4. Percival

4

Percival

M other and I had been invited to a dance at the Ashfords' for New Year's Eve. I'd not planned on attending, but Mother mentioned Simon would be there. Since I wanted to talk to him, I decided to don my tuxedo and join my mother.

On the ride over in our motorcar, with Joseph driving, Mother glanced at me occasionally, clearly worried about something.

Finally, I decided to address whatever was bothering her. "What is it?" I asked gently. "You have that look in your eyes."

She sighed and clasped her white-gloved hands in her lap. "You've been distracted and distant. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

I gestured discreetly at Joseph, who I had no doubt listened to everything we said. I'd grown distrustful of him over the last few days. He'd been outright rude to Stella when I'd brought her up to the apartment for the first time. Since then, he'd not made eye contact with me, even when I addressed him directly. Or I might be growing paranoid.

"I'll speak with you later." I placed my hand over hers and gave them a squeeze. "But please don't worry. I'm fine."

Joseph, despite my reservations, expertly navigated the bustling streets until the Ashfords' impressive mansion came into view. We drove down the long driveway, lined with perfectly manicured hedges and marble lion statues.

"Oh, it looks lovely, doesn't it?" Mother asked.

I glanced at her, surprised. She was not typically impressed by the opulence of the extremely wealthy. Perhaps it was because she'd been shunned so often by the elite. Or perhaps it was her lack of interest that caused her to be excluded from many events in New York society. Either way, I'd always been grateful I had a good excuse to avoid parties such as this. However, Mother had recently met the new Mrs. Ashford, the second wife to John Ashford and thirty years his junior, during a fundraiser. Although they were of different ages and circumstance, my mother and Mrs. Ashford had bonded over their shared passion for philanthropy. Thus, we'd received an invite to what was supposed to be the party of the holiday season.

As Joseph pulled the motorcar up to the entrance, a doorman in a sharp uniform stepped forward, opening Mother's car door. While he helped her to the ground, I got out the other side. The cold air hit my face as strains of jazz music and the soft murmur of conversation and laughter drifted from the mansion.

The driveway and entrance bustled with activity, with well-dressed men and women being escorted inside. We followed a group of people up steps lined with lush red carpet and flanked by wrought iron railings. Uniformed staff were stationed along the way, ready to assist and guide guests into the mansion.

Once inside the grand foyer, a courteous attendant took our coats and hats. I looked around, taking in the high ceilings, sparkling chandeliers, and richly decorated walls. They'd spared no expense. Good for them, I supposed.

Our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Ashford, stood near the entrance, graciously greeting each guest. Mrs. Ashford, young and beautiful, was dressed in an elegant pink gown. Her dark hair had been twisted into an elaborate hairstyle that mimicked the shorter cuts of some of the women.

"Mrs. Bancroft, how good of you to come." Mrs. Ashford kissed both of Mother's cheeks before introducing us to her husband. He looked considerably older, with a shock of white hair and a thick mustache.

"Thank you for coming. Enjoy yourselves," Mr. Ashford said before turning to address a man he clearly had more interest in than us.

As we headed down the hallway to the grand ballroom, the sounds of jazz music grew louder. We stepped through the doorway to a large room adorned with crystal chandeliers, which cast a warm, glittering light over the polished marble floors. The walls were decorated with intricate gold leaf details and rich, deep-hued tapestries.

Women wore dresses made of silk and chiffon, embellished with beads and sequins that caught the light as they moved about. Some had their hair styled in sleek bobs, others in elegant updos, adorned with feathers, pearls, and jeweled headbands. Men were dressed in impeccably tailored tuxedos, with crisp white shirts and black bow ties.

The band, complete with a grand piano, brass instruments, and a lively drum set, played a lively jazz tune. Couples danced to the happy tune, clearly enjoying themselves.

A team of waitstaff circulated the room, offering guests champagne in crystal flutes or taking their order for a crafted cocktail. The bar featured an impressive display of spirits and mixers, with bartenders skillfully preparing drinks.

"What can I get you, Mother?"

"Shall we eat something?"

"Yes, wonderful idea," I said.

A waiter appeared, offering us a glass of champagne, but I asked if he might point us in the direction of the food.

"Food is being served in the conservatory," the waiter said. "Please allow me to escort you?"

We followed him out of the ballroom and down the hallway to the conservatory. Made of glass walls and ceiling, exotic plants, and comfortable seating arrangements, the room offered a serene escape from the bustling ballroom.

