36
MR. HAWKINS’S HOME just north of Fourteenth and Colfax was among the older mansions of the city, but also among the loveliest. Italian style and made of brick, complete with a cupola on the roof and a spacious carriage house in the yard. It boasted many tall windows with wide shutters on the first floor, latticed windows on the second. A pristine white porch greeted visitors at the front, underneath an arched portico where carriages could comfortably let off their patrons without thought of wind, snow, or rain.
Dessa knew wealthy families living along Fourteenth were already looking for a fresh place to live, now that so many commercial buildings were going up around them. They weren’t all that far from her own neighborhood on the edge of the Fourth Ward. From Pierson House benefactors, she’d heard that Brown’s Bluff was finally attracting the city’s finest. Now that construction on the state capitol building had begun at last, years after Mr. Brown had donated the land, the Queen City’s reputation would be ensured by the stately capitol adjacent to prestigious mansions planned for the vicinity.
As she took a step toward the tall, paneled door, Dessa wondered if Mr. Hawkins would soon be joining those who were migrating to the new height of society. It was easy to imagine him there, but even as the thought took shape, she wondered if whatever secret he held about his past would keep him from ever fully engaging in the society around him.
A footman opened the door before they’d reached the top step, and they were barely inside before a butler met them—while yet another footman divested Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Foster of their hats and walking sticks, and Dessa of her lace shawl.
“Sorry to be late to my own party, Barron,” Mr. Hawkins said.
“We were about to send out a search party,” the butler said, his tone light. “I’m happy to say your mother has been the perfect hostess.”
Mr. Hawkins’s brows rose appreciatively, as his gaze traveled past the wide foyer to the opening of what must be a parlor. He started to take a step, but stopped. Then, to Dessa’s surprise, he turned to her and offered his arm.
Barely giving Mr. Foster a glance, Dessa moved to Mr. Hawkins’s side, letting him lead the way into the party.
Dessa feared she would need far more concentration than she thought possible that evening: to remember names, participate in conversations, ask questions of some depth, and follow all the social graces necessary to fit in as a member of society instead of its servant. Thankfully she’d been tutored in suitable behavior, if only indirectly as a caretaker of propriety, making sure no one offended a member of one of St. Louis’s best families.
“Mother,” said Mr. Hawkins. He greeted her with a touch to her elbow and a kiss to her lightly powdered cheek—a greeting she seemed only too happy to receive.
“Ah, so there you are,” his mother said with a twinkle in her eye as her gaze welcomed both of them. “I was just telling Mrs. White not to be too surprised at your tardiness. If you’re anything like your father, I suspect you told your driver to take his time coming back once you’d fetched Miss Caldwell.”
Dessa might have glanced at Mr. Hawkins—she could feel his own glance her way—but a rush of shyness overwhelmed her.
To Dessa’s delight and relief, Mrs. Hawkins stood in a circle comprised of the Whites and the Ridgeways. Mariadela sent her an immediate smile, one of welcome, followed by a glance of curiosity. Dessa nodded toward her, hoping they might find a moment alone before the evening was out.
But when Mariadela—and everyone nearby apart from Mrs. Hawkins—caught the first glimpse of Turk Foster, Dessa saw more than one surprised look. William’s was followed by a frown, and she was quite sure Mrs. Ridgeway gasped.
Unruffled, Mr. Hawkins made the introductions. “Turk Foster, a local businessman.” As if he were just another investor!
Though Henry introduced Foster exactly the way the man would have expected if he thought his scheme a success, he wasn’t the least irked. Foster would soon find out that Henry had no intention of bowing to his demands. Quite the contrary.
Now all he had to do was manage to get Dessa alone. Having entered with her on his arm as the de facto hostess or at the very least his especially escorted guest, then delivered her to a circle of friends, he felt her hand begin to slip from his arm. But he caught her fingertips gently, trapping her at his side.
“I wish to have a word with you as soon as we can get away,” he whispered.
She nodded without a trace of surprise. Perhaps she expected he might wish to speak to her, at least about Foster’s joint blackmail scheme. She had no idea that they would soon be free of every secret.
A friendly thump on his shoulder demanded Henry’s attention. “Well, so this evening brings one surprise after another. Starting with your lovely mother.” Lionel Metcalf bowed his head politely toward Mrs. Hawkins. “Though I hope it won’t appear rude for me to say that after knowing you all these years, Henry, I’m rather surprised to learn you even have a mother. I thought you just appeared on earth one day, banker suit and all. But now to see you have such a family asset, I cannot for the life of me understand why it’s taken you so long to introduce her to Denver society.”
