“If you don’t take too long at it,” Amanda agreed. “Try to be back by noon.”
Michael Boyle said, “I will.” He dumped the white cat off his lap and strode out.
ii
The young Irishman returned about eleven thirty, rain-soaked, with a paper tucked under his arm. He found Amanda in the library.
The old Colt revolver lay on the mantel next to the tea bottle. He flung his cap and scarf on the chair by the hearth and walked to the desk, where Amanda had been vainly trying to examine some figures on the preceding year’s profits of the Blackstone Company. Somehow the figures blurred and refused to make sense—
She set the ledger aside with great relief. “Is Rose on the way?”
“She promised to be here inside of an hour—” He managed a grin. “She made a hell of a fuss when I showed up. I forgot she never rises until twelve.”
“Oh, heavens, so did I. Well, I expect she’ll forgive me when I explain the urgency of the situation. What did you learn in the Five Points?”
“Nothing. All quiet. A little too early in the day, I think. I may pop back later this afternoon. Provided I’m not needed here—”
He unfolded the paper in front of her.
“Stop-press edition. Out two hours early. Most of the news is a rehash of last week’s. But there’s one fresh item—”
He pointed out a feature story on the front page of the Journal of Commerce, a paper founded in 1825 by the Tappan brothers, who had followed a stern abolitionist policy. But the Tappans had later sold the Journal; its current management was pro-southern.
“Didn’t imagine we could keep the affair quiet for long,” Michael murmured. Pale, Amanda scanned the story.
FUGITIVE SLAVE IN MADISON SQUARE?
Virginian lodges accusation
against textile heiress;
seeks warrant.
A warrant permitting search of the residense of Mrs. Amanda de la Gura, wealthy resident of No. 12 Madison Square, will be sought by Captain Virgil Tunworth of Lexington, Virginia, it was learned at eight this morning by the Journal reporter assigned to the court of Judge Develbess, Fugitive Slave Bill Commissioner for the city.
Captain Tunworth, who arrived in New York yesterday, alleges that operatives of the so-called Underground Railroad did cause to be stolen from him and delivered to the Madison Square address late last week one female slave who goes by the name Mary. The captain, who is stopping at the Astor House, informed this reporter that he anticipates Judge Develbess will issue a search warrant, together with another for the arrest of said escaped slave, late today or early tomorrow.
Tunworth charges that the fugitive was aided in her escape by a former Methodist pastor, one Jephtha Kent of Lexington. Kent is a relative of the lady who occupies the Madison Square manse, and has since fled the district from which Captain Tunworth traveled—
Despondent, Amanda laid the paper aside with the rest of the piece unread.
Michael said softly, “We can’t say it was unexpected.”
“I know. I only wish they hadn’t dragged in Jephtha’s name—”
She sat staring at the column of type, wondering whether it was being read in a certain residence in Washington Square.
iii
“Take off my clothes?” Rose Ludwig exclaimed when Amanda met her in the front sitting room shortly after one. “I’ve received some odd propositions in my life, but that has to be the most—”
“Rose, don’t say anything—not till you’ve read this.” She held out the copy of the Journal of Commerce.
With a puzzled expression, Rose took the paper, the unlit Cuban cheroot in her hand momentarily forgotten.
While Rose studied the front page, Amanda went to the window. She could see both the man in the kiosk and her friend’s carriage under the portico. The carriage driver looked miserable in the wind-blown rain.
Once more Amanda judged the angles and the distance. From the kiosk the watcher not only had a clear view of the carriage, but of the front door as well. Yet he was far enough away so that facial features would be indistinct. Provided Mary kept the parasol down, kept her dark skin hidden—
A rustle of the paper turned her attention back to Rose. The other woman laid the Journal aside, her eyes grim. “Is it true, Amanda?”
“Yes. The girl’s up on the third floor.” Quickly, she described most of what had taken place since Mary’s arrival.
“Then you’re in serious trouble with the law,” her friend said when she concluded.
