“I can match that price.” Mr. Vandemeer clears his throat. “For, let’s say, a quarter of the shares that are left? Even split.”
Mr. Ames, Mr. Ogden, and Mrs. Witt nod reluctantly, agreeing.
“Seven hundred to Peyton, with the rest split equally between Ogden, Ames, Vandemeer, and Witt,” Ward announces.
The ambassador nods toward Dagmar.
From the nearby cabinet, Dagmar retrieves a pile of official-looking documents—the promissory notes, all teed up with fields for the investors’ names, respective banks, accounts, places for an official seal—and hurries over with them.
The marks lean together over the table, reading, completing, signing.
Cora lets out a silent, exultant breath. Word as bond indeed.
The ambassador claps his hands again, and from the adjacent vestibule emerges a handful of young lads, dressed in modest suits and sharp hats. Cora needs to look twice before recognizing them.
Of course. Cal’s young newsies.
“My couriers vill bring zeez to zee banks,” the ambassador explains.
From her station near the windows, Cora watches as thenewsies scurry out of the embassy’s parlor level, through the vestibule, and down the front steps, the notes safely tucked into their satchels. The lads disappear into the growing morning crowd.
Alice’s eyes shine with thinly veiled glee.
“Thank you, dear friends,” she cries, clasping her hands before her heart. “You have all made this a momentous day in Württemberg’s history. Perhaps another cordial to celebrate?”
Mr. Vandemeer grimaces. “Might you have anything more palat—er, a bit less sweet?”
The ambassador laughs, both hands slapping his impressive belly. “Perhaps this calls for a toast of Württemberg rye.”
“Quite like the sound of that,” Mr. Ogden says.
Vandemeer nods smartly. “Hear, hear!”
Dagmar has a new pep in her step as she pours contents of a second decanter into seven crystal-cut glasses.
Alice’s eyes flit to Cora’s but do not linger. Still, the message is clear:It is done.
Now all they need to do is to get out the door.
“And to celebrate in true Württembergian fashion, I have taken the liberty of reserving a private room at Sherry’s for our inaugural lunch.” Alice downs the whiskey in her glass, eyes still bright with victory. “Shall we be off?”
The procession out to Sherry’s begins with Mr. Vandemeer, naturally, resulting in an irate outburst from Peyton Senior, who apparently believes his superior stake in the mines should grant him the right of first departure.
Senior is further outraged when his son refrains from assuming his position behind the handles of the wheelchair, instead escorting Arabella Ames out the door. Not Cora, who trails behind them, Alice notes. Not that it matters one whit now.
She turns away to smile, catching Dagmar’s eye, as well as that of her ambassadorial sweetheart.
Konrad leaves his place beside the still-unspooling ticker tape. “Vee vill just make sure everything eez in order.”
“Very good, Ambassador,” Alice answers with a satisfied nod, and allows herself the luxury of one little playful wink in Dagmar’s direction.
In answer, Dagmar scans the departing crowd and, apparently assured no one is looking, hoists her skirts for a brief little tap dance before following her beau into the ambassador’s office and locking the door behind them.
Now only Alice remains in the quiet, stately space... apart from one other, lingering by the doorway.
Alice stifles a sigh. She should have predicted Ogden would want to escort her out.
“How kind of you to wait,” she says, approaching the exit.
