An Undercover Detective's Bride

by Blythe Carver

  Phoebe wouldn’t be turned away from this course of thought, however. Rachel knew better than to think she could turn her around so easily. “Don’t you find him handsome?” she whispered, looking back toward the doorway to be certain they were alone.

  “I have eyes,” Rachel hissed, staring down into her cup, swirling it about.

  “So you see what’s clearly before you, then.” Phoebe giggled softly. “I love my husband, let there be no mistake. I think he’s the handsomest, bravest man alive. Though I suppose I’m partial.”

  “Just a bit.”

  “But that Mason…” Phoebe sighed. “Coming all this way. For you. I suppose you made quite an impression on him.”

  “Would you please stop? This is the last thing on my mind.” Her hands shook so, the cup clattered against the saucer as she replaced it.

  Phoebe must have found her expression alarming, for she joined her at the table. “Oh, dearest, forgive me. You must find a way to put this behind you.”

  “Would you be able to?” she asked. “When you go on and on about how handsome Mason is, does it occur to you that I can’t look at him without remembering the moment I shot him?”

  “You didn’t know—”

  “I might have killed him. If I’d moved just an inch or two to the left, the bullet might have gone through his heart rather than his shoulder. He would be dead. And I would never know there was another man out there, looking for me. Waiting to kill me.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “I do know!” she gasped, only holding back a scream for fear of alarming the others in the house. “I know he came to the house to kill me, or at least to beat me. Now? He came all this way for more than a beating, Phoebe, and you know it. I know it. Let’s stop lying for heaven’s sake.”

  Phoebe’s eyes welled. “I don’t mean to belittle your feelings. I don’t mean to take this lightly. I only wanted to ease your mind. Mason is here. He has a plan. Your life is important to him, and that makes him rather important to me. He just so happens to be rather dashing and handsome for all that.”

  This brought a smile to Rachel’s lips. “He is, rather.”

  “So you noticed.”

  “You must be joking. I noticed in Baltimore, for heaven’s sake. Whenever he came into the office, I could hardly breathe. He was so…”

  “Charming?”

  “Yes.”

  “He made you smile and blush and feel fluttery inside?”

  “Yes. Yes. Certainly, yes.” Even remembering those moments left her with that same fluttery, breathless feeling.

  A slight smile played on Phoebe’s lips.

  Then, the feeling faded. Rachel frowned. “He only visited the office to send telegrams to his uncle. He would’ve been just as charming toward anyone else who happened to be employed there.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “Yes. I am.” This didn’t mean she wanted to believe it, however. Now that she knew his intentions had been pure all along, she couldn’t help but warm toward him more than ever.

  And she wished she wouldn’t, because she was nothing but a mission to him. Someone to save. Someone he felt responsible for, as it had been his fault she’d ever learned of an E. Byrne to begin with.

  If there had ever been a chance of Mason feeling something deeper, those chances had been blown to pieces when she’d put a bullet in him.

  Cate and Holly entered, carrying between them a basket laden with folded sheets. “I can take fresh sheets to Mr. Murphy,” Holly offered. “His bed will be in need of changing.”

  “I think Rachel ought to do it,” Cate grinned, ducking her head in a pitiful attempt at hiding her expression.

  “Does everyone here harbor the silly notion of there being anything between Mr. Murphy and myself?” she asked, glaring at her sisters.

  “Why not?” Cate asked. “You’ve always had a romantic nature, perhaps not so much as myself, an actress, or as Phoebe. But it’s there. You were quick to see the special bond between Molly and Lewis. And you said yourself that you thought Rance putting Phoebe in jail was purely providential.”

  Phoebe’s brows lowered menacingly. “Oh, you did, did you?”

  “How does it suit you?” Rachel asked, feeling rather smug. “And in your case, I was right. It was providence that brought you two together.”

