Willows. Ye got me attention. Make yer story a good one.”

  “I bought it for my wife. It’s a gift.”

  Ballantyne screwed up his face and stared at Rupert. Rupert met his eyes, took a breath and stalled.

  Ballantyne spoke first. “How’s that?”

  “It’s actually a gift for myself,” Rupert stated, playing the line for effect. “It’s the perfect house for me and I have a feeling my wife might not like it as much. If I present it as a gift, she’ll accept it gracefully. She’s terribly well-mannered. This way I get what I want and there will be no need for an argument or even discussion.”

  It was the plain truth.

  Ballantyne listened and ran his hands through the red nest on his head. His jowls shook and then a jerking motion started in his belly as laughter sputtered up out of the man and erupted into a rush of raucous outbursts with tears filling his eyes. Rupert sat back in his chair and enjoyed the show.

  “’Tis dead brilliant, this plan of yers. I dinnae remember a conversation with as much intrigue since I landed in this bone-freezing, hard-drinking outpost thirty years ago. The most preposterous scheme I’ve ever heard of. Willows, you are either the smartest man I know or the biggest damned fool. I don’t know which it is, but I am glad you stopped by with this tale of yers. A gift for her! It’s bloody fantastic.”

  “I’m happy to hear that because if I may be so bold as to impose on you, I would appreciate your help with my surprise, if you would be so kind.”

  “Well spit it out, man. I’m still listenin’.”

  Rupert laid out the plan and Ballantyne laughed until he was wheezing and clutching his chest.

  “Aye! ’Tis a bonnie ball-buster of a wee joke, it is! Let’s do it. I am more than happy to climb into this canoe with you, laddie, and race for the falls.”

  The boisterous laughter from the room was so surprising to the secretary that she hesitated before she rapped at the door. This Mr. Willows must be a magician, she thought. “I am sorry to interrupt, but you’re due at the Manitoba Club in twenty minutes, Mr. Ballantyne.”

  “Damn it all to hell, Dorothy! Send a message to the lads I’ll be delayed and to start without me.” He slammed his hand down and glowered at the clock on the mantle. “Listen, Willows, do you have lunch plans?” And without waiting for an answer, yelled, “Dorothy, tell them Mr. Willows will be joining us.”

  Rupert felt the thrill having hit a grand slam. “You are too kind,” he said modestly.

  “I’ve nae seen you at the club, Willows. How is it possible you are nae a member?”

  Rupert felt his chest fill with pride. Finding his sponsor had been as easy as plucking a ripe plum from a tree.

  Later, at home, Rupert had much to think about in his accomplishments for the day. As he did his best deliberating while in the bathtub, he asked his new man, Jenkins to make the preparations. It amounted to an unusual request given the hour.

  “Now, sir?”

  Rupert threw his hands in the air. “Pardon me, Jenkins. Was that a question?”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. Right away, Mr. Willows,” the butler stammered as he looked at the clock. It was ten minutes before seven.

  “What is it, now, Jenkins?”

  “Dinner, sir. Shall I tell Mrs. Butterfield to delay until after your bath?”

  “Dinner will be on time as usual. I’ve asked that a tray be sent up to my room after my bath. How is it possible you don’t know this?”

  “Quite right, Mr. Willows. I beg your pardon. Shall I tell Mrs. Willows, then?”

  “Tell her what? I’ve already spoken with my wife, Mr. Jenkins. Now get along with your business before you annoy me any further.”

  The servant vanished and Rupert was left to wonder how he had found the stupidest man on earth to add to his household. Hasty decisions always came with hidden costs.

  He started to feel the tensions ease the moment he heard the water tumbling into his bathtub. In just a few months he would have the joy of immersing himself in the luxury of the oversize bathtub in his suite at Ravenscraig. He relished the very thought of it. As for the bumbling Jenkins, the man would clearly have to step up his performance if he were to expect to be coming along in the move to the new property.

