Boston Metaphysical Society Read online

  She winced when she saw Samuel had already finished his coffee and was reading the Boston Times.

  “Why didn’t you wake me? Now I feel like a sloth.”

  He glanced up from his paper and smiled. “A sloth? I think I have to stop taking you to zoos. Besides, you needed to sleep.”

  “I love sloths.” She pouted. “Don’t make fun of them. Where’s Father?”

  “No idea, but I’m sure he’s making plans to take over the world.” Samuel folded the newspaper, placed it on the table, and stood up. He walked over and pulled out the chair for her. “He is one very driven man.”

  “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” She raised her eyebrow at him.

  “Where did you learn that phrase?” he asked, taken aback, as he returned to his seat.

  “Never you mind. I’m hungry.” Elizabeth was not about to tell him she heard it in a vision years ago and had grown to like it. That was a secret she’d keep to herself.

  She reached for the servant’s bell as an underbutler swept through the door carrying a fresh pot of tea. “Oh, thank you.”

  Mrs. Owen followed with a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and fruit.

  Elizabeth frowned at her. “Mrs. Owen, you have more important things to do than to serve me breakfast.”

  “It’s just for today, miss . . . Mrs. Hunter. I wanted to do it on your first morning back as a married woman. We are so proud of you.”

  “That I finally snagged a man?” Elizabeth teased.

  Mrs. Owen put her hands on her hips and gave her the once over. “No, young lady, that you stood up to your father. That takes a bit of doing. Now, give me a kiss and we’ll all get on with our day.” The head housekeeper leaned over and presented her cheek. Elizabeth dutifully kissed it.

  “I have a feeling this is not normal behavior in other Great Houses. Am I right, Mrs. Owen?” Samuel sat down in his chair again.

  The older woman exited the room with a harrumph.

  Elizabeth and Samuel burst out laughing. When she calmed herself down, Elizabeth reached across the table and took her husband’s hand. He brought it up to his lips to kiss; she snatched it back before he could.

  “What? You let Mrs. Owen kiss you.”

  “That’s different. We are in my father’s house now and I like certain things to remain . . . private.”

  “Which is why I want to move out.”

  “Samuel, we already came to an agreement.”

  He sighed. “No, you dictated terms, and your father and I capitulated.”

  Elizabeth frowned at him. “I offered a compromise that would allow us to get what we both want . . . in time.”

  Samuel gave her an incomprehensible look, then returned to reading the newspaper. “Your father is wrong. I think you are more than qualified to run the family business on your own.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “And neither do I.” He folded up the newspaper again and placed next to his plate. “I’m off.”

  “Where?” She mumbled while eating her eggs.

  “The warehouse. There are some things I want to pick up.”

  “Let me come. I’ve never seen it, and it sounds very mysterious.”

  Samuel stood. “It’s smelly and dirty and no place for a lady.”

  “But it’s yours.” She pouted.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” Elizabeth batted her eyes.

  “Fine. Finish your breakfast. I’ll tell Sampson we’re going out.”

  Elizabeth gobbled up her food in a most unladylike fashion.

  ***

  Jonathan glanced out his upstairs library window to see Samuel leaving with Elizabeth sitting in the front passenger’s seat. Another car with four of his guardsmen pulled out to follow them. He winced from the cut on his forehead as he watched Brendan pull up in a new car not long after.

  He’d decided to spend the morning working from home. Mr. Evans had called and reported that the explosive device had been thrown rather than attached to the car. Jonathan was relieved to hear it, but he wasn’t pleased when he was informed they had no leads on who was responsible.

  As for his brother’s arrival, Jonathan was confident that his executive assistant would do his usual efficient job of making his work office look functional, but with no important material lying around, just in case Hal showed up there first. All of this was incredibly annoying, but it would be imprudent to forbid his only brother from coming home. Though Hal had no real power or influence, he was married to the youngest daughter of Alfred Tillenghast, the most powerful Great House in the Midwest and the largest airship builder in the world. Often Hal would drop tidbits of useful information about his father-in-law, but there was always a price.

  Sampson entered the study carrying a tray with his lunch.

  “I presume everything is ready for my brother’s arrival.”

  “Yes, sir. The entire staff will be sure to act surprised when he arrives.” Sampson placed the tray at the end of the desk. “He’ll know it’s all a façade, of course.”

  “Naturally.” Jonathan nodded. “But we must keep up with appearances.” He glanced up at the house manager. “Where did Elizabeth and Samuel go?”

  “Shopping and then to his family’s warehouse. Mrs. Owen sent lunch with them as well as extra for the guards.”

  “Thank you.”

  “After what happened yesterday, I knew you’d want them to have extra protection. And I reminded Brendan that if anyone inquired, your injuries were due to a car accident.”

  Voices rising outside the study caught their attention. There was a shuffling noise, a shout, then one of the underbutlers scurried in.

  “Mr. Weldsmore, sir. I’d like to inform you that—”

  The underbutler’s announcement was cut off by Hal Weldsmore stomping in to stand next to Sampson. He tried to imitate Sampson’s rigid posture, but failed. “How do you do that, Sampson, old man?” Hal poked Sampson in the spine. “Do you have a piece of whatever new-fangled metal my brother is developing stashed up your drawers?”

