House of Thieves (24 page)

“See that?”

The men, including Lacey, had inched across the truss until they were next to Cross. He pointed down to the bottom of the wall. In the dim light thrown by the lantern, they saw a thick wire protruding from the wall and extending about a foot onto the marble floor.

“What the hell is that?” Kent demanded. Cross knew he was greatly upset by the delay.

“It's an electric wire,” Cross said.

“So?”

Electricity was a fairly new phenomenon. It had been less than a decade since Edison's invention of the lightbulb. New York was rapidly replacing gaslight with electric, stringing miles of wire along the streets. As an architect, Cross knew about the other properties of this new medium.

“When you insert a live electrical wire into water,” he explained, speaking slowly, as if they were five-year-olds, “and step into that water, you will be electrocuted.”

The four gang members stared down at the floor in astonishment.

“It's to discourage people like us from stealing the diamond.”

“Shit” was the only reply.

“My guess is that they flood the floor with a half inch of water at closing time and then unplug a hole to drain it out in the morning.”

Lacey looked at Cross with new appreciation and clung more tightly to the struts of the truss.

“They say Edison's come up with a new way to execute people using electric current. Supposed to be more humane than hangin',” said Culver.

“I'll take hangin' any day,” Brady said.

The men looked at the diamond. They had come too far to give up. Even more slowly, they edged back to the center of the room, directly above the gem.

“Move the rope so it'll hang right over the pedestal,” Kent ordered.

Everyone knew what he was going to say next.

“Down you go, Mr. Lacey. Stay off the floor, and you'll be just fine.”

Staring down at the floor, Lacey swallowed hard.

“Don't worry. I'll include some hazard pay in your cut,” Kent said, patting his shoulder.

“Better tie a big knot at the end so his feet can rest on something,” Cross said. He'd been lucky in his entry point. The truss he had chosen to follow was close to the center of the room. Still, Lacey would have to reach over a few feet to get the diamond. In the flickering light of the lantern, Cross could see rivulets of sweat traveling down Lacey's forehead.

The rope was ready. Lacey paused for a few seconds to build up his nerve and then started down. They could all see how scared he was. He looked straight ahead and stopped once to wipe sweat from his eyes.

When he got to the level of the pedestal, he was too far away to reach over to the glass.

“How are you doing, Mr. Lacey?” Kent called.

“Just fine, sir.” But even as the words left Lacey's lips, his sweaty hands slipped on the rope. Down he went—but he grabbed and held on at the last possible moment. The toe of his fashionable black shoe stopped two inches above the surface of the water.

In unison, all four men watching above exhaled an audible sigh of relief.

Lacey looked up at his companions, smiled wanly, and said nothing. He climbed back to the right height and began to sway his body side to side, slowly gaining momentum. After four swings, he made it, wrapping his legs around the pedestal. Using just his arms, he pulled himself up the rope until he could stand atop the stone column. The pedestal was about three feet square, with the six-inch square glass box sitting on its center. Lacey had plenty of room to stand.

Wrapping the rope securely across his chest, Lacey took out the screwdriver and went to work removing the glass case. The four screws at the corners came out easily. Cross was thrilled, his body bursting with excitement as he watched.
It's that feeling of absolute ecstasy Kent once described
, he thought, casting the criminal mastermind a sideways glance.

Tilting the glass box on its left edge, Lacey placed his hand beneath it to get the diamond, which sat on a small purple velvet cushion. Without hesitation, he grabbed it. At that instant, the handles on the bronze doors to the room made a slight rattling sound, as though someone was jiggling them. In the dead silence of the exhibition room, the noise had the effect of a pistol shot, and Lacey was so startled that he lost hold of the diamond. It dropped onto the pedestal top, bounced, and rolled toward the edge. Lacey fell to his knees and lunged for it as it dropped off the pedestal, snatching it in midair. But in doing so, he lost his balance and pitched to the side. The men above watched, wide-eyed with terror.

With lightning-quick reflexes, Lacey grabbed the rope with one hand, swinging to and fro like a zoo monkey. Then he placed the diamond in his jacket pocket, gasping for air as if someone had him by the throat. It took almost a minute for him to compose himself. Then he said, looking over at the doors, “I thought the watchman couldn't get out of the john.”

“That wasn't him. The guards stationed outside probably came in and checked the doors,” Kent said. “They've likely gone back to their posts.”

“I sure as hell hope so,” Lacey said and began to climb the rope. At the truss, Brady and Culver hoisted him up by the armpits. Lacey handed the diamond to Kent, who barely looked at it for fear of dropping it. Quickly, he stuck it in his pants pocket.

