Against the Tide (9 page)

“Let me get this straight,” he said. Bane sat a little straighter, and a piercing look of concentration came over his face. “As far back as you can remember, your life has been full of chaos and instability. After you lost your parents, you were sent to an orphanage. It was hard, but everyone who came into contact with you was impressed at how well you adjusted, despite the terrible circumstances. You never complained, never cried, because you didn’t even know how to express what you needed. How can one complain of not feeling secure when you had never experienced such a sensation to begin with? You grew up on a boat where the dangers for a child were appalling. Heavy anchors strewn about that could slice up bare feet, open water that could swallow a child before her parents even knew she had fallen overboard. At the orphanage you never slept soundly, because if you did there were children who would steal your blanket or rob your pockets. You felt rootless because an orphanage cannot provide the structure of a family, only a never-ending rotation of employees who come and go.”

Lydia’s eyes grew round as he spoke, for it was as if he were writing her biography. Bane gestured to the waiter, and their coffee mugs were refilled. “And then finally you grew up,” he said as the waiter moved away. “When you earned enough money to buy a decent home for yourself, security was the only thing you truly cared about. At last you had the power to build a life
exactly
as you wanted. And you want your ink bottles arranged in a precise manner. You order the same clam chowder at the same restaurant because predictability is important to you. You savor the sensation
of order and reliability because these things make you feel absolutely safe and in control of your world.”

Bane drew a long sip of coffee and winced at the bitter taste. He popped a cube of sugar into the black brew and casually stirred it with a little pewter teaspoon. He looked up at her and winked. “But you are right. Someone like me probably can’t understand.”

Lydia stared at him, mesmerized by what she had just learned about Bane. He understood her so perfectly. Only someone who had actually experienced such a life could articulate the bone-deep exhaustion that came from years of childhood insecurity. “Did you ever live in an orphanage?” she asked quietly.

The stirring of the teaspoon stopped. Bane was motionless for the span of several seconds as he stared at a spot on the table. Lydia thought perhaps he was going to refuse to answer, but when he finally spoke, it was with his usual easy casualness.

“Just a single night,” he said. “I found it was not for me.” He set the teaspoon aside and took a sip of coffee.

“Then where did you go?”

“I found a wonderful family who adopted me, and I lived happily ever after.”

She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. “Liar.”

He winked at her. “Well, you ought to know that about me by now.”

She did. She also knew that Bane had no intention of telling her anything more about his mysterious childhood or what circumstances caused him to understand what it felt like to be alone and rootless. He opened the door a tiny sliver and just as quickly slammed it shut again.

That was okay with Lydia. Just as Bane understood her, she was learning how to read Bane. And what she discovered made him
all the more fascinating in her eyes. Oh, she was certain he was as dangerous and manipulative as they came. He was a predator accustomed to operating beneath a thin veneer of civilization as he ruthlessly pursued his own agenda. But they both knew what it was to be alone in a storm-tossed world and still maintain a sense of optimism and resilience.

“You still haven’t told me if you have any more translation work for me.”

A look of fierce concentration came over Bane. She could almost see the wheels turning behind those crystalline blue eyes. A pang of uneasiness crept inside her at the crafty, calculating look seeping onto his face.

“On the off chance I can’t persuade Eric to marry you and solve all our troubles, perhaps I can find a better use for your talents. One that will pay enough for you to buy your apartment. How much longer do you have to come up with the cash?”

“Three weeks.”

Bane nodded. “This is going to take me a bit of time to work out. I need to head out of town on business, but I’ll have a proposition for you when I get back.” Bane stood and put a few coins on the table to pay for their coffee. “Meet me at the dry docks next Monday at the close of business. I’ll have something worked out by then.”

As Lydia walked home, she pulled her cloak tighter, unable to forget the fleeting look on Bane’s face as he set those coins on the table. Just for a moment, he gazed at her with such yearning it nearly robbed her of breath. Then he buried it behind the glib façade he wore so well.

She knew he cared for her. No matter how cool he pretended to be, during that fleeting moment, the heat in Bane’s eyes could have turned a forest to cinders.

9

A
s he walked through the forest, Bane heard the echo of steam drills cutting into the stone of the colossal boulders jutting up through the mossy soil of the land around Fall River. Even though granite quarries already pockmarked the terrain, the quarry workers employed by granite baron R. Ross Telenbaugh were still devouring the land, drilling holes at regular intervals, then setting off charges of dynamite to shear off walls of granite. Telenbaugh was a self-made millionaire who fought hard for every dollar he earned, which accounted for the rudimentary shack built at the crest overlooking the quarries. He never spent money where it would not earn a return, and it was from this primitive shack in the forest that Telenbaugh oversaw his granite empire. So miserly was he with his coins that he limited himself to one cigar a day, chewing on the unlit roll of tobacco leaves until after dinner, when he finally lit the tip and savored it down to the last nub.

Telenbaugh was not pleased to see Bane. “I know what you are here for,” Telenbaugh said, a film of perspiration gleaming on his
balding head. “I have already committed to supporting Senator Wilkinson in his reelection, so you are wasting your time here.”

