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October 6th, 1921 The Algonquin
PAGE had fumed in the back of the taxi for the entirety of the brief ride to her luncheon appointment with Mr. Hawthorne, recalling the row between her and Matt that morning. To think, he’d tracked her down last night like a lost little child, as if she were incapable of taking care of herself, and he probably never would have confessed to it if he hadn’t felt an apparent compulsion to criticize her choice of companion, when he had yet to seek the standing which would give him a right to comment. So he could sit and stew all alone in his room while she enjoyed her ‘date’ with another man. Even if it was really nothing but a business meeting.
Strolling through the lobby of the hotel toward the lounge, she remembered returning to the Ngaio last night and failing to find Matt there waiting for her. And he hadn’t been in his room asleep or anywhere in the hotel. Exasperated, Page had headed back out, engaged a taxi, then used her locator app to start tracking down her wayward helper. Directing the cabbie south and east through the city.
But then the driver had glanced back and asked her if she really wanted to go into such a bad neighborhood at that time of night, warned her it wasn’t safe. And after careful consideration, she’d elected to go back to her suite instead and take a long, luxurious bath and go to bed, because if Matt had landed himself in trouble again, he’d just have to get out of it on his own. She’d been too tired to keep chasing after him on the off chance.
Then early in the morning he’d come knocking on her door wanting to talk, and one look had been enough to tell her he’d had a rough night of it. And if he’d come with contrition along with confession, offered her a heartfelt apology for once again allowing his overdeveloped sense of chivalry to lead him into being overprotective, everything would’ve been alright. He hadn’t. And though of course neither of them had raised their voice, it had become quite an argument. Maybe he’d be ready to say sorry by the time she got back.
The maître d’ met Page when she’d crossed the lounge and reached the far end where it led into the dining room and, when told whom she was there to meet, led her across the floor to the small table near the center where Hawthorne was waiting. Shaking her head at both men failed to keep the lawyer from rising or the maître d’ from pulling a chair out, but at least it let them know she didn’t need to be treated with such excessive courtesy. She had her hands full breaking Matt of his bad habits—attempting to reform the rest of his gender would be futile. Especially in this era.
She’d hardly sat down when a waiter materialized at their table and Hawthorne began rattling off their order without even glancing at her in consultation. When the server had gone, the lawyer turned his attention back to her and commented on her attire. “You’re looking quite respectable today.”
Biting her lip to hold back a riposte, Page wondered if the man had meant to insult her. The way she’d dressed the previous evening had been more sophisticated in style, but it had also been perfectly respectable. For lunch at the Algonquin, of course, she had chosen more conservative clothes. But the outfit she wore today was as expensive, even stylish in its way, as last night’s. “Thank you, I think.”
If Matt had really looked at her when she’d left, he would’ve realized she hadn’t dressed for a ‘date’. But he hadn’t, so he deserved to be sulking back at the Ngaio. And feeling jealous, she hoped.
“You’re quite welcome, Miss Reader.” The lawyer lifted his glass in a little salute, and she saw that it was half-filled with an amber liquid. Scotch, most likely.
Page was curious how he’d come to be drinking the distilled spirit so openly in a place like this and at this time of day, but she wasn’t going to ask. Not that she was concerned about causing him any consternation—she planned to ask him even more awkward questions—but the topic was irrelevant to this meeting. Best to stick to what she needed to know. “Why would a plainclothes policeman be following you around?”
Hawthorne blinked. “Am I being tailed?”
Nodding, she told him what Matt had seen the night before, but without revealing her source. She should have known that wouldn’t satisfy the lawyer, but she refused to provide further details. “What I want to know is why.” Whether or not she’d be able to rely on him for help would depend on how he answered. “And if you’re really interested in my help with your charity...”
The lawyer sighed and looked longingly toward the doors to the kitchen. “I don’t know, but I can at least guess. It’s my work. Not my proper practice, but the work I do on behalf of the immigrants. It’s not just making sure they have food, clothes, and a decent place to live. It goes beyond helping them to get jobs. I try to get them to organize. So they can present a united front to their employers and to the police. To make them into a political force that the authorities have to acknowledge so their rights are protected.”
Page arched an eyebrow at him. “And you have police following you because of that?”
“It probably wasn’t a proper policeman. If I’m under observation, I imagine it would be by federal agents instead.” Seeing the question in her eyes, he elaborated. “At least, I wouldn’t be surprised if the BOI thought I was associating with radicals. To be honest, some of the immigrants I help probably are agitators. I can’t help that.”
“The BOI?”
He heaved a heavier sigh. “The Department of Justice’s Bureau of Investigation. One of their jobs is to keep track of potential anarchists, Bolsheviks, and every other sort of ‘radical’ troublemaker. And anyone who criticizes the government in any way is automatically suspect.”
