The Lady and the Robber Baron Read online

  The Lady and the Robber Baron

  The Kincaid Family Series: Book Two

  Joyce Brandon

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1995 by Joyce Brandon

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition July 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-904-7

  Also by Joyce Brandon

  After Eden

  The Kincaid Family Series

  The Lady and the Lawman

  The Lady and the Outlaw

  Adobe Palace

  This book is dedicated to my daughter, Suzanne, and the men, women, children, and grandchildren who have loved her. And to Brenda Firestine and Hilda Brandon. Thank you for your patience as I slowly evolved into a mother, mother-in-law, and grandmother.

  Chapter One

  October 1880

  The theater was packed. The house lights had been turned down, and the stage lights had not yet been turned on, so Jennifer could still make out a few of the faces in the front rows. She didn’t see her brother Peter anywhere.

  This was opening night for La Fille du Danube, a ballet she had never before danced in public, and she could feel the nervous energy vibrating through her. Peter had promised to be here.

  Simone stopped beside her and peered at the audience. “Ooooh, I have never seen him before,” she purred.

  “Which one?” Jennifer asked, scanning the faces of the crowd.

  “That one, in the third row. He is so gorgeous!” Simone said, sighing dramatically.

  Jennifer scanned the third row until she saw the one Simone was excited about. Ballerinas lived in their heads and worked in their bodies, so they spent a lot of time inventing fantasies they had no time to live out. The man was inches taller than the people around him. And more handsome than anyone she’d ever seen before. But his commanding presence would have drawn attention even if he were not so gorgeous.

  “I should have known you’d notice him,” Jennifer said, struck by his dark hair, rich olive complexion, and deep-set eyes that sent a tingle up her spine. His wide, square jaws were clean-shaven, a rarity in this day and age.

  “Dance for him,” Simone whispered.

  “Oh, Simone, he’s probably taken,” Jennifer said.

  “How would you know?” Simone asked, giggling.

  Jennifer conceded the point. She had almost no experience with men, except for her dance partner, Frederick, who had worked very hard to seduce her last year. She’d learned very little from the experience, except that he was as confusing personally as he was on the dance floor.

  Besides, being a ballerina left no time for romance. And even when there was time, she’d always been too tired or too busy—except for Frederick, which had probably been a mistake.

  “Men can be untaken,” Simone said firmly.

  Real men, as the girls called nondancers, admired ballerinas, but the first thing they did when they got one was try to take her away from the theater. Falling in love with Frederick had been a gradual, easy thing to do and had not threatened to change her life. In Jennifer’s mind a ballerina, herself included, was a butterfly. She could not go back to being a caterpillar, any more than she could be happy in love with a man, no matter how gorgeous, who would take her away from the theater.

  Some women managed both careers and children, but she knew instinctively she couldn’t. She knew how marriage had been for her parents, and she didn’t consider herself experienced enough to carry off such a complicated relationship. Her mother had seemed to know how to handle a great many odd situations. Jennifer knew only the theater. In real life, too many things could come up that she wouldn’t be able to handle. And she had chosen to become a ballerina—there were no other choices after that.

  A girl in the back yelped, and someone cursed. Sounds of a scuffle followed, and Jennifer imagined two girls slugging it out over stolen tights or something equally trivial. It would be a great night or a terrible night. Perhaps both. Generally when energy and tempers ran this high, something extraordinary happened. Last time, they had performed magnificently in spite of more injuries than ever before. It hadn’t seemed to matter that injuries sidelined girls faster than their names could be crossed off the lineup. Or that almost none of the girls mentioned on the program would actually dance tonight. The ones who did dance would absorb the general hysteria and be energized by it.

  Jennifer was accustomed to seeing her fellow dancers do the impossible—dance numbers they had not rehearsed or did not know or performed in the wrong costumes or with hair flopping wildly because hair pins had fallen out. The wildness of their emergencies added a feeling of danger that created its own energy.

  The orchestra ended the overture and the conductor raised his arms, preparing to begin the adagio that would carry her out onto the stage. From the prompter’s box Bellini, the owner of the dance company, caught her attention and nodded. She straightened.

  The music began softly and slowly rose to a crescendo. Across from her, all four wings were packed with eager faces. At a cue from Bellini, twelve girls pranced joyfully on stage. Simone would be next, then Jennifer.

  Alone in the wings, Jennifer stepped all the way to the back to get momentum for her entrance. Her calf bumped against a box someone had placed in exactly the wrong spot. Without looking back, Jennifer eased the box farther back with her foot so she had the room she needed.

  Simone made her entry and executed a perfect pas assemble; the audience applauded. The music shifted into a sarabande and the director gave Jennifer her cue. She leaped forward, sprang into the air, and threw her legs wide apart à la quatrième. In spite of her nervousness, her body performed the movements with energy, with verve. She landed noiselessly and swept regally toward her place in front of the troup.