“I know. But that’s of less concern to me than getting Mary out of the house. When Tunworth produces his warrant, there’s no way I can prevent him from seizing her. And I want her on that steamer for Canada tomorrow night! Rose”—she walked to her friend, laid a hand on her arm—“if you’ll stay here until then, you can help Mary escape.”
“How, for God’s sake?”
“You were seen coming in—
“By whom?”
Amanda led her to the window, pointed out the dim figure pacing in the kiosk. Rose peered through the rain-streaked glass. “Who is that?”
“Some fellow Tunworth hired to stand watch. There’s another keeping an eye on the alley and the carriage house. The captain was shrewd enough to realize he couldn’t get the warrant issued immediately—and that we might try to spirit Mary away. I’m sure you were observed when you arrived. If that man in the park sees the same dress and umbrella going out again, I don’t think he’ll realize he’s been tricked—”
Rose’s eyebrow hooked up. “Is that why Michael insisted I wear something like this—?” She touched the sleeve of her yellow velvet dress. “Which I must say is entirely inappropriate for the season and the time of day!”
“That’s exactly it. I want Mary to stay at your house until about nine tomorrow evening. Then your driver can deliver her to the White Star pier on North River. Please, Rose!” Amanda pleaded. “I wouldn’t ask if I could think of another way—”
“What am I supposed to do, loll in my pantalets until Wednesday morning? I was planning to do some shopping at the Lord and Taylor store this afternoon. And I have engagements tomorrow”—she sighed—“but of course I’ll do it.”
“Bless you! I should tell you one more thing. We might be in for some difficulty from another quarter. Louis—well, let’s just say he got into a bit of trouble with one of the maids. I discharged her. Before she left, she threatened reprisals. I wouldn’t take them seriously, except that she has an uncle who’s cozy with Mr. Rynders, the Sixth Ward politician. It’s possible he could send some of his gang friends to vandalize the house—”
Rose sighed a second time, louder. “When you stir up a stew, you do a thorough job of it.”
“I’m not positive there’ll be any trouble from Rynders. I only thought it was fair to warn you.”
“Well,” Rose said with an emphatic nod, “that’s fair enough. Take me up to the girl and let’s get her on her way.”
Amanda hugged her friend, then hurried her out of the sitting room to the third floor.
iv
“I never wore a skirt like this,” Mary said. “I’m liable to fall—”
“You won’t fall,” Amanda assured her, slipping a folded paper into the reticule the girl carried. Rose stood just behind Amanda, wearing an embroidered robe several sizes too small.
The gas in the front hall had been turned down so the interior would be dim when the door was opened. The yellow velvet dress with its immense hoops fitted Mary poorly. But with the shawl drawn around Mary’s head, gloves on her hands, and the umbrella for additional concealment, Amanda thought the ruse could work.
“Just watch your step going out to the carriage,” she said. “And give that paper to Mrs. Ludwig’s butler. He’ll see you’re driven to the White Star pier tomorrow night.”
Mary’s eyes misted with tears. “Oh, Miz de la Gura, you been so good—”
She patted the girl’s arm. “I want you to be safe in Canada, Mary. S
afe and free—”
Peering through one of the narrow panes beside the door, Michael pointed. “That chap in the park’s paying close attention. He hasn’t moved since the carriage pulled up.” To Rose: “I’m worried about your driver. He’s sure to notice the difference, and react—”
Rose moved up beside him. “Let me handle Carney.”
Amanda knew the next few seconds would be critical. She tried not to show her anxiety as she opened the door wide. After embracing Mary briefly, she took the girl’s elbow and guided her outside.
The carriage driver gaped. “What the hell’s going on? Who is—?”
“Carney, don’t say a goddamned word!” Rose hissed from the shadows just inside the door. “I’m staying here. The girl’s going to my house—in my place. Help her into, the carriage! Look at her, not me!”
The dumbfounded driver climbed down. Mary’s hoop skirt swayed in a gust of rain that swept under the portico. Biting her lip, she put her foot on the first step below the top one.
