Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1)

by Jessica Keller

  Suppressing his desire to shake her, James stooped to pick up the suitcase. “I daresay, they heard you pssting all the way in Pennsylvania.” He resumed walking. “Confounded Ellen. How did you recognize me?”

  She tapped the peddler permit badge that glinted on the right pocket of his overcoat. For her to see him in such an outfit! James grumbled as he switched the suitcase to his other hand, accommodating Ellen.

  “Your drummer getup is ostentatious.” She giggled. “Do your spiel for me. Will your elixir cure a cough or clear my complexion or will it make my crops grow to an exceptional height?”

  He spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s supposed to be a disguise.”

  “You’ve got Madagascar oil dripping down your neck.”

  And it smelled like rotten eggs, too. Nice of her not to mention that bit. He pulled off the shiny bowler hat and wiped the back of his neck with his sleeve.

  James glanced up Throop Street and expelled a long breath of pent-up air. The venue for the day’s espionage loomed before him. A crowd swarmed into West Side Park, the long bathtub-shaped piece of land where the Chicago White Stockings played baseball. In the off-season, the park’s usage ranged from circus attractions to high-class society functions.

  James grabbed Ellen by the elbow and led her near the edge of a butcher shop window, out of the way of pedestrian traffic. He made sure to face her away from the skinned meat hanging in plain view. “Where did you come from? I don’t have time to bring you home and accomplish what I need to.”

  “Of course not. That’s why I’m coming with you.” Lips he had kissed pouted.

  Had that only been last night? Hours could change things—but not that. He cursed his weakness when it came to her.

  “You’re certainly not coming with me.” He shook his head. “This isn’t a game, it’s dangerous. Have you so quickly forgotten your forced swimming expedition last night?”

  Shielding her eyes with her hand, she looked at him with those large blue eyes. “Is Lewis involved in all this?” Her eyelashes lowered.

  In an effort to stall, he yanked out his watch. She couldn’t know. Could she? Ellen wouldn’t be mixed up with anarchists. If she were, they wouldn’t have pushed her into the lake.

  “Why do you say that?”

  She jabbed a finger into his ribs. “Simple yes or no answers, please, and remember, I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”

  James set down his suitcase to rub his jaw. “Yes. Lewis is a part of this. And that’s the only reason I agreed to go on assignments. But I’m not about to endanger you in the process.”

  “He’s here in town.” It came out more blurt than statement. She slapped a hand over her mouth.

  James leaned closer to read her face. “You’ve seen him?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Where are you off to?”

  He didn’t have time to argue with her. Returning his watch to his pocket, he glanced ahead to the crowd again. “Buffalo Bill is having an early screening of his Wild West show at West Side Park. Some of the anarchists are rumored to be there, so I need to go and listen.”

  “Excellent. Two pairs of ears will hear more.” She looped her arm through his again and tugged until they reached the street.

  Would she never consider her own safety?

  But his conscience couldn’t stand leaving her alone in the city either.

  He gripped the suitcase handle harder. “Since you’re not in disguise, everyone will know who you are.” He tried to unwind from her grasp. “You shouldn’t hold my arm. You’ll get a fine reputation stepping out with a drummer.”

  Her clutch tightened. “I’m not stepping out with a drummer. I’m stepping out with you.”

  “Are you? Because I could prove just as dangerous.” Visions of black-cloaked spies ran through his mind. Finding a break in traffic, he ushered her across the mud-caked street.

  She gave him a jab with her elbow. “I thought you said you weren’t spying anymore?”

  James glanced at her, shaking his head. “I never said that.”

  “Yes, you did.” She narrowed her eyes.

  He stopped. “When?”

  Ellen squeezed his arm. “Last night.”

  “No, I said we wouldn’t be spying—meaning you.”

  ***

  Humanity packed into the arena. The smell of so many unperfumed bodies made Ellen hold her breath. Keeping an ear open for spies became a difficult task at the Wild West show. Even harder because James refused to tell her what she should listen for.

