An Agent for Camille

by Parker J Cole

  “Yes.” In a blink of an eye, he became brusque and business-like. “Despite the rather extraordinary ability that you have, I do believe it will be of benefit to me. In what capacity, it remains to be seen. Although you are the most unlikely person to become a Pinkerton agent, I will take it upon myself to train you well enough to fit the task before us.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You mean—”

  “Of course. You know as well as I do that in order for you to assist on this case, as well as train you, it is a requirement that you become my bride of convenience.”

  “Yes, my sisters told me as much.”

  “Good. Although I have not known Archie long, I do know that the only way he will allow you to come with me and assist in this case is as my wife.”

  Camille frowned. “Things are different here than at Arabette Grove. Anti-miscegenation is rampant here in America. I am mulatto and you are—”

  “Are you?” Rounder shook his head. “I know what you are, Camille. You are neither mulatto or a woman.”

  “I’m not? Then pray, what am I?”

  He paused in movement, having almost gone to the door of the library to open it. Retracing his steps, Rounder loomed over her. His hand reached up and caressed the side of her face in a touch so light, she almost didn’t feel it. Yet, her skin burned as if he’d stroked her with tongues of fire.

  “You’re a tigress,” he answered, “one I aim to…,”

  His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. With a start, he pulled back. “Come, Camille. We need to go tell Archie. It’s going to take some convincing, but I think we can sway him to our way of thinking. Don’t you?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ten days later…

  Camille’s body trembled with anger as she walked next to Rounder down the streets of Lantern, Texas. Her light-colored bonnet edged with a lace trim vibrated with each step she took. Wishing he could do something to relieve her rage, he asked. “Would you like to rest before we meet Mayor Burke?”

  “Do not speak to me, Rounder.” Her voice was cold and clipped.

  “I did apologize for my actions, Camille.”

  She whirled around and hissed. “I do not accept it, Rounder. How could you allow that man—”

  Gripping her arms, he stopped her. “What did you expect me to do, Camille? If I hadn’t done what I did, he would have put us both off the train. That’s something we could ill afford.”

  She wrenched her arm from his grasp, a flurry of furious French exiting from her mouth, all of it insults. “Camille,” he interrupted when she took a breath. “You have to stop letting this bother you.”

  “You were not the one forced to ride in the back of the train next to a cart of stinking, dirty animals! Did the smell of manure nearly make you faint? No! You were not forced to share a space with others not hardly bigger than a water closet.” Her delicate nostrils flared. “And for you to call me your servant and give that horrid man that lascivious look.”

  “What did you expect me to do? He was already suspicious when he saw us together!”

  Rounder took off his hat and dragged his fingers through his hair. The whole situation had been awful. The last leg of their trip, which, for the most part had been uneventful, had exploded when a conductor, coming to collect their tickets, had given an eye to the way they sat close together in the near empty car. Citing train policy that Injuns and Negros rode in the back, he waited for Camille to comply, the man’s blue eyes filled with disdain.

  Camille had looked back at him as she waited for him to defend her rightful position as his wife, which was by his side, and tell the conductor to leave.

  Rounder had to choose rapidly between two decisions. Demand the man honor his wife or capitulate to the man’s barely hidden bigotry. He’d chosen latter, not because he wanted to. If anything, he wanted to throw the conductor out on his ear but knew he couldn’t. Perky and Cyril, before they left a couple of days earlier had received a message from Red that another body had been taken.

  The case and all its intricacies had to come first.

  “You should have stood up to him. I am your wife!” she yelled, her voice loud enough to draw a few heads in their direction.

  “And I make no secret of that,” he retorted, angry now himself. The reality of her being his wife had cast his mind into a chaotic storm since their wedding ceremony in Archie’s office. He’d yet to find an exit to that emotional upheaval. “But if I had told him that, you know he would have removed us from the train.”

