Thief of Hearts (33 page)

The carriage rolled into the north yard of Jourdaine Shipbuilding and she alighted at the railroad tracks, as was her usual habit. She walked past a scattering of outbuildings toward the central office, glancing down at the diamond-studded watch pinned to her bosom. One o'clock. She hurried her steps. She was a familiar sight in the yard; the workers nodded or doffed their caps respectfully, accepting her presence here a great deal more easily than her family and friends had. The men had accepted Brodie too, thank God and with more genuine warmth, she knew, than they had his brother. They'd respected Nicholas: Brodie they liked. He had an easy way with them, issuing suggestions instead of orders, calling them by their first names, laughing with them. She knew they remarked on the change in him, and it gave her a strange feeling to know they believed she was the cause. She wasn't, of course, but the notion secretly pleased her. Last week, when they'd done Brodie the singular honor of inviting him to play on their cricket team, she'd known his acceptance was complete. He'd been guilelessly delighted by the invitation, and his simple pride in it had touched her.

She heard men's voices as she neared her second-floor office. Odd, she thought, nodding to old Wilkins, the porter; she and Aiden usually met in Brodie's—Nick's office, for appearance's sake. She pushed open the door.

Five men turned at her entrance. Four of them she knew. Brodie, Aiden, Stephen, and Martin Dougherty… so the fifth must be Horace Carter. Brodie confirmed it by introducing him. He was a big man, with bushy gray sidewhiskers and huge square teeth. He stuck out a great paw of a hand and gave hers a robust shake.

"How do you do?" said Anna. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"You're not late, I'm early! You know what we Americans say, the early bird gets the worm." He grinned, enjoying her surprise. He wore a striped suit of brown and tan and gray, and a yellow carnation in his buttonhole.

"We have the same saying," she smiled back, recovering quickly. "Is your wife with you?" She took off her flowered hat, setting it on the shelf over the coat rack, and patted the thick chignon at the back of her neck for stray hairs.

"No, no, I've left her in London, seeing the sights. We're at some hotel called the Crown, fancy as all get-out. I thought I'd come down a little early and catch you unawares." The mischievous twinkle in his eye was childlike and inoffensive.

"So I see," said Anna. "Well, shall we all sit down?"

Carter, O'Dunne, and Martin Dougherty took seats. Stephen walked away to the window. Brodie held Anna's chair for her behind her desk, and she went to it with misgivings. He was making her the leader of the discussion, she realized, and she sent him a quick, searching look as he seated her. He gave her shoulder a secret squeeze and went to stand by the wall on the far side of the room.

Carter seemed puzzled by the maneuver too, but not put off. After a moment's pause he directed his attention to Anna, and plunged right in. "I've been checking up on you, Mrs. Balfour. You've got a first-class operation here."

She folded her hands on the desk top and gave a smiling, noncommittal nod.

"Nobody can find anything wrong with it, not even any rumors. That didn't surprise me, but a businessman's got to be thorough." He hitched his pants and stuck his thumbs behind his suspenders. "I want to hook up with you," he announced baldly. "I'm proposing an equal partnership on either side of the ocean, to build the biggest, fastest, fanciest line of passenger ships there's ever been."

Anna suppressed a quick, physical thrill of excitement and tried to compose her features. In spite of the flutter of nerves in her abdomen, she fixed Carter with her serious brown eyes and said, not altogether truthfully, "You have us at a disadvantage, sir. You've determined that we're respectable, competent, and solvent, but we know very little about you. Tell us why it would be to our advantage to do business with you." As lies went, it was more than a little white; they'd been checking up on Horace Carter for weeks. But she wanted to hear what he would say.

The big American glanced over at Brodie as if expecting something from him, an endorsement of his wife's words, elaboration on them, maybe approval. When nothing was forthcoming and Brodie remained blank-faced, Carter finally returned his full, somewhat surprised attention to Anna and cleared his throat by way of preamble. "Well, now, that's a fair request. I've been in the business of transporting goods of one kind or another for about thirty years, since I was seventeen and got a job on a canal boat in Albany, New York. When I was twenty, I bought the boat, and by the time I was twenty-five I owned fourteen more of'em. When I sold out, I bought a piece of a railroad just getting started in Pennsylvania and Ohio. That turned out to be a pretty good investment," here Anna's eyes widened slightly as the name of the railroad he'd come to own flitted across her mind, "and when I sold it twelve years later, I'd made what you might call a tidy little profit."