Amanda watched the man in the park. He had come to the near side of the kiosk so he could observe the activity at the front of the house. There was no doubt he had a clear view of the yellow-clad figure moving unsteadily down the steps—
Mary had one hand clutched to her bosom, holding the ends of the shawl covering her head. But her other hand was rising too high, unconsciously lifting the umbrella so that it didn’t conceal her face—
“The umbrella!” Amanda whispered from the doorway. “Lower it!”
She did. Just as Amanda let out a relieved breath, Mary’s foot slipped on one of the steps. She uttered a low cry, staggering—
“Oh, Christ, that’s the game,” Michael groaned. Amanda gripped the edge of the door, her hand white. The watcher in the park ran out of the kiosk—
“Help her, Carney!” Rose Ludwig whispered.
The driver darted up three steps and caught Mary’s forearm just as she started to fall.
He steadied her, his eyes wide with astonishment as he got a close look at the black face beneath the umbrella.
But he held on to Mary’s arm, assisted her down the final steps and into the carriage. When the door slammed, Amanda gulped and closed her eyes a moment.
She waved and called goodbye. The driver clambered up the wheel, still mightily confused. He popped his whip and guided the team out from under the portico—
Chilled by the wind-driven rain, Amanda turned her back on the square, walked inside, shut the door and leaned against it. The faces of the watching servants were white blurs in the gloom.
Rose retied the sash of the robe Amanda had loaned her, then clucked her tongue. “I imagine that added a few years to my face. I thought for certain she’d fall—”
“Do you feel like a whiskey, Rose?”
“I may drink a quart.”
“I don’t want that much—but I’ll join you.”
Michael swung from the window, grinning. “I think we pulled it off. At least the lad across the way hasn’t moved since the carriage turned the corner.”
He followed the two women back to the library. Rose immediately noticed the old Colt revolver resting on the mantel. She pointed to it: “Is that for moral encouragement—or is it loaded?”
“Look in the cylinder,” Amanda said.
Rose squinted. “My God! Ready to fire.”
“So long as it’s handy, I suppose there’s no need to keep it on display.” Amanda took the revolver down and carried it to the desk, shutting it away in a drawer.
Rose shook her head. “It’s unbelievable, the things I permit myself to get into for the sake of friendship—”
“And I can’t possibly repay you for what you’ve done,” Amanda said.
The stout woman accepted the brimming whiskey glass Michael handed her. “I’ll think of a way, my dear. For instance—when you finally get hold of Kent’s, you can increase my royalty rate—”
Amanda smiled, but without feeling.
“Better still, I’ll settle for peace and quiet until tomorrow night.” She toasted the thought with an upraised glass, then consumed the liquor in several rapid gulps.
Looping his scarf around his coat collar, Michael said to Rose, “Peace and quiet are now in the hands of a certain Miss Kathleen McCreery. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Mrs. A—I’m going to make a second trip to see whether all’s calm in the Five Points.”
The white cat padded after him out the door.
v
The afternoon dragged on. The February sky darkened. By three o’clock, every gas jet downstairs was turned up full.
Repeatedly, Hampton answered knocks at the front door. He turned away reporters from other papers who had seen the story in the Journal. Twice he got into a shouting match before he managed to slam the door in a newsman’s face.
Despite the inclement weather, occasional curiosity-seekers came by, on foot or in closed carriages. One group of small boys flung stones at the house before Hampton shouted at them and chased them away. Sequestered in the library with her friend, Amanda was still aware of the attention the house was receiving; it made her nervous; it seemed a harbinger of worse to come—
Rose had pressed for some of the details of what Amanda had referred to as the incident with the maid. Amanda finally obliged, though she concealed the fact that Louis had actually taken the girl sexually, hinting instead that it had been an attempted seduction.
“But I’ve permitted him to be far too headstrong. In fact I think I’ve encouraged him without realizing it. That will change.”
Rose nodded, then yawned loudly. “Excuse me—it’s that damned business of being hauled awake before noon—”
“Why don’t you go upstairs and nap for a while?”