  “But—”

  “You wanted this, Camille,” he reminded her, shoving his hat back upon his head. “It was you who insisted that your gift would be what this investigation needed. Archie protested vehemently about your fortitude and your lack of training but you insisted on this.”

  Her cheeks flamed like red roses.

  “Haven’t your sisters written anything to you about being an agent?” He queried, unaware he had taken hold of her with both hands and had drawn her closer to him. “Did you think it would be some sort of adventure?” He gave her a slight shake which made her bonnet go askew. “What we do is dangerous, Camille and the sacrifices we make are meant for the protection of others.”

  Her peach-hued mouth quivered and a single tear trailed down her cheek.

  “Yes, you were humiliated.” He gentled his grip and tone. “Yes, you were shamed. I felt that shame with you. But what did you tell me? What was the driving force behind your reasons?”

  In a thin watery voice, she answered, “It’s a desecration to disturb the bodies of deceased loved ones. The dead deserve their resting places.”

  “If I had succumbed to the dictates of pride, we would still be trying to find our way here. Do you understand?”

  Another tear rolled down her cheek and he released her. “Remember, there are two types of people in this world, Camille. Predators and prey. Are you going to let someone dictate your place or are you going to determine that for yourself?”

  “You folks must be new around here or crazy.”

  The voice came from behind. Rounder pivoted and meet the green-eyed gaze of a man with a narrow, thin face and who was dressed impeccably in a dark brown new suit and tie. He exhibited an air of sophistication that was out of place in a town like Lantern.

  “We are new, Mister—?”

  “Fremont.” The man extended his hand. “Carl Fremont, attorney at law.”

  Mr. Fremont’s eyes drifted to Camille. Rounder drew her up against him. “My wife, Mrs. Addison.”

  “Indeed?” Carl cocked his head. “Well, the good state of Texas was always a law unto itself.”

  A muscle leapt in Rounder’s jaw at the slight. It was a subtle reminder that his and Camille’s marriage was considered a crime according to the state’s anti-miscegenation laws.

  “Mr. Fremont.” Though bedraggled, Camille gave the lawyer a frosty stare from her golden eyes.

  Perhaps something of her disdain made it to the man because he shifted his gaze back to Rounder. “Perhaps ya’ll haven’t heard. Fever struck Lantern not too long ago. Might not be the best idea to come visiting right now.”

  Almost as if against his will, Carl’s eyes were drawn to his wife again. “You’re from one of the tropic areas, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me, my wife and I have an appointment.”

  Without saying goodbye, Rounder hedged around the man and continued their way. A movement from his peripheral vision revealed that Carl Fremont had crossed the street to enter the saloon.

  Underneath her breath, he heard Camille let out a slew of incoherent, indignant French. Though he didn’t understand what she was saying, he comprehended her feelings quite well.

  He must have been mad to enter this strange liaison with Camille. Her revelations had befuddled his wits. Knowing that his instincts had been correct made the threat of her even more menacing.

  In the past several days, they had spent much time together. He learned of her home in t
he West Indies and the life she and her sisters led there. The train ride and then stagecoaches where the trains didn’t lead had been filled with a peculiar kind of sharing. She spoke of her family with great affection, a little smile curving her delightful mouth.

  “Arielle’s soul is gold and flame. Of all of God’s children, I’m sure she must be one of His brightest that He can see from his throne,” she told him once as they sat alone in a train car. “Trailing a wake of fire as she moves about the earth.”

  Throughout their travels, he found himself intrigued by her view this ability gave her. “And your other sister? The mathematician?”

  “Her soul is brushed with silver and edge with soft snow.” Her words carried a lyrical quality he enjoyed in poetry. “Detached but so capable.”

  Though he tried to keep most of their conversation focused on Pinkerton training, unwilling, there were times when Camille probed him to reveal part of himself. “You know everything important about me, Rounder,” she’d complained once when he evaded a question of hers. “Why won’t you tell me about yourself.”

