The Watchmage of Old New York (The Watchmage Chronicles Book 1) (24 page)

Jonas

“This is awkward.  I’ve never held a baby before.” 

The Vanderlay baby, or should I say the Dweller posing as the Vanderlay baby, refused to stay still.  I expected him to act like a grown man, but he squirmed like a brat.

Jim reached for the baby.  “It’s the train, I’m sure.  Give me the babe, I know how to handle them.  Got a flock of my own.” 

“I know.  I hear them through the floor.” I handed him over as if he would break.  Why was I even worried?  He’s an immortal warrior that locked horns with Pop and somehow survived.

It occurred to me then that this poor fella was in a world he’d never even imagined.  Turks ride camels, not the rail-road. He’d never breathed coal smoke or heard a train whistle.  He’d never seen a snowflake. A man like that, so far from home, who knows what he could do?  I’ve seen Turkish sailors drink till they’re blind.  I’ve seen them lost in houses along Corlear’s Hook, where the hookers take them for all they’re worth and more.  I hoped that Pop knew what he was doing when he agreed to the Pasha’s bargain.

Even in Jim’s lap, the baby refused to sit still.  Once or twice he kicked Jim in the chest.  Jim soon gave the boy back to me.

“I should get your story before we reach the Vanderlays.  I want to know everything.”  Jim pulled a pencil and paper and leaned it on an old book. 

Of course, I couldn’t tell him everything.  Luckily, life at University taught me how to lie.  Damn it, I could’ve taught a course. 

“I knew from the start that this was a dangerous man, a true killer,” I began.  “The Vanderlay’s nursemaid was assaulted during the kidnapping, and she later died of her wounds.  I found the culprit on the docks, a rogue named Shadow McGuirk.  He tried to escape on a steamer and fanned his barker at the alongshoremen to distract me.  The bastard almost killed three of them. I gave him a bunch of fives to the sniffer and took the baby back.  When he came after me, I shot him, and he fell into the river.  His body’s likely halfway to Rockaway.”

Jim scribbled faster than any man I’d ever seen.  Even the bumpy ride didn’t stop him. “An astounding story, one the
Tribune
’ll buy and beg for more. Every newsboy in the city’ll be calling it out.  They’ll fight for the right to do it. I’ll be bigger than Buntline if I keep writing about you, and you, you’ll be the most famous leathe—I mean, Muni, in Manhattan.  Did you have help from any others?  Is there anyone else I can talk to?”

“No, just me. All it took was hard work, and my own intuition.  A good policeman knows.” I felt bad for leaving out Pop and Hendricks, but I’d feel worse if I spilled their secret.

We spent the remainder of the ride discussing the kidnapping and police work in general.  I invited him to the Vanderlay estate.  After how the Vanderlays criticized the Munis in the papers, I wanted to make sure that the city knew that we succeeded.  Besides that, I wanted them to know who it was.  Wouldn’t that be a thumb in Roundsman Leary’s eye?

We reached Riverview, the Vanderlay’s estate.  Of course the gate was locked.  I called for the gatekeeper, who grumbled all the way to the gate.  His clothes were clean, but too thin for November.

“You’re the Muni,” said the gatekeeper.  “Is that young Master Stewart?”

“You don’t recognize him?”

He fumbled with the gate key and shivered from the chill air.  “I’ve never seen him.  I wouldn’t know him from Adam.”  He swung the gate open for us.  “I believe you know the way, officer.  I’ll be in the gatehouse, trying not to freeze.”

Jim and I walked along the broad path that led to the manse.  I knocked with the large brass knocker attached to the door.  After a time, the door swung open, and their gangly, sour butler answered.

“You’ve found young Master Stewart.  How wonderful.”  His voice was level, lacking the enthusiasm that I expected.  “Please enter.  I will call the Mister and Missus.”

He led us into the entry hall, told us to wait, and climbed the stairs as if his shoes were made of lead. 

