Boston Metaphysical Society Read online

Jonathan glanced at the box and smiled. Sampson gestured for the underbutler to leave. He went as fast as he could without running.

  Jonathan picked up a letter opener and slid it under the seal, cracking it. He lifted the lid and looked inside, feeling a smile of pleasure warm his face at sight of the contents.

  “Sir? What is it?”

  “It’s from the Abyssinian envoy. He should be arriving soon.”

  Jonathan reached in and pulled out a miniature replica of an ancient Axum ship. Traditionally made of papyrus and wood, this one was meticulously crafted out of woven threads of rose gold, silver, and bronze. It was shaped like a scorpion with a single sail amidships and an oar attached to the side that also served as a rudder.

  “My God, that’s beautiful.” Jonathan examined it carefully.

  Sampson leaned over to get a better look. “Do we have a gift for him, sir?”

  “Oh, hell. Can you—”

  The phone rang on Jonathan’s desk. It startled both men. This was not a regular occurrence.

  Jonathan frowned and picked up the earpiece.

  “Yes?” The frown became a scowl.

  “Sir, word is that we may have an unwelcome visitor shortly.” His executive assistant, Mr. Evans said with urgency on the other end of the phone.

  “Lock up all the new designs. I don’t want anything out. Thank you, Mr. Evans.” He slammed the earpiece back onto its cradle confident that his executive assistant would accomplish his duties with his regular efficiency.

  “We probably have until tomorrow to get everything I’m working on locked away. I don’t want any trace of it anywhere,” he told Sampson.

  “I’ll make sure the ship and the engineering designs are locked up. Anything else?” the house manager asked. To his credit, he did not inquire as to why the sudden need for secrecy.

  “Mr. Evans and I will take care of the Abyssinian contracts at the office. You and he are the only ones who know about those and I want to keep it that way.”

  “Yes, sir. Is Congressman Pierce coming to spy again?”

  “No. It’s much worse.” Jonathan placed the ship back inside the box and locked it in a drawer. “My brother has decided to pay us a surprise visit.”

  ***

  Sampson hurried around Jonathan’s study, picking up the new ship designs off the drafting table and locking them away in the wooden file cabinets that were kept in an unobtrusive closet near the desk. Mr. Weldsmore had left for his office on the wharf where he oversaw the building of both his passenger and cargo ships. Whoever had notified Mr. Weldsmore that his brother was arriving had not been specific as to where and when he would arrive, thus all the commotion. Spies had their limits.

  It didn’t surprise Sampson that Hal Weldsmore would attempt to arrive unannounced. He liked to make his brother’s life uncomfortable. Though he was older than Jonathan, Hal had lost the right to take over the business after he almost killed the entire family during the trial run of a new ship. Sampson remembered how Hal’s reckless behavior had opened the door for a then fifteen-year-old Jonathan and his pet rat to save the day. On top of taking control of House Weldsmore, Jonathan was rewarded with Hal’s future bride, Adaline. If memory served, Sampson recalled the young lady was very pleased by her sudden change of fortune. Adaline loved Jonathan and he her. It had been a very happy marriage.

  Hal never forgave Jonathan or his grandmother for that.

  Sampson stood in the middle of the room and inched around in a circle studying every desk, chair, and place a piece of paper could have fallen into. While Hal was in residence, this study must look like no one ever used it other than to entertain guests. He never came without a reason, and Sampson hoped he only needed money and would be gone in a day or two.

  “Mr. Sampson?” Mrs. Owen waved at him from the doorway. “Shall I give it a good dusting? I hear we are to expect more company.”

  “Yes.” Sampson nodded. “And prepare the guest rooms as well. But don’t make them too comfortable. No need to encourage them to extend their visit.”

  “Already done.” She turned to leave then stopped. Her head crooked around. “Wait. Did you say rooms? As in how many?”

  “Mr. Hal never travels anywhere alone.”

  Mrs. Owen threw her arms up in disgust and stomped away. “That man!”

