The Tea Rose Part 67

"There is one more piece of business, Mr. Burton," she said. All heads turned toward her.

"Are you a shareholder, madam?" he asked dismissively, pausing at the podium. "This meeting is open only to shareholders."

"I am, in fact, your largest shareholder."

"Are you? I thought I was," Burton said, eliciting laughter from the crowd. "I don't believe we are acquainted. What's your name?"

"Mrs. Nicholas Soames," she said. "And I believe these good people should know that as of this morning, I possess fifty-two percent of Burton Tea. And as the new owner, I demand your resignation. Immediately."

Burton stared at her in disbelief. "A madwoman," he said.

"I am not mad, Mr. Burton. And I insist you step down."

"A lunatic's prank. Remove her!" he barked at two of his clerks.

Neville Pearson stood up and cleared his throat. Fiona heard his name pa.s.s through the crowd in whispers. An eminent man, he was recognized by many of the people present.

"Mr. Burton, this is no prank," he said loudly. "My client, Mrs. Soames, does indeed own Burton Tea. She holds fifty-two percent, as she said." He placed his hands on two thick leather files on the table in front of him. "The doc.u.mentation is all here."

Burton's composure cracked. "That's impossible!" he shouted. ''I've kept a close eye on my shares, Mr. Pearson. I know for a fact that no single investor owns more than five percent."

"Munro Enterprises ... twenty-five thousand shares. Chelsea Holdings Incorporated ... fifteen thousand shares," Fiona intoned. "Seamus Consoliidated ... forty thousand shares. The Thames Group ... ten thousand shares."

Burton stared at her uncomprehendingly.

"All subsidiaries of a parent company named TasTea Incorporated. Those and many more.

My company, Mr. Burton."

"That may well be, Mrs. Soames, but I myself hold the majority share of my own d.a.m.n company!"

David Lawton stood. Fiona saw that Burton recognized him. "Not anymore, William," he said. "You did own the majority share. Until you sold four hundred and fifty thousand shares to my client, Randolph Elgin, several years ago. That stock was kept in a fund for Elgin's son, who pa.s.sed away this spring. Nicholas Elgin, who used the name Soames, married unbeknownst to his family.

He bequeathed all his property, including his investment fund, to his wife. It was transferred to her this morning."

"It's true, William," Giles Bellamy said quietly, as he rose from his chair. "Mrs. Soames now owns Burton Tea."

The room erupted. People leaped to their feet. Questions were shouted at Fiona and her colleagues. Burton leaped down from the dais and fought his way through the crowd, shoving aside the very people he'd sought to rea.s.sure only minutes ago.

"Giles, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"The papers are all here, William. Read them," Giles said. He opened a file and removed the certificates. These, Fiona had brought from New York. Then he opened the second file. It contained Nick's shares. Now, her shares.

Burton picked them up, one after another. When he had seen them all, he took a few steps backward, pressed his palms to his temples, and said, "This can't be. It can't be." He' squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the shouts, the questions, the commotion all around him. Then he opened them again, looked at Fiona, and screamed, "Who are you?"

The room fell silent. Fiona lifted her veil and met his black, hateful gaze.

At first, his face registered only confusion, but as he continued to stare at her, recognition broke across it. "You!" he hissed. The room was as silent as a crypt.

"You remember me, Mr. Burton?" she asked. ''I'm flattered. I remember you. Very, very well.

I remember standing in your office one night listening to you and Mr. Sheehan discuss my father's murder. I had come to beg you for money, for compensation for my father's so-called accident. So that my brother and I could buy food and rent a room. I got rather more than I came for. Do you remember that night? He was a union leader, my father. He wanted the dockers to have a penny more an hour. For a bit of extra food for their children, or a warm jacket to work in. One penny more. And you ... " She paused, overcome. Her rage had filled her eyes with acid tears. She could taste its bitterness in her throat. " ... you wouldn't pay it. Mr. Sheehan was telling you how he'd arranged my father's death. And you laughed. I still hear your laughter in my nightmares, Mr. Burton. I remember trying to' get out of your office and stumbling. You heard me. You and Mr. Sheehan. And you came after me. Mr. Sheehan tried to kill me that night. But I was luckier than my father. I escaped. But I couldn't escape the memories. I vowed you would pay for what you'd done. And you have. Burton Tea is mine."

Again, the room fell into chaos. People babbled and shouted. Some pressed handkerchiefs to sweaty brows. Others scrambled to have a look at the certificates. Reporters shouted Fiona's name.

She didn't even hear them. Burton's eyes were locked on hers. She gazed back at him, unflinching. A naked hatred-a black, roiling, tangible thing-moved between them.

"You conniving b.i.t.c.h. I wish I'd killed you when I had the chance," he said. "Then you'd be six feet under like your miserable father."

"William ... dear G.o.d!" Giles Bellamy exclaimed. He stepped back from the table, ashen-faced.

"Mrs. Soames!" a reporter shouted. "Mrs. Soames, over here!"

There was a white flash, the smell of smoke. Someone had managed to sneak a camera in.

Fiona blinked, blinded by the brightness. It was all Burrton needed. In one quick, fluid movement, he pulled a knife from inside his jacket and lunged at her.

David Lawton saw it coming. He grabbed Fiona's jacket and pulled her backward. The blade missed her throat by a whisper. It sliced through her jacket, across her collarbone, and into the soft flesh below.

"Somebody stop him!" Neville shouted.

Brandishing his knife, Burton ran to the front of the boardroom and disappeared behind the dais through the side door. A group of men ran after him, but found that he'd locked it. The call went up to hunt for him throughout the building. Some joined the chase, others crushed around Fiona.