The men walked along the truss to the opening in the wall. On the way back up to the fourth-floor gallery, Culver checked the bathroom.

“He hasn't finished taking his shit,” he said with a big smile.

This time, Cross scampered up the rope ladder like a squirrel. Culver, who had been steadying the ladder as they climbed, was last to ascend. About ten feet off the floor, he tried to shift the sack of tools he was carrying from one shoulder to the other and lost his grip. As he tried desperately to grab for the sack, his feet slipped off the rope rungs of the ladder.

In a sickening instant, Culver plummeted to the floor. Instead of falling straight down, he came off the ladder at an angle, crashing onto one of the display tables in the center of the gallery. At the sound, the men, who were waiting on the roof in the midst of a downpour, rushed back to the skylight window. Beneath them, they saw Culver writhing in pain on top of the smashed display table. Its legs had splayed out from the force of his body's impact, and glass was scattered everywhere.

Brady started down the ladder in an instant, cursing viciously under his breath. But when he had descended just halfway, the electric lights in the gallery snapped on.

“What the devil's going on here?” a voice shouted from the end of the gallery.

Brady froze in terror, seeing a bearded man in his midthirties walking toward him.

“Who the hell are you?” the man cried. He dashed to the foot of the rope ladder and looked up at Brady, then squinted at the other men poking their heads through the skylight.

“It's Dilts, one of the museum curators,” whispered Kent.

Kent was too slow to pull away from the opening, and Dilts caught a glimpse of a familiar face. “Mr. Kent?”

Brady jumped the last six feet to the floor.

Dilts had turned his attention to Culver, who was moaning in pain. The destroyed table had displayed Stone Age tools, which were strewn about the floor. Brady picked up a long club carved from the bone of some prehistoric beast.

“Don't do it, Brady! Don't do it!” Cross screamed at the top of his lungs.

But Brady brought the weight of the club down on the skull of the curator with savage fury. As he beat the man about the head, Cross was reminded of a Neanderthal caveman, pummeling an animal. Finally, he stopped, satisfied his prey was dead. Throwing the club aside, he helped Culver to his feet and, with great difficulty, hauled him up the ladder. Lacey descended halfway to assist.

On the roof, Brady walked up to Cross. A mere inch of space separated their faces.

“There was no choice, swell,” he said.

“Mr. Wharton, so good of you to come tonight. May I present my daughter, Julia?”

Julia Cross stood to the right of her mother and Caroline Astor, greeting the guests at her coming-out ball in the Astors' ballroom at Thirty-Fourth Street and Fifth Avenue. Her father, George, and Granny stood immediately behind them.

In a Worth gown made of white satin, the plunging neckline embroidered with pearls interspersed with tiny diamonds, Julia was radiant. A magnificent pearl necklace graced her long, slender neck. Men's eyes widened in amazement when they saw her, and Aunt Caroline beamed with pride. Twenty eligible bachelors might well propose to her before the evening ended.

“You look lovely tonight, Miss Cross,” Alfred Wharton gushed.

“Thank you, Mr. Wharton. We
must
talk about your dinosaurs tonight.”

Wharton blushed, uttered something unintelligible, then moved on.

“Lieutenant Beekman, may I present my daughter, Julia?”

“Miss Cross, I got special leave to be here tonight.” The handsome man in his dress uniform gave a low bow.

“I'm sorry I took you away from Geronimo and the Apaches.”

“That's quite all right. He surrendered at the beginning of September.”

“Well, then I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to shoot him.”

Helen shot Julia a wicked look and smiled at Beekman, who bowed and moved on.

Stephen Van Cortlandt stepped up and bowed to Helen. Her face lit up at the sight of this exceptionally rich Knickerbocker.

“May I present my daughter, Julia?”

“Miss Cross, if you don't save a dance for me,
I'll
be cross,” said Van Cortlandt, chuckling at his own joke.

“I didn't think it was possible. There's a woman here as beautiful as Helen Cross.” Robert Cross smiled broadly, holding out his hand to Julia. He cut an impressive figure and was turning the heads of many women in the ballroom.

“And they say all Pinkertons are roughnecks,” Aunt Caroline said. “You were born to wear evening dress, Robert.”

“Remember, Aunt Caroline, I
am
part Livingston,” Robert said, giving her a wink. “And don't you dare tell me, young lady, that there's no room on your dance card for me. If you do, I'll arrest you.” He used a deep, authoritative voice that made Julia laugh.

