Tripps were doing downtown, but the elites in this audience didn’t live there. Each night, they settled in their fancy uptown mansions, with servants and cooks and French furniture. They didn’t know what it was like to struggle, to wonder where your next meal was coming from.
Donating to these causes eased some of the guilt these Knickerbockers experienced over their privilege . . . but it didn’t absolve them. Because this crowd wouldn’t dare socialize with the Irish or Italians. Sneered at the Jewish businessmen. They forced the free African Americans and the former enslaved from their homes, using their land for parks and fancy houses. They voted for politicians who’d signed the Chinese Exclusion Act into law.
The hypocrisy made Jack nauseous.
He’d grown rich over the years, yes, but he did his best to take care of his people, his neighborhood, no matter their skin color or background. Gang violence had almost ceased. Unions were on the rise. He meted out punishments and kept things organized—in his favor, of course. It was not a democracy, per se, but he was hardly a dictator. A benevolent king, perhaps.
And weren’t kings supposed to be blessed by angels?
That brought his attention back to his little do-gooder. She was grinning, her expression full of satisfaction and happiness, and he felt something loosen in his chest. Indeed, she was different than the people in this crowd. She didn’t merely write a banknote and go about her merry way. Justine worked incredibly hard, day after day, with the downtown residents, giving of her time and energy until she was exhausted. His men had complained, quite vociferously, about how difficult it had been to keep up with her.
She was remarkable.
The crowd broke into applause at the conclusion of Mrs. Tripp’s speech, and Frank stood from his seat near the front of the box. He started up the aisle toward Jack. “Come,” he snapped without breaking stride.
Had Tripp arranged a meeting with Hatcher so quickly? It would have been a miracle, considering Jack hadn’t seen Tripp leave his seat or send a note via an attendant.
“Excuse me,” Jack whispered to Justine before motioning to Patrick. The brewer left his seat as well and they trailed Tripp out of the box.
The performance started as they entered the corridor. Theater employees were rushing from various salons and rooms, hurrying to ensure the wealthy patrons lacked for nothing. Tripp led Jack and Patrick to the center of the tier, where he pushed aside the velvet curtains and entered a salon.
Julius Hatcher reclined on a sofa, paperwork on his lap. He glanced up sharply. “Ah, Frank. Are you here to—” Hatcher’s mouth closed abruptly when he saw Jack and Patrick. “Well, it seems you come bearing gifts.”
Frank walked deeper into the room and lowered himself into one of the armchairs. “Sorry to barge in unannounced, but I believe you all know one another.”
“Indeed we do. Patrick, good to see you again.” Hatcher paused. “Mulligan.”
The less-than-enthusiastic greeting was not lost on Jack. “Would anyone care for a drink?” He hooked his thumb toward the well-stocked sideboard. “Brandy? Bourbon?”
“Help yourself,” Hatcher said. “Patrick? Frank?”
“Bourbon,” Frank answered. “I fear I’ll need it for once we’re done here.”
“How on earth did you sneak Mulligan in?” Hatcher asked as Jack busied himself at the sideboard.
“He is Justine’s escort.”
“Justine? Your sister-in-law?” Hatcher whistled. “Bet Duncan will have a thing or two to say about that. What’s this to do with me?”
Jack took this as his cue. He handed out the crystal tumblers of bourbon then sat in an empty chair. “I’m here tonight to see you. I fear I had no other choice.”
“I haven’t agreed to see you because there’s nothing we need to discuss, Mulligan.”
“I respectfully disagree. I have an idea, one I think you’ll like.”
“Doubtful. And my wife is in our box, watching the performance. I’d rather she didn’t come back here and see us together.”
“So I’ll be brief.”
“No, you’ll be leaving.” Hatcher started to rise, but Frank held up his hand.
“Please, hear him out. I can’t have Mulligan continuing an association with Justine.”
“That’s not my problem,” Hatcher said sharply. “And you shouldn’t have brought him in here without asking me first.”
“I know, and you may yell at me later. But I need Mulligan out of the building before my wife’s fundraiser is ruined.”
Hatcher glared at Tripp. “You are lucky I like your wife better than I like you.”
“Everyone does. Now get on with it, Mulligan, so that we may get out of here.”