The Lady of Bolton Hill (8 page)

“Back then we were too young to know that some dreams are impossible,” he said with a note of aching wistfulness in his voice. “So we dreamed them anyway, and it made those years feel glorious. It was probably the finest time in my life.”

She caught her breath. It was true that neither one of them had gone on to become the next Chopin, but did that mean their dreams were for nothing? “But, Daniel, you
did
go on to greatness. More so than anyone could have imagined!”

“That wasn’t the sort of thing I was dreaming about.” He glanced back toward the Conservatory, and she knew he was remembering the music they had played, how they both allowed it to carry them away to a world of staggering beauty. Even after all these years, it was impossible for her to hear the swelling of a Beethoven symphony or the quiet grace of a Chopin prelude without remembering how it had touched her in her youth. The memories caused a surge of longing so intense Clara did not trust herself to delve any further. It was easier to take the safe route and change the subject.

“So have you read
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
yet?” she asked, which provoked an entire discussion about Jules Verne’s thoughts on space travel and undersea exploration. Clara thought space travel was pure nonsense, but Daniel was not so sure. They loitered for hours in the grassy lawn outside the old Music Conservatory while they debated Jules Verne, the absurdity of cricket versus baseball, and the artistic merit of impressionistic painting. Shadows were lengthening in the late afternoon sun when a man on horseback came galloping down the road toward them. The man tossed the reins over a fence, leapt over the stone wall, and headed directly toward them.

Daniel rose to his feet. “That looks like my assistant, Manzetti.”

The man called Manzetti was winded when he reached them. He dragged a handkerchief across his grimy forehead and replaced his cap. “It’s Miss Kate,” he said breathlessly. “She never returned from the cycling competition this afternoon. The contest was over by noon.”

Daniel consulted his pocket watch. “It’s four o’clock. Did you check with any others who competed in the race? Perhaps they went out for a celebration. She’s liable to run off without telling us these things.” Clara could see the annoyance on Daniel’s face, but it was mingled with concern.

“Everyone left after the race was over. There is trouble with strikers brewing down at the docks—”

“I know. I told her to stay away from that end.”

Manzetti shook his head. “It has spread. The streets are blocked all the way to the Camden Yards and workers are rioting. All the freight and passenger traffic has been blocked off. No one is getting in or out of there—I’ve already tried.”

Daniel’s face went white and a sheen of perspiration broke out on his skin. “I’ve got to get her out of there,” he snapped. “I don’t care what it takes. I want Kate out of there.”

Clara was well acquainted with the rioting that often accompanied labor unrest, having covered plenty of labor protests while working in London. Riots always frightened her to bits, but she had never been harmed in one. “She’ll be okay,” Clara said. “These things look like a lot of chaos to outsiders, but it is controlled chaos. Workers have no interest in assaulting well-bred young ladies.” She knew that from experience.

“Doesn’t matter,” Daniel bit out. “I want Kate out of there.”

“I told you, the roads are all blocked off. . . .” Manzetti said.

“What about cutting through buildings to get around the barricades?” Clara suggested. The buildings in the commercial district of London where rioting occurred had large footprints, often taking up an entire city block. It was almost always possible to enter a building through one door and weave through the building to leave on the opposite side, skirting a barricade entirely. “I did it plenty of times when I covered labor stories in London,” Clara said. “I know the buildings down by the Camden Yards are large enough to do the same thing. I’ll show you how.”

“Manzetti, we’re taking your horse,” Daniel said. He vaulted onto the horse and held a hand down to Clara.

Clara gulped. There were plenty of things on this planet that she feared, but horses were near the top of the list.

“Don’t tell me you are still afraid of horses,” Daniel said.

It didn’t help that this horse was particularly big, and she instinctively flinched away from the thirteen hundred pounds of sweaty, twitching horseflesh that was looming before her. “I think ‘cowering terror’ would be a more accurate description,” she said as the horse shifted and stamped.

Daniel refused to let her succumb. “Come on, Clara. You’ll be safe with me.” She swallowed hard and looked up into his stern, confident face. Just a few inches away his hand was waiting for her, and Clara intuitively trusted him. She placed her hand inside his, set her slippered foot on top of his boot, and closed her eyes as he hauled her up behind him. A moment later she was riding behind Daniel, her arms wrapped around his waist and clinging for dear life as the horse cantered down the street.

They left the horse tied up in a stable just outside of Wilshire Park. As Clara suspected, the buildings in this part of town were large and could be used to circumvent the barricades. It was Saturday and most buildings were closed, but she suspected that would not cause Daniel much difficulty. The cigar factory looked like their best bet for skirting the barricade that blocked McNeill Street.

Daniel used his pocketknife to work a bolt open but had more difficulty on the door lock. “Hand over your hairpins,” he said. Clara removed the pins that anchored the heavy coil of hair to the crown of her head. Daniel didn’t even glance at her as he took the pins. He twisted the wires straight, then angled them into the lock, a look of fierce concentration on his face. With the care of a surgeon he twirled and lifted the two pins until at last Clara heard the lock slide open.

“We’re in,” Daniel said triumphantly. The pungent odor of tobacco filled the darkened interior. After navigating a maze of hallways and storage rooms, they made their way into a huge interior room where the cigar rolling took place. Daniel pulled her along as they raced to the far side and found an exit on the south end, where getting out of the building proved much easier than entering.

Immediately upon leaving the building she could see the chaos in the street was worse than she had expected. The stench of burning oil assaulted her nose, and Clara saw a wagon had been overturned and soaked with petroleum. It was now burning uncontrollably as bystanders backed away from the scorching heat. Broken windows and overturned street signs littered the roadway. A few brave policemen mounted on horseback picked their way along the street, dodging flying rocks and keeping the worst of the rioters at bay.

