The Lady of Bolton Hill

Chapter 13





Bane lounged against the wall as the Professor rifled through the assorted ties, cravats, and opera scarves hanging in his oversized dressing room. Finally, the Professor found a white silk cravat that pleased him.

“Now pay attention, boy. A man who can’t tie a cravat is a pitiful sight.” The Professor tossed another cravat at Bane, then walked to a mirror above his dressing bureau. He settled the strip of fabric around the back of his neck and waited for Bane to do the same. “Now take the long side and cross it over the short side. Be sure you cross it over the top, just like this.”

Bane mimicked the actions, wearing the brand-new cutaway jacket, silk waistcoat, and slacks the Professor had had tailored for him. Not for any special occasion—the Professor had simply said it was time for Bane to have a formal suit. The Professor’s words still rang in Bane’s ears. “You are the closest thing I will ever have to a son, Bane. You must look the part.”

Bane soon had a perfectly tied cravat. He raised his chin a notch, liking his reflection in the mirror. He looked like a man of consequence, not like a powerless idiot who would let himself get snatched off the street.

“Why white silk instead of black?” he asked. “I thought black was the most formal color.”

“Not for evening wear,” the Professor said. “White is the most formal color in the evenings, but you must never wear it before six o’clock. Remember, your appearance and the manner in which you present yourself is of the utmost importance. There will be times when you will need to mingle among high society, and your manners must be second nature. Effortless.”

“Sprezzatura,” Bane said, hoping he was pronouncing the Italian word correctly. From the dazzling smile on the Professor’s face, he knew he had.

“I see you have been reading Castiglione,” the Professor said with admiration in his voice. “Excellent. The quality of sprezzatura will help any man who wishes to accomplish great things while appearing utterly nonchalant. You have already shown impressive skill in this area.”

Bane adjusted the crisp silk as it rested against his chin, careful to keep the excitement from his voice. “Speaking of business within respectable society . . .”

The professor raised a brow. “Yes?”

“I have completed my research on Daniel Tremain and am ready to go into action.”

The Professor’s eyes gleamed. “Tell me your plan, son.” As Bane outlined his technique, the Professor’s eyes warmed in approval. Although smuggling opium was a lucrative trade, it required a massive network of shipping contacts and took months before the payoff. The Professor’s criminal empire was highly diversified, and when the opportunity to earn a quick, untraceable ten thousand dollars had presented itself last month, the Professor had asked Bane to manage the task.

Not that Bane had any hostility toward Daniel Tremain. If anything, he admired a self-made man, but this was the test the Professor had set for him, and he would succeed in stunning fashion. It was important to demonstrate not only his cunning and agility but his ability to do so in an utterly calm, ruthless fashion. He knew what the Professor admired, and he would deliver it without a qualm. After all, Canada awaited him.

“What men have you arranged to take with you?” the Professor asked.

“Bill Richards, Scot McGahee, and the Castellano brothers.”

“Are you sure about McGahee?” the Professor asked. “That baby face of his is not very intimidating.” It was true, but Bane appreciated the value of being underestimated due to appearance. After all, for most of his life he had used his veneer of prettiness to lure a victim in until he was ready to reveal his true colors.

Bane said nothing, he just calmly turned to face the Professor, locking him in a motionless stare before morphing it into a hard glare.

For a moment the Professor seemed taken aback, and then a huge grin spread across his face. “Excellent!” The Professor clapped Bane on the back. “Bane, that is quite the most chilling look I’ve ever seen. Always remember, it is far better to be feared than loved. Keep your subordinates terrified of you. Someday a traitor might try to get the better of you, but stark terror will cause others to curry your favor by ratting him out.” The Professor turned to look in the mirror as he began trimming his beard with a pair of tiny silver shears.

Bane returned to lounging against the wall and stared at the man who had once so frightened him. It had taken years to conquer that numbing sense of terror, but he had managed to accomplish it. He was still too young to contemplate taking on the Professor—there was far too much he needed to learn before he dared such a thing—but he could conquer Daniel Tremain. Everything he knew about Tremain indicated he was ruled by emotion, which was a hot, unwieldy instinct difficult to control. Cold logic was more lethal than a hot temper. Logic versus passion. Bane smiled, knowing in this upcoming battle with Tremain exactly which quality held the upper hand.

“You will do well, boy,” the Professor said. “When you return, we must prepare you to undertake your new position in Canada.”

Bane could hardly wait.