  “Thank you, Sampson. You may go.” Jonathan reined in his anger at his brother’s rudeness. He refused to let his brother goad him into saying something he’d use against him later.

  As Sampson exited, Jonathan leaned forward to see if he could smell alcohol on his breath. He didn’t, but he did notice Hal was losing his hair.

  Hal peered at him. “What did your barber do to you? I hope you fired him.”

  Jonathan didn’t bother to answer.

  The brothers were the same height, but where Jonathan had maintained a regular exercise routine and was a fit for a man his age, Hal had developed a belly and hunched over. His skin looked waxy from indulging in fatty food and his nose had an almost bulbous quality to it. Jonathan suspected he was drinking too much.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure of your unexpected company?” Jonathan forced a pleasant smile. “If you had informed me, we could have prepared a proper welcome.”

  “Really? You’re actually going to pretend that you didn’t know I was coming? Or have your spies gotten that bad?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Why are you here, Hal?”

  “Can I sit?”

  Jonathan stared at him, wishing he’d go away, but decided that was pointless and gestured for him to be seated.

  “And what about him?” Hal jerked his head toward the door of the study.

  In walked a sepia-toned Negro a few inches shorter than Hal, but broader across the chest and shoulders. His black curly hair was short and curved around his skull like a tight-fitting cap. He wore a long, obsidian-colored wool jacket that brushed his knees, with matching trousers, a copper-hued silk shirt, and black suede gloves. What surprised Jonathan was the gold and copper wire woven into his lapels and cuffs. Never in his life had he seen a Negro wearing the clothing of a man from a Great House. It meant only one thing: this was Thomas Rochester, head airship designer for House Tillenghast.

  Jonathan
took two strides forward and extended his hand. “Mr. Rochester. I apologize. I did not expect you.”

  “What he really means is that he knew I was bringing someone, he just didn’t know it would be you.” Hal smirked.

  Thomas and Jonathan shook hands.

  The Negro man’s grip felt stronger and more solid than most men’s. Jonathan wondered if he worked on the airship production line to assess quality control, but quickly dismissed that thought as being too menial for a man of Thomas’s prominence.

  “Please come in. The servants will bring refreshments in a few minutes.”

  Thomas gave him a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr. Weldsmore. I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

  Hal waltzed farther into the study like he owned it. He wiped his hand on the newly polished desk and peered into every corner as if he had lost something. “You always were the fastidious one.”

  Jonathan escorted Thomas to one of the more plush chairs on the side of the room across from a glass-topped mahogany coffee table. Hal followed them over after he finished his quick inspection.

  “I was sorry to hear about the death of your father. I understand he worked for Warrick right until the end.” Jonathan commented.

  Thomas nodded. “Yes. He loved working for Gwen after her father passed away. She was easy to work for. James, however, was a bit idiosyncratic.”

  “You know, I met your father once. When Lincoln honored him and Gwen for their service during the House Wars. He was a hero. I was surprised he didn’t start his own company.”

  Thomas shook his head. “He was more interested in designing airship propulsion systems than running a business. Old Man Warrick was happy about that. He never handled competition well.”

  “I would have thought you’d go to work for Gwen. Though she doesn’t come from a Great House, she runs a tight ship over there.”

  “I did for a while . . .” Thomas’s voice trailed off. “But House Tillenghast offered me better opportunities.”

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “I can see that.”

  Hal slumped in his chair. “Refreshments?”

  As if by magic, an underbutler arrived carrying a tray of tea, coffee, and cakes. He set it down on the table and picked up the teapot to serve them.

  Jonathan waved him away. “We’ll do this ourselves, Bernard.”

  “Sir.” As he returned the teapot to the tray, the underbutler gave them each a quick bob of his head then left the room.

  Hal went straight for the coffee then balanced three miniature cakes precariously on a cerulean-blue china plate.

  Thomas, on the other hand, ignored the food.

  Jonathan took this all in. He knew Hal was no stooge but merely playing a part. What role that was he had yet to figure out.

  “How is Emily?” Jonathan inquired, hoping to take an indirect approach.

  “Enlarging her doll collection since it appears we will remain childless.” Hal munched on a cake. “But you don’t really care, do you?”

  Jonathan was about to make a rude retort when Thomas beat him to it.

  “He’s jealous of you, Mr. Weldsmore. And I don’t think that will change anytime soon.” Thomas sat up straight in his chair. “But I hope he will comport himself with a little more dignity from now on.”

  Hal shrugged as he brushed crumbs from his lips and reached for another cake.

  “Why are you both here?” Jonathan demanded. “What do you want?”

  Thomas took a deep breath. “To stop a war, Mr. Weldsmore.”

  5

  The shadow of a passenger airship passed over Samuel and Elizabeth as they walked from their car over to the dock in the noonday sun. The sound of its propellers mixed with ship horns that echoed from the harbor, creating an orchestra out of the wind. As they approached a one-story brick warehouse, Samuel took a hefty key out of his pocket and inserted it into a padlock. He turned it, but the key mechanism jammed. He gave it a sharp twist; it opened with snap.