Long tables were laden with an array of hors d'oeuvres, seafood platters, slices of beef, an entire roasted pig, and decadent desserts. Guests helped themselves to generous plates, dining at small tables and plush sofas arranged around the room.

Mother and I followed suit, soon finding our way to a small table with plates filled with food.

"Do you know any of these people?" I asked under my breath.

"A few look familiar, but not really."

I ate in silence until I'd had enough. No sooner had I pushed my plate aside than a waiter came to clean up after me. Mother was swept away by a few of her suffragette friends, leaving me alone. Another bar had been set up in here, so I wandered over and ordered a gin rickey, then sat on one end of a recently abandoned sofa.

This was going to be a long night.

I'd almost finished my drink when I saw Simon enter the conservatory. He was alone and seemed to quickly notice me as he strode my direction.

I stood to greet him. "Simon, I didn't know you were here." Somehow, I kept my anger and suspicion from infiltrating my voice.

"It was a last-minute decision to attend. May I sit?"

"Sure. I know almost no one here," I said. If only I'd had a wife to smooth out my rougher edges and help me to mingle. Alas, I would rather have been home with a book, and that fact no doubt showed in my demeanor. Regardless, I was glad Simon found me. If he were the one who'd had Stella followed, then I wanted to know.

Unsure how to start, I simply blurted out what I wanted to say. "Someone's following Stella. Did you hire someone?"

He appeared baffled for a moment before answering. "What? Why would I do that?"

"The same reason you investigated her in the first place."

"I have no interest in her whatsoever, other than she's a threat to our family. You're aware she's a liar, aren't you? Why are you surprised she's being followed? Who knows what kinds of thugs she's involved with."

As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. Although, we differed in our opinions on one primary point. Nothing that had happened had been Stella's fault. She was innocent. Her father was the villain here. I couldn't understand how Simon didn't see that. Or wouldn't.

I was about to get up and leave him when a waiter hurried over with a note on a tray. "For you, Dr. Bancroft."

"Who's it from?" I asked.

"I'm not certain, Dr. Bancroft. It was brought to me from one of the men parking motorcars. He said a woman dropped it off for you."

I stood, thanking him as I retrieved the envelope with my name written in loopy handwriting on it. "If you'll excuse me, Simon, I must read this in private." That wasn't entirely true, as I had no idea who it was from. I did, however, desire greatly to leave my brother-in-law's company.

I found a quiet spot in the home's library in which to open the envelope. To my great surprise, it was from Miss Scarlet. This could only mean one thing. She had information on Stella's father. When I negotiated Stella's release from the brothel, I'd asked Miss Scarlet to keep her ears and eyes open. Should Sean Sullivan appear at a party, she'd promised to gather as much intelligence as possible. In exchange for a fee, of course. Miss Scarlet was a businesswoman, after all.

Dear Dr. Bancroft,

Please forgive the intrusion, but I received word of your attendance at the Ashfords' party this evening. I have information I believe you'll be interested to hear. If possible, please come by tonight so that I might share with you what I learned.

Sincerely,

Miss Scarlet

I folded the note and slid it back into the envelope, then put it in the inner pocket of my dinner jacket. This was as good an excuse as any to abandon the festivities. I'd pretend to have a headache and ask Simon to see Mother home.

Simon agreed without reservation to look after Mother. Clearly not believing I truly had a headache, he could not keep the curiosity from his eyes. Regardless, he let me go without question. Hopefully, he would not follow me.

I found Mother sitting in the music room with a few of her friends. She looked up at me as I entered.

"Ladies." I bowed my head in their direction. "I'm terribly sorry, but could I steal my mother away for a few minutes?"

They all nodded politely. I drew Mother over to an empty corner of the room, looking around to make sure we would not be heard by any curious gossip seekers.

"What is it? Is Stella all right?"

"Yes, she's fine. As far as I know, anyway. I have word from Miss Scarlet. She has information for me, thus, I'm going to see her now. Simon will see you home."

Her eyes registered disappointment, but she quickly stifled it. "Of course, dear. I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Yes, after calling on Miss Scarlet, I'm going home straight away. This isn't my kind of event."

"I know, and I thank you for at least staying as long as you did."

"Good night, Mother. I'll see you tomorrow. Joseph will be here at midnight to take you and Simon home."

"I shall not be late nor lose my slipper."