Henry held his mother’s gaze. “Yes, Lionel, you’re right. It’s been a foolish mistake not to have enjoyed my mother’s company all these years.”
“And as if that isn’t enough!” Lionel glanced past Henry, first to Dessa and then on to Foster. Henry had to credit Foster for at least looking like the fish out of water he was. “I cannot decide which has me more thunderstruck. Your inviting this ambitious fellow, or your having a lovely young lady at your side.” He bowed toward Dessa, adding, “Lionel Metcalf, at your service.”
Henry introduced Dessa properly, but even as he did so—seeing several others approaching to hear—his mind was already skipping ahead. He had so much to say, but he must wait for the right moment.
Dessa could barely rein in her whirling emotions. How was she to interpret Mr. Hawkins’s behavior, except to assume he meant others to think of her as someone he valued . . . personally? Even among all his peers? She knew as well as he that she was nothing like those around them—wealthy, important investors. He even knew how many mistakes she’d made in the founding of Pierson House.
But he didn’t know about all her mistakes. He had yet to know of her most personal, most embarrassing one.
Nor did he know that her father had been a poor schoolmaster who’d died an unknown, unrecognized soldier. Or that her mother had been the daughter of a tenant farmer who’d died penniless. That Dessa herself had been raised in an orphanage for the first seven years of her life, or that she’d been a servant. All that would likely matter to his guests. But would it to him?
She looked away, barely hearing the conversation around her. If he knew, perhaps he wouldn’t be so willing to have her hand on his arm. She tried pulling away again, only to have him recapture her, with a smile that nearly banished all her doubts.
It was easy to see that Mr. Hawkins was eager to lead her out of the room. He tried twice but was caught each time by one couple or another, seeking to share their enthusiasm over his apparent transformation. From stodgy, isolated banker to one of them. A man with a mother and a woman at his side. They must soon expect his house to show a woman’s touch.
Henry and Dessa had nearly reached the threshold of the parlor when the butler—Mr. Barron, she believed he’d been called—came to ask if he might announce dinner, since they were already late in serving. Henry looked almost surprised and pulled a watch from his vest pocket. He nodded to the butler, but turned a regretful expression her way.
“Dessa,” he whispered, “I wished to speak to you before dinner, but evidently we’re not to have the opportunity. There’s something I must do, something I planned to tell you on the way here, in the carriage, before we were . . . sidetracked by Foster. I hope you can forgive me for not sharing with you first what I now feel compelled to share with everyone else tonight.”
She held his earnest gaze. “I have no right to expect such a thing. But, Mr. Hawkins—”
“Henry.”
She smiled. “Henry. Are you sure of what you want to do? I have a feeling this has to do with whatever Mr. Foster threatened you with tonight.”
He secured both her hands in his, even as others began moving toward the dining room. She knew protocol as surely as he must: rank went first. Henry, as host, and his mother, as honorary hostess, would likely go in before many of the others. They had no time for this conversation, even as hurried as it was.
“Dessa.” His face was mere inches away, far closer than she expected in the presence of so many others. But he didn’t seem to care, and try though she might, Dessa had no will to stop him or to step back. “I must do this, for your sake as well as my own. You must have guessed by now that I have every wish to invite you into my life. There is much you need to know about me before deciding whether or not to accept the invitation. I wanted to spare you from having to react publicly, but it appears I have no choice if I’m to take this opportunity tonight. And for your sake, perhaps it’s best if you learn the truth with the others. That way you won’t be seen as having already accepted me in spite of it all.” His grip on her hands increased, and the look in his eye made everything—and everyone—disappear. Eagerness mixed with a hint of . . . fear? “After you hear what I have to say, I will understand if you want nothing to do with me. I pray that won’t be the case, but I’ll accept it if it is.”
Dessa kept her voice as low as his had been, holding his hands as tightly as he held hers. “There is nothing you can say that will change my high opinion of you. Please know that.”
He leaned even closer, as if he would kiss her right there, in front of guests who waited for the dinner procession to begin. Perhaps he was conscious of that, as he did nothing more than finish with a kiss to her cheek, nearly—but not quite—as chaste as the one he’d bestowed upon his mother earlier.
“Make no assurances until after you hear what I say when this meal is finished.”