  “No reason for it not to be providence in this case, then.” Phoebe took a set of sheets and a pair of pillowcases from the top of the deep basket and held them out to her sister with a wide, sickeningly sweet smile. “It would be a tremendous help if you could take these up to Mr. Murphy. Perhaps he might sit up by the window while you change the bed.”

  She was beat, and no doubt about it. Little sense in arguing, for it would only make her seem more and more guilty of having developed an affection for the man.

  She marched up the stairs, determined to perform her duty and be done with it. Changing the bed did not call for conversation, nor did it give them reason to spend more time together than they needed to.

  She reached the hall, stopping just short of the bedroom door. It was open a crack, allowing voices to drift out toward her. One was the deep voice of a grown man.

  The other was decidedly higher in pitch, and full of its typical enthusiasm.

  Of course. Martha had errands to attend to while her boarders went about their positions in town. There had been no one home to keep watch on him, so she had left him in Phoebe’s care for the morning.

  It seemed safe enough, highly unlikely a child of his age would have the opportunity to share important information with anyone outside the household. He hadn’t the slightest idea who Mr. Murphy was or why he was important.

  Just the same, they’d decided to keep him as unaware as possible. He was only a child and like most children, content to live in his own little world. Grown-up matters held little appeal for him.

  How Rachel sometimes wished she could be that fortunate. How she wished she could retreat to a world of childhood concerns, to a time when she had no understanding of what the world could be like.

  “My Uncle Rance catches bad men,” Jesse explained in a hushed tone.

  “Oh, does he now?” There was just enough awe in Mason’s voice.

  “Mm-hmm. He’s the best there is. One day, I’m gonna be sheriff just like him. And I’ll wear a badge, and I’ll carry a gun. Bad men had better watch out for me.” How fierce he sounded. How determined to wipe these so-called bad men out of existence.

  Rachel bit her lip, straining to hold back her laughter.

  Mason, on the other hand, seemed to take the matter quite seriously. He did not laugh. He didn’t advise Jesse to turn his thoughts to other matters. Instead, he made a thoughtful sound. “It’s important for young men to decide early on in life what it is they wish to choose as a vocation.”

  “What’s a vocation?”

  “It’s something like a job, only more than that. Young men who deliver fresh meats or milk or the daily newspaper perform a job. It is not their vocation. It does not take their heart or their imagination or their every waking moment. When you’re a sheriff, like your Uncle Rance, it means always being willing to help the people you protect no matter what time of the day or night. It means always thinking of them, always trying to do what’s best for them. A deliveryman can simply go home at the end of the day, and that’s that. He isn’t often thinking about his job once he’s away from it, whereas a lawman or a detective, like myself, must always be thinking. We must devote a great deal of our lives to our vocation. Do you understand?”

  “It’s like when my mama complained that Uncle Rance wouldn’t come home for supper. She would say things like, he needs to learn to leave work in the jailhouse and tend to his life outside. Is that what you mean?”

  “Clever young man. That is exactly the sort of thing I mean. It takes a lot of dedication to be a detective or a lawman. You must really want to do it.”

  “I do, I do. I want to make sure that men l
ike the man who shot my uncle go to jail for what they do. It isn’t right for people to hurt other people. If a bad man hurts somebody, I want to put him in jail and throw away the key!”

  Mason did chuckle at this. “I must admit, that is my favorite thing to do. When I find a bad man and catch him and put him in jail. It makes me feel like all of the work was worth it. I made a difference.”

  Jesse gasped. “You mean you do that, too? Putting bad men in jail?”

  “Certainly. That’s part of my duty.”

  “Have you caught lots of bad men?”

  The wonder in his voice. Rachel could imagine how wide his eyes were, how enrapt his expression. Hero worship was a powerful thing in a young boy.

  “I’ve tried. I’ve caught a few, but it sometimes takes a while to catch up to somebody, and then catch them while they’re doing something I can put them in jail for. I have to learn how to be smarter than them, since lots of bad men know how to disguise what they’re doing. They know how to make it look like they aren’t doing anything wrong. Do you understand?”