  Ellen downright forgot about snooping when the horn sounded and a troop of bare-chested Indians paraded past on horses smeared with war paint. A heckling pack of lassoing cowboys and decorated military men hoisting guns thundered after them.

  After that, the bearded Buffalo Bill Cody tossed his hands in the air. “In 1872, I made my stage debut here in Chicago. I’m happy to be back and introduce you to the delights and adventures of the West. You never know, I might even add something special for my favorite city.”

  Applause and a smattering of hollers punctuated his speech.

  Sharpshooters Annie Oakley and Lillian Smith, or as Cody called her—California Girl—took the stage. Ellen leaned forward. A machine spit out clay pigeons. Annie and California Girl took aim, striking the plate thirty times in fifteen seconds. Ellen’s nails bit harder into the edge of the wooden bench with each shot.

  Could the people James faced be that good with a gun? The hairs rose on Ellen’s arms. He was right, this wasn’t a game. James was a banker—pressed suits and shined shoes were his specialties, not guns and fighting.

  James touched her hand. “I’m going to sneak around back and see if I can find anything suspicious. Please—for the love of all things good—stay put. If someone approaches you, scream like a banshee.”

  What if the bad guys toted long rifles like Buffalo Bill’s showmen? James might not have exaggerated the danger. She dug her nails into his arm when he moved to leave. “Do you have a gun on you?”

  Someone hollered for James to sit down.

  “I’ll be fine,” he whispered.

  “When will you be back?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fifteen minutes. I’ll keep an eye on you. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t move.”

  The pounding hooves of a horserace on the field captured her attention as James worked his way down the aisle of seated people.

  Ellen glanced at the doorway James had disappeared through. Had fifteen minutes passed? What if he didn’t return? She bit her lip.

  She never promised to stay put.

  ***

  James peeled off the restraining overcoat and discarded it near the end of the row. With fast steps, he pressed close to the canvas tent wall near where performers queued. He held his breath as he walked past Cody’s men. However, with so many participating in the show, no one noticed his presence.

  James continued to the back lot where the sideshows preformed. He scanned the groups of people. What did an anarchist look like? Would they be dressed in shabby rags, huddled together in conversation? He had no idea how to act if he saw Lewis. He’d warn him for certain. Or maybe he’d gag Lewis and drag him back to Wheaton. He couldn’t allow his friend to become more tangled in this business than he already was.

  With that resolve, James pressed onward, his ear tilted to home in on conversations.

  “Step right up and watch a feat of strength!” A robed man hollered from the doorway of a flapping tent. James ducked inside. Dank warmth filled the small dark space as people pushed to get a better view of the little stage.

  “Where will the meeting be tonight?” A hoarse voice whispered somewhere behind James. He pivoted. Eyes still on the performing troop, his body leaned to hear the low tones of the three men grouped together.

  “The Rat Palace.”

  “Will Downing make his report?”

  Downing! Imagine his luck. James wanted to leap into the air. If he had a cane like Hugh, he would have
grabbed the handle extra hard to celebrate the moment.

  “Yes. Nine o’clock then.”

  He’d heard enough and had left Ellen alone too long. He exited the tent and jogged back to the main arena. Ellen had used her blessed brain and stayed put. He sighed, and a moderate amount of tension dripped from his shoulders. Now he’d haul her home and make her stay there.

  As James weaved down the seated portion of onlookers, an announcer clad in a colorful get-up announced that this would be the last event of the day.

  When James took his seat, Ellen latched onto his hand.

  A family of settlers took the stage and pretended to work around their cabin. The now familiar whoop of Indians filled the air and a band of long-haired men with skin the color of diluted tea charged at the family.

  The crack of a rifle silenced the crowd. Cody stormed in on a midnight-black stallion, an entourage of cowboys following on his heels. A fight erupted as Cody’s men defended the family and mimicked skinning the Indians.

  Ellen turned and buried her head into James’s shoulder.

  He tugged her closer. “Let’s get out of here, half-pint.”