Henry barely tasted the meal, though he imagined it to be another of Mrs. Gio’s finest. The fillet of beef with mushroom sauce could as easily have been a bowlful of beans for the extent Henry savored it. Although Dessa was seated on his right-hand side and Lionel on his left—Foster’s plate had been added somewhere down the crowded table—Henry could not bring himself to partake in the conversation much more than he did in the meal itself.
As was customary from past investor dinners, the women did not excuse themselves for coffee to be served separately from the men. Never having had a hostess—while tonight there were arguably two—no one, including Henry himself, expected tradition to change. Which suited his purpose just fine.
He did not bother to pretend tasting his coffee. Instead, Henry stood, calling attention to himself without saying a word.
For a moment he simply scanned one side of the table, then the other, briefly noting Foster eyeing him curiously, perhaps with a bit of alarm. That vaguely satisfied Henry, knowing the man would not be pleased with what he planned to say.
He couldn’t help but take a glance at Tobias, then at his mother on the opposite end of the table. Perhaps they guessed what Henry was about to do. If so, neither appeared ready to object. Even his mother did not look worried—concerned, perhaps, but not fretful.
He ended his perusal with a lingering look at Dessa. What he was about to say might impact her, but at least it would be minimal. If she chose never to speak to him again, at least her own reputation would not suffer because of him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Henry began, “I’d like to take this opportunity first to thank all of you for coming tonight and for supporting Hawkins National through the years as you have. I’m grateful and pleased that our various partnerships have been mutually beneficial. But tonight I am announcing that this will not only be the last of my investors’ dinners, but that I will turn in my resignation from the bank on Monday morning.”
An immediate rumble of voices—some whispering, some openly protesting—rippled through the room. Dessa herself wanted to speak, to object, but she held herself in check without taking her eyes from Henry.
“As all of you know, the foundation for a successful financial institution demands an intricate mix. What makes an investment secure more than the confidence placed in its stewards? Investors and depositors must have absolute trust in the integrity of the institution with which they do business. I stand here before you a fraud in the ideal of integrity.”
Dessa had a fleeting thought that if she could have counted the gasps emitted since her arrival this evening, she might one day think such a number amusing. Not so tonight, not when these gasps were prompted by the possible question of Henry’s character.
“I know this demands an explanation, and I’m prepared to offer one.” He swung his hands behind his back, clasping them there. “I’m sure there are few men, even at this distinguished table, who survived their youth without one indiscretion or another. I am, I’m afraid, no exception. But my indiscretion has to do with what brings us all together: money itself.”
He paused long enough to glance over the table again, and Dessa was eager to catch his eye so she could tell him—even silently—that she still believed in him, no matter what he had to say. If youthful indiscretions, as he called them, couldn’t be forgiven, then she hadn’t a hope in the world.
“I stand before all of you a thief.”
Lionel Metcalf broke the stunned silence. He laughed. “Henry, my boy, I haven’t the faintest idea what’s gotten into you tonight, but I for one can vouch for the bank’s utmost integrity. Those books have been examined throughout the years and not once has a penny—mind you, not a penny—ever been missing. If you’re a thief, I’d like to know from where you’ve stolen.”
“It’s true I’ve never stolen from the bank. I’ve taken nothing from any of you. But my initial investment, the money I brought with me to Denver, was at the expense of others. You in particular, Lionel, might find this rather difficult to accept. A large portion of my seed money came unwillingly from Wells Fargo, where everyone knows you’ve been heavily invested for some twenty years.”
Mr. Metcalf sputtered, “Just how did you steal from them, then?”
“It was a dozen years ago, in the area of Leadville. Three stagecoaches transporting money and gold from the mines to Denver were held up. Do you recall any of that?”
“Stagecoach robberies aren’t all that rare—”
“Successful ones are. Particularly if they’re carried out by one man alone.”
Mr. Metcalf’s face lit up as if he’d recalled something far more pleasant than a robbery. “Along the Rafferty Canyon! I heard about the investigations, how every one of the . . . what was it, three robberies? . . . was thought to have been carried out by a gang. Only after the last one, investigators found nothing more than sticks, carved to look like rifles of the so-called bandits, in the boulders above. That was you?”
Henry had only to nod once.
“Ha!” Mr. Metcalf looked as if he were pleased to have figured out a long-held mystery rather than aghast that he knew the perpetrator. “But wait! That stolen money was repaid some years ago, with interest.”
“That doesn’t excuse the way the money was taken in the first place.”
