Lions and Lace Read Online Free PDF Page B

today, wouldn't you agree?"
    Eagan looked up at his brother and narrowed his eyes. "What'd you do here? You just—just—?"
    "Fitzsimmons won't be bidding for me today," Sheridan commented, "though I doubt any of our luncheon partners will notice. Not in their haste to get their bids in for Jubilee."
    With realization dawning on him, Eagan couldn't help but see the flaw in his brother's plan. "But not all those men who ran out of this room toward Jubilee were invited to Mara's debut, Trevor. You've gone and ruined men who have no business with us."
    Sheridan whipped around and bitterly whispered, "You know what they're calling Mara today after her disappointment? The Irish whore. I was told that several men in this club were betting which one could take her to mistress. If I ever get their names, I swear they'll be dead before they see another day at the exchange."
    Rage and disbelief crossed Eagan's features. Numbly, he stood and looked out the bay windows across Broad Street to the exchange. "You were too easy on them, then," he said.
    "I'm not through yet."
    Sheridan turned to go. He ambled out of the dining room, and the only noise besides old Cyrus Field in the corner busily masticating his beef was the distinct click of a walking stick on marble.
    "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."
    Hearing these words, the old parish priest, who had been listening to those very same words for at least six hours, suddenly sat up straight. His rheumy eyes widened, and he stared at the tiny mesh window that separated sinner from priest in the narrow oak confessional. He couldn't see through the black screen, but he didn't need to to know who the speaker was. He knew that voice as surely as he knew his amber-beaded rosary. It was Trevor Byrne Sheridan, the Trevor Byrne Sheridan of Wall Street, the Sheridan Bank, and several railroads and silver mines that he couldn't begin to name. But more than that, it was the Trevor Byrne Sheridan whose gold had roofed the chapel last winter, the sole means of support for the parish's orphans' home in Five Points, the man who the bishop once said owned nearly a quarter of Manhattan, including the costly dirt beneath St. Brendan's.
    Old Father Donegal nervously replaced his steel spectacles and began listening as if the bishop himself were at his shoulder.
    "It has been a year since my last confession." Sheridan's shadow moved as if he were lowering his head. "I am treating men unfairly, Father. I'm depriving them of their money. For this and all the sins of my past life, I humbly beg forgiveness."
    "You've stolen from them?" The priest mopped the sweat from his balding head. The last thing he wanted to hear was that the orphans' home in Five Points was being run on thievery.
    "No, Father. I'm not stealing their money. I'm simply making sure they have less of it. I know this must be a sin, and while I must do it, I seek God's forgiveness."
    "Tell me what you're doing to these men," the priest asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
    "It's a long story."
    " Begin, and you will find forgiveness."
    "Three days ago in the Commodore Club, I was having my lunch. The exchange was busy that day. I made sure it became even busier. . . ." And so the confession went until Sheridan the sinner felt himself confessed.
    "What shall you say to me, Father?" Sheridan finally asked when he was through. "What shall be my penance for these sins?"
    The priest had lived a long time, but he'd never heard of such schemes. He had no idea that so much money changed hands in one day. In his amazement, he mumbled, "For your penance, say one hundred rosaries."
    "One hundred rosaries?" the irate voice boomed at him from the confessional window. "There is no other way?"
    Father Donegal nearly slipped from his hard oak seat. "Exactly how—how much money did you plan on depriving these men of?"
    "All told, about three million dollars, I think."
    The father was too shocked to even close his mouth.
    "I'll say three rosaries. One