Part 9 (2/2)
”The overhead railway's going to fail. The noise and the stink of it will prove little better than what we've got now with that G.o.d-awful clatter running past our front doors.” A nod toward Fourth Avenue and Vanderbilt's infernal trains smoking and steaming their way north and south.
”You seem to forget,” Josh said, ”the Greenwich Street el's been extended up Ninth Avenue as far as Thirtieth Street.”
”I'm not forgetting anything, son. But we are standing a considerable distance north of Thirtieth Street. And I declare to you, Joshua Turner, that the way men and indeed women and children are destined to get up and down this thirteen-mile island is in tunnels laid underground. My solemn word on it.”
He could be right, Josh knew that. In which case his arrangement with Hopkins-he'd granted the man a twenty-year lease on very favorable terms-would prove to be folly. But Josh didn't think so. There was something a bit too far-fetched about the notion of underground tunnels, too exotic for gritty, workaday New York City. ”Blown back and forth by pneumatic tubes,” he said, not trying to keep the scorn from his voice. There was a thing of the sort opened the year before in a three-hundred-foot tunnel dug surrept.i.tiously under Broadway. It was a demonstration effort consisting of a single car fitted with velvet cus.h.i.+ons and candles, and a grand piano in the station under a building on Murray Street. So decent folk would feel comfortable descending below the earth.
Clifford shook his head. ”Nothing like that. No pneumatic tubes, they're a diversion, a novelty show. I'm speaking of proper trains driven by steam and running underground where we neither smell nor see nor hear them. They're already doing exactly that in London. Here, on Manhattan, it will be a revelation, Joshua. A wonderment for the ages. Something that properly compliments your revolutionary ideas for housing the middling cla.s.ses.”
”And who is to build these tunnels, Captain? They require, I warrant, an amount of capital well in excess of that needed to erect an apartment building.” Even with the stick, he really could not go on standing much longer. Josh felt the blood draining from his face.
”Indeed. A considerable amount of capital. Here, you're looking a bit pale. Let me help you. We can-”
Clifford reached out to take his arm. Josh shook his hand away.
Clifford sighed. ”Very well, Joshua. We shall do things in the direct and somewhat uncivilized way you Yankees prefer. I'm here to tell you to get a message to your brother. He's in England. He can have a look at what they're doing in London. Once he's convinced himself the enterprise is viable, as indeed it is, I want his backing. The Devrey name attached to it would make an enormous difference.”
”I doubt Zac will be interested. He's a much more conventional business sort than I. Underground tunnels will seem entirely too futuristic.”
Clifford shrugged. ”All I want you to do is convey a proposal. You owe me that much,” with another glance up to the steel girder. ”Besides, if you've your brother's welfare at heart, you won't refuse.”
”How so?”
”Use the brains G.o.d gave you, Turner. Devrey's is failing. The entire American merchant marine, if it comes to it. That's what their war of aggression cost the North, the destruction of their commercial s.h.i.+pping. The very lifeblood of their economic power. The English pretty much have the market cornered now. But there's still considerable worth in the Devrey fleet. I'm suggesting the s.h.i.+ps be sold, and your brother's company become a major part of a consortium to build underground transportation for New York.”
”Wipe out Devrey's and invest the return in some wild scheme of yours? Zac will tell you to go to h.e.l.l.”
”Maybe. Maybe not. He's in Liverpool, I'm told. Scurrying about looking for profitable alliances, and as I hear it, having little good fortune. I'd suggest you write him and convey my offer.”
”Boss Tweed's behind the elevated. You won't get his backing for your tunnels.”
”We shan't need it,” Clifford promised. ”Everything's different now, I promise you.” He started for the door, then paused and turned around. ”One last thing. Please extend my compliments to Mr. Tickle. Tell him I was asking for him.”
