Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1)

by Jessica Keller

  He snatched one of Aunt’s tea biscuits from her abandoned plate. “How so?” Crumbs scattered across his shirt, he brushed at them with the back of his hand.

  “The main character had an enviable position. She did not need to marry because her father’s wealth kept her in the highest reaches of society, but she did marry. For love. The man she ended up with was her truest friend. When they wed, she didn’t burden him in the union, instead, she brought with her more wealth. It is romantic, but it is not a true-to-life portrait.”

  James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What rang false? Don’t you want to marry for love?”

  Ellen snorted. An unladylike sound, to be sure. But with only James there, who cared. “I won’t be able to bring great wealth to any match, and I have no longtime friend to sweep me off my feet. But yes, it might not look like Emma’s marriage, but I do plan to wed.” She lowered her voice to make him a co-conspirator in her plan. “In fact, I will be engaged within the next month if I have my way.”

  “The next month!” He jerked back and his eyebrows rose. “You’re teasing me. I know you aren’t courting anyone at the moment, and half-pint, as beguiling as you can be, only the strongest magic could work such a miracle.”

  Ellen crossed her arms and glared at him. “I’m quite serious, James.”

  His brows knit together. The face she knew so well, that Ellen admitted was a handsome one, paled. “But who? Really, Ellen, speak plainly with me. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  She peeked over her shoulder, making certain that Aunt Louisa remained out of earshot. “The name of the man is yet to be determined. But I will not return to my mother’s house. I am determined to find a match during our visit.”

  James sighed. “Is this about your stepfather?”

  Yes. “Of course not. I’m nineteen and my scores from finishing school guarantee I’m ready to run a household.”

  “But listen, you can’t expect all that to happen during a month-long visit in Chicago.”

  “I plan to start my hunt tonight at Silas Cobb’s ball. He’s the richest man in Chicago, and Aunt Louisa says there will be scads of eligible bachelors there.” She snapped to her feet and grabbed James’s hand. “Practice the waltz with me?”

  His arm hung limp from her grasp. He didn’t stand. “You don’t need practice. Didn’t you just say your scores from Madame De Molineus were exemplary?”

  “Yes, we learned the steps, but it’s an all-girls institution. Madame partnered me with Tessa Lockwood and she had a pitiful limp. I suffered countless bruises to my toes on Tessa’s account. I want to see how the dance feels when it’s performed with the right sort of partner. If I show up tonight and make a fool of myself, more than just my feet will ache. Now get up.” Ellen gave his arm a yank and James yelped.

  “For such a little thing you’re stronger than you look.” He rubbed his shoulder as a grin tugged at his lips. Instead of fighting her though, he stepped away from the furniture and motioned for her to follow. Next, he put his arms out in proper form and bowed his head slightly.

  Ellen played with the watch attached to her dress. “Right here? Without any music?”

  James smiled. Never one to show his teeth, just his lips lifted, but the effect made his green eyes soft and welcoming. “You did want to waltz, did you not? Now or never, half-pint.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She swatted at his chest, but then stepped into his hold. Ellen slipped her right hand so it rested in James’s strong left hand, then he moved his right hand to cup her waist. His warmth radiated up her back. Ellen licked her lips.

  Heat raced to her cheeks as she placed her left hand on his right shoulder. It shouldn’t surprise her how solid he felt. He’d been a member of the rowing team during his time at Northwestern University and she knew he dedicated hours to athletic pursuit, but she had never been close enough to any man to feel their muscles. Well, besides hugging Lewis, but brothers didn’t count—especially lanky ones.

  He titled his head a fraction. “Just promise me we’ll do something manly like play chess afterwards.”

  She looked up and her gaze locked with his green eyes. They were so close. Inches away. Good thing she was practicing with James instead of feeling out of sorts sharing personal space for the first time with another man at her first ball. Would she embarrass herself completely? Ellen bit her lip.

  James leaned closer—if that was possible. “You know the basic box-step, correct?”

  Unable to speak, she nodded. From this near she could see two freckles on his neck, usually hidden beneath his collar. A small L-shaped scare on his left cheek brought back memories of playing pirates by the river. James had taken a sword … er … branch to the face to gain that battle wound.

  “Okay. Now, one, two, three, one, two three.” He started the dance, his shoulders in the ideal position. Parallel to the ground instead of slumped like Madame De Molineus had cautioned many young men were apt to do. If his posture begins to sink, decorum dictates that you complete the dance, but make certain you never accept his hand again. A man who slumps when courting will end up proving to be a lazy husband every time.

  James Kent could dance. How many young women had he held in his arms like this? Why did the number that popped into Ellen’s head bother her?

  With a stumble, Ellen stepped on his toe. He winced. Then she stopped, and James bumped against her.

  He caught her by the upper arm and gave a small squeeze. “You’ll do fine tonight. Just don’t be so nervous and remember to let the man lead.”

  “At least then I can blame any stumbles on him.”

  “That’s the trick.” He offered his arm.

  “Will you dance the first one at the party with me?” A woman really shouldn’t ask, but this was only James. “Then if I make any mistakes, at least it’ll be just you.”