  As he slid into the steaming water, Rupert sighed and thought of his long departed mother. He owed her no small debt in this crowning moment in his life and dearly wished that she were still alive to enjoy it with him. His mother, bless her sweet, determined soul, would have been proud. She would have viewed Rupert’s acquisition of Ravenscraig as undeniable proof of his success, and of her own.

  Scottish born and headstrong, Annie Hogg had been the driving force in all that he had accomplished in his life. She had made great sacrifices for him, and in Rupert’s heart, Ravenscraig was for her.

  His father, on the other hand, could burn in hell.

  Rupert fingered the deep scar along the right side of his neck. It was just over three inches long and angled down toward his collarbone. He was seared with a branding iron when he was still a boy, when was still Reuben Volinsky.

  Rupert remembered the scene as if it were yesterday. He could see his father staggering toward him and grabbing hard at his shoulder with one hand, while waving the branding iron with the other. He aimed for his chest, but the boy wrenched himself free, almost clearing the danger, as the white-hot metal grazed him just below his ear.

  Rupert had no idea if his father was still alive, but he hoped that, if so, his life was filled with excruciating pain and suffering. Even leprosy would not be enough punishment to answer for his sins.

  What he knew of his father’s early life had been told to him in fragments by his mother who had married for love and paid the price. She said Ira Volinsky had been an eye-catching adventurer. Born in Odessa to a young widow with no means to support him, Ira lived on the edge of the law. As a young man with a quick mind and faster fists, he deserted the Russian Army and found his way out of the country. For a number of years he worked and swindled his way through Europe. He was the most exciting man she had ever met, she said, and she found it impossible to resist him.

  Annie Hogg met Ira Volinsky in a village market in England. On a whim, she packed her few possessions and left with him for Canada, simply because he asked her. By the time she learned he was running from the police, it was too late.

  The couple found no golden life in the new world. With a wife and child to support on a farm that he detested, Ira found solace in vodka.

  By the time his son was ten, Ira had become a hard man and a nasty drunk. Reuben hated him. He hated the beatings, he hated the ruined little farm they lived on, and he hated being hungry. As her marriage deteriorated, Annie’s child became the center of her world. While her husband scratched out a living on the soil and drank their meager profits away, she focused entirely on her boy.

  She enriched Reuben’s young life with the stories she told of her privileged childhood and inspired him to make a success of himself. She insisted on cleanliness, proper manners, and good posture. Reuben took to h
is lessons as a bird to flight. Annie shared her precious little library with him and taught him to read. His ability was well ahead of other children his age. Her teaching and her great skill in buffering the anger of his father had saved him. With her guidance and fierce dedication, a new destiny was created for her son.

  Annie had reached her breaking point when Reuben was fourteen. Bruised and bloody, her left eye swollen shut, she waited for her drunken husband to pass out. When he did, she gathered up her clothes and the little money she had hidden away. She and Reuben disappeared to Toronto. She changed her name to Adele and set in motion her plans for her son. Reuben Volinsky was transformed into Rupert Willows. He entered high school and proved to be an outstanding student.

  Rupert and his mother lived in a hotel. She told him she was a seamstress and he knew better than to challenge the lie. What she did to earn a living was simply never discussed. But there were signs. He had seen the gaudy clothes and had heard the rough laughter from her visitors through closed doors. He was ashamed of the truth, and more so that he was powerless to rescue her. To her last day, she had remained a lady in his eyes.

  It was only on her deathbed that she told him that she had lied about her life. She was not the daughter of barrister, raised in a fine home full of servants, she confessed. She had been a lowly parlor maid who had learned her manners from watching her employers and had been taught to read by a kind housekeeper.

  It was a great tragedy for Rupert that his mother had succumbed to typhoid a mere eighteen months after their escape from the farm. It pained him that she never saw him graduate with top honors from university. Even greater was the pain he carried for never being able to provide for her as she had provided so selflessly for him. Just days before her death, her only comfort came in the form of a promise from a southern gentleman who was particularly fond of her. He told her that her son would have a home with him in Atlanta and that Rupert would be educated. When the time came, the boy would enter his construction business, which had flourished in the rebuilding of the south after the Civil War. Adele would not have to worry about Rupert, he had said.