Legacy (35 page)

'I will, and you know it. We want each other. It's senseless to pretend that we don't. And it's even more senseless for you to set yourself up to be ruined, trying to keep your father's estate . . .'

'No!' I struck him across the face as the tears streamed down my cheeks. 'That has nothing to do with it! You can't change what I'm going to do, even if - somehow I knew I had to say the words - 'even if you spend every night in bed with me. That's a part of me, too, and it can't be changed any more than .. .'

I realized what I had just admitted, both to Steven and to myself, and I could not go on. I tried to compose myself. But there he was, talking to me in that deliberate, yet strangely tender, voice, and the tears would not stop.

'I'm going to leave now, Catherine. I don't want to upset you any further just now. But don't try to pretend to yourself that I won't be back.'

'I won't allow . ..'

'And don't get yourself involved in the lumber business. The fighting's too rough for you. This isn't a child's game.'

'I'm not a child. And I can fight. I can fight Brad Graybar, and I can fight you, too, if it's necessary. You won't . . .'

'All right, be stubborn. You'll see how soon it is before you'll need help. I don't know how you're planning to save your father's property, but I do know that you're in a town full of "friends" who are looking to get it for themselves. You're going to need help, and when you do, I want you to know where to come.'

'Steven, you're insufferable! Do you really think . . .'

But he pressed me to him once again, brushing aside my protests, and when he finally let me go, I was too full of emotion to speak.

'I'll be in touch, Catherine.' Then he opened the parlor doors into the hallway and was gone. Through the open doorway I could hear him casually greeting a congressman and his wife who evidently had just come in. I closed the door again and tried to quiet the storm that raged inside me. But even as I studied my reflection in the wall mirror and carefully wiped away the traces of my tears, I knew - Steven had regained his hold. Perhaps he had never really lost it.

It took me more time than I wanted to admit before I was finally ready to go back into the east parlor to gain the support of those important men whose help I so greatly needed.

Chapter Fourteen

When the first of the bankers appeared at our front door several days after Father's funeral, I was prepared to meet him. I had pinned up my hair and dressed in a black cambric with a very narrow white floral border. The dress set off my narrow waistline and full breasts to their best advantage, yet the lines were crisp and authoritative rather than suggestive, which was precisely the reason I had selected it. With the dress, a few deft touches of powder and rouge, and the quietly elegant aura of my coiffure, I hoped to conceal any traces of the fatigue I felt from the funeral and my two days of railway travel to and from New York City.

I studied my reflection in the mirror of the east parlor and was satisfied. My auburn hair shone in the morning light. My eyes sparkled with anticipation, though not, I noticed, in a way as youthful or as naive as they once had. I looked alert, businesslike ... or at least I hoped I did.

Behind me I could see Billy Joe Walker, fully recovered from Campbell's attack, looking appreciatively at my reflection in the glass. Billy Joe made a rather imposing figure himself this morning. When we were in New York City, I had had him barbered and fitted for several suits in a summer-weight fabric. At my special request, and for a hefty fee, Brooks' had made up one of the suits in time for Billy Joe to bring it back to Grampian with him. Now his new white starched collar and tie set off his rugged, masculine good looks, and particularly his curly blond hair, which was now neatly parted and held in place with brilliantine. With his arms folded across his massive torso, a heavy, 45-calibre pistol belted to his hip, Billy Joe cut an imposing figure, indeed.

From the way he was admiring me, though, it was plain that Billy Joe found my own appearance more fascinating than his new clothes or even the treasure that he now guarded in this room. Of course, he had tried to keep his desires hidden. Billy Joe had been brought up to respect a lady of property, and I was his employer now, able to command a certain distance. Still, I had felt him watching me longingly during the New York trip and again this morning. Billy Joe needed a woman. I would have to make certain he was paid for the week soon so that he had the money and the time off to relieve his frustrations in town. There were certainly plenty of women in town who would be only too happy to entertain such a strapping specimen of manhood.

But I needed him now. His striking appearance and his unswerving loyalty were absolutely essential to my plans.

'How do I look?' I asked, inspecting my reflection in the mirror. He blushed, taken by surprise, so I covered his embarrassment with another question. 'Do I look like a hard-bargaining woman of business? A difficult customer?'

He grinned. 'I tell you, ma'am, I feel sorry for those poor bankers. They don't know what they're gettin' into here. You're gonna have 'em eatin' out of your hand.'

'I hope you're right.' I gave a final glance at my reflection and then went over to the carved ebony table where Billy Joe stood beside six large stacks of new fifty-dollar bills. There was nearly forty-five hundred dollars in greenbacks here on the table, divided into shares for each of the six bankers. It represented two years' worth of payments of interest on the loans Father had taken with each of the banks.

The money made an imposing display. The sunlight from the tall French windows behind the table made the stacks of bills seem to take on a luminous quality. Each stack was of a different size, according to the size of the loan. In front of each stack was an envelope with the name of the bank to which the money was to be paid. Inside each envelope was a statement to be signed by that banker, acknowledging receipt of the payment of interest, and extending the loan for another two years. It was up to me to make each of the bankers sign his receipt.