“Maybe you can catch the thief of the Pharaoh Blue too,” Aunt Caroline said with a laugh. “That's all people are talking about tonight. In the wake of the loss, I hear Egypt wants most desperately to declare war on the United States.”

“Don't worry, Robert. No police work is required tonight, regardless of what Aunt Caroline says. We've chosen you to have the first dance,” Helen said, giving Caroline an affectionate smile.

Robert flashed a smile at his brother too, acknowledging the great honor he'd been given.

“Good evening, Mrs. Cross.”

Helen smiled at the very handsome, dashing young man in front of her and knitted her brow, trying to remember the gentleman's name.

“John Nolan!” Granny, who was standing a few feet behind, blurted out. She bulled her way between Aunt Caroline and Helen and greeted him heartily. When the others saw that the young man had Granny's seal of approval, smiles broke out all around—except for Julia. Her mouth hung open; her breathing was shallow. Seeing Nolan there—and seeing how good he looked in a white tie and cutaway coat—sent her into a mild state of shock.

“The Nolans, you know, are very close friends of the Roosevelts—and John is also a good friend of mine, I'm proud to say,” Granny gushed. Caroline still had a confused look on her face. Granny spoke to her in a testy whisper. “Calm yourself, Caroline. I introduced Mr. Nolan to Julia.”

Though she was still unable to recall putting his name on the invitation list, Helen extended her hand and said, “Mr. Nolan, may I present my daughter, Julia?”

“Miss Cross, I knew you were a beautiful woman, but tonight, in that gown, your beauty is increased a hundredfold,” he said.

After a few seconds, the still-astonished Julia recovered herself enough to form words. “Mr. Nolan! How…good of you to come. I'm overjoyed to see you here tonight. I have a space for the fourth dance. May I?” she asked, taking up the little vellum card attached to her white-gloved wrist by a blue ribbon.

“With the greatest pleasure,” Nolan said.

Julia, openly breaking the rule of filling in her dance card in the reception line, wrote down Nolan's name.

“And I'd like to introduce you to my father, Mr. John Cross, and my brother, George,” she said.

Both came forward, smiled, and heartily shook the young man's hand.

As Nolan bowed, Julia saw Granny come forward and take him by the arm.

“That darling Wah Kee has sold me the most beautiful
yen
tsiang
, made of the most exquisite ivory with gold fittings. Even the
ow
is pure gold! He tells me it's much easier to clean, but then I never have to clean anything. Wah Kee always does it for me. Such a gentleman.”

“I'm pleased to hear it. When will you and Miss Cross be visiting my neck of the woods next?”

“Saturday morning. Julia must procure a few things for school. With the fall term at Miss Spence's starting soon, I'll be coming down on my own.”

“How wonderful. I hope you will do me the honor of letting me take you out for tea or lunch, Mrs. Rutherford.”

“You can be sure of that, Mr. Nolan. Now, I want you to mingle with the guests and enjoy yourself tonight. I can see that you've already caught the eye of many young ladies,” Granny said, giving him a gentle push toward the glittering assemblage before returning to the reception line with a smile.

“That Mr. Nolan is a fine-looking gentleman,” Caroline whispered.

“Indeed. But then, he
is
one of us,” added Granny.

Julia kept glancing about for Nolan as she received new guests. The Astors' huge ballroom could easily hold four hundred, and only about half that number had been invited, but it still made it difficult for her to see. Julia finally spotted him strolling along the perimeter of the space, admiring the paintings that hung cheek by jowl on the silk brocade walls and were stacked up to the molding that marked the base of the high, coved ceiling. As he walked, he flashed his magnetic smile at the ladies, old and young alike, who chattered among themselves about who this charming man might be.

To see him in this world was thrillingly anomalous. For the last three months, their shared universe had consisted of the Tenderloin and the Bowery, of gambling houses, opium dens, and ratting contests, of enticing depravity in all its many forms. Now there he was, amid the richest people in America, in the house of the leader of New York high society, and he didn't look a bit out of place. In fact, she thought him the handsomest fellow in the room.

The last of the guests was received, and dinner was announced. Per custom, John Cross escorted Aunt Caroline into the dining room first, followed by George and Julia, who sat at her father's left hand. Helen was the last to enter, on the arm of William Backhouse Astor II.

Caroline had spared no expense for her relative's coming-out dinner. The twelve courses were eaten on gold service at a black walnut table covered with white embroidered Irish lace over red velvet. Instead of placing high, obstructing ornaments down the length of the table, Caroline had selected a low epergne of orchids, which allowed easy conversation. Mrs. Astor's liveried servants brought out the food, à la russe, beginning with oysters on the half shell and soup à la reine accompanied by sherry.