All during the Macy's years Mollie had gone to her aunt's every Tuesday evening to do the books. After her marriage the visit had been transferred to Tuesday afternoons. She had not, however, visited Eileen for the past three weeks, not since early October. She could not bear the question her aunt never asked-was she with child?-but which was telegraphed by her quick glance at Mollie's slim-as-ever waist. She'd no intention of going on this particular Tuesday either. There wasn't much bookkeeping to be done now that her aunt lived privately. And Mollie had started her monthly flow the day before, so she couldn't even pretend to be hopeful about the immediate future. Then, about three in the afternoon, the doorbell of the Grand Street house rang insistently, as if someone were tugging frantically at the chain. She opened the door herself because neither Jane the maid nor Mrs. Hannity the cook got there fast enough to quiet the summons, and found a small boy repeatedly yanking at the bell.
”Stop that racket this minute. What is it?”
”I've a message, ma'am.”
Mollie immediately recognized Eileen's elegant Tiffany's stationery. ”Come at once,” her aunt had written. ”A matter of urgency for your husband.”
”Mr. Tweed's been arrested on charges of fraudulent activity,” Eileen said when Mollie was hardly in the door.
”I know. I heard the newsboys.” Boss tweed arrested! Bail set at one million dollars! ”I didn't stop to buy a paper because I was sure you'd have one.”
”I have, but I've better sources of information than that. Come upstairs where we can talk.”
Even with no wh.o.r.es entertaining in the downstairs parlor, Eileen continued to think of her private sitting room as the appropriate venue for confidences. Mollie left her coat in the entry hall and followed her aunt up the stairs.
”Mr. Tweed's already posted bail and been released,” Eileen said as soon as they were sitting by the fire. ”I imagine he'd have done the same if they'd made the bail five million.”
”I don't think anyone,” Mollie said, ”believes Mr. Tweed to be shy of resources.”
”That's not going to matter this time,” Eileen said. ”The so-called reformers mean to get him and they will.”
”Shall they bring down Tammany?” Mollie asked.
”I doubt it.”
”Rather a shame. It won't be the same without Mr. Tweed, but if they're still functioning I suppose you must continue to pay seven hundred dollars a month.”
”Three fifty since the start of last month,” Eileen said. ”As you'd know if you'd come to bring the ledgers up to date. I've less need of him these days, as Mr. Tweed agreed.”
”Well and good, Auntie Eileen, but surely that's not what you meant when you said urgent. Josh's affairs are not directly involved.”
”I know that.” Eileen waved away the suggestion that her nephew-in-law's business depended on Tammany good will. ”But what happens on Fourth Avenue does matter to him.”
Mollie sat up straighter. ”It does.”
”There's to be a tunnel,” Eileen said. ”From somewhere just above Fiftieth Street to ninety-something. Ninety-Sixth Street seems to be favored.”
”For the trains?”
”Of course for the trains. Whatever else?”
”But Mr. Vanderbilt has flatly refused to-”
Eileen waved that notion aside. ”Mr. Vanderbilt has always known he wouldn't be allowed to run his disruptive and noisy trains along the Manhattan streets indefinitely. He is a clever negotiator. That's all his stubbornness was about. Now, with Mr. Tweed about to be brought down and the forces of 'good government' ready to take over, Mr. Vanderbilt's decided it's the right moment to make an arrangement. The proposed tunnel is projected to cost six million dollars. The city is putting up half and Vanderbilt the other half. Construction will begin in the spring.”
”Auntie Eileen, are you sure? How do you know all this?”
”I am entirely sure. As I've told you before, Mollie, over the years I've had opportunities to make useful friends.”
That was true. Mollie knew Auntie Eileen's influential acquaintances to have guided the investments that allowed her to continue living so well. Whatever information her aunt had, whoever it came from, it was likely to be accurate. ”I must tell Josh.”
Mollie half rose, but Eileen put out a hand to stop her. ”You must, and time is indeed important. I am among the first to know, but I do not deceive myself that I'm the very first. Nonetheless, Mollie-”
”Yes?”
”Your husband is a ticklish sort, my dear. He needs to prove things. Josh copes remarkably well, but surely you realize his ambition is goaded by his loss.”
Mollie folded her hands in her lap, looking at them rather than her aunt. ”I think so, yes. And I try to be aware of his needs. Mostly without his knowing, though sometimes he discusses business with me quite openly.”
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