Outside the closed doors of the parlor I could hear Jared in the hallway bringing in the first of them. According to the schedule, that would be a man called Turner, from the Juniata Bank of Harrisburg, to whom we owed seventy-five thousand dollars. My hands seemed to tighten involuntarily and I deliberately relaxed them, feeling at the same time the fluttering of excitement in my stomach. I ought to have eaten breakfast, I thought, but it was too late now to do anything about that. What counted now was getting this man to see that his only choice lay in continuing my loan. If I succeeded with him, a major obstacle would be over. But if I failed with this Turner ... I did not want to fail, I told myself. I would not fail. Nevertheless, I could not help facing reality: if Turner said no, then the rest would very likely follow his example. And even if they did not, I would still have to sell a crippling proportion of the estate to pay Turner's bank what we owed. And then it would be only a matter of time before . . .

I broke off my thoughts, determined not to show even the slightest lack of nerve. Too much depended on my performance for me to lose confidence now. What I was about to do was nearly all bluff, and unless I carried it off with perfect poise, I would have nothing left when it was over.

Jared opened the doors without knocking, as he had been instructed to do. At his side stood a middle-aged man, grey-suited and quite thin, with large ears and a big nose and a sharply pointed stare. Behind him, standing in the hallway, were several other men. I could not see how many from where I stood.

'Mr.Turner, is it not?' Jared was obviously distressed at having more than one person to deal with, so I thought it would be wiser not to wait for him to announce all the callers. 'I am Catherine Rawlings. Please come in. Perhaps you would be so kind as to introduce your associates.'

The thin man nodded and walked directly to one of the chairs closest to the table. He stopped and gave a glance at Billy Joe and the stack of money as if they had been part of the furniture. His companions followed him into the room and took places in front of the sofa and the other chairs. Then the thin man spoke, gruff and matter-of-factly.

'How do, Miss Rawlings. Name's Elliot, from Philadelphia First. Turner's this chap.'

He indicated a balding, white-haired man on the other side of the table who looked as though he regularly ate and drank too much. This gentleman nodded at me and offered a perfunctory smile. His pink skin glistened with perspiration, even though the morning was still cool.

I knew what had happened, or I thought I did. They wanted to keep me from playing one against the other. Divided, they would be more easy to persuade, but if they stuck together they could crush me.

Well, if they wanted to play hard, I was certainly not going to let an old curmudgeon like Elliot act as their spokesman.

I walked over to the round-faced Turner and shook his hand. 'Hello, Mr.Turner,' I said brightly. 'It appears you have invited the others here with you. I count six all together, so I assume I am also speaking to Mr. Ridley, Mr. Otto, Mr. Jacobs, and Mr. Mawson?' I turned to smile at the group. 'Please introduce yourselves, gentlemen, as I come around. I find it so much more pleasant' - here I gave a pointed glance at the thin Mr. Elliot and allowed a slight edge to come into my voice - 'to know the names of my guests when I am speaking to them.'

After I had shaken hands all around, I went behind the table where the money was. 'This is Mr.Walker, gentlemen. He is here for security purposes, which you can understand are necessary. In a moment or two we should have the coffee and sweet rolls. Ah! Here they are. Please help yourselves."

I waited while Marie, a member of our kitchen staff, wheeled round the silver serving cart. All but Mr. Elliot took coffee and a roll, while Mr.Turner took two rolls.

'Now, gentlemen,' I began, 'let us get to the point of this meeting. I assume you decided to come as a group, rather than individually, as you had agreed, for reasons that seem good to you. That suits me perfectly, and it saves time. But just let me remind each one of you that if you would like to discuss different terms of arrangements with me privately, I am free for the remainder of the morning.'

I paused and looked directly at Mr. Otto, whose bank held the loan with the lowest rate of interest. If he knew what the others were getting, he would likely be the first to want a private discussion.

I was beginning again when Mr.Elliot interrupted me.

'Far as I know, young lady, there won't be any terms to discuss. I promised Hawthorne I'd hear you out, whatever it was you had to say, but you'd better be quick about it. I've got a train to catch.'

He sat back, his arms folded, crusty and unpleasant. I detested him, there in his rumpled coat and trousers, which he had not bothered to have pressed this morning, even though they were obviously of expensive fabric and tailoring. Probably he was the sort who would not have changed his socks, either, to save on laundry expenses. What a shame that this wizened little popinjay represented a loan of thirty-thousand dollars!

Well, Father had told me that there was no being kind and considerate when you were dealing with a man like this. All they understood was a kick in the backside - or the threat of one. To them polite words were only a sign of weakness.

'Are you quite finished, Mr.Elliot?' I said dryly.

He blinked and then inclined his head a fraction of an inch forward.

'Good. I am sure we all understand now what a very busy and important fellow you are. Let me assure you that you are quite free to go at this moment. If you would like to tell your board of directors that today you refused to continue a thirty-thousand dollar loan with prepaid interest, then you are wasting your time here listening to me. You might just as well go, and I shall send full payment of the loan by the end of the week.'

I turned my gaze from Mr. Elliot to the others, and then I smiled again. 'You look surprised, gentlemen. Did you expect to find a penniless young waif who would weep and play on your sympathy with sad tales of her poor bereaved mother? Those of you who knew my father, gentlemen, will understand why this is not the case.

'But as for you, Mr. Elliot, I am inclined to judge you lacking in acquaintance with both my father and proper manners. Kindly remember to address me as Miss Rawlings, and not "young lady" if you have occasion to speak to me again.'