  He was so patient, so willing to take his time and explain in terms a boy could understand. Some men would ignore him, treat him as little more than a nuisance with his questions and his boundless energy. Not Mason. He took him seriously, the way a child wished to be taken.

  “Like how I sometimes sneak into the kitchen when Mama is busy and take a cookie from the jar? I don’t want her to know I’m doing it, because I know I’ll get in trouble. But sometimes I just really want to have a cookie, and I know she won’t let me because it will spoil my supper.”

  Mason laughed. “Something like that.”

  “Would you… have her put me in jail for that?”

  Rachel’s heart ached for the poor boy. He was so innocent, so sweet. And so very worried.

  Mason handled it beautifully. “No, I’ve never heard a story of a boy going to jail for taking a cookie from the jar after his Mama told him not to. If that were the case, a great many boys—and girls—would be in jail this very minute. Just you make certain though that cookies are the only things you sneak. That is harmless enough, though it might not be so harmless to your appetite.”

  “I promise,” Jesse vowed, sounding very grave.

  “Then I see no reason why you should ever have to go to jail. Just be a good boy, and a good man. I’m sure your uncle and your mama are doing their best to show you the way.”

  “And Aunt Phoebe. She is so nice. All the pretty ladies living here right now are so nice.”

  “That they are.”

  What Mason truly thought about this, Rachel could not say. There was no telling from his tone, though he still sounded amused.

  It was time to put this to an end. Rachel cleared her throat and walked with a heavier tread than usual so as to announce her approach. She swung open the door and did her best to appear surprised when she found Jesse bouncing at the end of the bed. “Oh, excuse me. I was unaware of a meeting taking place here.”

  “That’s all right,” Jesse assured her with a gap-toothed grin. “You can come in.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I’ve really come to change the sheets on the bed. Perhaps Mr. Murphy would enjoy a walk downstairs, where I know your Aunt Phoebe is making a batch of cookies in the oven. Gingersnap, your favorite.”

  Jesse was off the bed and out of the room in a flash, hurtling down the stairs.

  They shared a laugh.

  “He reminds me a great deal of myself,” Mason confided, removing the pillows from the bed with his good right hand without waiting to be asked for help. His left arm was in a sling, and likely would be for quite some time as his wound healed. She did her best to avert her eyes, hoping in vain to avoid the reminder of how she’d hurt him.

  “Were you the sort of boy you hunted for toads and garter snakes and field mice?” she teased.

  “Only when I wasn’t creating mischief,” he admitted. He helped her work the sheets from the bed. It was not exactly a difficult task, but she enjoyed his company just the same. “I suppose all such talk is foreign to you, being a girl raised around other girls.”

  “Is that what you think? Do not be fooled. Young girls can get into mischief of their own. I remember Phoebe and Molly teaching me to climb trees in my brand new, starched pinafore. It was my sixth birthday, and Mama was holding a party for me and the daughters of her friends. Everything had to be perfect, right down to the ribbons in our hair. Everything I wore was brand new, stockings, shoes, and I ruined it all simply because I could not wait to learn to climb a tree. I always suspected the girls chose that day in particular just as a way of getting me into trouble.”

  Mason chuckled. “You think they deliberately ruined your clothing so you would be punished?”

  “I can admit it, I was terrible as a child. Always careful to do the right thing, always telling our mama on the other girls whenever they committed the slightest infraction. Always threatening to tell her when they broke the rules. Little wonder they wanted to turn the tables on me.”

  “I was an only child, so I don’t know what it means to have siblings threatening to tell my mother of what I did behind her back. I suppose that’s for the best.”

  She fluffed the pillows, no more interested in him than ever. What was his life? What led him to work he did? Vocation, to be sure, just as he’d described it to Jesse. But why?

  “I suppose I owe it to my uncle,” he mused.