“But a dozen years ago . . .” Mr. Metcalf stroked his chin. “It hardly matters now, Henry. No charges can be brought against you after this many years.”
“I wasn’t worried about that,” Henry said. His eyes darted briefly to Dessa. “What I do know is that my bank was founded on a false assumption—an assumption that its foundational money was raised honestly. That’s not true.”
Several people spoke at the same time, both men and women. Dessa looked at none of them. Rather she studied Henry. How was it possible that this man of such staunch values could ever have done anything so far outside the standards he was known to hold?
Still, there was no question in Dessa’s mind. She, of all people, knew one act—one mistake—did not define a person’s character. Not forevermore.
She wanted to tell him so, but he was already speaking again.
“Please, there is more I’d like to say this evening.”
The voices quieted—and Dessa realized just then that not all of them had been supportive. One man down the table had even stood, thrusting his napkin away, but Henry’s call to attention stopped him. He took his seat again.
“I have two reasons for telling you this tonight.” His gaze shifted to land on Turk Foster. “One of them is that the origin of my investment has been called into question. I thought it wise to inform all of you rather than have you read about vague or misleading theories in the newspapers. I’m sure there will be talk about the reason for my abrupt resignation. The bank will continue, no doubt with a new name, but I wanted the scandal nipped before it even has a chance to bud.”
“I’d like to know who thought to investigate.” This from Mr. Metcalf. “I must say, I’ve looked into your past myself, Henry, when I came to you about running for the Senate. I never found any of this.”
Henry turned back to Mr. Foster, who returned the look stiffly from his seat.
“Evidently Turk Foster’s investigation was willing to look further into the past.”
The entire table looked at Mr. Foster, but he remained still. If he regretted what he’d done, there was no way to tell.
Henry held up a palm to reclaim everyone’s attention. “Which might mean Foster is competent in what he sets out to do. Turk Foster revealed to me tonight that he wishes to run for the Senate in next year’s election. He is here tonight with the hope of getting to know some of you—to test the waters, so to speak, about how society might receive such a man as himself for the job. I’m here to state that while I do not endorse his candidacy, neither am I against it. Our next senator will be for the people of Colorado to decide.”
The table was quiet as they absorbed his words, so there was no competition for their attention when he spoke again. “I will add that Mr. Foster has shown a personal spasm of virtue—something this city has rarely even attempted in the past. Some of you are already aware that he offered to host a benefit to raise funds for Miss Caldwell. At the time, we were unsure of his motives. I now believe he was sincere in his effort, at least so far as it’s common sense to do something respectable if respect is what you’re after. In light of the fact that Pierson House, even now, is facing a unique challenge, and seeing Mr. Foster’s willingness to help, I’m inclined to believe that even though his motives might have been self-serving, he wanted the best result for Pierson House.”
He looked at Dessa, and even if no one else saw his face soften, she did. She knew she didn’t imagine it.
“Miss Caldwell’s reputation has proven she holds no boundaries in her willingness to help others. Recently she was tested in this attitude. Two young girls came to her seeking shelter, and she did not hesitate to take them in, just as her faith dictates.” He paused, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder as he addressed the others. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m telling you nothing that won’t be reported in the newspapers if Mr. Foster knows how to run a campaign. Those two young girls are Chinese.”
A moment of fear rose within Dessa, despite Henry’s reference to her faith dictating her actions. How confident he must be that Mr. Foster’s help would avoid any trouble! Would others agree that she’d done the right thing, as Henry obviously believed?
He waited a moment for reaction to that information, and it didn’t take long. There was yet another gasp, a murmur here and there.
“Turk Foster is even now doing all he can to alleviate the tension that has risen because of the situation. This may not become a campaign slogan, but if you want to judge a man’s character, do it by his actions. In this, Mr. Foster has proven himself capable of doing the right thing. Just as Miss Caldwell did from the start.”
Dessa glanced at Mr. Foster, who still looked steadily at Henry. Was he grateful? At least that Henry didn’t reveal his attempt to use blackmail as a means to gain their help?
“And finally, ladies and gentlemen, I offer you my apologies for introducing so many topics that might hinder peaceful digestion. I knew there would be few other opportunities to make known all I needed to say. I am, as of this moment, free to discuss whatever you would like and will understand and forgive if there are those here tonight who wish to break off their association with me. I do hope any backlash will be limited to me personally, where it belongs, and not extended to the bank itself. The bank will remain in the capable—and thoroughly honest—hands of Tobias Ridgeway.”