  “Of course.” He pulled a chair out for her. “Now, I do believe we have a game of chess waiting.”

  Ten minutes later James looked across the table, meeting her giggles with a dumbfounded stare.

  She snatched his white king. “Don’t look so woebegone. A man may enjoy the lead on the dance floor, but around the game table, a woman’s mind wins out.”

  “Even though I know you’ve always been clever with puzzles, it’s hard to believe you could slaughter me in two moves.” He rubbed his temples as he examined the board.

  “Did I make your head ache?”

  “Oh. Don’t mind me. I’m trying to figure out how you cheated.”

  Ellen banged her fist on the table with such force the chess pieces toppled over. “I didn’t cheat! That move is called a fool’s mate.”

  “Which would make me the fool?”

  “You said the words.”

  He pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves. “I think I may have to study more before I demand a rematch.”

  “Chess is a simple game, really. I like it because it follows a formula and rules. With each move you can examine the board and know with certainty what your opponent’s next move will be.”

  “Funny. I’ve always considered chess a game of chance.” James tapped the chessboard. “You’re something else, Ellen Ingram. Your mind works four times faster with information than any man of my acquaintance. I’d put money on you in a chess match against anyone.”

  “Do you know they are holding the first world chess competition in Europe this summer?” Ellen leaned her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her hand.

  “And if they allowed women, I’m sure you’d be the champion.” He rose, stretching to his full height. “Well, half-pint, it’s been amusing but I have some errands before this bash at Cobb’s tonight. I assume I’m to escort you?”

  “Aunt Louisa says you must, since I know no one in Chicago, and Lewis is away. You are the closest person I have to family in town. Unless, of course, there is another lady you wish to escort.” She followed him out of the room and into the hallway.

  He plucked h
is beaver-skinned top hat off the of the hat tree and reached for the door. “I’ll call for you at a quarter to nine.” He tapped the end of her nose. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “I’ll always keep you waiting.” She laughed and swatted his hand away.

  James sighed. “I know that all too well.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chicago, April 27, 1886

  Perched on the second-story window, James gripped the crumbling sill. At least the anarchists held their meeting facing the alley. What might the drunks teetering down the road at this end of town bellow if they saw him squatting on the eight-inch ledge, with his ear pressed to the half-inch opening? At least if he tumbled, the rats and rubbish below might break his fall. The smell of waste, overrun from the outhouses after the earlier storm, made him gag.

  Wind whipped down the street, sending bulletins and newspapers tumbling into the alley. He pressed closer to the building. It would serve him right if he fell and cracked his head on the ground. He didn’t consider himself ace spy material. Not that anyone would miss him if something terrible happened. That considered, maybe that’s what made him perfect spy material.

  Only tonight, after this escapade, he’d return to the secure world of banking and hang up his spy hat forever. He just needed enough information to prove Hugh wrong. Lewis couldn’t be the villain Hugh claimed. Impossible.

  Soot covered the walls of the buildings near the south end of the City. The 1881 law against dense smoke had been nothing more than a perfunctory gesture to the heavyweights whose mansions ate up the north end of Chicago. But in the vice district and near the stockyards, choking clouds of smoke veiled the night sky, blocking out the hope offered by starlight. Foul smells of death and chemicals radiated from the slaughterhouses, the discarded animal carcasses clogging the Chicago River to almost a standstill.

  A scuffling sound of chairs in the second-story room stilled James’s thoughts. He held his breath and craned to listen. If only he could see inside to make out the meeting’s attendees.

  “Looks like we’re all here. No one was followed?”

  A muttering of “No” answered.

  James angled his body, attempting to see faces through the flimsy curtain. His efforts proved fruitless. Hugh’s warning rang in his ears: “Be covert at all times. The success of the Cygnus Brotherhood depends upon you.”

  The problem was James didn’t much like being depended on.

  A gruff voice cleared his throat inside the room. “The wheels are in motion. Workers won’t stand this treatment for much longer.”

  “Indeed. The seeds of anarchy will only require the blood of a few to take root. Our time is now.”

  A round of table thumping and raucous cheers ensued.

  “But what will an overthrow of our employers really do to better our lot in life? My entire family—wife and three children—work twelve hours a day and we’ve naught to show for it.”

  “Precisely! Your question is the core of our existence. We start with our employers and spread to the government, first with the overthrow of Chicago, then the State. Without them your family would be better taken care of, but now if you dare speak against the factory owners they sic their bloodhounds with billy-clubs after you.”

  “He’s right. The police have broken every rally and meeting we’ve held since ’84. Talk is no longer enough, it’s time to take action against our tyrants.” Metal mugs clanged together.

  A tingling sensation, like a thousand of Aunt Louisa’s needles prickling him, settled upon James’s left calf. The pain twitched up his leg and pulsed into the back of his head.

  “Are you suggesting we up the ante?”

  “Violence is our only recourse now. The laborers of Chicago need an invitation to revolt.”

  “You’re meeting with Downing at that hoity-toity party on Prairie Avenue, yes?”

  “The Cobb’s annual ball. Yes, I’ll report to Downing and he’ll give the next instructions.”