“Excellent idea. I’ll be down for dinner—unless a riot wakes me sooner.”
In the silence of the library, Amanda found herself again unable to concentrate on any of the business details to which she should be attending. She kept staring at the portrait of her grandfather, wondering whether he’d have approved of her aiding Tunworth’s runaway. She hoped he would have—
Even now, she didn’t know precisely why she’d done it; she wasn’t sure whether she’d acted out of a sense of moral conviction, or from a guilty conscience—belatedly trying to live up to the Latin inscription on Jared’s medallion in the display case.
A little of both motivations had played a part, she suspected.
She began to focus on other concerns. On Jephtha, for one. She knew there was little she could do to help him until he got in touch with her—if he ever did. She prayed he was safe.
She was bound to have another encounter with Captain Tunworth. She looked forward to it. When the clock showed four-thirty, she was actually a little disappointed the Virginian hadn’t returned with his warrants.
Well, he’d surely arrive tomorrow. And she’d have the satisfaction of telling him that—
The telegraph gong shattered her reverie. She jumped up and hurried to the table. She tapped out an acknowledgment of the query signal, then readied her pen to copy the message:
CONFIDENTIAL WALL STREET SOURCE ADVISED FOUR P M TODAY STOVALL WORKS BOARD HAS AUTHORIZED NEW STOCK ISSUE. WILL DOUBLE NUMBER OF SHARES OUTSTANDING. ISSUE ENTIRELY REPEAT ENTIRELY SUBSCRIBED PRIOR TO ANNOUNCEMENT.
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach.
SUSPECT SINGLE BUYER OR CONSORTIUM BUT HAVE NO INFORMATION. WILL ADVISE IF SITUATION CLARIFIES. AWAIT YOUR INSTRUCTIONS. ROTHMAN’S BANK
Amanda flung down the pen, pressed her palms against her eyes. The sounder began to click again:
AWAIT YOUR INSTRUCTIONS.
Wearily, Amanda clicked out NO INSTRUCTIONS, then added her initials. In a moment, the sounder replied.
ACKNOWLEDGED. END.
The stillness of the library was broken only by the steady beat of the rain on the windows and the sound of Mr. Mayor scampering through the main hall in pursuit of some phantom adversary. Amanda stared at the message t
he bank had transmitted.
“Goddamn it!” she cried, slamming her fist down on the pad while tears welled in her eyes. The last few words smeared from the impact of her hand—
She knew who had moved so swiftly to convene the Stovall board and make it impossible for her to acquire the needed fifty-one percent. It was no consolation that she’d increased the risk of discovery by her decision about Mary—and that she’d made the decision of her own free will.
When Michael returned at ten past five, looking dour, she showed him the information from the Boston bank.
“Stovall doubled the number of shares—and then bought them. He or someone acting on his behalf.”
“I expect so, Mrs. A.”
“Because of the Journal story.”
“Yes,” Michael said. “We’ve always suspected he’d be aware of steady movement in the shares over the past year or so. The story undoubtedly prompted him to look into it—very closely.”
She covered her eyes again. “Then I’ve thrown away my last chance to own Kent’s—”
Michael strode to the hearth, knelt and began laying logs on top of kindling. “I’m afraid we have more immediate concerns than that.”
She wiped her eyes and looked at him. He said, “Something’s brewing in the Five Points.”
“What?”
“I saw copies of the Journal being passed around in three saloons. Heard your name mentioned”—he applied a locofoco to the kindling; as it began to snap and blaze, he stood up—“plus a lot of nasty talk about a runaway nigger. I managed to draw one of the lads into conversation. Ever since the paper came out, Mr. Rynders has been buying a powerful number of whiskeys for certain selected acquaintances—”
“You think the money I paid Kathleen—and the extra you promised—wasn’t enough to pacify her?”
“That’s exactly what I think. Also, Mr. Isaiah Rynders has made no secret of the fact that before the day’s out, he’s going to look up someone at the Astor House.”
“The Astor! That’s where Tunworth’s staying—”