"Indeed." She admired his flair for understatement.

"Since then it's been boats that interest me. I've got merchantmen bringing molasses out of the West Indies, I've got fishing schooners in Nova Scotia, some whalers out of Rhode Island, steamers hauling lumber and coal and bricks all over creation." He put his hands on his massive thighs and leaned closer, his broad, uncomplicated face pinkening with intensity. "What I don't transport right now is people, and I'm anxious to change that. With you, Mrs. Balfour, and your husband, and your daddy's shipbuilding company. I want to see the greatest shipping line in the world spring up between our two continents. These are prosperous times. Your country's the richest in the world, and as soon as the North wins this war in mine, it's going to start coming up right behind you. There's going to be money to burn, and I don't see why you and I shouldn't stash away some of the ashes."

Anna smiled, enjoying his bluntness. His crassness, Aunt Charlotte would say. "And how do you envision this passenger line, Mr. Carter? What sets it apart from Mr. Collins's or Mr. Cunard's?"

He sat back and grinned at her, then threw a look at Brodie that seemed to communicate admiration for his choice in business partners. "I'll tell you what sets it apart. It's going to outdo both of'em, that's what. Carter Lines will be first class all the—"

"Whose lines?"

Carter let out a great growl of a laugh and slapped his knee. "Whoops!" he chortled, actually blushing. "A slip of the tongue, nothing more! Been calling it that to myself when I think about it, is all. We can call it Jourdaine Lines if you want, only nobody'll pronounce it right." His sheepish grin was charming.

"Let's name the line later, then," Anna suggested, smiling back at him. "You were saying?"

"I'm saying we're a perfect match. I can tell you're a woman who's got class. You're a first-chop, A-number-one corker, and I knew it the minute I saw you."

Brodie and O'Dunne chuckled at Anna's expression, and Brodie said, "Mr. Carter, you've got a keen eye, I can see that."

"Thank you," he said modestly, and turned back to Anna. "I see our ships as huge luxury hotels on the sea, Mrs. Balfour. We'll have steam heat in every room, salt-water plumbing, carpets in all the cabins, stained glass and mirrors everywhere. I want a barbershop with adjustable chairs, and I want brass spittoons shaped like sea shells. Great crystal chandeliers in the dining rooms, and food that outdoes Delmonico's. We'll have an ice room with forty tons of ice every trip, so the fruit never gets moldy. We'll put fresh flowers in the cabins every day. We'll have bands and orchestras, a different one every night, and a ballroom as big as a field. Servants to wait on you hand and—"

"We have the picture," Stephen interrupted suddenly, the undisguised hostility in his voice bringing everyone to attention. He'd been staring stonily out the window, the only clue to his mood the pulsing blue vein in his forehead. "Why don't you get to the point?"

"The point?" Horace repeated mildly. "I thought it was Americans who were always wanting to get to the point." He shifted back to Anna. "Another thing about Americans, ma'am, is that we're obsessed with speed. We nearly went crazy two years ago when the
Persia
crossed from New York to Liverpool in nine days and averaged fourteen knots. Carter-Jourdaine Lines can do better than that, because Jourdaine Shipbuilding has the power right this minute to build one of my floating hotels that'll do twelve and a half knots. In two years time—"

Stephen let out a derisive laugh, cutting him off. "Oh, that's wonderful, that way one only has to spend
eight
days on one of your vulgar bobbing bawdyhouses."

"Stephen!"

"It's all right," said Carter, sitting back and folding his arms across his barrel of a chest. "I'd like to hear what Mr. Meredith has to say."

"What I have to say won't take very long. I'll only remind you that four years ago the great Collins line went bankrupt. After the Congress cut back his subsidies and the public got sick of hearing about one disastrous shipwreck after another, the man lost his shirt. Two of his 'luxury liners' are being used as army transports now in your Civil War, and the rest were auctioned off for practically nothing. So much for your American obsessions with speed and opulence!"

