Silver Dreams (8 page)

"The truth is the truth, no matter how it comes packaged."

She wrenched her hand free of his hold and crossed to the door. Before she left, she turned to look at him one last time. "I thought you had compassion in your heart, something more than your version of cold, hard principles. I see now that I was wrong." 

He started to say something, but she didn't wait to hear what it was.

Chapter Four

When Elizabeth came downstairs the next morning, she felt as if she hadn't slept a wink. Logic told her she had slept, though, since she hadn't tossed and turned on her pillow
all
night. But even after she’d successfully blocked the face of Max Cassidy from her mind, his betrayal of her family still haunted her dreams.
I report the news, Betsy, it's what I do. If it were my brother I would write the story. I'm sorry, Betsy.

Just as tormenting was another thought - the niggling notion that perhaps she had been too hard on Max...that there was an element of truth to what he had said. Maybe it
was
time for Ross to pay for his mistakes.

"Even so, it's not up to you, Max Cassidy, to be my brother's executioner," she grumbled.
If there's any part of him left to execute after Papa finishes with him
. She didn't know how the meeting between Ross and their father had fared, since she'd gone right up to bed when she got home. After arguing with Max, she really hadn't wanted to hear Ross's account of his confrontation, but she could well imagine the outcome.

She stopped outside the dining room and steeled herself to go in. She didn't know whether her father and brother would even be inside or, if they were, whether the frosty atmosphere would be enough to chill her bones. Taking a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," Winston said from his seat at the head of the table.

"Hi, sis."  Seated to his father's right, Ross was shoveling forkfuls of eggs and sausages into his mouth. The picture of her brother enjoying his meal struck her with its irony. She didn't think she could eat a bite, and she wasn't even the one in trouble.

"I trust you're feeling better," Winston said.

Bridey had obviously delivered the proper message last evening. "Yes, Papa, thank you."  She sat down and accepted the glass of juice the cook put in front of her.

After the servant left, Winston cleared his throat to draw Elizabeth's attention. "I understand you know all about Ross's latest escapades."

"Yes, Papa, I heard."

"Thank goodness Townsend thinks he can keep it out of the papers," Winston said.

Elizabeth looked down at her hands clenched tightly in her lap. What will Father do when he sees the
True Detective Gazette
? she thought.

An awkward silence filled the room as the servant brought in Elizabeth's plate. She picked at the mound of scrambled eggs and managed to get a small bite up to her lips. When the three of them were alone once more, she said, "So is everything all right this morning...between you two, I mean?"

"For now,"  Winston said brusquely.

"According to Father's terms of course," Ross added.

"And those are?"

Ross started to answer, but Winston held up his hand to silence him. "I'll answer, Ross. As you said, these are my terms."  Turning to Elizabeth, he began, "Your brother will be coming with me to the newspaper every day. I'll no longer trust him to be in anyone else's employ. He's proven over and over again that he is not capable of managing his life. Therefore, I shall manage it for him."

Elizabeth looked from one to the other. Her father's features seemed set in stone. Ross, comfortable in the knowledge that Winston was watching Elizabeth and not him, mimicked his father with an impudent mouthing of Winston's words.

"What will Ross do at the
Courier News
, Papa?"

"What I should have had him doing for months now...filling paste pots and inking the presses." Winston appeared to relish this latest turn of events, and he smacked his lips in satisfaction. "In a few weeks, if he's proved himself, perhaps he can work his way up to delivering the mail!"

Winston turned just in time to see the last of the smirk fade from Ross's face. "You see how delighted he is with his new position, Elizabeth."

"Definitely, Papa."

"Let's go to work, then, son. Jasper's waiting with the carriage."  Ross reached for the suit jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and Winston chuckled. "You won't be needing that, Ross. When you work in the basement, we provide you with an apron. And I'd suggest that you wear old shirts from now on."

Ross soberly followed Winston out of the dining room.

"Poor Ross," Elizabeth sighed. "Poor Papa. If they only knew, that come Friday, when the
Gazette
appears on newsstands, this is all going to get a lot worse."

Elizabeth spent the early afternoon going over her notes regarding Lady Catherine Sutcliff, whom she discovered was the Duchess of Essex. Though her heart wasn't in it, she had prepared several questions she could ask the duchess at Mrs. Beswick's tea the following day. But the whole affair seemed quite trivial when compared to the impending disaster of Ross's notoriety.

Bridey broke Elizabeth's half-hearted concentration when she called from the front hallway. "Miss Lizzie!  Mr. Ross is calling on the telephone."

