The Lady of Bolton Hill

Chapter 5





Deep in the Vermont woods, isolated by endless miles of hardwood forests and far away from any road that appeared on a map, a granite mansion was hidden from the eyes of the world. Surrounded by guardhouses, a series of wrought-iron fences, and a cadre of bull mastiff dogs, the mansion was an impregnable fortress. And in a remote room in the northern wing, a young man with the face of an angel studied in an opulent library. With blond hair and cool blue eyes, he looked even younger than his seventeen years.

Alexander Banebridge, or Bane as he was generally known, had been steadily devouring the contents of Professor Van Bracken’s library whenever he had the chance. Spread before him were books covering every detail of the Ming Dynasty, including the structure of the government, the trade routes, and the strategy of the army. Bane had never been to school a day in his life, but he needed knowledge of the world if he was going to wield the kind of power he craved. He had already mastered geography—he could identify the caliphates of Arabia and the provinces of China as easily as the states in his own country. He knew the location of every navigable river in the United States and had a comprehensive understanding of tidal currents. He had mastered economics and political science with similar ease, but Bane needed to learn history if he was to have the same air of refinement that made Professor Van Bracken so successful. Never would Bane allow himself to be seen like the ham-fisted thugs the Professor often used to carry out his operations. Knowledge and cunning were much more effective than brute force.

Bane was in the process of memorizing Chinese military philosophy when the door of the library opened. The matronly figured Letty Garfield entered the room, wiping her hands on an apron and looking at him with expectation.

“Alex?” she asked as she approached him. She was the only person who called him by his first name, as if she refused to reduce herself to the crudeness of the rest of the people living here. “I’ve just taken a fresh apple pie from the oven. Would you like me to bring you a slice?”

Bane straightened in his chair and feigned a look of disappointment. “Apple? When I heard you were baking, I had so hoped it would be a peach pie.”

He studied Mrs. Garfield as her forehead wrinkled in distress. “Oh, heavens . . . if I had known . . .”

“I’ve been craving peach pie all day. The kind with pecans in the crust.”

Mrs. Garfield patted him on the shoulder. “Then you shall have one,” she said kindly. “I’ll begin at once, so it will only be a couple of hours, and then you shall have your pie, dear boy.”

Bane smiled, although it was so easy to manipulate Mrs. Garfield, he really should not take so much pleasure in it. “You’re the best, Mrs. Garfield.”

Bane watched the door close behind the cook, feeling not the slightest twinge of guilt for manipulating her into making a pie he did not even want. After all, this was the woman who slipped him a steady stream of opium to compel his submission when he was only six years old. Those weeks after he had first been kidnapped were a haze of temper tantrums and opium-laced tea before Bane learned how to survive in this shadowy world. He still remembered the sight of Mrs. Garfield stirring spoonfuls of the sickeningly sweet opium into his tea before she served it to him with a smile.

Two hours later, just after Bane had begun studying the import regulations in Canadian shipping ports, Mrs. Garfield returned with a slice of steaming peach pie. “Here you are, Alex.” She set down the plate as well as a glass of milk. “Peach pie, just as you requested. And the Professor asked me to give you this file that arrived in today’s mail. He said you would understand its importance.”

Tucked beneath Mrs. Garfield’s arm had been a fat envelope she now extended to him. “Excellent!” Bane said, with no need to feign enthusiasm this time. For weeks he had been anxiously awaiting this delivery from Baltimore. He pushed the books to the far side of the table and tore open the envelope.

“Is there anything else you need?” Mrs. Garfield asked. When Bane shook his head, she nodded and backed out of the library. “Very good,” she said just before leaving. “I’m going to change the linen in the tower room. I’ll be up there preparing the room, if you need anything else.”

Bane merely nodded, completely engrossed in the pages of information he pulled from the envelope. A grainy photograph of Daniel Tremain accompanied a newspaper article documenting the recent developments in Carr & Tremain Polytechnic. The Professor had a scheme up his sleeve to get the better of Tremain and was trusting Bane to lead the mission. He was young to be taking on this level of responsibility, but the prize the Professor dangled was too tempting for Bane to resist. If Bane could succeed in knocking Tremain out of business, the reward would be huge.