  “Tell him we’re ready. Our bombers and assassins are trained. There are many willing to step forward for the task of individual reappropriation.”

  “Individual what-now?”

  “Burglary, you louse. The wealth needs to be redistributed. It’s time to rise and take what is ours.”

  “This all seems a bit much. When I signed on, we weren’t talking about stealing and murdering.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s the necessary action when the state chooses to repress the working class.”

  That voice.

  James’s heart lurched into his throat and the thump of blood pounded in his ears. He’d know his best friend’s voice anywhere.

  Lewis cleared his throat and his voice filled the room. “Do you believe the government will stand and assist you against your employers? Has the Great Strike of 1877 faded from your memory so quickly? You would be years ahead now if you hadn’t backed down then. Instead your families live in utter squalor, and your wages make you slaves to positions that break you. These measures may seem drastic, but violence is the only remedy for an intolerable society.”

  No. Dear God, no. Not Lewis.

  Sweat pooled inside James’s gloves.

  The best friend James followed to university had been a young man who came to people’s aid before asked and wore a ready smile. Well, up until last October….

  James had to leave. Now.

  Hearing more would only strengthen his doubts.

  James had walked right into the tavern earlier and climbed out onto the window ledge long before the meeting, but waiting ‘til they cleared out would prove to be torture.

  Seizing the edge of his perch, James dropped his legs and dangled a few feet above the ground before releasing his hold. As trained, he landed, knees soft, then took off down the alley. He tripped across a man sleeping on the street corner, then hurdled manure along the dirt street as he ran in the direction of the waiting carriage two blocks away.

  Glancing on both sides of the street, he made certain no one witnessed. Convinced no one loomed in the darkness, James ascended the steps. He pounded three times with an open hand.

  “Enter.” The British accent of Hugh Gunther answered.

  James yanked the door open and tumbled into the seat across from Hugh. In the dim light he could just make out the sharp angular nose, steel-like jawline, and piercing blue eyes of the leader of the Cygnus Brotherhood, a band of men sworn to protect the people of the city.

  “Were we correct about their meeting?”

  “Yes.” James rubbed his leather-clad palms against his trouser thighs. “I heard at least eight different voices. They plan to start using violence to communicate their message from here on out.”

  Hugh castled his hands on top of his cane, the handle shaped like the head of a swan. Without warning, he rapped the butt of the cane three times against the floor. The carriage lurched forward.

  Resting with his thumb against his chin and forefinger wrapped under his nose, Hugh examined James. “Was he there?”

  “I assume you’re referring to Lewis Ingram?”

  “Who else?” Hugh leaned back against the seat. “He’s the entire reason I recruited you.”

  Expelling a breath, James looked out the window as they passed rows of sagging tenement homes. “I couldn’t see anyone, but he was there. I heard Lewis’s voice.”

  Wash lines hung with all manner of tattered, graying clothes between the buildings and dripped onto the alleys below.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course I’m certain. I’ve practically lived with him for the past ten years. I’d know him anywhere. But I’m still not sure I agree with you as to his involvement.” Although Lewis’s speech in the dingy tavern antechamber seemed the most passionate of the lot, James wouldn’t consider his friend a traitor without more proof.

  “Hardships can cause a man to do strange things. You said yourself he’s not handling his grief well. This movement might be his way to deal with his pain. To mask it.”

/>   The carriage jostled over railroad tracks. James grabbed the seat to stay steady. “That’s ludicrous.”

  “Believe me. I know a thing or two about pain.”

  “You’re suggesting that his sister’s death propelled him to turn against the government. That makes a pittance of sense.”

  Hugh’s face remained stoic. “You said yourself that Lewis believes he’s at fault for her demise.”

  James picked at the button on the cushion. “He drove the carriage at the time.”

  “Did they plan any specific attacks at the meeting?”

  “None, just spread incitement, but someone at the meeting will be at Cobb’s tonight and they are scheduled to speak with Downing.”

  Hugh snatched his hat off the seat, then clapped it onto his head. “I knew Downing was a part of this. He’s been envious ever since McCormick opened his factory. Downing believes the property should have gone to him. He thinks McCormick cut a deal with the City. It’s not true—McCormick is an honorable business man, but it’s enough to make Downing turn his hatred into motion for their movement.”

  A church bell rang out, signaling nine o’clock.

  “Where are we headed? I was supposed to pick Ellen up a quarter of an hour ago.” James straightened his tie. Forget scalping, his fiery, raven haired friend would cook up twenty more gruesome and painful ways for him to suffer.

  “By the time we reach the north end of the city, it’ll be too late. We’ll head straight to Cobb’s. You will exit the carriage two blocks away and walk to the house. Once inside, conduct yourself such that everyone present would assume we don’t know each other. Locate Downing and flag him, make sure you know every conversation he has tonight.”

  “Wait a second. I haven’t pledged to be part of your campaign.” James crossed his arms and leaned back into the seat. “Listen, you piqued my interest last week when you told me you thought Lewis was a part of a government uprising. I agreed to spy for you tonight in order to prove you wrong. Now I don’t know what to think, but I’m certainly not committing to anything.”