A Fragile Design (16 page)
‘‘I told him you said we was meeting here at the pub, but he wouldn’t listen,’’ Rafe Walton rebutted.
Thurston gave them a look of disgust. ‘‘Why would I ever consider meeting you two at a place like the Wareham? Do you ever use your brain to think, Jake?’’ he sneered. ‘‘Sit down,’’ he commanded. ‘‘Bring them each an ale,’’ he shouted to the barkeep.
‘‘Thanks, Mr. Thurston. I’m mighty thirsty,’’ Jake said.
‘‘Your thirst is the last thing I’m concerned with, Jake,’’ William said as he turned his attention toward Rafe. ‘‘You heard anything about money or rifles being stockpiled in that Catholic church that’s being built down the street?’’
‘‘Where’d you ever get such an idea?’’ Rafe fired back.
Thurston noted Rafe’s startled countenance. ‘‘Why are you answering my question with one of your own?’’
Rafe shrugged. ‘‘I was surprised, that’s all. I don’t know anything about rifles or money.’’
Thurston leveled a cold stare across the table. ‘‘You’d best not be lying to me, Rafe. If the Irish have a plan underway, I want to know about it, do you understand me?’’
‘‘Plan for what? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Mr. Thurston.’’
Thurston smirked and pointed his finger. ‘‘I’ll remember we’ve had this conversation. If I find you’re being less than honest with me, you’ll have the devil to pay. I want to know if there’s anything going on in the Acre. Do I make myself clear? And that goes for you, too, Jake,’’ he added, turning toward the other man.
Rafe nodded. ‘‘I’m being straight with you, Mr. Thurston.’’
Jake took a long drink and then wiped the mustache of foam from his upper lip. ‘‘I ain’t got no idea what’s goin’ on down here in the Acre. He’s the one who spends his time with the Micks.’’
‘‘Watch your mouth, Jake,’’ Rafe scowled.
‘‘Be quiet, both of you! I didn’t come down here to listen to you two exchange barbs. Just find out what’s going on.’’
Matthew and Kirk disembarked the
Governor Sullivan,
one of the finest packet boats traversing the Middlesex Canal, at Charlestown, where a stage was waiting to transport them into Boston. ‘‘This was a pleasant journey, Matthew. Traveling the canal brought back fond memories. When we lived in Boston, Anne and I used to traverse the canal to Horn’s Pond for picnics during the summer months. We should make time to do that again this summer,’’ Kirk mused. ‘‘You and Lilly would enjoy a weekend at Horn’s. They’ve made it into quite a tourist attraction.’’
Matthew smiled at the thought. ‘‘Perhaps I’ll arrange a surprise for her. Lilly loves surprises—and picnics,’’ he added.
Kirk glanced at his pocket watch. ‘‘Three o’clock. We made good time. I want to get settled at the hotel and rest my leg. The aching is constant.’’
‘‘I’m sorry to hear that, Kirk. Fortunately, you’ll have ample time to rest. We’re not meeting Nathan and J. P. for dinner until seven o’clock.’’
Kirk slipped the engraved watch into his pocket. ‘‘We’re dining at the hotel?’’
Matthew shook his head. ‘‘No. J. P. wanted us to dine at his home. He’s just completed renovations . . .’’
‘‘And wants to show off,’’ Kirk said, completing the sentence.
Matthew laughed as he seated himself beside Kirk in the stagecoach. ‘‘Exactly! He’s quite proud.’’
‘‘That’s an understatement. The man borders on pompous, though I’m not certain why—he’s not overly bright, not overly handsome, and is certainly far from being overly wealthy,’’ Kirk remarked.
They rumbled off toward the hotel, the coach now filled with jostling passengers who, after a leisurely passage down the Middlesex Canal, were anxious to join the hustle and bustle of Boston’s city life. The women were chattering among themselves, exchanging information about the location of shops andthe best places to find the latest fashions. Kirk looked at Matthew, rolled his eyes heavenward, and tightened his lips into a thin line. Matthew grinned and settled back on the uncomfortable seat, glad they would have only a short ride in the coach.
After stops at two other hotels, the coach came to a jerking halt in front of the Brackman Hotel on Beacon Street. The driver was unfastening their luggage when Kirk stepped down. ‘‘Don’t throw that case to the ground!’’ Kirk shouted at the driver, who was now holding Kirk’s bag in midair above his head.
The driver obediently lowered the bag and handed it down to Kirk. ‘‘And don’t toss that one, either,’’ Kirk ordered while pointing toward Matthew’s case.
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ the driver sheepishly replied.