  Sampson walked over to the door and inspected the two guardsmen who stood there. “No one is allowed into Mr. Weldsmore’s study with the exception of Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Hunter, and Mrs. Owen. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Sampson,” they replied in unison.

  It was his duty to protect this family, even from each other if need be.

  ***

  Jonathan made notes on some of his new ship designs as Brendan maneuvered the steam-powered car through traffic. The mix of horse carriages and steam-powered cars were a civic nightmare, one that city leaders had addressed by building a subway. The underground transport was not quite completed, thus the chaos. As one of those leaders, Jonathan knew he was as much to blame for all of this as his colleagues, but he’d much rather build ships than meddle in politics. Unfortunately, the world required that he remain involved or else it might come undone like it had in 1812 and during the House Wars.

  The War of 1812 had changed the direction of the country. The Great States had used the pretense of British impressment of American sailors to launch an invasion of Canada. A war that was mostly fought at sea, it ended in a stalemate between the two warring nations. Afterward, a group of American industrialists had decided that democracy would not make the Great States of America dominant on the world stage. Their solution was a coup of sorts. Over the years after the war, these industrialists and their families had eroded civil liberties, changed laws, and allowed slavery to become entrenched in the South. Instead of the populace electing officials to Congress, they were selected from the leading industrial families. These families became known as the Great Houses.

  The new Congress functioned more like a parliament, and they elected a president from within their ranks every six years. Jonathan had once considered running for a congressional position—until Adaline became ill. He’d always wondered whether, had he been old enough to hold office before the House Wars, he could have prevented it from happening.

  Jonathan tapped his pen on his notebook. The more he thought about it, the more he doubted anyone could have stopped it. Slavery had become such an integral part of the southern Houses’ way of life they refused to consider alternatives. Even when faced with hard and cold numbers that their method of doing business was inefficient and unprofitable, they refused to budge. Jonathan did not believe all men were created equal, but he had always thought slavery was irrational and self-defeating. A man worked harder when treated well and with respect, no matter what his class. Duty and loyalty were paramount, of course, and a fair salary didn’t hurt either.

  The war proved the northern Houses were right, but the cost was high. Much of the South was destroyed along with a number of their Great Houses. Abraham Lincoln had demonstrated his ability to lead a nation through war, but his republican vision of the future made him a marked man. His own House agreed to have him assassinated after he attempted to dismantle the Great Houses and return to a more democratic form of government. It had been a difficult period in his nation’s history, and he sensed something equally bad was coming now.

  The entire city of Boston was in the throes of change, as was the rest of the nation. It wasn’t just the new technology and social change. Jonathan sensed there was something darker on the horizon. He had heard strange and unsettling rumors about demons fighting on the side of the South during the House Wars, but attributed it to propaganda. His whole world had upended when he learned Elizabeth had visions of the future—something he’d believed was Irish folklore.

  Brendan slowed as they approached Chelsea Street. Jonathan glanced up and saw his chauffeur frown. “Brendan, why—”

  An explosion heaved the car to one side, lifting half
of it off the ground. Both doors on the driver’s side bent inward, slamming Jonathan against the other side. The wheels crashed back down as flames swarmed the outside of the car like an infestation of ants.

  “Get out!” Jonathan yelled at Brendan.

  His chauffeur, bloodied and dazed, reached for the passenger’s side door, but passed out.

  Jonathan jerked on the door handle as the flames crept inside the car. Smoke poured in. He didn’t have much time. He lay on his back and kicked the window with his feet. Once, twice, three times. It refused to break. That didn’t surprise him. They were made with a special glass that, though not bulletproof, came close. The irony of dying due to his own security measures was not lost on him.

  The window shuddered, but not because of him. It dawned on him what was happening, and he covered his eyes. The glass shattered as a tire iron burst through. Several hands reached through and yanked the door open. Two older Weldsmore guardsmen, Lewis and Kolb, pulled him out.