  The concerted gasping of a dozen girls sent Jennifer’s heart plummeting. She rechecked her placement. Unless Bellini had instructed her incorrectly, which was unthinkable, or unless she had completely forgotten where she was supposed to end the écart and begin her pas ballotte…Of course, in her present state that was completely possible…

  As Jennifer stepped toward the supporting dancers to correct her position, the line, usually as perfectly positioned as an English hedge, broke into a dozen fragments. The girls drew back from her in horror.

  In that instant Jennifer knew she had done something unspeakable, something for which Bellini would surely fire her, throw her out of the company in total disgrace. Bellini roared something she could not understand. Panic engulfed her. Forgetting her part, she straightened and looked askance at the ashen faces of the girls who were backing away from her, cowering in fright. She would correct her error at once, if they would only help her. She would start over. She would—

  Simone screamed. Surely Simone would tell her what she needed to do to make it right. But Simone only screamed and pointed at her. Wild hope leaped alive in her. Perhaps Simone was pointing at someone else. Perhaps this terrible moment could be blamed on someone else. Then she would not have to leave the ballet forever. She would not be disgraced, deprived of her chosen career.

  Praying it was so, Jennifer turned to fac
e whatever was behind her causing such commotion and fear. But she saw nothing, except more horrified faces. The audience gasped and murmured.

  “Fire!” someone from the audience yelled. A man bounded up the steps and ran toward her. She recognized the dark man from the third row running at her, and she backed away in terror.

  “No! No! Stay away from the curtain!” Simone screamed. The sensation of heat behind her caused Jennifer to turn. Too late. She saw that her long tulle skirt was in flames. By backing up, she had caused the flames to spread to the curtain. They flickered at waist height for a moment, then, quick as a rat, the crackling yellow and blue flames rushed toward the ceiling.

  Still, Jennifer could not grasp how this had happened. As the handsome stranger reached her, he ripped off his jacket. She turned to run, and the faces in the audience, barely more than a blur to her, reflected fascination, horror, and expectation.

  The man grabbed her around the waist, pulled her down, threw his coat over her burning skirt and beat at it with his hands.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. His voice was deep and tinged with an upper-class drawl. His eyes were green as the ocean.

  Jennifer’s head was spinning. “I…I don’t…”

  People screamed. Flames licked at the ropes holding the curtain, paused a moment, then spread across the support timbers.

  People leaped to their feet and stampeded toward the exits. Overhead, fire crackled. Smoke billowed and filled the top of the theater. The smell of burning rope and dusty curtains stung Jennifer’s nostrils. She couldn’t believe how quickly the fire had spread.

  The handsome man turned to the dancers, who appeared frozen in their places. “Go out the alley exit. Move!” he yelled.

  Grabbing Jennifer’s hand, he pulled her toward the nearest exit. She wanted to ask him a question, but people were screaming and yelling so loudly she knew she wouldn’t be heard over the terrible din. The back exit was blocked by a throng of people pressing so hard against the door that no one could move. The stranger cursed loudly enough for Jennifer to hear him.

  “Stay here,” he said to her. “Step back!” he yelled at the backs of the terrified people, who were pushing vainly against people wedged so tightly they couldn’t move through the doorway. “Give the people in front some room, or no one will get out!” he shouted.

  They ignored him. He pulled a redheaded man off the back of the throng and shook him. “Get a grip on yourself! Or we’ll all die here!”

  “Sorry,” the redheaded man said, seeming to come to his senses.

  “Help me,” her rescuer ordered the man. “Help me clear this doorway!” Together the two men methodically pulled people one after another off the back of the pushing throng, and then enlisted their aid. Slowly, order was restored. Those at the front were freed up enough to begin moving through the doors.

  With the crush relieved, the dark stranger came back for Jennifer. “Quickly,” he said, taking her hand.

  Someone screamed. Jennifer looked up in time to see an overhead beam, fully engulfed in flames, falling toward them. The man pushed Jennifer out of the way and followed her, falling and rolling as the flaming beam crashed between them and the door. Then he crawled to her side and lifted her up. “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Smoke stung her eyes. Most of the fire was overhead, but it was creeping down the walls. Above and behind them a piece of the ceiling fell. The tall stranger sheltered her with his body. Sparks from the falling debris ignited new fires.

  One of the long, heavy beams that supported the curtains crashed past her shoulder and through the floor behind them, sending out a shower of flames that ignited a small fire on her bodice. Jennifer screamed. The man slapped out the fire with his hands. She heard the crack of something breaking overhead, and he jerked her out of the way as another flaming beam fell in front of them, completely blocking their escape.

  Jennifer screamed and tried to get away from the heat, but the fire had trapped them. It had only taken a moment, but she realized with amazement that she was going to die in this fire. The thought stunned her. She had never once considered dying.

