“But their persecution has only made our numbers grow. You see, the wheels of change are already in motion. Your class can do nothing to stop it.”
“My class? I grew up in the country.” Ellen ground her teeth. “You, on the other hand, are married to one of the richest men in the city.”
“Not by choice.” Mary’s voice turned to ice. “I hate him. I made that sacrifice for the cause. I made it because I followed instructions. Because Bruce said—”
“Enough, Mary!” The shadow-man, whom had been so quiet during their exchange, burst to his feet. “Why don’t you go and tell her all our plans? If she is the Swan and Lewis sets her free, that’ll be a fine kettle of fish for you.”
Mary stomped toward him. “If she is the Swan, then I’m demanding a head on a platter.”
“A bit John the Baptist for your taste, isn’t it?” A hint of teasing filled his voice.
“Lewis’s head or hers, I couldn’t care less.” Mary crossed to the doorway. “Where is Lewis, anyway? What’s taking him so long?”
“He had a mission tonight, but we expect him soon.”
Mary pointed at Ellen. “I have to go check on the buffoons meeting downstairs. Who knows what plan they’ll hatch if I’m not there to advise? Watch her.” Clips announced her retreat down the stairs.
Ellen’s shoulders sagged. The woman might be gone, but she’d be back. Then what?
Floorboards groaned as the man playing watchdog paced near the window—her way out. If only she could get him out of the room … or distract him.
A thought struck her. What had James warned her? Don’t flaunt yourself in a man’s direction. And hadn’t Mary said she could get any man in Chicago to do her bidding with a few coy blinks?
Ellen lowered her eyelashes to half-mast. “So you’re part of this anarchist group?” She dropped her voice, hoping it took on a husky quality.
He put his hands on the windowsill and leaned to look down the alley below. “The alley’s clear right now.”
“Your arms, when you flex them like that, they’re so … so big and strong.” Or she guessed because, between the dark and his large coat, she couldn’t tell.
“Are they now?” His laugh came out quiet, comforting almost. He pivoted, crossed his arms, and took four steps toward her. “It’s now or never, Ellen.”
How strange of him to use her given name. She squinted, but the grimy hat on his head shielded any light that could have illuminated his features.
He pushed his hands into his coat pockets. “I saw you untie your restraints.”
Bluffing? He’d been ten feet away. “What? I don’t know what you’re—”
“So try to get away right now, or else Mary will return. When she does, I won’t be able to help you. Besides that, the rest of our group is meeting in the kitchen. They’ll hear the scuffle so when you do get out, make your way home without delay. Understood?”
“Who are you?” She leaned forward.
He took a step back. “Just a man who doesn’t want to see a lady get hurt.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He made a show of stretching his arms. “I will lunge for you when you get up, so be prepared to defend yourself. This needs to be convincing.”
“Defend?” She licked her lips.
“Be ready on the count of three.”
Ellen glanced around the room again. “This is absurd. If I—”
“One.” He bent his knees, ready to spring.
She dropped the rope and brought her arms around to her lap. She flexed and straightened her fingers. They tingled as blood flowed back into her hands.
“Two.”
Before the man had a chance to say three, Ellen catapulted toward the table on her left. As he dove in her direction, she scooped up War and Peace. She lifted the book high and bashed him once on the back of the head. He expelled a pained noise, went rigid, and fell to the ground.
“Sorry!” She jumped out of his groaning reach and ran for the window. Trash piled beneath it. She prayed it would cushion her fall.
Without another second to consider, Ellen flung her legs over the edge and jumped.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chicago, April 30, 1886
James never expected to see Ellen fling herself out of a window and into the trash heap below.
He lunged forward, grasping at air. Ellen landed with a thud. With a moan, she tried to gain her feet but slipped backwards on a month’s worth of decaying rubbish.
Before she could right herself, James kneeled and grabbed her shoulders. Something with very pointy nails scurried across the back of his leg.
Eyes spitting fire, Ellen shoved at his hands. “No. Not again. Please.”
“Hush. You’ll get us both caught.” He’d weaseled away from Meat-Cleaver under the pretense of dumping trash out the backdoor, but the beefy man would come looking for him sooner than he wanted to consider.
James seized Ellen’s hands and hauled her to her feet.
With a half-laugh-half-sob, Ellen threw herself against his chest, tossing her arms around his neck so hard he reeled back two steps. “James! Thank God.”
She smelled like she’d spent the night swimming in the foul end of the Chicago River. But that hardly prevented James from tightened his embrace. “We need to get out of here.”
Nodding, she moved to take a step and would have crumbled to the ground if not for his arms around her waist.
He dropped to his knees. “You’re hurt.” Hot blood rushed to his face. Dear God, please say they hadn’t injured her.
“My ankle. There’s a shooting pain.” Tears squeezed from her eyes.
A distant bell tower rang out midnight. Weary from the last couple days of sleuthing, he doubted he could carry her all the way to safety. But he stooped to gather her in his arms anyway, at least until the backdoor opened.
In the two seconds it took for someone to fling wide the door of The Rat Palace he only had time to scoot, with Ellen cradled on his lap, behind a pile of discarded crates. A keen eye would see them right away. He prayed the group of men filing out the doorway were fools.