Nolan escorted Olivia Scott-Jones, the young daughter of one of Helen's closest friends. They sat two-thirds of the way down the table from Julia. Throughout the meal, Julia kept looking over at the pair, who were talking and laughing with each other and the nearby guests. She wondered what Nolan was talking about that so engaged them. Their own conversations always centered on the sins of the Tenderloin. Was he talking to Olivia about that? The thought made her jealous—that was the world
they
shared.

As she peered down the table, Julia suddenly realized how easy it was to converse with Nolan on any topic—especially in contrast to a bore like Stephen Van Cortlandt. With her last year at Miss Spence's about to begin, it would be hard to get down to the Tenderloin as often, and this made her sad. She watched in fascination as Nolan correctly used every one of the ten pieces of silverware and five goblets at his place setting. Smoothly, he placed his finger on the rim of the champagne glass to signal to the servant that he wanted no more wine.
His
manners
, Julia thought,
are
impeccable
.

After a dessert of puddings, tutti-frutti ice cream, and fruit, with coffee and liqueurs on the side, the guests rose from their seats to enter the ballroom. The orchestra opened with a quadrille, and Robert led Julia in the first dance. Men in identical white tie and women in a virtual rainbow of beautiful gowns swirled about the ballroom. Julia barely paid attention to her second dance partner, Sir Geoffrey Maitland, so intent was she on watching Nolan waltz with Olivia Scott-Jones. She even stepped on Maitland's foot—and gave only the hastiest of apologies.

Nolan danced the polka and a gallop effortlessly with his next two partners. Finally it was time for the fifth dance on Julia's card.

“Mr. Nolan, I wouldn't have been more surprised if Grover Cleveland himself had attended my ball,” Julia said, eyes sparkling.

Nolan laughed. Putting his white-gloved hand on the small of her back, he pulled her a shade closer.

“I knew you'd be shocked, Miss Cross, to see me out of my element.”

“On the contrary, you don't seem to be out of your element at all.”

“I always wanted to see what your world was like,” Nolan said, looking up at the huge crystal chandelier that swung above the ballroom.

As they pranced along in a mazurka, Julia looked up into Nolan's dark blue eyes, and an odd feeling of bewilderment and exultant happiness surged through her. It was an unknown sensation, and it made her feel both confused and elated.

To her disappointment, the dance inevitably ended, and Nolan escorted her back to where Granny, her official chaperone for the evening, sat with several other dowagers in black lace gowns. After a brief rest, Julia danced with the next partner on her card, Alfred Wharton.

Normally, a gentleman could only dance with a woman to whom he'd been formally introduced or who he knew before the ball. Tonight, however, Granny had introduced Nolan to a score of young women. With his good looks and Granny's imprimatur, Nolan kept busy dancing until the German, for which he partnered with Lavinia Stewart to expertly dance the
tour
de
valse
around the ballroom's shiny parquet floor.

During a pause in the German, Julia sat next to Granny to rest. The heat generated by two hundred people in heavy gowns and wool evening wear made the ballroom feel like Equatorial Africa. Somehow, Julia noted, Nolan's collar stayed fresh and stiff. Staring across the ballroom at him, she decided to try something a bit untoward. In society ballrooms, men and women used a time-honored system to send covert messages without attracting the notice of a chaperone. A quick opening and folding of a woman's fan told a man she wasn't interested in him. Dropping her gloves signaled that she was in love. An experienced debutante from Miss Spence's had tutored Julia on the subject.

Eyes fixed on Nolan, she held her fan in front of her face with her right hand. Nolan, who had been watching her from across the ballroom, grasped her meaning instantly: she meant for him to follow her. Rising from her seat, Julia whispered to Granny that she needed to go to the ladies' room. Nolan met her in the drawing room off the central entry hall. Julia took hold of his hand but said nothing. Nolan smiled, bent down, and kissed her. At the touch of his lips, Julia was propelled into a magical world she could hardly bear to leave. She kept her lips pressed to his for almost half a minute, gently absorbing the smell and feel of him.

Nolan ran his hand through Julia's hair and looked into her eyes. “Your grandmother said you'd be coming down on Saturday.”

“Just in time for the cockfights at Rocky's.”

“We can't miss that,” replied Nolan with a smile.

“But I need to ask you a favor.”

“Anything.”

“There's a gentleman here tonight named Van Cortlandt. I'm going to accidentally bump into him, and if you could relieve him of his wallet, I'd be most appreciative.”

“You'll be my stall?” Nolan said.

“Exactly. And on Saturday, we bet the proceeds on General Sherman.”