Elizabeth ran downstairs and took the ear piece from Bridey. She leaned close to the speaker horn. "Ross. Is something wrong?"

"No. In fact, something is quite right for a change. The most wonderful thing has happened, Lizzie. You must come down to the newspaper office right away."

"Now? It's two-thirty in the afternoon. Why aren't you working? If Papa catches you..."

"Stop being a worry-wart, sis. Once you find out why I've called, you'll see that none of us may ever have to work again."

"Ross, I don't like the sound of this. It's another one of your hare-brained schemes."

"Not so, little sister. This is opportunity knocking. There is a veritable fortune at stake. Do hurry, Lizzie."

Unsuccessfully trying to ignore a nature that left her unable to resist an adventure, Elizabeth sighed and asked, "Where will I find you?"

"In the basement of course. So you see, there's nothing to worry about. Papa won't catch us. He never comes down here!"

Ross was waiting when Elizabeth got off the elevator in the basement of the
Courier News
. He whisked her down several narrow passageways that took them past clattering, acrid-smelling presses and dark, musty supply closets. Elizabeth had never seen this part of the building, and when she thought of the employees who worked in the brick-walled, low ceilinged surroundings, she equated it to spending eight hours a day living very much like a mole. I really must speak to Papa about lighting and ventilation down here, she decided.

They emerged at the back door and into a confining dirty stairwell. Narrow, crumbling stone steps led up to a sunless alley which was just wide enough for two utility conveyances to pass at once. The alley was strewn with garbage and horse droppings and stank horribly. Such a contrast from the elegant facade of the building's street level entrance. Elizabeth covered her nose with her gloved hand. "For heaven's sake, Ross, why have you brought me here?"

He ushered her away from the
Courier News
and gestured at some vague point down the alley. "Because, Lizzie, the man I want you to meet is down here."

They had gone about a block when Ross stopped and put a finger to his lips. "Be calm, Lizzie, don't scare him. He's a little skittish." 

He pointed to more stairs, similar to the ones they had just left, only this stairwell served as back entrance to an old rooming house which evidently didn't cater to a discriminating clientele. An ages old sign proclaiming "Room and board, twenty-five cents," swung with a metallic screech from one rusty nail above the back door.

Ross leaned over a dilapidated railing. "Hello, old-timer.” Then, turning to Elizabeth, he said, “He's still there. C'mon Lizzie."

Elizabeth followed Ross down the steps to where a pile of rags lay in a corner by the cellar door. When the rags moved, Elizabeth gasped. A creased, ruddy face draped in grayish white whiskers peered up at her.

Ross grinned. "Lizzie, this is Dooley Blue. He came to the back door of the
News
today when I was outside, and he's the man who's going to change my life!” With a gallant bow, Ross said,  “Dooley, this is my sister, Elizabeth."

To Elizabeth it seemed the one whose life needed changing was Dooley’s. He was haggard and gaunt, like he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. He viewed her from under a ledge of bushy white eyebrows that seemed to grow from a ragged felt hat pulled down to his ears. But his eyes were bright and alert, and when he smiled through a long drooping moustache, he displayed a nearly full set of brown-stained teeth. His thin white hair brushed the shoulders of a worn flannel jacket. "Howdy-do, girlie."

"Mr. Blue..."

"Call him Dooley, Liz," Ross offered cheerfully. "Everybody calls you Dooley, right old man?"

Dooley nodded. "Them that calls me anything at all usually does."

Ross got down on his knees and looked into Dooley's face. "Show her, Dooley," he prompted. "Show her what's in your pocket."

The old man put his hand protectively over the breast pocket of his jacket and eyed Elizabeth suspiciously, obviously sizing her up to see if she was friend or foe. After a moment he reached in and removed a jagged rock. He kept his fingers wrapped tightly around it until Ross urged him, "Go ahead, show her. You can trust Lizzie."

The gnarled old fingers slowly uncurled and Dooley Blue showed his treasure to Elizabeth.

She didn't see anything special about the rock, except that one ordinarily didn't find rocks of any sort in downtown Manhattan. Crumbled bits of masonry and brick, yes, but rocks, not so much. She took Dooley’s prize and held it up to what little light managed to filter into the dark alley.

The rock was coarse and uneven and basically gray with a smattering of white and rust embedded in its grain. Finding nothing unusual, Elizabeth turned it over in her hand. The meager sunlight caught a streak of glimmering motes running through the center of a hard granite core. The color was unlike anything Elizabeth had ever seen. It was a vein of sparkling metal that shimmered with a lavender glow when she held it a certain way.