***
James slammed his palm against the glossy cedar. “Hugh Gunther, open this door.”
In a few minutes, lights illuminated the front parlor. Hugh’s butler appeared, looking as stern as his employer. “Might I assist you, Mr. Kent?”
“Yes.” James leaned a hand on the doorframe. “Please have someone bring my trunk to an available room.” He crossed the threshold and scanned the entryway. A coat of arms bearing a rearing deer hung on the wall next to a painting of a castle surrounded by mist. Two full suits of armor flagged either side of the grand staircase.
The butler paled. “Mr. Gunther is expecting you?”
After removing his hat, James raked his hand through his hair. “He’ll have to host me. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Mr. Kent, I’d like to accommodate you, but the master of this house is most particular about the use of his guest rooms. If you could return in a few—”
“No need, Ansley.” Clad in a long maroon robe, Hugh descended the stairs. “Have his belongings placed in the William Lamb room.” The Englishman moved aside for his staff and turned his attention to James. “My rooms are named for Prime Ministers. I like to fancy myself still in my native country from time to time.”
“Thank you for allowing me to stay.”
“When did I say I’m letting you stay?” Hugh motioned for James to follow him down the hallway that led to the windowless chamber built into the center of the house. Leaning, he lifted the ugly brown vase a fraction of an inch and the tell-tale click came. The secret Cygnus Brotherhood meeting room creaked open.
When they entered, the Englishman picked up a decanter full of amber liquid from the sideboard. “Care for something to calm the nerves?”
James collapsed into the sofa, his arms fanned out along the back. “I don’t take spirits.”
“How singular of you. I, on the other hand, don’t go a day without them.” Hugh filled a tumbler and carried it to his desk. He sat down with practiced ease, folded his hands, and gave James a stern look. “Now, kindly tell me why you felt the need to rouse my entire neighborhood and possibly give away the Cygnus Brotherhood headquarters? What in blazes were you thinking?”
Patience pulled thin, James felt his resolve snap. If this man had never barged into his life and coerced him into joining his spy ring, James’s days would have gone on in the happy bliss he’d known, escorting Ellen here and there.
“Brotherhood, huh? Seems like an odd name considering I only just joined this week and I’ve never met another of your spies. Are there truly others—or is this some grand trick you’re playing on me? What’s your game, Hugh?”
Hugh smirked, then took his time sipping from his glass. “I’ve supplied you with all the information you can handle, Mr. Kent. I’ll let you know more when you need to.”
James grabbed the armrest. “I want out.”
Hugh cocked his eyebrows. “Did you blow your cover?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Then I’m sorry. Until I release you from your vow or until they unveil your identity, you’re committed to this cause.” He swirled the liquid in his glass.
“Is that so? What’ll you do if I walk away?” James eyed the weapons hanging on the walls.
Leaning forward, Hugh placed his elbows on the desktop. “I’ll hunt you down and you’ll pay. No more needs to be said on the subject.”
James rose and paced the small length of the room. “See, that’s where we disagree. I’m not going to follow you blindly any longer.”
“What happened tonight?”
“I went to The Rat Palace. The anarchists were using a revival meeting as their cover.” James filled Hugh in on the details he’d overheard. “They talked about moving supplies for bombs to a shipping yard, but they never said the name.”
“That’ll be Cochrane’s Shipping Yard. One of my other informants—see, you’re not the only one—has been flagging some of the workers there because we have reason to suspect them. Now tell me, was Lewis there?” A mocking smile lit the man’s features.
“He came at the end. But it sounded like they’ve placed him in command of a militia.”
Hugh nodded. “Yes, they’ve built up a force to try to protect their strikers against police action.”
“Ellen followed me tonight and—”
“Our plot thickens.” Hugh steepled his hands and pressed them to his lips.
James told him about Ellen’s kidnapping, how he had gotten thrown out of the Danby’s and ended up at Hugh’s door.