  He’d grunted. “I rarely talk of myself.”

  “But I’m your wife!”

  “In name only. A business colleague if we are to be truthful. Nothing more or less. Don’t ever forget that,” he warned her. Or, maybe he’d warned himself. The daily intimacy of her constant presence had worn at some part of him. The barriers he’d erected over a lifetime had started to loosen from their foundation.

  A quote from Machiavelli’s The Prince floated in is mind: “Everyone sees what you appear to be. Few experience who you really are.”

  Had Machiavelli Camille Bradford in mind when he penned those words. Of course not, but her ability was a perfect expression of that illustration. She could see the color of a person’s soul, feel its depth. So why had he pushed their collaboration when every cell in his body screamed that to do would be to bring certain destruction to his life?

  Rounder didn’t want Camille to experience who he really was. His true nature was known by only one person– himself. The only other person who had known the real him had died in the Chicago fire so his secrets and sins were his burdens to bear alone.

  Only in the darkest part of the night since Camille had shared her secret with him, when the nightmares disturbed his sleep, he wondered what would the color of his soul impart about his character? Would it matter?

  “Rounder! Wait, please!!”

  Camille’s voice brought him out of his inner thoughts. A quick glance around showed he’d left her behind, and she had to run to catch up. Though disheveled, it was difficult to think of her as a predator when she looked so lovely. She stood heaving, her black hair messy and flyway under the bonnet which hardly contained its mass. Her rosy cheeks showed signs of her exertion.

  With effort, he took his regard away and found himself at a cross street. Across the way, a large mansion with square rigid pillars stood in the sunlight, beautiful and dignified like a titled lady.

  “It looks like we’ve arrived at the mayor’s mansion if Perky’s description is anything to go by.”

  “ ‘A big ole white house. You can’t miss it’” Camille mimicked in a fair rendition of Perky’s drawl although it was mostly ruined by her accent.

  A burst of laughter erupted from his mouth. “You did that rather well.”

  Camille froze, her golden eyes bearing a heavy scrutiny. “As angry I am with you, I must say that that sight of your smile is most…interesting. I didn’t know you could.”

  The smile melted away. Declining to respond, he said. “Are you ready?”

  She smoothed her dainty hand down the wrinkled, travel worn fabric of her dress. Then she stuffed the flyway wisps of her hair under the bonnet and straightened it. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Rounder extended his arm and she hooked her hand around it. Though slight the weight of it, he was aware of its presence. Was this how a fly felt in a spider’s web? Held and imprisoned by a strand of silk so soft and yet, impossible to escape from?

  Again, his father’s words echoed in his mind. “You’re not like the rest of humanity so you must ascertain that your disguise remains in place. Never let anyone get too close to you. It would be a detriment to your survival.”

  They crossed the street and walked up the wide stairs to the door. He tugged on the bell rope and listened to the echoing sound of it from within the house. A few seconds later, a maid opened the door.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Addison,” the maid greeted. “Mayor Burke is ready to receive you.”

  Ushering them in the home, the sight of the highly polished staircase that led upstairs met his eyes. Next to it a long narrow hallway led to inner confines of the mansion. Taking their light outer garments, as a winter in southern Texas was wildly distinct from one in Colorado, the timid maid led them down the corridor to a door on their left. She gave a brief knock and then opened the door.

  “Thank you,” a light feminine voice said. “Show our guests in.”

  “Yes, Mayor Burke.” The maid stood aside and allowed them entry.

  A woman with bright golden hair, pale creamy skin, and dark eyes came toward them. “Thank you so for coming. I’m Mayor Burke.” Her voice bore a husky quality to it. There were several other women all who looked upon them with friendly interest.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Rounder took the proffered hand. “My wife, Camille Addison.”

  Camille inclined her head in greeting. “Mayor Burke.”