“The sporting club is on the south end of this street,” Daniel said. “If Katie has any sense, she’ll be holed up inside.”

Daniel put his arm around Clara’s shoulders as they hustled down the street, the sound of glass crunching beneath each of her steps. A group of men were prying cobblestones up from the street, piling them up for use as missiles against the descending police force. As she and Daniel approached the entrance of the post office there was a knot of rioters trying to shove through a chain-link barricade guarding the post office doors.

“Why are they rioting in front of the post office?” Clara asked.

“The postal union refuses to support the steel workers. It’s payback,” Daniel said. She flinched at the sound of a rifle blast, and Daniel tugged her back. “Let’s take the alley behind us. Too dangerous here.”

Clara didn’t argue with him. The random yelling from the crowd was turning into organized chanting, a sign that momentum was taking hold among the crowd. It was quieter along the back alley, which was mostly deserted except for anxious travelers trying to find their way home. They made quick progress toward the Colchester Sporting Club, where Clara prayed they would find Katie.

The club was nestled beside a public park, which was entirely engulfed by mob action. On closer inspection, Clara noticed they were mostly young boys, throwing rocks and clumps of mud. Not hardened strikers.

“Let’s dash through as quickly as possible,” Daniel said. “We’ll take shelter in the club.”

Clara was breathless by the time they reached the small brick building. “That’s Katie’s bicycle,” Daniel said with relief. The bike lay in the dirt at the front of the building. He banged on the front door, but was not surprised when no one answered. He dug out his pocketknife and Clara’s hairpins, making quick work of the lock.

“Katie?” Daniel’s voice roared as soon as they were inside. “Katie Tremain? Get down here so I can tan your backside!” Daniel stalked through the first floor, flinging open doors and checking closets. The front hall was empty, and there was no sign of anyone in the back rooms.

“Daniel? Is it really you?” A thin voice came from upstairs, followed by Katie herself as she peeked around the corner. Clara saw a perfectly lovely young woman with Daniel’s dark hair and a slim, athletic build. Daniel said nothing; he just opened his arms wide and Katie came flying down the staircase straight into them. His arms had barely closed around her before she burst into tears.

“I knew you would come,” she sobbed. “I knew it, I knew it.” Clara was surprised she could even understand Kate through all the tears.

Daniel clutched his little sister in an enormous bear hug. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, Kate,” he said. Did she imagine it, or was there a tremor in Daniel’s voice?

“I didn’t know what to do,” Kate said. “The other bicyclists had all gone home, but I had a flat tire. I was trying to fix it when I heard the shouting. I’m so sorry, Daniel. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew you would come.”

Daniel said nothing, merely kept her clenched in that tight embrace while he rocked her from side to side. At last he raised his eyes. “Clara, this is my baby sister, Katie.”

Kate peeled herself away from Daniel’s chest. “Hello, Clara,” she said through a ragged voice. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you over the years.”

“You have?” Clara had thought about Daniel throughout her time in London, but had always assumed he had long since forgotten about her. She never dreamed his sisters would know the first thing about her.

“Oh, heavens, yes.” Kate swiped at the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand and managed a watery smile. “Whenever we neglected our studies, Daniel was quick to point out how we should work hard so we could become successful like his old friend Clara.” Daniel pressed a handkerchief into Kate’s hand and she wiped her eyes. “It didn’t matter if it was music or languages or writing,” she continued, “you were always the model he wanted us to aspire to.”

Surely Kate must be pulling her leg, but when she looked at Daniel she saw the flush on his face and knew Kate spoke the truth. As a woman who had always been in the shadow of her family, never had she been paid so high a compliment.

“I hope I didn’t prove too much of a burden for you. My father waved Joan of Arc in my face as a role model—which was always a bit overwhelming.”

Daniel looked about the vacant rooms of the sporting club. “We may be here awhile,” he said. “And I don’t like the look of all these windows.”

“There aren’t many windows in the kitchen,” Katie said. “That’s where I had been hiding, but I ran upstairs when I heard someone trying to break in.”

Once they were settled in the kitchen, Clara saw a bowl of fruit, and a ferocious sense of hunger came over her. It was past dinnertime and she had eaten nothing since breakfast. Suddenly she was convinced if she didn’t eat, her stomach would begin to consume itself. She glanced at Daniel as she felt a guilty flush heat her cheeks. “Do you think it would be all right?”

“Of course it would be all right,” he said. “I’ll leave a few coins on the table if you feel guilty.”

It was all the permission she needed. Clara ripped the peel off an orange and devoured a section as soon as she had it liberated from the peel. Daniel did likewise. How curiously familiar it felt, to be sitting on the floor of a kitchen while they tore through a quick meal. Clara’s life had always been filled with the utmost propriety, except where Daniel Tremain had been concerned. With him she had always been free to be exactly herself.

As soon as their hunger was satisfied, Daniel turned to Kate. “Now I’d like to hear how you found yourself in this mess, and what you plan to do to make sure it never happens again.”

It was a reasonable question, and Clara thought Kate ought to have noticed the serious tone that lay just beneath the surface of Daniel’s calmly worded question.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Kate proclaimed. “As though I have any control over a riot. Truly, you have more influence over rioters than me.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “And what is your reasoning for that comment?”

“Well, you’re one of the robber barons everyone is complaining about. If people like you paid their workers better, we wouldn’t have this sort of thing.”

Daniel fixed Kate with a stare that would have made lesser mortals wither, but with the overconfidence that came with extreme youth, Kate held her ground. “I’d complain, too, if I had to live on the wages the railroad pays. Little better than dirt, so what other recourse do they have?”