"See that you don't, Cinderella." I kissed Mother's cheek and then scurried out to the hallway before I could be waylaid by another guest.

After retrieving my coat and hat, I went out to the dark night. Although the weather was cold, with occasional flakes of icy snow falling upon my nose, I decided to walk to Miss Scarlet's. The fresh air would do me good. The streets were quiet, with only a few motorcars and trolleys taking people to their destinations.

I didn't see them coming. I'd just rounded the corner of the block where Miss Scarlet's infamous dwelling was lit up with its usual debauchery when two men, both wearing masks, pulled me into an alley. They were large, tall, and wide. One slammed my head against the side of the brick building. The other punched me in the gut. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, and a heavy boot kicked my stomach.

"What do you want?" I managed to get out before another blow, this time to my back, rendered me temporarily mute. "I've money. Take all of it."

"We don't want your money. We're delivering a message from Mr. Sullivan."

Mr. Sullivan. Stella's father. Had Miss Scarlet set me up? Invited me to come by while these two lay in wait?

"What is it?" I asked.

"He wants you to stay away from his daughter," the taller of the two said as he yanked me to my feet.

I knew I should just agree and hope they left me to nurse my wounds. But I couldn't do it. Not when it came to Stella. "He shouldn't have tossed her into the streets if he wanted me to stay away from her."

The man who so far had not spoken shoved me back into the wall. "She's not your concern."

"Then whose concern is she? Her family's abandoned her. I'm simply providing her a safe place to live."

"Mr. Sullivan don't like it."

"Why?" I had to ask.

"Because of the connection between your two families. You want to keep Miss Sullivan and your mother safe? Then send her away."

"Not to mention that pretty little daughter of yours." The creepy edge to his voice sent blood through my veins.

Rage like no other made my legs shake, and my chest constrict. "You stay away from my daughter."

His hands went around my neck. "You stupid or something? You're not in charge here. Mr. Sullivan's a very powerful man. You can't fight him and hope to win. You really want your mother and daughter harmed because you chose the wrong mistress? Do you want that on your conscience?"

"She's not my mistress," I muttered.

"Yeah, right. 'Cause men just put a female acquaintance up in one of the finest buildings in New York City? Do I look like a fool, Dr. Bancroft?"

"I can't see your face, so I'm not sure I can answer that." I knew I was playing with fire, but these two had angered me beyond reason.

In response to my sarcasm, the palm of his hand slammed my head against the brick, this time hard enough, I saw bright dots of light play before my eyes.

"Should we kill him for fun?" Glittering black eyes peered out from the holes in the mask, catching the light from the street. His stale breath felt warm on my skin.

"Nah, not tonight. Boss said to send the message first and give him time to respond accordingly."

My heart beat fast and heavy. I had to get out of here alive. I had three women who needed me. Four if I counted Mary, I thought shamefully. "Whatever happened between Mr. Sullivan and my father-in-law has nothing to do with me or Miss Sullivan. We have no interest in revisiting…that time."

"Simon Price has been nosing around, looking into things he ain't supposed to. You get me?" For the first time, I detected a hint of an Italian accent.

"As a matter of clarity, I do not understand," I said softly.

"You tell your brother-in-law, if he values his life, to let this go. Mr. Sullivan can't have busybodies going to the police and stirring things up."

My mind raced and raced, trying to pinpoint exactly what was going on here. Simon had gone to the police? About his suspicions that Sullivan had killed his father? What was Simon doing? Trying to get himself killed?

"I'll tell him," I said. "I'll get him to back off. Please, don't hurt my family. Tell Mr. Sullivan that neither I nor his daughter know anything about her father's business enterprises. We just want to be left alone. My wife's not well, as I'm sure you know. I don't need any further trouble."

"Yeah, that's a shame. She must take after her old man. Violent and not right in the head, you know what I mean?"

That had never occurred to me.

"Mr. Price should understand that the police are friends to Mr. Sullivan," the talkative thug said. "Making him untouchable."

"Yes, all right. I'll get Simon to back off," I said.

"See that you do." He released his hands from around my neck, and he and his partner sprinted down the alleyway and disappeared around the building.

For a moment I simply stood there, shaking and sweaty, trying to gather my thoughts. I would not go inside to speak with Miss Scarlet, as I felt sure she'd sent me the note in order to get me to come over. Not that I had previously, but this proved she was not to be trusted.