  “Get Brendan!” Jonathan ordered as he was hustled away from the car and into another one. He glanced back to see the chauffeur being rescued just as the car and his paperwork went up in flames.

  They sped down Chelsea Street, paralleling an eight-foot wrought-iron fence for a half mile before stopping at a gate with the sign Weldsmore Shipping over it. The gate was already open and flanked by a half a dozen guardsmen.

  Whizzing by the gate, they drove a few blocks past several floating dry docks where men scrambled up and down the sides of two massive seagoing cargo ships making repairs. After another quarter mile, they skidded to a stop outside a five-story brick building the size of one of the Weldsmore’s passenger ships. The glass in the top-story windows had been painted white so even if you had a ladder high enough, seeing in would be impossible.

  Jonathan scrambled out of the car and was surrounded by more guardsmen. Two ran ahead to open the unassuming oak door into the building. He lurched through the entrance with Lewis holding on to his elbow.

  This was the heart of his shipping empire. The crackling of welding filled the air as one of his foremen directed huge iron beams into place to frame a ship. Sparks lit up the mens’ masks as they worked on the seams. Iron hulls were being prepared on the far side of the building. Hydraulic lifts underneath the main structure supported what would be the hull of the ship. Each corner bustled with activity as the work crew focused on their particular specialty. Even though the ship was in the early stages of being built, it was a sleeker, more elegant, design than the bulky ships that were the current norm.

  Lewis released his hold to allow Jonathan to smooth back his hair and compose himself as he walked past the workers and headed for a set of iron stairs. They zigzagged up for five levels, each with a landing that overlooked a different section of the warehouse. Not wanting to become distracted, Jonathan sped up each level until he reached the open door to his office, which overlooked ship construction. Though this was the main office for Weldsmore Shipping, there were two other locations that handled payroll and procurement.

  Here the rooms were split into three almost equal-sized spaces surrounded by glass windows on all sides except where the room sat flush against the outer wall of the building. Wooden file cabinets and four modest desks stood in the first room where the undersecretaries worked. Blinds were drawn on most of the windows so the four men could work undistracted. Jonathan’s unusual appearance was enough for all of them to stop working and stare, then focus back on their work without comment.

  “Mr. Weldsmore, sir! Are you all right?”

  From the second room, a man about half Jonathan’s height shuffled in carrying a stack of design drawings. He had a faint mustache and wore circular spectacles halfway down his nose. His apparel identified him as Middle District with a single brass wire woven through the cuffs and lapels of his dark-gray suit; however, his expression took on that of a worried old woman when he saw Jonathan’s singed clothing and the blood running down his face.

  “Should I call a doctor?” asked Mr. Evans.

  “Yes, but not for me, Mr. Evans,” Jonathan replied. “Brendan is injured. Make sure he’s taken care of. And order another car from the house while I clean up.”

  “At once.”

  “And tell no one, including my daughter and son-in-law, of this incident.”

  Mr. Evans, his executive assistant, gave him a brief nod before he scurried out.

  Jonathan stepped into a small and unadorned bathroom off of his office to change his clothes and clean up. When he looked in the mirror to see the extent of his injuries, he understood why his executive assistant was so alarmed. His face was covered in soot and the tips of his hair, eyebrows, and mustache were singed. A small gash on his forehead had left a copious amount of blood on his cheek, which had dripped onto his shirt. When he took his torn jacket off, he noticed the elbows were burnt.

  This wasn’t the first attempt to assassinate him, nor would it be the last. What bothered him was that his spies had given him no warning. They were usually quite good at ferreting out Great House plots, but now there was a weak link he needed to discover. However, there was the immediate problem of Hal and the Abyssinian envoy arriving at the same time.

  He cleaned up and put on a fresh suit then exited the bathroom to see that Mr. Evans had returned with a tray of bandages, coffee, and sandwiches.

  “How is Brendan?” Jonathan asked.

  “Dr. Marley is taking care of him now. A few cuts, bruises, and minor smoke inhalation, but he’ll be fine.” Mr. Evans set the tray of food down on the meeting table.