She arched her other eyebrow at him. “Do you mean to tell me the federal government has agents spying on everyone who has a complaint about the way Washington works? That must keep them awfully busy.”
“Smart, aren’t you?” The lawyer stopped as the waiter approached, then leaned back to let the man place a plate of salad in front of him. He waited for the man to give Page hers and leave before continuing. “And direct. I’d thought we would enjoy lunch first and talk business over coffee afterward.”
“I would’ve thought you’d be too busy to linger over lunch like that.” She speared a chunk of endive with her fork. “Besides, we can conclude our business before they bring the entrée. Probably.” Then she started eating.
Hawthorne looked at his salad without enthusiasm and took another sip of Scotch. “Returning to the point you were making—of course, the government doesn’t investigate everybody who has a complaint. They couldn’t. But they will target anybody who publically calls for reforming the system. In a roundabout way that could include me, but I think it’s going overboard.” The last comment seemed to refer to their spying on him, rather than potentially every crusading citizen.
Page paused between bites. “That would mean they’d be following Miss Macadam, and others like her too, wouldn’t it?”
“I doubt they’d go that far. But I’m a man of influence, a lawyer working directly with some of the most downtrodden in our society. And after all, it’s not been that long since those anarchist bombings, and immigrants were involved in those. So I guess it’s not totally unreasonable if the authorities want to make sure of me, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Taking a long drink of water, she washed down the last of her salad. “I can’t say I’ve heard anyone discussing these dangers. Weren’t the bombings a while back?”
“Enough time has passed for the public to lose interest, but that doesn’t mean the threat of action by anarchists or communists has gone away. Quite the contrary. So I’m glad the government wants to stay on top of things, but if they’re investigating me they’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“They probably don’t think so, not after following you to some seedy warehouse last night. I’d appreciate an explanation of that myself.”
A busboy appeared and whisked away the lawyer’s full plate of salad and Page’s empty one. Then their waiter materialized with hot plates—sole with lemon-butter sauce—and only when he had left did Hawthorne answer her implied question.
“I can’t very well bring the kind of people I help to my office when we need to meet. Or invite them to a place like this. I have to go where they are and when they’re available. And since most of them do have jobs, that tends to be at night and in less salubrious surroundings.”
Page wasn’t sure why he couldn’t meet them at his office. But while it would be a nice gesture, and egalitarian, to take those poor people to lunch, she would grant the Algonquin wouldn’t be the place to bring them. “Couldn’t you find somewhere nicer to meet? I would think there’s something in-between dingy warehouse by the docks and classy hotel dining room.”
The lawyer shrugged. “It’s not a huge sacrifice for me to meet them in a place they’re comfortable. Familiar surroundings.”
“But what will this BOI think of it? Won’t they suspect you of—what, exactly?”
“I hope they won’t actually suspect me at all. If they do and investigate more thoroughly, they’ll ascertain that everything is above board. I’m not concerned about them, but I would like to address any worries you might have. If you still think you’d like to help...” As he tapered off he reached for his fork and started in on the sole.
Chewing her own fish, Page considered and decided that there wasn’t much basis for Matt’s or the government’s suspicions of Hawthorne. Her helper was being overprotective again, and she thought that was what the federal agent’s activity amounted to as well. It wasn’t a good look on either of them.
She glanced around at the other diners and noticed Miranda Masters sitting on her own at a table for two against the far wall. No companion, but no food either, so presumably the man had not shown up yet. The woman was looking just as glamorous as she had the night before, and Page suppressed a pang of jealousy. And turned her attention away to other diners.
Shifting her thoughts too, back to the business at hand, she still had her doubts about Hawthorne—not concerning whether he was ‘above board’ but how useful he would be if Matt got himself into any more trouble. It sounded as if the lawyer had troubles enough of his own.
But having come this far, she was committed to following through with this business of helping his charity, and she should do it properly. So finishing her fish, she demurred dessert and asked the last of her questions as they waited for their coffee. “How can I help you help these poor—how poor are these people?”
“Wretchedly, miserably, despairingly poor, and they work their fingers to the bone.” He drained the last of the amber liquid in his glass. “Then, when a stiff drink is what they want to help them through, they get harassed by the cops.” He must’ve seen the confusion on her face, as he gave her a wry grin. “I know, they don’t bother people like us, but Prohibition gives the police an excuse to bully the teeming masses. Particularly the immigrants.”
Page waited while the waiter served their coffee in tiny cups on dainty saucers. “That’s awful.” And she’d seen it first hand with Matt, though he wasn’t poor or an immigrant, so it somewhat undercut the lawyer’s point. But then it was really quite a different matter altogether. She poured a bit of the fresh cream in her coffee and took a cautious sip. “But I don’t see what I can do about that.”