  “Owe what?”

  “Where I am today, not here, necessarily,” he chuckled. “I owe it to him that I never found myself in prison.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “I would never imagine you the sort.”

  “I believe he came into my life at just the right time. I could have gone one way, or I could have gone another. My mother passed away, my father already having died when I was only three years old. By the time I was fifteen, I was quite full of myself. I thought I had life pretty well figured out by then. When my mother passed, I was convinced that I could take care of myself. I had fallen in with a gang of less than reputable young men and might have taken my association with them too far where it not for Uncle Robert’s interference.”

  “Is that when he took you into the agency?”

  “It is.” He sat in the little chair by the bed, looking out through the open window. “I wanted nothing less than I wanted to be there, let me tell you. It was my version of a living nightmare. Working in an office, shuffling papers about on a desk. Answering to other people, performing little tasks, running errands, making deliveries. Yet it taught me a great deal about being a man. About making a promise and sticking to it. I promised my uncle in the early days that I would do my best for him so long as he kept a roof over my head and clothing on my back, food in my belly and a fire by which to sleep at night. Doing my best meant getting along with everyone in the agency and finding my place there. Being of use to somebody. I’m afraid I never learned how to do that as a boy—my mother’s family came from money, and she made certain to leave a great deal of it for me—but I was not permitted to touch it until I turned twenty-one. Perhaps my uncle only wished to be certain that I would not squander the money once it came into my possession.”

  “Were it not for him?” He shook his head with a snicker. “I’m certain it would all be gone by now. And I would be no better off for it.”

  This was fascinating. He seemed such an upright sort of gentleman. Never would she have believed him to have come to close to a bad end. “You seem to be quite good at your job. What I mean is, you seem to be a natural at it. As if it isn’t very difficult for you.”

  He looked from the window to where she bent over the bed, spreading a sheet over the mattress. Their eyes met, and she looked away, embarrassed. As if fearing what he might find if their eyes remained locked for too long.

  “I wouldn’t call it easy. But, according to my uncle and several of the other agents, I took to it quite easily. Perhaps because I had been observing from outside for several
years before they gave me the opportunity to prove myself. I was twenty years of age before I finally earned the right to call myself a detective.”

  “Like one of the Pinkertons,” she suggested.

  His laughter was like music. It sent joy racing through her veins to hear it, though she was uncertain as of yet whether he laughed at her or with her.

  She didn’t care either way.

  “Don’t ever let my uncle hear you say that,” he laughed, slapping his knee. “He only wishes his agency was in league with the Pinkertons. They are his biggest rival.”

  Her cheeks colored. “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t. I take no offense. For what it’s worth, while I appreciate the start my uncle gave me in life, I don’t know that I wish to remain with him, in Pittsburgh. Not for the rest of my life. Not necessarily.”

  How she wished her heart would not flutter when he said things like this. “Do you have any thoughts as to where you would rather spend your life?”

  He tipped his head to the side in a thoughtful manner. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he confessed. “I might need a bit more time before I make a decision.”

  Now, what did that mean?

  “Rachel! Did you tell this boy I would give him gingersnaps if he came downstairs and left you alone?” The sound of Phoebe’s accusatory tone as she shouted up the stairs sent Rachel into a furious bout of blushing, which Mason had the decency to pretend not to notice.

  Though no matter how thick or full his beard, could not hide the smile he tried to conceal.

  14

  Mason thought he understood now how an animal felt when it was kept in a cage.

  He had already gone a long way toward getting his strength back, his strong constitution having something to do with that.

  Phoebe’s good cooking went the rest of the way, it was impossible to resist her stews, pies, and dumplings as light as air. A man would be hard-pressed not to recover from illness with so many people taking such good care of him.

  Yet he could not venture from the house. He couldn’t even step out onto the porch. There was too much danger, too many chances of someone seeing him and recognizing him as the man who’d been shot in Henry Lawrence’s saloon.