  “Good, good. Let’s keep this quiet. I want a list of our current informants in every Great House. The minor ones too. Inform Mr. Kolb that I want to recheck the background of everyone who is working here. I’ll have Sampson handle the house staff. In the meantime, we have until tomorrow before my brother arrives, but I’d rather be prepared now.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand. Anything you want destroyed?”

  “No. Let’s put the Abyssinian contracts in the main safe and the metallurgy reports in the other. I don’t believe my brother’s spies have discovered that yet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Spies were a constant source of annoyance to Jonathan. If it wasn’t his brother trying to undermine him, then it was another Great House looking to discover his latest research and ship designs. Not that they would be capable of building it themselves, but they could either sell the plans to an overseas competitor or use it as insider information for their investments. Or try to kill him.

  Jonathan entered his office to see every important piece of paper removed from sight. The only things left on his desk were a writing tablet, several pens, and the latest newspaper. He reminded himself to give Mr. Evans a raise.

  “The meeting with the envoy is in two days, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. The consulate promised to be discreet when he arrived and not put on their usual . . . display.”

  “Good.” He admired the Abyssinians’ resistance to the Austria-Germanic colonial efforts, but their monarchy tended to be a little ostentatious for his tastes.

  Jonathan double-checked the locks on the file cabinets. “What can we distract Hal with when he arrives? I want him preoccupied.”

  “I have already procured him an invitation to Mrs. Gardner’s salon and dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Get one for Elizabeth and Samuel too. That should make the evening more interesting.”

  Mr. Evans chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

  Satisfied that everything was in order, Jonathan turned to study the progress on his most recent ship design down in the dock. They were implementing his latest metallurgical techniques to lighten the hull yet keep it strong. It was still too soon to see what it would become, but the frame of it was in place. The bow had a sharper point than a normal ship that flared out amidships where it was three stories tall. It then dropped back at a sharp angle to form a flat surface to a squared-off stern. It had a shallow draft so it could mane
uver in coastal waters. It was the perfect ship for the Abyssinian Navy to use against an invasion. Jonathan liked to think he had developed the modern world’s response to the Spanish Armada.

  What none of the men working on it knew was that he had also designed weapons unique to this ship to be installed at a later date and a different location. They were being built at a facility that only he and Mr. Evans knew the location of. The workers lived in barracks in northern Virginia and were transported in a secured and windowless steam-powered vehicle to the building site. They were allowed to write to their families, but any mention of what they were working on was edited out. Concerned they would become bored or homesick, Jonathan made sure they were compensated well for their trouble and temporary isolation.

  One of the new weapons was an armor-piercing cannonball made of the new metal alloy Jonathan and his team of scientists had created. They also had to build the cannons to withstand the friction and heat the new cannonball produced. Jonathan was also tinkering with a torpedo with a guided propeller system. His first tests had been a disaster, but he was sure he would crack the formula soon. If he could manufacture such a weapon, it would change the face of naval warfare.

  It could not be a coincidence that Hal had decided to pay him a visit now. If Jonathan had died today, his brother’s sudden arrival could have appeared as him swooping in to save House Weldsmore. Jonathan chuckled to himself. He knew his brother would continue to try and wrest the business away, but he’d never believed Hal would try to kill him. Someone else was behind it. Besides, Elizabeth, Samuel, and Sampson could outmaneuver such an obvious power play.

  His brother always had ulterior motives; Jonathan just needed to discover what they were before they became a problem.

  4

  Elizabeth tiptoed into the small dining area the family used for breakfast. A bright and sunny room with a view into the back garden, it had a tall ceiling with windows to match. Wallpaper with tiny pink roses on an ivory background gave the room a subtle elegance. A crystal vase filled with magenta lilies sat in the middle of a mahogany table covered with an intricate white lace cloth. Fine china with the Weldsmore crest was set along with a silver tea set and utensils.