  “Please sit.” Mayor Burke gestured toward the table where several other women sat. “We appreciate your help. I tried to invite Perky and Cyril to our meeting but they refused to come. However, they both informed me that you would be the best person to figure out why the bodies of our dearly departed loved ones are being stolen.”

  “I will certainly do everything I can, Mayor Burke.”

  “Please sit and let me introduce you.”

  A brief round of introductions ensued. It turned out all women in the room were cousins by relation. Patience, the sheriff; Grace, the owner of a livery; Hope, a rancher who wore men’s britches; Charity, another rancher; and Honor, the town doctor that Perky and Cyril had referred to.

  Once all seated, Mayor Burke, whose first name was Faith clasped her hands together. “Our town is small, but we are growing, Mr. Addison,” Mayor Burke assured him. “Only a few years ago, our town stood on the brink of disaster as we waited for our husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers, to come home from the War. For some of us, they never came.”

  The woman’s throat moved convulsively, as if operating under some strong emotion. “But now,” she said with an obvious effort of optimism, “Lantern is beginning to flourish again. It’s both a blessing and curse, however. A growing population means more opportunities for a certain element to enter into the town that may cause mischief.”

  “Faith!” Patience leapt up from her seat. “Don’t start that again!”

  The law woman’s body bristled, her hand clenched at her sides.

  “Sheriff,” the mayor spoke in a soft voice that one would use to calm an upset child. “This is not a castigation of you. But you have to admit you need help. Just look at the gang of ruffians that have taken residence at the saloon.”

  “Ruffians?” Rounder leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “A gang of no-goods that’s been spending most of their time at the saloon,” Grace, the livery owner pushed her thick, chocolate brown hair behind her ear. “They’ve been here since before the fair, and consequently, the fever that came to Lantern.”

  “Do you have any names?”

  “The leader seems to be a man called Michael Dellwood but from what I’ve, he goes by the name ‘Crawley’.” The sheriff let out a breath and then sat down again. “There’s a slim, tall man they all call Sticks.”

  “Sticks?” The lady doctor called Honor leaned forward in her seat, her hand clutched on the arms. “I’m not too sure about him.�
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  “What about him?”

  Honor glanced off to the side, focusing on something only she could see. “A couple of the girls from the saloon came to me with… injuries. They both said it didn’t appear as if he’d hurt them on purpose. Was profuse in his apologies but still…”

  “Yes?” Rounder prompted when she let the silence linger.

  “Let’s just say we should keep an eye on him.”

  The sheriff cleared her throat. “With Sticks are two brothers, identical twins named Larry and Barry. Larry has hair, Barry doesn’t. A short, fat man with a finger missing on one hand called Pinky. I’ve checked all the wanted posters and sent a message to the US Marshal’s office about them but so far, they’ve been quiet.”

  “What did the US Marshal say?”

  “Haven’t heard anything back yet so you can bet I’m keeping a close eye on them.”

  Rounder churned over the information. It was possible they were outlaws hiding out in a small non-descript town like Lantern. Could they be making mischief because they were bored? It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Have you any reason for suspecting them of stealing the bodies?”

  Patience shook her head. “No. But my instincts tell me different but until I can prove it…,” she shrugged.

  Rounder understood. “Well, a Pinkerton can go places where the law can’t. That is, if you’ll allow me.”

  “Us,” Camille interjected.

  Rounder slid a glance her way. He’d have it out with her later. She could assist with the investigation in a non-confrontational way only. But he would be going by himself when he checked the saloon.

  “Are there any other newcomers to town?” his wife asked.

  “We’ve had a few people come to stay. As I’m sure Perky and Cyril told you, we had the fair and rodeo along with a cash prize before the fever struck. About a dozen families decided to stay. Before the fever that is.”

  “And now?”

  “Most left as soon as word of the first death came,” Honor replied. “Not that anyone could blame them. A few stayed.” Using her hand, she ticked off, “A couple of new students carrying satchels of law books, the ruffians, a couple of families, and some others unattached individuals.”