Mother . She and Simon were supposed to leave together. They were vulnerable, alone in a car with Joseph. Any number of things could happen on these icy streets. Things that could be made to look like an accident.

I took off running. Back to the Ashfords' to find my mother and escort her home myself.

A rising panic made it hard to think, but I managed to get back to the party, collect Simon and Mother, and bring them home. Because I wanted to talk to Simon, I asked that he come in with us. Joseph would wait for him on the street and take him back to his own apartment once I was done.

Mother had not stopped fretting since she saw my face, which I'm sure looked swollen and purple by this time. My head ached, and my stomach felt as if a heavy boot had smashed into me, which, of course, it had.

"Percy, what's going on? You have me scared to death," Mother said as she took a seat on the sofa. Simon sat in one of the chairs, looking at me as if he knew what I was going to say. That might have terrified me most of all.

"Yes, I'm sorry. This won't take long." I collapsed onto the other end of the sofa and drew in a deep breath. "Something happened after I left the party." As precisely as I could, I described the event as I remembered it.

Mother's hands flew to her mouth and stayed there through my explanation. Simon merely looked at me thought glittering eyes.

"What's Sullivan so afraid of?" Simon asked when I was finished. "That we'll prove he killed my father?"

"I believe so. Primarily because you keep poking around. Going to the police, if that's what you did, has only made it worse. I'm sure the police department's in his pocket. Anything you do or ask gets back to Sullivan."

"You've been to the police?" Mother asked Simon. "What did you think that would do other than draw attention to our family?"

Simon let his head drop into his hands for a second before speaking. "I don't know. It was stupid. In hindsight, I can see that. I'm angry. So very angry. I can't seem to let it go."

"These are mobsters, Simon," I said. "They won't hesitate to kill us all. I'm begging you, please, stop whatever it is you're doing."

"What about Stella?" Mother asked. "Is she in danger, too?"

"Yes. I have the guard outside her apartment, but the minute she steps out, she could be hurt or worse. There's no doubt in my mind that the man following her was sent by her father. He must think she's working with us. The coincidence that we met on a train, although true, would seem impossible to him. He wants to know what she's doing with me."

"Would he hurt his own daughter?" Mother asked.

"I don't know," I said. "He killed Stella's fiancé and then tossed her away like trash. Those are not the actions of a benevolent man."

"This is my fault," Simon said. "When I discovered who Miss Sullivan was, it brought everything up again. I lie awake at night, dreaming of revenge. He took my entire family from me. It's not something I can easily forget."

"No one's asking you to," I said. "But you must accept that Sean Sullivan's a powerful and violent gangster, and he wants us to go away, one way or another."

"Yes, I can see that clearly now. I have a friend in the police department. I asked him to my club and told him what I knew." Simon hesitated, shifting in his chair. "I asked him to look into it."

I pushed aside my anger. Although Simon should have known better, the compulsion for justice had outweighed his logic. In addition to Simon's father's death, Sean Sullivan had indeed been a factor in the decline of my wife. I felt sure of that, although we could never prove it.

"I'm sorry," Simon said. "I had no idea he was dirty."

"What do we do now?" Mother asked, voice trembling.

"The men who beat me up told me I had to get Simon to stop asking questions. I think if we do that, they'll leave us alone. If not, we're all in danger. Even Clara."

"Simon, what were you thinking?" Mother asked. "This man killed your father over a turf war. Do you really think he didn't know the risk when he started running illegal businesses? This is as much his fault as it is Sullivan's. Can you accept that this is a fight between bad men and leave us out of it? Haven't you suffered enough?"

Simon nodded, looking defeated. "You're right. I suppose I had fantasies of taking down the entire crime world, but that was clearly ridiculous. I want someone to pay for…my mother and Mary mostly. And it's true, he's as much to blame as Sullivan. There's no one to whom I can direct my anger and my need for vengeance. Not if it puts us in harm's way." He dropped his face into his hands for a moment before returning his gaze to mine. "I'll go back to Europe. That'll show them I'm out of the way."

"I hate to see you go," Mother said. "But I think it might be best for now."

"I'll make arrangements in the morning," Simon said.

"Tell your cop friend you're going," I said. "That way, Sullivan will be sure to know."

We left it at that, all of us exhausted. Simon agreed to stay in our guest room, and we all trudged off to bed.

As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about Stella. I'd have to tell her what happened tomorrow when I saw her. With my face bruised as it was, there would be no hiding that I'd been badly beaten.