Meat-Cleaver stepped out after them. He turned to the anarchists. “You seen my fancy-pants washer boy out here?”
After a smattering of, “no’s,” he went back inside, slamming the door in his wake.
“There he is!” A swarthy man with a pipe dangling from his lips pointed in their direction.
Ellen gasped and turned her face into his neck as she clutched his lapels. James’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He calculated their options. At least this time he had a gun in his pocket, but could he use it? If someone came at Ellen, yes.
But the men made no move for them. Instead they crossed their arms, waiting.
Footfalls sounded down the alley. James shifted ever so slightly. He didn’t need to squint to know who walked toward them. James would know his best friend’s confident stride anywhere.
“Look. It’s Lewis,” Ellen whispered.
His friend loomed five feet away, a scowl pulling his thin lips. “Did I miss the meeting? How utterly sad.”
“Completely,” offered the swarthy fellow.
With a nod, Lewis patted his coat pocket and withdrew what James knew would be a W. Duke Sons & Company cigarette. He’d stayed loyal to the brand in order to collect the tobacco cards that came in the case.
Next, he fished his tin of matches from his pocket. “Care to sum up the information for me?”
When Lewis arrived, the men had stopped their muttering to stand at attention. The pack hierarchy couldn’t be clearer. The men shifted with nervous energy while Lewis’s motions were slow, calculated—laden with authority.
Could his friend be more than a mere member of the anarchist ring? Never once had he breathed a word of anarchy during their school days. How little James really knew him.
Ellen trembled. Poor thing, she shouldn’t have to see her brother in this light.
James offered a reas
suring squeeze.
The smallest member of the group worked up the courage to speak. “We march out tomorrow.”
Lewis dragged his match against the building’s wall. “And so the strike begins.” Bright light from the small blaze floodlit his harum-scarum smirk. He lit the cigarette, taking a long drag afterwards. “Did Downing’s men move the supplies to the warehouse?”
“Yes. And he says you’re the only one who can handle command of the militia.”
Cigarette hanging from his lip, he scratched his eyebrow. “Naturally.” The men cowered when he took a step forward. “And if the robber barons bring in strike-breakers?”
“We were instructed that if the police move against us in the name of the Law, we’ll strike back at them in the name of Liberty.”
Lewis lifted his brows in a haphazard manner. “Brilliant. They are—after all—enemies of the people. Why not give them a tough battle?”
The smaller man bounced on his feet. “Then we rise against the mayor.”
A stiff wind tossed rancid air down the alley. Ellen gaged, and James clapped his hand over her mouth, but too late. Lewis’s back went rigid and his head turned by the slightest degree. A hollow throb filled James’s chest as Lewis seemed to look him dead in the eye. But then his friend’s shoulders relaxed. Lewis negotiated three steps away from them.
“Mr. Ingram.” The swarthy man removed his hat and wound it around in his hands. “We captured your sister tonight.”
Ellen dug her nails into James’s hand. He gritted the pain without shrugging her off.
Lewis propped his back against the opposite wall and his foot against the building so that he stood with one bent knee. “Did you, now? What reason did she give for being in this part of the city at this time of night?”
“She claimed to attend the revival.”
A laugh that could only be described as wicked pierced the air. Lewis dropped a hand to his knee. “The revival? That’s ripe.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the toe of his shoe. “And what did you do with the little trouble-maker?”
“She”—the man suddenly became engrossed in looking at the ground—“escaped. She got away from that new man you brought on today. We figured he didn’t need to attend the meeting, and it’d be easy enough to watch a tied-up female.”
Lewis straightened. “Yet she slipped away in a tavern crawling with anarchists? You’ve got to admit the girl’s got moxie.”
After expelling a long stream of black spit, the one man who had yet to talk spoke. “And we can’t find the man you sent anywhere, either.”
“Of course you can’t find him. He knows darn well he’d face a penance ten times worse than a priest would stack him with. Believe me—he’s not worth searching for. With a blunder like that, he’s halfway to the Wisconsin border by now.” He picked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Besides, a man that incapable is of no use to us. Good thing we saw his stripes before our plans began.”
“But, Mr. Ingram, should your sister be caught spying again—”
Lewis raked his fingers through his devil-may-care hair. “Then save her for me. At my hands, she’ll face a punishment worse than the rest of you could ever cook up. That I can guarantee.” He clapped his hands. “Now come, comrades. If the preacher is gone, I’ll buy you a round of the tavern’s best to celebrate our next step closer to revolution.”
The troop of men snaked back into The Rat Palace. James loosened his hold on Ellen until he realized she was shaking uncontrollably, then he hugged her close again. Her teeth rattled.
He smoothed a hand over her hair. “Shh. Half-pint. I need your brave face. We’re not safe yet.”
When she turned to study him, her eyes were wide. “Did I really hear that? Is Lewis evil? I don’t want to believe it, but after … after what he said, I can’t deny the truth any longer.”
James rose and pulled her to her feet. “We need to get out of here before they come back out of there under the encouragement of liquor.”
She nodded and stumbled beside him as he set a fast clip. They rounded down the vice district. “James, please slow down. My ankle aches.”