Hawthorne took a swig then smiled. “No, that would be my job, to try to protect them from abuse with the legal tools at my disposal. But I also have a number of volunteers who help make these people’s lives a bit brighter. By cleaning up their homes and neighborhoods, donating second-hand clothes, and making sure they eat properly. That kind of thing. But I wouldn’t expect someone like you to do that.”
“Then what?”
“The best thing you can do is what you already do—give grand parties. Just invite me and make an appeal for donations to help fund the good work we do. Encourage your friends to give.”
Clearly the man didn’t know a thing about her. “I’m not interested in hosting a party.” Though she might want to rethink that—it could give her a new and different perspective on the social interactions of the upper classes. “It would be far easier for me to simply donate the whole amount we might raise without going through all that fuss.”
The lawyer blinked. “Fuss?” He took a second swallow of coffee, then got down to the main point. “Of course we would appreciate any donation you’d care to make. How much had you considered contributing?”
Page nodded. It needed to be a significant sum to make him amenable to what she’d suggest next. “I thought ten thousand or so should go a long way toward helping these unfortunates of yours, but before I donate anything, I’d want to check out the details of how the charity works.”
The man had smiled as she’d started, then furrowed his brows as she finished speaking. “You’re welcome to go over our accounts if that would help you understand how we operate. As for inspecting what we do first hand, you yourself pointed out the area isn’t the nicest or safest place to visit, and for a lady like you...”
Had he meant to imply she wouldn’t be able to understand their books? Of course he didn’t know she was a mathematician so it would be natural for him to assume she’d be clueless. And since she had become a business woman as well, even if she took no direct role in running the Ngaio, it would probably be good practice for her. But it wouldn’t be necessary for her to visit the slums herself.
“I appreciate the offer. And glancing at your accounts ought to give me enough of an idea how my money would be spent. But while I would also like to see your operation up close, you’re right. Best to send a representative to review what your charity is accomplishing and report back to me. I have an assistant, a man named Matt who helps me with this sort of thing. Perhaps you could arrange for him to visit in person...”
Hawthorne was nodding with apparent approval of her suggestion when a shadow suddenly darkened their table, though they had yet to finish their coffee. Page glanced up at the man towering above them as they sat and saw the person she’d least expected to encounter. And least wanted to see. Riggleston the second. The slimeball himself, with his slicked back hair and an oily smile on his face.
He narrowed his eyes at the lawyer as he spoke. “I hope you don’t mind my intruding on the two of you and your little rendezvous, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen Miss Reader, I just had to stop by to say hi.” Then he turned to her. “I see you’re keeping better company these days.”
She supposed that had been meant as a sort of subtle slight against Matt, but it was too mild an attack to merit a reply. However, since the man kept standing there, waiting, she went ahead and introduced him to Hawthorne. “This is something—I’m afraid I don’t recall his first name—Riggleston Junior. A man who pestered me some years back.”
The lawyer’s lips quivered, but he held back the burgeoning laughter. “Indeed.” Looking up at Riggleston, he favored the man with a nod but failed to offer his hand. “I’ve seen you around some, but we haven’t been formally introduced. Until now.”
Junior’s chin wobbled with fury as he stared at Page, and he barely managed to return the lawyer’s nod before spitting out an insult. “I see your manners haven’t improved any, Miss Reader. Try to be more careful, or that smart mouth of yours may get you into trouble.” That sounded like a thinly veiled threat, and against her rather than Matt.
She steadfastly held his gaze. “I can’t conceive how you ever imagined I’d fall for your ‘charms’.”
“From what I’ve seen of who you’re attracted to—such as that uncouth ruffian you used to run with—I’ll take it as a compliment that you fail to recognize my appeal. Plenty of classier women do.”
“Do fail to see your appeal? I’m not surprised.” Ignoring Riggleston, she stood and smiled down at Hawthorne. “Thank you for the marvelous lunch. I can have my assistant call your office and set up an appointment?”
The lawyer rose and gave her a little bow. “Certainly. This has been my pleasure, and I’ll look forward to talking with you further. In the future?”
“Definitely.” That wouldn’t commit her to anything more than she was already in for. “I’m sure I will see you again. In the near future.” Page wasn’t going back to the past at any rate, and she was sure she’d run into him at some function or other. Even presuming she passed on helping fund his charity. It might be three years from now, but that wouldn’t be the far future.
Anyway, with Riggleston still apparently determined to cause trouble, she might need the lawyer’s help sooner than that. So she smiled at him again, then sailed out of the dining room without another glance at the man who’d brought such a nice lunch to a sour end. By the time she was through the lobby and waiting for the taxi the doorman was trying to hail for her, her mind had turned to the problem of convincing Matt to go on that inspection tour for her. Without getting into another argument.
Hopefully he’d be in a proper mood to listen to her and do his best to make up for his unfortunate and hasty actions last night. And she could consider what if anything she would do about Riggleston. Better not to tell Matt about that part of today’s adventure. He might get all overprotective again.