  ***

  Crouched in the hallway, Ellen pressed her ear to the door. Behind it, James and an elegant Englishman spoke in hushed voices. She tried to recall meeting the fierce-faced man but she would have remembered those piercing blue eyes. Whatever dealings James had with him, there was no doubt they’d be linked to Lewis and the spies.

  A servant approaching from down the hall startled her, but Ellen had heard enough. The Rat Palace and nine o’clock were the only bits of information that mattered. Not that she knew where or what The Rat Palace could be, but she concocted a fool-proof plan anyway.

  Aunt Louisa puffed when Ellen entered the drawing room. “I am quite put out with your Mr. Kent.”

  Ellen bowed her head toward her aunt. “I’m sorry I disappeared today during our shopping excursion. The blame is mine, not James’s. I forced him to take me along and—”

  With a loud clank, Aunt Louisa set down her cup. “Oh, that’s no matter. I’m talking about his interactions with my friend’s daughter, Hattie Prisimon.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and made a showing of dabbing her dry eyes.

  “What account with her could upset you so much?” Ellen toyed with the deep blue ribbon on her dress.

  Aunt’s cheeks grew red. “Hattie cried all day because James told her she is boring and no man will ever want her company.”

  Ellen leaned over the edge of the chair to pat her aunt’s hand. “I’ve known James most of my life, and I can’t believe he would say a thing like that. But leave it to me, Aunt. I’ll speak with him and force him to make amends.”

  She left the room in search for James. Voices by the front door carried, and when Ellen walked around the staircase, she saw James shaking the Englishman’s hand.

  The door clicked close. James turned toward her. For a moment, his face and shoulders sagged with some unknown burden. But in an instant, he schooled his expression and smiled. “How are you tonight?”

  Shaking the image of him downcast from her mind, she crossed her arms. “Unwell. I have to give you a set-down.”

  He leaned against the entrance wall. “And when have those words ever made you look so dour?”

  But his usual deflective banter wouldn’t deter her. “What dealings have you had with Hattie Prisimon?”

  A smirk pulled at the left side of his lips. He took a step forward. “Are you jealous?”

  Ellen shooed him away. “Not by half. But if you walk into the room where my aunt sits, she will have your head.”

  “I can’t pretend to know what this is about. Come, it’s been a stressful day, let’s play a round of chess. Maybe I can finally best you.” He motioned for Ellen to follow him to the sitting room.

  Unmoved, she gave him her best glare.

  James raked his hand through his hair. “Your aunt urged me to dance with her at Cobb’s bash, so I did. After a pathetic excuse for dancing, we visited for a few minutes, and then on McCormick’s boat outing, we spoke again. That’s the extent of my dealings with her. I promise.”

  “Aunt says Hattie’s been crying all day over something you said to her.”

  Eyes narrowing, he rubbed his jaw. “I don’t recall saying anything offensive.”

  “She claims you told her she is boring and no man will want her.”

  His head snapped up. “I’d never. You know me better than that.” He threw his hands in the air. “She did drone on about her mother’s pin collection and I told her I didn’t care to hear about it.”

  “I can’t believe you said such a thing to her.”

  “Ellen.” He reached for her. “You were alone on the side of the ship. Only moments later a man shoved you overboard. If I hadn’t snubbed Hattie, what would have happened to you?”

  “That’s immaterial.” She swept his hand away. “A girl’s feelings are hurt, and you need to do something to make it better.”

  He set his jaw. “If Hattie Prisimon wants to get on in life she needs to summon a tougher constitution. You know I didn’t intend the meaning she took from our exchange.”

  “Your intent is of little consequence. Tomorrow morning, you need to seek her out and apologize to her.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Why on earth should I apologize for something I didn’t mean for her to take as she did?”

  “Because meant or not, you injured her.”

  His voice rose. “But her reaction is not my responsibility.”

  “Oh.” She stomped her foot. “You are insufferable.” Ellen thumped his chest. “Your meaning is the part that doesn’t matter. If you have caused pain, it is your responsibility to rectify and heal.”