Now that the immediate danger abated, his original anger overtook his fear. He spun around and grabbed her shoulders. “What were you doing here tonight?”
She looked down, eyes hooded.
“Answer me.” He set her back inches from his face. “Why are you here?” A thought made one last rush of fear ripple down his spine. “Did they snatch you from your bedroom?”
She looked up through tear-filled eyes and shook her head.
“How did you know to come here tonight?” He gripped her upper arms.
A group of rowdy men surged out of a building. They stumbled as they walked, singing a vulgar song out of tune. One of them fell. His friend tried to assist him to his feet, but ended up on the ground as well. The men were inebriated, but not dangerous.
With an unflattering sniffle, Ellen’s chin lifted. “I followed you.”
“Impossible.” James clenched his teeth.
That afternoon Hugh had been kind enough to point out that—so far—James hadn’t proven to be the best spy. The stern Englishman questioned his decision to allow James to join the Cygnus Brotherhood. James argued, but maybe, just like with everything else he attempted, he was terrible at spying too. If Ellen had trailed him all the way across town without his notice, well, he might as well turn in his resignation to Hugh tonight, or this morning—the new day had already dawned.
She prattled on. “You took three cable cars, then walked through a poor section, over a bridge, and into the seedy part of town. You weren’t hard to trail.”
If ever he wanted to swear, right that moment would have been the precise time. “They caught you snooping in The Rat Palace then, did they?”
She straightened, standing an inch taller. “They apprehended me in the alley. But I got away. It wasn’t difficult.”
James tossed his hands in the air. “Do you hear yourself? Blasted Ellen, wake up. They kidnapped you and could have done worse. When you dropped out of that window, I was busy trying to think of a way to rescue you.”
She slammed her hands onto her hips. “Well, I didn’t need you, now did I?”
The desire to shake her again raged war with a longing to pull her into his arms. So far the shaking bit hadn’t seemed to rattle any sense into her brain. Scooping her up and locking her in some secret chamber would most likely be the best plan of action but his freckled minx would no doubt find a way to slip through the walls like some otherworldly spirit.
James turned and started walking again. Ellen limped after him.
After three deep breaths to quell his voice and anger, he spoke again. “Why did you follow me?”
She didn’t answer, which was fine for the moment, because anything she said would only fuel his fury.
As they crossed the river, he held his breath.
“James.” She teetered. “My foot hurts so much.”
A gentleman would offer to carry her, but right now Ellen needed a tough lesson more than a white knight. He had to make her hate him. It was the only way to protect her in the future.
He turned his head as she winced along. What sort of monster had he become?
But if it kept her safe from harm and mistreatment, he’d do what he had to. Her pain would serve as a reminder not to tag along next time.
They entered the poorest neighborhood, often referred to as Behind the Yards because the people lived right behind the stockyards and holding pens for thousands of pigs and cattle awaiting slaughter. The earthy smell of animal hide and manure hung thick in the air.
Ellen rubbed her hands over her arms as she walked. Without thinking, James slipped out of his coat and placed it over her shoulders.
“These people,” she began in a whisper. “Their lives are bad.”
Bad didn’t begin to describe the existence he’d witnessed here today. The words horrible, unfair, and miserabl
e hit closer to the truth. As a boy growing up in the country, he’d heard about poverty, but he’d never looked into the vacant eyes of a hungry child. Not until this evening.
Their images would haunt him.
“James, please.” She stopped. “Can we hire a cab? I’m so tired.”
“Sorry, Ellen.” He shook his head. “Not in this part of town.”
Her face deflated like a child who’d been told Santa Claus didn’t exist.
James wracked his brain. He could offer her some sort of encouragement. “We’ve got another mile or so before it’ll be safe enough to flag one down.”
He motioned for her to continue.
She hobbled a bit; then her bare hand slid against his. “Please, it’s so dark. Can I at least hold your hand?”
The soft meekness in her voice undid him.
He groaned. “Oh, Ellen.” In a swift movement, he turned and lifted her into his arms.
“You don’t have to carry me. You’ve had a long night, too.” Even as she said the words, she snaked an arm around his neck, rested her head against his shoulder, and closed her eyes.
“Try and sleep, half-pint.”
***
Try and fall asleep? Ellen smiled despite the situation. With James’s heart beating against her ribcage as he carried her, even on the longest day of her life, sleep would never be an option.
But she closed her eyes to please him, or at the least to abate the anger rolling off him in hot waves. James would have to get over his ire. By morning he would.
Years ago she’d doodled all over the pages of his copy of Ben-Hur, including a giant stick-figure driving a chariot across one of the more exciting scenes. In her eleven year old exuberance, she’d pressed hard enough to crack the book’s spine. If that wasn’t bad enough, Ellen had started fixing the Hurs to Hers. When James came upon her and snatched his possession out of her hands, she’d argued that a book that had spiraling flowers decorating the cloth cover just had to be about a girl character. He’d turned red and started shaking. James didn’t speak to her for two days, but after an offering of Cook’s snickerdoodles, he’d helped her build a ship out of branches to float down the DuPage River.
Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) Page 14
