“How exciting this is,” Cora murmurs. Alice turns to smile at her over her shoulder.
“I, for one, feel thoroughly invigorated,” Ogden breathes in Alice’s ear.
The ambassador makes a sputtering noise that draws everyone’s eye. “I say! There has been a jump. Emeralds now at $110.29 per—”
“Let me see that.” Ward bustles over, peering through the monocle at the tape. “Well, buff my buckles, quite a jump!”
Alice rises from her chair, partly to get away from Ogden’s attentions. “It is the abdication. It must be. My king has capitulated and the news has broken—”
“Prince Wilhelm is going to beking!” Mrs. Ames squeals, clutching a stunned-looking Arabella’s hand.
“And the price of emeralds is leaping in joy,” Ward puts in, eyebrows high. “Everyone open those bags. Let’s get your cash deposits in at five a share, even split.”
The cash is produced in haste. Harry Peyton, coweringsilently in the corner, at a threatening wave of his father’s cane, hastens to draw stacks of cash from the leather bag hanging from the back of the golden wheelchair.
Arabella cranes her head over her dainty shoulder to watch him as he does so, a look of plaintive concern playing over her face.
The ambassador circulates the room, collecting each bundle with a grave nod of thanks, then places it into the double-sided safe set into the far wall—adjoining, conveniently enough, the ambassador’s office. Alice had wondered whether the outward face of the safe was too ostentatious, with its large handle wheel and iron door, but if anyone here thinks it looks theatrical, it hasn’t deterred them from filling it with bills.
“Now the fun begins,” Ward says. “You’ll all benefit from here on out, but the majority stakeholder will control the market. Anybody game?”
And again, Alice watches with rich satisfaction as five hands fly into the air.
Mr. Vandemeer slides a very large wad of cash across the parlor room table. “I’ll raise to ten a share, for my part—ifit means I can take the company majority. Six hundred and one shares.”
“I think not.” Mr. Peyton’s tone is pure venom. “Harry, place the bag on my lap. Mylap!”
Harry jumps to, rounding his father’s wheelchair with the large, leather-bound case.
The senior Peyton grabs at it hastily and waves his son away. He fishes into the case, soon dislodging a wad of bills three times the heft of Vandemeer’s pile.
Mrs. Witt lets out a shocked hiccup. “Nowthat’sa lot of money...”
The ambassador looks up from his ticker. “Emerald price now at $120—”
“You are all... wasting... my... time!” Peyton tosses the heap onto the table as if kindling for a fire. “Onethousanda share. For majority ownership. Just to get the rest of you to shut the hell up.”
Cora manages to keep her face stone.
Good God, momentum is a beautiful, magical thing.
Mr. Ogden stands from his chair, his handsome face uncharacteristically thrown. “I must say, Duchess, Ambassador Roderick... I wasn’t expecting the price to climb so high so soon. I do hope my lack of cash on hand won’t preclude me from further bidding.”
“I’m out as well,” Mrs. Witt admits, slumping back onto the settee.
“Perhaps we can put a cap on the price, you know?” Mrs. Ames pipes up in apparent panic, clasping at her husband’s arm. “Considering we’re all friends.”
Cora watches as Alice frowns, positing a discreet but nonetheless orchestrated glance at the running commodities ticker.
The ambassador nods gravely. He reaches for the ornate handle of the telephone. “Are you thinking, Your Grace, zat we open the bidding...?”
Alice sighs. “I merely wish to consider what is best for Württemberg—”
“Hang on one gosh darn minute,” Mr. Vandemeer interrupts hastily, scrambling to his feet. “No, don’t offer to the larger market. Surely there’s something we can do.”
“Well.” The ambassador frowns. “Thereiszee word as bond, as our people say.”
“‘The word as bond,’” Mr. Vandermeer echoes. “What the devil does that mean?”