  “I disagree—”

  “Don’t speak, James.” She covered his mouth. “Imagine you are in the kitchen.”

  He grabbed her wrist, jerking her hand away. “What the devil am I doing in a kitchen?”

  Ellen growled. “Imagine!”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Are you picturing yourself in a kitchen?”

  A pause followed by raised eyebrows and his tight-lipped smile. “Yes, yes. I’m surrounded by puddings and cooked ham. Pray continue.”

  “The sarcasm is unnecessary.” She jabbed him in the ribs. “Now, say you had a butchering knife in your hand and someone walks in—”

  His eyes popped open. “A butchering knife? This exercise is becoming more absurd by the minute.”

  Ellen snapped her fingers. James closed his eyes again.

  “And someone walks into the kitchen and you don’t know they are there. As you turn, you stab them by accident.”

  “We go from absurd to downright ghastly.”

  “So this person falls to the ground and they’re bleeding. In that moment do you look at them and say they shouldn’t have walked into your knife?”

  When he opened his eyes this time, softness appeared, but the gleam of mischief lingered. “I might.”

  Ellen reached for his hand. “No. You’d fall to your knees beside the person and try to stop the bleeding. I know you, James. With shaking hands you’d repeat sorry to them until they thought it was the only word left in the English language. You’d send for a doctor with your own money and visit them for weeks after while they mended. Whether you meant to stab them would matter little to you, because you had done it even though it had not been your intent.”

  James sighed. “I still don’t know why you have me recklessly swinging a knife around in some kitchen, but if it makes you feel better, I will locate Miss Prisimon tomorrow and apologize. You have my word.” He offered his arm. “And now for that chess rematch.”

  But Ellen declined, claiming a sudden ache in her head. She darted to her bedroom long before normal, all the while biting back a laugh. Who said James got to have all the fun?

  After making sure to secure her door, Ellen dropped to her knees and fi
shed the hidden bundle of clothes from under her bed. She’d filched a mobcap and apron from the servant’s clothesline after dinner. They would pair with the shabby dress lent to her after her fall from the S.S. Gondola. If straight-edge James could pass for a drummer, Ellen could no doubt be mistaken for a maid.

  Her muscles shook as she lifted the window Lewis entered through yesterday. A final dash back to her wardrobe to grab a shawl, and then Ellen flung her legs over the edge of the sill. She took a deep breath before scurrying down the drainpipe Lewis must have used as well.

  Feet on the ground, she ducked along the edge of the house. Now she only needed to wait for James to emerge.

  As time passed, the air chilled, and she shivered. The eight o’clock shuffle of traffic still surged down the street. In a city like Chicago, the people never seemed to sleep.

  Moments later, James appeared on the street, clad in dark, moving with his signature long stride. Staying close to the shadows, Ellen trailed him down the tree-lined avenue on hasty feet clad in her patent leather boots. Okay, so the boots screamed not-a-maid, but stealing a servant’s only shoes, even for one night, seemed out of the question.

  Hat pulled low, James hopped aboard a cable car, and Ellen followed. Keeping her head down, she found a seat in the back of the vehicle near a cluster of tired workers. The people smelled like onions and sweat. Ellen turned, taking small breaths through her mouth. James stood near the front, hanging onto a suspended bar. With his free hand he yanked out his watch, muttered, put it back away, then yanked out his watch again.

  Her palms grew damp as the cable car whizzed through an intersection. Despite that, a proud feeling of independence surged within, fortifying her. Aunt Louisa may not be able to handle common transport but Ellen Ingram could.

  Goodness, Ellen might even be able to prove a woman could do more than marry a Chicago blueblood. What if she—not James—cracked the anarchist ring? Maybe Lewis would finally be pleased with her.

  Maybe he’d come home.

  Ellen shadowed James as he changed cable cars twice. With a hard swallow, she handed over her last coin. How would she travel back home? What if James took another cable car? She wouldn’t be able to follow. She’d be lost in the rough side of the city. Alone.