Jim looked around at the tapestries and huge chandelier.  “God’s wounds, I’ve never seen anything like it.  It’s like Versailles in New York.”  He began writing on his papers again.

“They think they’re royals, and someday they’re going to lose their heads,” I said.  Jim looked up at me.  “Not actually.”

Jim nodded. “I hope not, but there are some rumbles.  You know how it gets.  Rioters burning down mansions have happened more than once. How many times did they burn down Arthur Tappan’s house?  And he’s a God-fearing man.”

“Fearing God is fine, fearing Man is better.  Here come the Vanderlays now.”

Missus Vanderlay just about tumbled down the steps in her haste.   The Mister followed behind, but in a slower, more dignified gait.  A man like that never rushes. He’d choose death before incivility.

“My baby!” cried Missus Vanderlay.  She rushed to me and pulled the baby from my arms.  I was happy to be rid of him.  Holding the Dweller like that gave me the shivers.  “Thank you so much, Officer…I forgot your name.”

“Hood,” I said.  “Jonas Hood. Nathaniel’s son.”

“Yes, thank you Officer Hood,” said Mister Vanderlay as he joined us.  “Who is this?” he said, gesturing to Jim.

Jim stuck his pencil behind his ear and held out his hand. “Jim Appleton, of the
Tribune.
Your plight has had the entire city worried for poor baby Stewart.  I’m here to report on the joyful reunion.”  He reached for his pencil and returned to his scribbling.  “Joyful reunion…I like that.”

Vanderlay frowned at me.  “You brought a paper man?”

I nodded, comfortable in Vanderlay’s discomfort.

Vanderlay scoffed.  For a month of moments, there was no sound beyond the cooing of the baby and the scratching of pencil on paper.

“Mister Appleton, you have your story, please leave.”  Vanderlay called for the butler, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere.  The butler opened the front door.

“That’s rather rude.  Are you sure that you want to paint yourself in such a portrait?” asked Jim.

“My portrait and those of my ancestors line the walls of my house. My descendants’ portraits shall join them.  They will survive whatever your paper says.”  Vanderlay set his teeth, and the Missus bit her lower lip.  “The exit is behind you.”

Jim looked to me for guidance.  “Wait for me at the gatehouse,” I said.  “I have business with the Vanderlays that I know they wouldn’t want in the
Tribune
, no matter how much they bluster.”

Jim nodded and left the house, but not before saying, “You’re not immune to the will of the people.  Remember the Jacobins.” The butler closed the door behind him.

“You say you have business,” Vanderlay said.  “Is it from your father?  He must know that I won’t accept his bid on that land.  His great park is of no consequence to me.”

“Your business is with me.  Let’s retire to your parlor.  You don’t want the domestics to hear this.”  I leveled a hard gaze at him.  He stared back, and the vein in his forehead throbbed. 

“If we must.  Edna, take Stewart to the nursery.  We have gentlemanly issues to discuss.”

“She stays.  This concerns both of you.”  I let a slight grin run across my face.  They had a vault’s worth of skeletons in their closet.  Let them wonder which ones I dug up.

“As you wish, Hood.”

We entered their opulent parlor and took seats.  The baby reached for his mother’s breast, and I stifled a laugh.

The two of them sat together, close, but not quite touching.  Missus Vanderlay crossed and re-crossed her legs.  Her throat was tight, and she made a pointed effort not to look me in the eyes.  The Mister, on the other hand, stared at me like he was trying to burn a hole through my skull.  His eyebrows slanted toward his nose and his lips were a V-shaped scowl.  His face was an arrow aiming for my heart.

“What did you have to say, Hood?” said Vanderlay, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Missus Vanderlay, do you know what your husband has been doing?”

She examined the back of her hand.  “I have no idea what you mean.”

“With the domestics.”

Vanderlay rose from his seat.  “Now see here—”

“Sit down, Vanderlay. Either you hear what I have to say, or the world does.”

“I won’t be blackmailed in my own home,” Vanderlay snarled, but he returned to his seat.

