Part 25 (2/2)
When everything was finished.
While he waited under the impa.s.sive scrutiny of the tong guards, he thought back to the news he'd had from Forster a few days before. The news that had led him here to this alien place, to ally himself to men with whom he had nothing in common. Men who would probably see a sawed-through carriage axle as a warning rather than a murder attempt.
An attempt which had not succeeded.
Perry smoothed his mustache. It had been quite a shock at first, but he'd gotten over it quickly enough. He hadn't even waited to discover Liam's reaction. He knew he'd operate more smoothly without having to contend with Liam's rather violent mistrust.
The contrary Irishman had no doubt already fixed the blame for his ”accident.” But if he'd gone in pursuit of Perry, he wouldn't have found him.
Perry knew how to disappear.
There was a stirring from one side of the room, the hiss of a sliding panel being drawn back. A man walked in, wrapped in dignity, his dark silk suit dull in the dimness. Two hatchetmen followed, and a smaller individual with wire spectacles and a humble air.
The boss seated himself in the carved mahogany chair and regarded Perry for a length of time undoubtedly meant to intimidate. Perry met his dark gaze unflinchingly. Inspection apparently completed, the boss signaled to one of his men and spoke swiftly in another language.
The bespectacled man moved up, bowing. ”The master wishes to know if you will have tea, sir.”
”I'm afraid I haven't time for pleasantries. I'm here on a matter of business. To our mutual benefit.”
The interpreter repeated some approximation of Perry's words to his master with much humble posturing. The boss was either bored or annoyed; he uttered a few terse comments and waited for his man to render them in English.
”The master wishes to know what you want with him.”
Perry leaned back in his chair. ”You may tell your master that I know what you're planning to do about Mr. O'Shea, and I think I can be of help to you.”
The interpreter was a little less efficient in his work this time, and his boss less happy. ”And what,” he said, ”makes you so certain you can be of use to us, Mr. Sinclair? We have many outsiders working for us already.”
”Because I know O'Shea very well. I'm his closest friend, as it happens.”
The boss leaned back, stroking the expensive silk of his jacket. ”And so?”
”I also know about his secret operations,” Perry said. ”The ones that have been so inconvenient to your business. I have reason to believe he's organizing another raid, and I may be able to provide you with details.”
”I see.”
”And if that's not enough, I may be able to get rid of him for you. I'm well aware that you can't afford to go about youra attempts on Mr. O'Shea too obviously unless you want the police down on your head. Some of them do remain uncorrupted and only require a good reason to put an end to your very profitable transactions.” Perry smiled coldly. ”I can take care of O'Shea without any risk to you. But only if you leave it to me and don't interfere.”
”And what do you expect for thisa service?”
”As I said, you run a very profitable business. I need money. I'm sure we can work out a mutually satisfactory agreement.”
When the translation was done the boss sat very still in his chair while the hatchetmen s.h.i.+fted and looked as if they'd like nothing better than to make use of the weapons for which they'd been so aptly named. One of them even leaned down to speak into the ear of his boss, making a chopping motion with his hand.
But Perry knew he'd succeeded when the boss signaled again and the interpreter scurried out to return with an exquisite tea service on a delicate enameled tray.
”Perhaps we may be of aid to each other,” the boss said. His servant presented a steaming cup to Perry and returned to his master. ”Now we shall seal our bargain.”
Perry took the fragile cup, inhaling the subtle fragrance. And waited.
The boss sipped his tea. Perry did the same without further hesitation.
If the tong leader had decided not to trust him, he could easily have poisoned the tea. No one knew Perry had come here; few would ever miss him. But the risk was worth taking. The stakes had gone too high.
There was absolutely nothing left to lose.
Chapter Sixteen.
Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed Unless she do him by the forelock take.
a”Edmund Spenser SHE'D BLOWN IT but good.
Mac felt a trickle of sweat run down the front of her bodice as she watched the masked and costumed society couples perform a quadrille on the Gresham's elegant parquet ballroom floor. She plucked at her elbow-length gloves, longing to peel them off. In spite of open windows and the late hour, so fas.h.i.+onable for nineteenth-century b.a.l.l.s, the room was stifling. Ten pounds more or less of ball gown didn't helpa”even though it left the upper part of her arms bare and plunged in front a little too low for comfort.
At least she'd put her foot down at the idea of a full costume. The half-mask she wore had the advantage of making her feel a little more anonymous. Caroline's instruction during the past two weeks hadn't appreciably improved Mac's talent for dancing, so Mac was relegated to the status of wallflower for every dance but the waltz.
Thank G.o.d. Six weeks in the past and she still felt as if she were on a movie set.
The movie set of a historical farce, at that. A farce in which she, the heroine, had messed up history and couldn't seem to put it right again.
Everything had gone downhill after Caroline's rebellion at Cliff House and Mac's confrontation with Liam on the beach. She'd hardly had two words from Liam since, even though she'd been at the Gresham home so often she might as well have moved in.
And she hadn't seen Perry at all. It was as if her great-great-grandfather had literally disappeareda”a circ.u.mstance that made Mac extremely uneasy. Her careful questions to Liam had been ignored, and Caroline had clammed up and looked on the verge of tears when Perry's name was mentioned.
It had been a thoroughly lovely fortnight. Liam hadn't let Caroline out of the Gresham mansion. The big surprise was that Liam not only allowed Mac to see Caroline, but had actually encouraged long visits. And those visits were almost always in his presence, since he'd made himself a part of the furniture from dawn to midnight every day. Mac suspected he'd decided she was the lesser of two evilsa”though given their last conversation, she was amazed that he'd let her within spitting distance of his precious ward.
Or maybe he thought he'd rather have Mac underfoot than out conspiring somewhere with Perry. He permitted Caroline Mac's company because he wouldn't let her have anyone else's until the ball, except a few girlfriends for occasional tea or a brief gossip. And, of course, the indispensable dressmaker.
Mac had learned more than she ever wanted to know about Victorian female gossip, fas.h.i.+on, and etiquette. Caroline had seesawed between ”perfect ladys.h.i.+p” and moody silences, treating Mac either as a long-lost friend or a hopeless rustic who didn't know Spanish lace from Irish.
She might not win an Oscar for ”Best Modern Woman Impersonating a Victorian Lady in a Historical Drama,” but at least Mac wasn't giving herself away badly enough to be thought anything but eccentric by Caroline's friends.
That's me. Eccentric Mac, who knows d.a.m.ned well she doesn't belong here. And she also knew d.a.m.ned well that time was ticking away. Literally. She was treading water pretending to be what she wasn't in a society that wasn't hers. And until she found a way out of this mess, she was stuck here.
It wasn't just her heart she'd be leaving in nineteenth-century San Francisco. If she could leavea She pushed that thought away and snapped open her fan. No point in thinking about how she was supposed to get home until she had a reason to.
There was one good thing to think about. Liam may have been ignoring her, at best being frigidly politea”but he wasn't conceding much more to his bride-to-be. Mac hadn't seen any sign that he'd asked Caroline to marry him. He certainly hadn't tried to reprise his kiss at Cliff House. To the contrary: he seemed bent on making himself as much a living example of menacing and omnipresent implacability as was humanly possible. If there was love on Liam's part, Mac hadn't observed it.
She flexed her feet in their dancing slippers, longing for her sneakersa”or even her worn-out hiking boots. d.a.m.n it, where was Perry? Caroline had been confident that he would never miss her birthday ball, no matter what had caused his long absence.
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