Canada.

The Professor had offered control of the Canadian opium trade to Bane.

At last, Bane could move thousands of miles away from the Professor to oversee their smuggling operations in Canada. Vancouver was as far as Bane could conceivably distance himself from the Professor yet still partake in the criminal empire that had made them all rich. Not that Bane cared much about money. It was power he craved. The ability to control his own destiny had been stripped from him when he was a six-year-old child, and nothing was more tantalizing than being able to take back control of his own life.


For months he had been studying everything there was to know about his future home. It had been a joy to devour every book he could find about Canadian history and culture. On his bedroom wall, he tacked a series of postcards that depicted the burgeoning town of Vancouver, and every night he stared at those pictures as he drifted off to sleep. A newly constructed townhouse overlooking the bay of Barkley Sound was where he would live. It was within walking distance of a library and had easy access to the ports for business purposes. He would still have to answer to the Professor, but with thousands of miles between them, he would have room to breathe for the first time in his life.

But only if he passed the Professor’s test. Bane studied the article about Daniel Tremain, and after a few minutes, a slow smile curved his mouth.

It was as he suspected. Daniel Tremain was a brilliant innovator, but he was also reckless and hotheaded. A man ruled by a volatile temper was easy to manipulate. Bane had learned how to suppress those inconvenient emotions and rely on cool, clearheaded logic to control a situation. How interesting it would be to match wits with Daniel Tremain. Bane pushed the article aside and looked at the next page, a short biographical summary of Tremain’s life. It said the man obtained his first patent when he was only twenty-one years old and had filed a steady stream of them ever since.

Bane studied the photograph. It was hard not to admire a man who had risen so quickly without the benefit of fancy schools or family connections. Would he really be able to best the man? In a battle of logic versus passion, who would win?

Then, suddenly, a thought that had been niggling at the back of his mind came to the forefront. Why was Mrs. Garfield preparing the tower room? Bane stood so quickly the chair behind him upended onto the floor, the clatter breaking the cold silence of the mansion.

He left the library and vaulted up two flights of stairs until he found her. She was making up the bed when he pushed open the door. “What is going on here?” he asked.

“Why, the Professor is going to have another visitor, I expect,” she said as she tucked a sheet beneath the mattress.

Visitor. Hostage was more like it.

“There hasn’t been a visitor since young Kenny O’Hanlon was here,” Bane said calmly.

Shame suffused Mrs. Garfield’s face. Her gaze darted around the room and the corners of her mouth turned down, but she reached for another blanket and began laying it atop the mattress. “Such a tragedy,” she finally said. “Poor Kenny.”

Bane scanned the room. It had everything a young boy could want: toys, drawing supplies, books of all kinds. And outside there was even a pony in the stable. If the next captive was lucky, his father would concede to whatever business arrangements the Professor demanded.

Bane’s jaw tightened. There was very little compassion left in his body, but nothing brought it flickering to life faster than the abuse of a child.

“No opium,” he said bluntly.

Mrs. Garfield looked up from the sheets. “What was that?”

“Don’t feed him any opium. If he proves difficult, come get me and I’ll show him how to behave so he won’t anger the Professor. There will be no need for drugs.” Mrs. Garfield had the decency to look ashamed as she nodded.

Perhaps someday Bane would be clever enough to outwit the Professor and take control over this entire criminal enterprise, but until then there was very little he could do to help the child. Bane knew better than anyone in the world that if the boy was very clever and very patient, it was possible to survive here.

The next victim in the Professor’s game could not be Bane’s concern. He needed to carry out the Professor’s test and knock Tremain out of business. Only then would the Professor trust Bane to head up the Canadian branch of his empire. Only then could Bane put thousands of miles between him and this gothic horror house.

In the meantime, he needed to start planning the optimal way to outwit Daniel Tremain.