“Now that’s not true.  I’m blackmailing you right now.”  This was too delicious.  I caught Missus Vanderlay’s gaze.  “Your husband has been making the beast with two backs with your entire staff.  Not a petal goes unplucked. Not a dress unlifted.”

“You son-of-a-bitch!” roared Vanderlay.

“I’m not speaking to you.  Wait your turn.”

Missus Vanderlay began to cry. “Please don’t tell him.”  She took out an oddly colored handkerchief and dabbed the tears from her eyes.  Pop had told me about it, but it looked more like an old scrap than a gift from God.

“You’re not moved by his affairs?  He’s had his way with every woman in your house.  How many do you think he took in this very room, in your own seat?  But even that wasn’t enough for him.  He’s known in all the brothels in Corlear’s’ Hook.  He brought one of those hookers into your house just to have his toy closer.  She was your nanny.  She took your son to her breast, and that doesn’t bother you?”  I looked at her again.  She continued to dab with the handkerchief and folded her hands on her lap.  Her fingers flexed like they were trying to crush themselves.

“He’s…he’s a man, he does what he wants,” she said meekly.  “He gives me a good life.  He gave me a son.”

I started to argue the point, but something stopped me.  Vanderlay wore a confident smile, but underneath was a barely controlled rage.  His breath was heavy, as if he had run across his estate, or he was preparing for a fight.  I knew his reputation, and I saw his simmering anger.  While I would love to destroy him with the truth, a man like that might strangle the babe in its cradle.  Of course, with Beshir in that cradle, Vanderlay might one day wake up dead.

“If you are here to break our marriage, you are mistaken,” said Mister Vanderlay.  “My wife knows her place.”

“Yes, but the public might not be as forgiving.  There’s nothing people love more than a good scandal.  You’ll be the talk of every parlor in the city.  Your social circle will turn on you.  They’ll refuse to do business with you.  Who will you run to for succor?  The Knickerbockers?  The Yankees?  Perhaps the Irish and Negros in Five Points or Dutch Hill.  You’d be the first Vanderlay to live in a box car.  Wouldn’t your ancestors in those old paintings be proud?”  I gestured in the direction of the front gate, where Jim was waiting.  “My writer friend doesn’t yet know, but my father does.  The two of us are willing to forget such indiscretions.”

Vanderlay grunted.  “What’s the price, then?  Those lots he wants?  The old bastard, I didn’t think he’d sink to blackmail.”

“A drowning man shouldn’t speak of sinking,” I said. “The price isn’t the land. First, you’ll continue to pay Molly Hyde as if she was still alive. Don’t argue, she died protecting your baby. Her wages’ll go to her next of kin, Leenie Hyde.” I gave her address. “Molly also saved up money to adopt the baby you made her give up. I’ll wager the money’s in her quarters. That goes to Leenie too.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s half. The final price is your Missus’ handkerchief.”

The man chuckled, but then his eyes narrowed.  “Why do you want it?  What’s it worth?”

“It’s worth my silence. The owner wants it back.  He says that the bartered wares were,” I paused for maximum drama, “disappointing.”  I gave the Missus a sideways look, knowing that she couldn’t respond to this silent insult.

“You can have it.  It means nothing to me.” He looked at his wife.  “Give the bastard your handkerchief.”

Missus Vanderlay held tight to the handkerchief, weaving it around her fingers.  “No,” she said. 

Vanderlay’s eyes opened wide at the refusal.

“No,” she said again, this time with more force.  “This is mine.  I paid for it, it’s mine.”

Vanderlay growled.  “Don’t disappoint me, Edna.  Do as I say.”

“I love it. It’s precious to me, and I won’t give it away.  Not to him, not to the Hebrews, not to anyone.”

With unexpected speed, Vanderlay grabbed his wife’s hands and pried them apart. She struggled like a wild animal, sobbing and even trying to bite him.  He slapped her across the face and grabbed the handkerchief.