When Carter didn't answer immediately, Anna spoke up. "In part I have to agree with my cousin," she said calmly. "This need for speed burns up coal, burns out engines, and punishes wooden hulls. Then frantic repairs have to be made between crossings, and sometimes they're not enough. Two hundred and thirty people died on the
Arctic
, a hundred and eighty on the
Pacific
"

"And Collins lost his own wife and two daughters on one of 'em," Carter finished quietly. "I know it. I know that in the last twenty years thirteen transatlantic ships have gone down and two thousand people have died. In my country they tell us to be sure and make out our wills before we set sail. But that's the very reason I've come to you," he insisted, pounding his thigh with a meaty fist. "This line…Carter-Jourdaine, Jourdaine-Carter, I don't give a dam, will be built so that it has what you want, which is safety and economy, and what I want, which is speed and luxury. And every time it comes to a choice between speed and safety, I'll compromise, and I'm prepared to put that in writing. What it boils down to is that we want the same thing. You've got the technology to build it and I've got the money to pay for it." He spread his hands. "I tell you again, Mrs. Balfour, we're a perfect match."

"But we're ship
builders
," Brodie put in. "We don't know anything about running a line."

"You'll learn," Carter said cheerfully. "In the meantime, you build 'em and I'll run 'em. Not to boast, it's what I do best, and I've had a little bit of success at it."

There was a pause. Anna's eyes found Brodie's. Her outward calm didn't fool him; he could see the excitement snapping behind her sober brown regard. He sent her a warm, private smile, then watched her lips quiver as she struggled not to return it. Stephen had turned his back on them again and was staring out at the yard, his body as stiff and unmoving as the coat rack next to him. Martin Dougherty looked thoughtful. Aiden O'Dunne cleared his throat.

"Have you brought anything with you in writing, Mr. Carter? Any proposals or—"

"No, sir, I haven't. No offense, it didn't strike me as time for the lawyers just yet. I wanted us to talk first and see how we liked each other."

"Quite right," Anna heard herself saying, smiling at him. "How long will you be in Liverpool, Mr. Carter?"

"I'm leaving tonight, ma'am. Dora'd kill me if I stayed away another day. She's already mad that I'm here, on our honeymoon and all. But we'll be in London till the middle of August. If you're interested in doing business, we can talk about it again in a week or two." He winked at O'Dunne. "We might even let the lawyers in on it then, if we feel like it."

Anna glanced again at Stephen. He hadn't moved. She looked at Brodie. He was fingering his tie as he watched her, a look of expectancy in his pale gaze. She drew a deep, not quite steady breath. "I think I can say for all of us that we're interested in your offer, Mr. Carter. Naturally we'll need time to consider it, and when it comes time for formal proposals we'll have to study them carefully."

"Well, now, that's fine," said Carter, beaming. He stood up when Anna did. "I've never done business with a lady before," he admitted as they shook hands across the desk. "It ain't half as bad as I thought."

Anna laughed. "I'm sure you mean that as a compliment, Mr. Carter."

"No, no, it's Horace now. We're going to be partners, I can feel it in my bones, so you've got to call me by my first name."

"I'm not sure if we're going to be partners or not," she returned, "but if it's to be Horace, then it must also be Anna. I insist on it." Carter grinned his approval.

Brodie pushed himself off the wall and came toward them, holding out his own hand. "What do you say to a tour of the yard, Horace? You've got plenty of time before your train."

"That sounds fine, fine! Maybe you'd like to come along with us, Mr. Meredith?" he added, with unexpected diplomacy.

Stephen turned around slowly. The sight of his face made everyone, even Martin Dougherty, stiffen with surprise. "As much as you might want him to be, Anna," he said in a low, hate-filled voice, his teeth bared, "Thomas Jourdaine isn't dead yet." Anna's head snapped back and she gasped. "That means you don't run this company and you don't make decisions for it."

Into the taut, thundering silence Brodie's voice sounded ominously calm. "That's true, Stephen. But neither do you. As a matter of fact, I do." Everyone except O'Dunne stared at him. "Sir Thomas gave me his power of attorney this morning. Show it to him, Aiden." Brodie's eyes locked with Anna's as O'Dunne went behind him and approached Stephen. This wasn't the way he'd wanted to tell her. What was she thinking? He couldn't decipher her still, somber gaze. He heard the door behind him open and then slam closed, and when he turned around Stephen was gone. Aiden stood uncertainly, folding his papers. Brodie broke the silence again.