Matthew laughed as they walked into the foyer of the hotel. ‘‘Apparently you carry a good deal of authority in Boston, too.’’
‘‘No, I just surprised him,’’ Kirk replied as he signed the register. ‘‘Is Nathan meeting us here this evening or going directly to J. P.’s?’’
‘‘He’s going to bring his carriage to the hotel so that we can travel together,’’ Matthew replied.
Kirk took his room key from the clerk and turned toward Matthew. ‘‘Good. And we meet with Bishop Fenwick in the morning?’’
‘‘No, not until tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock—for tea,’’ Matthew added.
Kirk flashed a sardonic grin. ‘‘Ah, yes, I forgot the bishop likes to sleep late.’’
Matthew wasn’t privy to the bishop’s sleeping habits but somehow felt as though he’d erred in scheduling the afternoon appointment. ‘‘I didn’t think you’d mind. We’ll be required to remain in Boston an extra day no matter what time we meet.’’
‘‘I don’t mind, Matthew. You’re correct, it makes little difference what time we meet. We’ll have the morning free in the event Nathan or J. P. needs additional time with us. I’ll see you out here in the lobby a little before seven.’’
Matthew nodded and watched as Kirk moved down the hallway and began to climb the circular staircase. He was limping, favoring his right leg, which was a sure indication Kirk’s pain was greater than he’d mentioned earlier. Matthew understood his necessity for rest. Besides, he could use this time to review some of the paper work for expansion of the shipping company. Several months had passed since Nathan originally proposed the matter, and the Associates were now ready to expand their overseas market.
The ledger of figures and calculations was mind-boggling. Matthew studied page after page, quickly becoming envious of Kirk’s ability to decipher and then remember facts and figures after one presentation. Several times he dozed off, his head falling forward onto his chest and awakening him with a start. Finally he gave up and permitted himself the luxury of a short nap.
By the time Matthew left his room, he was refreshed and ready for the meeting. Nathan and Kirk were waiting in the foyer as he approached.
‘‘Right on time,’’ Kirk said. ‘‘You have all the paper work?’’
Matthew patted the leather case. ‘‘Right here.’’
Nathan’s carriage was much more comfortable than the stage, and Matthew relaxed on the leather-upholstered seat. ‘‘Is it quite a distance to Mr. Green’s residence?’’
‘‘No, not far. His home is in the Beacon Hill district. It would be more to my liking if we met at the hotel, but J. P. is so anxious to entertain in his home, I couldn’t dissuade him,’’ Nathan explained.
‘‘As I told Matthew earlier, the man’s pride is unfounded; but I find that’s generally the way of things. The man who has the least reason to boast usually crows the loudest.’’
Nathan nodded. ‘‘True, Kirk, but if this shipping venture grows as I believe it will, J. P. stands to become quite wealthy.’’
‘‘But not as wealthy as you, Nathan,’’ Kirk responded with a wide grin.
‘‘Well, no. But formation of the shipping venture is my idea, and I began the company. With the help of the other Associates,’’ he added quickly.
‘‘And since J. P. doesn’t have earnings from the mills—only the shipping company itself—he can’t begin to compete with your wealth and stature,’’ Kirk replied.
Nathan gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘‘What stature? I’m a businessman with humble beginnings.’’
‘‘No need to be modest, Nathan. There’s nothing wrong with wealth—you’ve accumulated yours honestly. And worked hard for it, I might add.’’
‘‘Not nearly as hard as you’ve worked in Lowell, Kirk. I don’t know what we’d have done without you to manage the business,’’ Nathan responded. ‘‘Goodness knows, none of us wanted to live in Lowell. I believe that my wife would have deserted me had I even expressed the vaguest interest in leaving Boston.’’
‘‘If the two of us continue bragging upon each other, perhaps J. P. will realize how he sounds and keep quiet,’’ Kirk remarked as the coach rolled to a halt in front of the Green mansion.
‘‘He’s a bit pompous, but he means well,’’ Nathan said. ‘‘Don’t spend the entire evening taking him to task.’’
Kirk disembarked the carriage and gave Nathan a slap on the back. ‘‘Only as a personal favor to you, Nathan.’’
The house went beyond Matthew’s idea of good taste. It was opulent—every nook and cranny was crowded with ornately carved furniture, the windows were draped in the most expensive velvets, and inlaid marble floors surrounded carpets of the finest weave. No cost had been spared in building the house, but it was such a mismatch of styles and designs that nothing looked quite right.
‘‘It is a genuine pleasure to host such illustrious visitors in my humble home,’’ J. P. said as he led the men into his library. ‘‘May I offer you something to drink? A glass of port or sherry?’’