David had lowered her into a chair. He'd packed his handkerchief and Giles's against her wound but the white cloths had already turned red under his hand. "I need more handkerchiefs ... a shirt ... anything!" he shouted. A score of handkerchiefs were handed to him. He wadded some together and pressed them against the gash. Fiona cried out as he did. The pain was excruciating.

"We've got to get her to hospital now!" Neville ordered. "Giles, get the carriage-"

"There's no time," David said. "The street's jammed. It'll take ages for the driver to get here.

We'll have to carry her. It's the fastest way. Come on!"

David hoisted her up and Neville led the way out of the boardroom, cutting a swath through the crowds of jabbering onlookers with his walking stick. Giles gathered up the certificates, now spattered with blood, and brought up the rear. He pa.s.sed them on the sidewalk and ran ahead, shouting for the carriage. The driver spotted him and pulled into the top of Mincing Lane.

"London Hospital, right away!" Giles shouted. He climbed in, followed by Neville. They reached for Fiona and eased her into the seat. Neville held her in the crook of his arm. She closed her eyes, struggling against a sickening dizziness. Her chest felt as if it were on fire. She could feel her blood, hot and wet, seeping into her clothing. She felt David climb in, felt the carriage lurch forward, then pick up speed.

"Faster, man, faster!" Giles shouted out the window.

"Mrs. Soames ... Fiona ... can you hear me?" David asked, patting her face.

" ... hear you ... " she mumbled deliriously.

"Hang on, please I We're almost there!"

"She's fainted!" Giles said. "Oh, G.o.d, Neville, she's white as a sheet!"

"Fiona!" Neville barked. "Can you hear me? Say something!"

"Does she have family in London?" David asked. "Is there someone who should know what happened?"

" ... tell my da, David," Fiona murmured. "Tell my da we won ... "

Chapter 78.

"Oh, Jaysus! Look at you!" Roddy stood in the doorway of the hospital room, helmet in hand, devastated by the sight of the frail, ashen figure in the bed.

Fiona opened her eyes and gave him a weary smile. ''I'm fine, Uncle Roddy."

"I came as soon as I got word. One of my men ran into the station with the news. I couldn't believe it. Christ, la.s.s, I was terrified! Tought you'd been killed. What the divil was I t'inking? I should never have Jet you go alone!"

"I wasn't alone, Uncle Roddy, 1-"

"I should've gone with you."

"But I'm all right-"

"Aye, the very picture of health. Can I get you somet'ing? Some water? Are you t'irsty?"

"Parched."

He crossed the room and poured her a gla.s.s of water from the pitcher on her night table.

"There you are. What did the doctors say?" he asked "That I lost a bit of blood, but I'll be fine," she said, taking the gla.s.s from him.

"Why do they want you to stay?"

"Just to keep an eye on me for a day or two. Until I get my strength back." "How do you feel?" He touched the back of his hand to her cheek. He didn't like her color at all. Or the deep shadows under her eyes. Or the spots of blood seeping through her bandages.

"Just a little dizzy now and again."

"Burton won't make it to the gallows, I swear to G.o.d he won't. When he's found, I'm going to personally rip his head off!"

"He's still at large?"

''I'm afraid so. I went to Mincing Lane and talked to the men in charge before I came here.

The entire Burton Tea building was searched; there was no sign of him. He's not been at his house, either. The City lads think he's going to try to head to the continent. If he hasn't already. They've got warnings out to all the ferry companies. And they've put out a reward."

Roddy was frustrated not to be on the case himself, but Mincing Lane, as part of the City of London, fell within the jurisdiction of the City's own police force. He was a member of the Metropolitan Police, which existed under the aegis of the Home Office, not the City, and policed the rest of London.

Fiona leaned toward her night table. She grimaced as she set her gla.s.s down.

"Does it hurt?" Roddy asked.

"A little. The doctor said the wound's eight inches long." She laughed wryly. "No more low-cut dresses for me."

"Fiona, do you have any idea how lucky you are? If you'd been standing any closer ... if you hadn't been pulled away in time ... if the knife blade had been half an inch longer ... " Roddy shook his head. "Well, I'd be visiting you at the coroner's, not in hospital."

"But you're not," Fiona said. She smiled again. "We did it, Uncle Roddy."

"You did it, la.s.s. G.o.d knows how, but you did."

"With your help, that's how. You made a few extra visits last night, didn't you?"

"One or two."

"Where can I find Peter Miller?"

"Down the Lion, your da's old watering hole."

"You talked to Joe Bristow, too, didn't you?"

"I did."

Fiona nodded silently and Roddy could see a deep pain in her eyes, one that had nothing to do with the wound on her chest. It still hurt. After all these years, it still hurt even to talk about Joe.

He wished he'd never given the lad her Savoy address. He hoped he'd stay the h.e.l.l away from her.

"I don't want to see him," she said at length. "He's done a great deal for me and I should give him my thanks in person, but I can't. I will write him, though. Once I'm home. I owe him that."

Roddy nodded. He was just about to ask her to go over the whole day's events for him, start to finish, when they heard a knock. A sister in a crisp white cap stuck her head around the door.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked Fiona.

"Fine, thank you. Much better than when I came in." 'Tm glad to hear it. Did those other gentlemen find you?" "Gentlemen?" Fiona asked.

"The deliverymen."

"What deliverymen?" Roddy asked sharply.

"The two lads from the florist's. I found them wandering the hallway looking for Mrs.

Soames's room. I gave them her room number."

"I said Mrs. Soames was to have no visitors. Not one." Roddy had told the sister on duty to restrict access to police officers. He was stepping on the City force's toes by doing so, but he didn't care.

"Don't you take a tone with me, sir!" the woman said, bristling. "They were very nice lads.

Very polite. They had an enormous arrangement of roses. What should I have done? Taken it from them? I couldn't even lift it!"

Roddy was on his feet immediately. "What did they look like?"