  “You know I can buy you a new lock if you like,” Elizabeth teased, cradling the lunch basket in her arms. “Consider it another wedding present.”

  “There you go trying to fix me.” Samuel grinned as he slid the door to the warehouse back to reveal a dark, empty maw. The smell of dust, fish oil, and old leather drifted out.

  “I don’t want to fix you. I want to fix this place.” She coughed and waved the dust out of her face. “There’s no electricity, is there?”

  “Not on this side of the harbor.”

  Samuel’s parents had been ship chandlers who sold peacoats, lanyards, canvas trousers, rope, and hooks of every size and shape to seaman. His mother had managed the finances while his father handled sales and inventory. Well respected among the seafaring community, they were successful enough to send their only son to a good school in a better part of the Middle District. They’d hoped with his education he would expand the business. However, Samuel had had other plans.

  Samuel felt around the wall until he found an oil lamp. He placed the lamp on his hip as he pulled up the glass globe. Steadying it with one hand, he reached into his pocket and produced one of the new automatic brass lighters they had bought while in Austria. With a quick flick of his thumb, the lighter ignited. He lit the wick, replaced the glass, then put away his lighter. He took hold of the handle and held the lamp out in front of him.

  “Coming?”

  “Can’t we go sailing first? It’s been too long.” Elizabeth sighed, remembering a romantic time they’d had in a small boat right after they were married.

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth glanced longingly back at the indigo water before she gestured to Samuel to lead on.

  Rats scurried about as they disturbed their lairs. Elizabeth tried not to flinch, but it was almost impossible. Samuel never noticed her discomfort as he was too busy pulling tarp off the windows to let in the sun.

  The light revealed a modest-sized warehouse broken up into three sections by walls with a doorway through each one. A dark and inhospitable place, a person could barely see the inside of the building from one end to the other. Strewn across the floor were several broken crates; their contents long gone. Caught in the lamplight, spider webs glistened across the windows and most of the corners of the roof. A few shattered glass bottles dotted the floor. More oil lamps hung at regular intervals by each door as if expecting company. For a place once filled with love and activity, it was now a hollow reminder of what life had been for Samuel.

  “What happened to the inventory?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I sold it all after my parents passed away.” He shoved a piece of crate with his foot. “This was their life, not mine.” He turned down the wick in the lamp. “The office is this way.”

  “Father might be interested in leasing this from you. I’ve no doubt he has some secret project he could tuck in here.”

  Samuel shook his head. “No, this is mine. The only one I will share it with is you.”

  “I understand.” She gave him a soft smile. “And thank you.”

  He stopped for a moment, turned, and kissed her. “We have to have something that is just ours.”

  “I agree.”

  “Here we are. Home sweet home.” Samuel escorted her into a room off of what would have been the storefront. Inside sat a pine desk, a cot, two plain wooden chairs, a small cooking stove, and a lavatory tucked away in a closet.

  “You lived here?” Elizabeth asked, choking at the dust.

  “It’s rather bleak, but I haven’t spent much time here. Once I settled my parents’ affairs, I found work as a bodyguard.” He shrugged. “Most of the time I lived at my clients’ homes. Usually in the servants’ quarters.”

  Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. You never lived at the house when father hired you.”

  “Actually, I did.” He grimaced. “Sampson tucked me away into an unobtrusive spot as per your father’s orders.”

  “He never told me! Why?”

 
“I think he didn’t want you to feel like you were being watched all the time.”

  “But I was.” Her voice lowered.

  Samuel placed his hands on her shoulders. “It was my job. Please don’t take it out on Sampson.”

  She pursed her lips in annoyance. “I would never blame Sampson. My father, on the other hand . . . Never mind. That’s all in the past.”

  He grinned and jumped back. “So, I was thinking about turning this into a real office.”

  “You mean with file cabinets and better chairs?”

  “Exactly.”

  Elizabeth watched in amusement as he got more excited.

  “I’d need a sign, though. To hang out front.”

  “And what would this sign say, pray tell?”

  He swung his hand in the air as if he was writing it himself. “Samuel Hunter, Private Detective.”

  “You want to be a detective again? Why? I thought you were done with all that.”

  Samuel leaned against the desk. “I have to work, Elizabeth. And not for your father. Plus, I’m good at it and I can pick my own clients.”

  Elizabeth took off her gloves and reached into her purse. “But first you have to get them.” She tapped one of the rickety chairs with the tip of her finger as if it would break apart at the slightest touch. “And they’ll want to sit in here without fearing for their lives.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  She took out a pencil and notepad and jotted down notes. “Let’s see . . . new desk, chairs, file cabinet, proper stove, and heater.”

  Samuel crossed his arms, nodding in approval.

  Elizabeth pranced out of the office and into the storerooms. She pointed at one of the interior walls. “Can we remove that? You may need more space.”

  “I’ll have to check to see if it’s a load-bearing wall. If not, then yes.”

  “You should have a nice but functional waiting room. Not too fancy. Subtle elegance so most everyone will be comfortable.”

  “Why not everyone?”