Bane strolled into the overseer’s shack and helped himself to a chair, casually stretching his booted feet before him. “I was disappointed by Senator Wilkinson’s vote on the opium measure last spring,” Bane said. “I was hoping you would reconsider your financial support of the man.”

Telenbaugh grabbed the unlit cigar from his mouth and fixed Bane with a stare. “Opium is a perfectly legal substance,” he growled. “The government has no business interfering with what pharmacists sell in their shops, and I appreciate a man like Senator Wilkinson, who understands that point.”

Opium may have been perfectly legal, but it was also a seductive poison used as an ingredient in innocent-looking preparations all across the country. Pharmacists had been resisting any attempt to rein in the sale of potions containing opium to anyone who walked into their shops, and so far, they had been winning. It was Bane’s plan to put an end to it.

Bane settled a little more comfortably in his chair and smiled at Telenbaugh. “Let me repeat,” he said calmly. “I was disappointed with Senator Wilkinson’s vote on the opium measure and was hoping you would reconsider your support for the man.”

Telenbaugh glared as he leaned across his desk and pointed a stubby finger at Bane. “I heard about what you did with that bridge to Canada last year. Don’t think you can intimidate me the way you did the bridge-building crew up in Vermont. I am made of tougher stuff.”

Bane knew who had been behind the proposed bridge, and it had been a delight to scuttle the Professor’s plan to build a bridge that would have made smuggling opium in and out of Canada easier.

Still, he feigned a look of casual surprise for Telenbaugh’s
benefit. “Who said I intimidated anyone? All I did was inform the team of the governor’s proposal requiring immigrants to pay additional taxes if they wished their children to attend school. Almost all of those workers came from Italy, so imagine their dismay when I told them.” Bane began picking at a nonexistent speck beneath his nails. “Actually, I was quite pleased I was able to persuade the mayor of the village to work with the local unions to set up rules against that sort of thing. I was even happier when that mayor was elected to the governorship the following month.”

Bane straightened to look out the tiny office window. “Are your workers members of the union? I hear rumors the Knights of Labor are thinking of organizing miners up this way.” The only sign of Telenbaugh’s anxiety was the tightening of his fists, and Bane’s gaze went back to his nails. If Telenbaugh’s workers joined a union, it could spell disaster for his operations. “It’s just a rumor, though.”

“What do you want?” Telenbaugh bit out.

Bane leaned forward, focusing his full attention on Telenbaugh. Admiral Fontaine couldn’t publicly announce his candidacy for the seat until he resigned from the navy, but Bane wanted the path cleared to ensure an easy election.

“I want you to quit lining Senator Wilkinson’s pockets,” Bane said. “Tell me what
you
want from a senator, and I’ll try to see that you get it. You’ve got two hundred men out there doing good, honest work. I won’t interfere with that, so long as you quit funding the reelection of a man who is allowing thousands of pounds of opium to pump through the bodies of people too ignorant to understand what they are consuming.”

Bane could tell he was getting close, because Telenbaugh picked up his cigar, reached into a drawer for a match, and lit the tip. Getting the man to light his cigar at two o’clock in the afternoon was a victory. “I could squeeze you between my two hands and mash
you to a pulp,” Telenbaugh said, remnants of anger starting to fade as he drew on the cigar.

Bane knew he had won. “You’d have to get in line behind the others who want the same thing. Now, tell me what you want, and I’ll see how I can get it for you.”

The Professor had been waiting outside the postal station for almost an hour, but the delivery expected on today’s mail wagon was too important for him to lollygag at home. Not when a sixteenth-century psalter was about to be delivered into his hands.

His eyes dilated in pleasure as he accepted the package from the postmaster, and he carried his new treasure gently down the steps, across the dusty street, and into his carriage. “Move over,” he instructed Boris, the hefty guard who was working a toothpick between his teeth. The Professor averted his eyes. Boris was an ungainly boor, but he had his uses.

Besides, nothing would diminish his pleasure on a day such as today. He slit the brown paper wrapping, opened the box, and extracted his treasure. The psalter was unexpectedly heavy on his lap, and he traced his fingers across the exquisite leather covering the vellum pages within. The artistry lavished on the cover indicated a love and respect for the world of books, and across the centuries, the Professor felt a link with the Renaissance nobleman who had commissioned this volume. With the care of a surgeon, the Professor opened the cover and was greeted by a revolting sight.

A postcard of a field of poppies blooming in the French countryside.

How dare he. How
dare
Bane pollute a priceless book with his petty games. Bane must have a connection with the auction house in Philadelphia, and the Professor would never do business with
them again. His lips tightened and his hands curled into fists as he glared at that postcard. Was there nothing sacred? Was there no place in this world Bane’s contamination did not reach?

For years his men had been trying to track down Bane, but the man never stayed in one place long enough to be caught. Clearly, that approach had failed. Perhaps he could not find and punish Bane, but he could start attacking him in a more effective manner.

The Professor’s eyes narrowed and he hardened his resolve. It was going to be a costly battle, but he was willing to undergo a few losses in order to wipe the earth clean of Alexander Banebridge.

He turned to Boris. “I’ve had enough of that guttersnipe,” he said. “I want you to find something Bane loves. And then bring it to me.”