‘‘Port is fine,’’ Nathan replied, seating himself on the tapestrycovered couch in front of a huge fireplace. ‘‘Fine craftsmanship,’’ he said, pointing toward the stonework.
J. P. nodded in agreement. ‘‘The best I’ve ever seen—an Irishman, if you can believe that! He came highly recommended, but I didn’t let him take a chisel to any of the stones until I’d seen some of his work. Much of this stone is imported from Italy, and I didn’t want it ruined by some Mick,’’ he added. ‘‘You might look him up if you have need of some masonry, Kirk—said he was going to Lowell.’’
‘‘Lowell? He’ll not find folks willing to spend their hard-earned money on fancy work such as this,’’ Kirk replied as he waved his arm toward the fireplace.
‘‘He said he was going to do the stonework at some new Catholic church being built in Lowell. Surely you’re knowledgeable about something as important as a new church, aren’t you?’’
Matthew looked toward Kirk, whose face had tightened, a slight twitch evident along his jawline. It was obvious J. P.’s remark had not endeared him to Kirk.
‘‘I’m aware of everything of consequence that occurs in Lowell. And that includes the Catholic church. In fact, we’re meeting with Bishop Fenwick tomorrow to finalize plans for the dedication,’’ Kirk replied from between clenched teeth. ‘‘By the way, what’s this stonemason’s name?’’
J. P.’s chest puffed out at the question. ‘‘Donohue. Liam Donohue. He’s expensive but worth every cent, and you’ll have your wife’s undying devotion—believe me.’’
Kirk laughed. ‘‘I merely wanted his name; I’m not planning on hiring him,’’ Kirk said as a servant approached, held a whispered conversation with J. P., and scurried back out of the room.
‘‘I apologize for the interruption, gentlemen. Life has been in a bit of an upheaval of late. Someone entered the house and managed to break into my safe. I had hoped the matter would be resolved before our meeting, but it appears the police have had little success. It has been most trying.’’
‘‘I can imagine, but thank goodness for banks. At least we no longer keep vast amounts of wealth in our homes,’’ Nathan replied.
J. P. gave a feeble smile. ‘‘Yes, banks are a wonderful institution, but it is imperative I recover the contents of my safe. My future depends upon it. I kept important records in that safe.’’
Kirk shook his head. ‘‘No need to be dramatic, J. P. Life will go on even if you don’t recover those few stolen belongings. I’m sure you can duplicate any lost documents.’’
‘‘Of course, you’re right,’’ J. P. replied, although his nervous countenance belied his words. ‘‘Let’s have supper,’’ he said, leading the men into the dining room.
Kirk motioned Matthew to drop back a few paces. ‘‘When we return to Lowell, I want you to find out if Hugh has hired that Irishman—Donohue. If so, I want to know what he’s paying him. I didn’t authorize hiring any new employees, especially Irishmen. We’ve got enough problems brewing between the Yanks and Irish as it is.’’
Matthew nodded. ‘‘I’ll see to it.’’
‘‘J. P. has certainly worked himself into a frenzy over a small robbery, wouldn’t you say? It makes no sense that a man who can afford to spend this kind of money,’’ Kirk said as he looked about the house, ‘‘would be so upset over the contents of a small house safe.’’
‘‘He did say there were important documents,’’ Matthew whispered as they sat down at the table.
‘‘What idiot would keep important papers in his personal safe unless he had duplicates stored elsewhere?’’
Matthew shrugged. Having never been faced with such a problem, he hadn’t given the matter much thought, although what Kirk said made sense. There should be duplicates of important papers. After all, the Corporation maintained duplicate signed copies of its important documents.
From the twenty-foot-high ceiling of the formal dining room, not one, but two crystal chandeliers offered candlelight on the elaborately decorated table. And the meal was much like the house—overindulgent, with their host remaining preoccupied throughout supper. Kirk and Nathan discussed politics, both of them excited over the possibilities of new tariff laws.
‘‘The Tariff of Abominations will soon be a thing of the past,’’ Kirk announced. ‘‘The legislators who so stupidly voted in those legal means by which to pick our pockets will soon have to reckon with President Jackson’s ideas for improvement.’’
‘‘I suppose Calhoun will be his biggest opponent,’’ Nathan said, sipping his wine. ‘‘The man has been a thorn in his side since taking the vice-presidency.’’
‘‘He was a thorn in his side prior to that,’’ Kirk said, laughing, ‘‘as Adams’ vice-president. The Tariff of 1828 was not pleasing to the poor man. I thought for certain he might very well have South Carolina seceding before the year was out.’’