  Peter Van Vleet heard the clang of the fire engines and looked skyward. In the west he saw an odd brightness glowing against the overcast sky. He nudged his horse into a run. The fire could be at the Bellini Theatre. He had intended to be early tonight because he hadn’t wanted to miss any of Jenn’s performance, but his supervisor had kept him late.

  Peter worked as a stockbroker at Walter and Company on Wall Street. He hated his job, and it took all his determination just to keep showing up for work. By the time the market closed every day, he was exhausted. Tonight, shortly after closing, his supervisor had tracked him down and asked him to stay for a special meeting. After the meeting, he’d been offered a promotion to trainer. Peter could tell by his supervisor’s jovial expansiveness that he fully expected him to be highly pleased. Peter tried not to show his lack of enthusiasm, but it had felt like another bar in his prison.

  A block from the theater, Peter reined in his horse. Fire engines blocked the street in front of the burning theater. The roar of the fire was deafening. Men manned hoses and passed water buckets hand over hand. People huddled in groups, watching in horror.

  A hard knot of fear formed in his belly. He dismounted and ran to a group of women sheltered against the freezing drizzle that had begun to fall. They were staring at the fire with big, luminous eyes. “Have you seen the ballerinas?” he shouted.

  A woman shook her head.

  Panic stirred in Peter. He had worried about any number of things happening to his sister, but he had never entertained the idea of her burning to death in a fire. At the thought, his mouth went dry as a stone. He pushed through the crowd, searching for Jenn. At last he saw a costumed ballerina and made his way toward her.

  “Where are the other dancers?”

  The girl turned. Simone. Of all the girls he knew, he least wanted to see Simone. His mind flashed a picture of Simone and his father kissing. He felt flooded with shame and sick inside, as if he had eaten rotten meat.

  “Where’s Jenn?” he shouted over the noise.

  Simone’s great, dark eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “She was still inside…We got out the back entrance, but it was blocked by a falling timber right after…” She gestured helplessly at the building, which was a solid sheet of flame. “I didn’t see her again…”

  The smoke was thicker here. Behind them fire engulfed the stage and the north side of the theater. The man had led her back onto the stage, looking for another way out. Now they were almost where they’d started from. She hoped he hadn’t been disoriented by the smoke and fumes. Her own head felt light and dizzy.

  The man lowered Jennifer over the edge of the stage and dropped her into the orchestra pit, then leaped down to join her. Fires burned all around them. He started cautiously forward. The smoke was so thick she could no longer see the ceiling.

  “Keep your head down,” he yelled, pushing her head down with his hand. She stayed low, where she could still breathe, but she was terrified that the fire would soon cover them completely. Then what would they do?

  An explosion in the back shook the theater. Fires around them flared into new brilliance. Ropes burned through, and flaming curtains dropped, showering sparks and starting fires in the first ten rows of seats. The blaze had become a roaring inferno. From backstage new explosions added to the racket. People screamed in the distance. Coughing, the man pushed Jennifer toward the front exits.

  Smoke stung her eyes. She couldn’t see where she was going. She bent forward and clung to his hands, which were tight around her waist. She stumbled and almost fell, but strong arms picked her up and carried her the rest of the way.

  As they reached the doors, cold air filled her starved lungs. The sudden change from hot to cold made her lurch forward in a spasm of coughing. Behind them the roof fell with a tremendous roar.

&n
bsp; Bells clanged as more fire wagons arrived. Jennifer had never seen so much confusion. Men yelled and women screamed. The man put her down, caught her hand and pulled her through the crowd and out into the open. Even then he didn’t let her stop or catch her breath. Away from the smoke and noise it was windy, and the thin drizzle had turned to freezing rain. But she ran beside him, feeling weightless, energized with sudden joy that she was alive.

  Another fit of coughing made Jennifer realize that her lungs were burning and she needed to sit down and rest. But the man kept moving with such determination and energy that all she could do was follow in silence. After knowing him for only a few minutes, she had already learned to trust him.

  Behind them firemen yelled over the general pandemonium. But the man pulling her along ignored everything and continued eastward, glancing at the tangle of carriages, surreys, and cabriolets as if looking for something specific.

  Finally, when she was about to give up and beg for rest, he stopped beside a dark mahogany brougham. He threw the door open and lifted her into the carriage, then spoke to the driver and climbed in beside her.

  Peter was frantic. He hadn’t found Jenn. The roof of the theater had caved in, and she was still missing.

  He ran from group to group, searching for her face.

  People were starting to leave. He felt sick, and sagged momentarily against a carriage. Someone tugged on his arm. He looked up to see Simone standing beside him.

  “I saw Jennie! She got out!”

  His knees went weak with relief. He covered his face with his hands and stifled the sobs that threatened to betray him. Moaning in sympathy, Simone reached out and touched him. Peter leaned away from her hand; he didn’t want her pity.

  “Do you hate me so much?” she whispered.

  “I don’t hate you. I hated what you and my father did to my mother.”