Hugh’s brows dove into a V. “You believe Lewis would kill you or his sister? He’s further entrenched than I thought.” He tapped his desk. “All right, our plan for tomorrow is to blend in with the meeting at the lake and collect information. Find out where and when the strike will begin.”
Removing a key from his robe’s pocket, he opened the top desk drawer and extracted two objects. “Here.” He handed James a brown cylinder that appeared to be a coin holder.
James twisted it in his hand, looking for the cap. “What do you want me to do with this? Is there a message inside?”
“It’s a secret fold-up binocular. Press the small button near the middle.”
Doing so, the cylinder popped apart and, with a small twist, the contraption became long-range binoculars. James peered through them. “Fancy. Where do you purchase such a device?”
“Don’t ask. And here, take this also.” Hugh held out a black .22 caliber Double Barrel Derringer. The palm-sized, full-metal gun would fit easily in a man’s hand or up his sleeve without notice.
James held up his hand to let Hugh know he didn’t want the gun. “I already have one.”
“You own a Derringer? Whatever for?”
After pocketing the fold-up binoculars James sat down and shrugged. “I’m a banker. We have vaults full of money and people try to rob us.”
“Are you a crack shot?”
“I’m not without training.”
Hugh knocked back the rest of his drink, then smiled. “It seems you might have more to offer to the Cygnus Brotherhood than you first let on. You’re still with us, right?”
“I thought you said I didn’t have a choice?”
“Nonsense. That was simply a little intimidation to test you. Why would I want unwilling spies botching our missions?”
“I’m still in.” The last couple hours caught up with him and James yawned. “Let’s be serious. My life is in shambles.” He’d lost his best friend and the woman he loved all in one week. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight. He should sleep before committing to things. But his parents wouldn’t need him back at the bank yet—they’d send for him when they wanted him to return like always. After Ellen’s mother married Asa Holt, James was no longer allowed in Ingram house and he’d just been tossed from the Danbys.
He sighed. “What else do I have going for me?”
***
Chin in her hand, Ellen stared across the breakfast table to James’s empty place. She stirred her oatmeal without tasting any of the steaming mush. The Danby’s cook had been kind enough to sprinkle cinnamon across the top, but even that couldn’t entice her this morning.
After discarding her breakfast, she scaled the stairs and entered her aunt’s bedchamber. Her aunt reclined against an army of pillows. She fanned herself until she caught a glimpse of Ellen.
Aunt Louisa held out her hands and beckoned Ellen to her side. “I’m so glad you decided to see me. Your uncle said you were not well last night and could not come to me. You do look pale and ill. Shall we send for the physician?”
Ellen swallowed hard. “I’m fine, Aunt. Nothing a little rest won’t cure.”
Pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve, Aunt Louisa began to dab at her eyes. “I wish my aliment could be cured with time and rest, but after the shock I received, I will never be well again. Never.”
Aunt Louisa looked healthy, a bit frazzled maybe, but hardy and with color on her cheeks. “What sort
of illness are you under?”
“Oh.” Her aunt waved her handkerchief. “I am overcome, very overcome.” She leaned, picking up a piece of paper from her nightstand. “I opened your mail yesterday because I recognized my sister’s handwriting.”
Opened her mail? Ellen snatched the letter.
But before she could scan the contents her aunt continued. “Your mother is moving west.”
Ellen jumped from the bed and walked across the room to the window. She used the morning light spilling onto the sill to better see her mother’s note. “That can’t be true. Perhaps you misread.”
Aunt Louisa sat up. “I did not misread it. I would have never encouraged her to marry Asa Holt if I knew he’d take up such a fool notion. Moving west! And why is the west suddenly more enticing than Illinois? You must write her back. Remind her that Chicago is the heart of transit in this country, and that we’re the leader in advertising. Does the west have catalogue stores? No, they are here, in our city.”
“We also have the tallest steel-framed building in the world.” Ellen offered.
Her aunt waggled her arm. “That’s just the sort of information you must use to persuade your mother to stay in Wheaton. Go now. Write her a letter and beg her not to sell Ingram House.”
“If moving west will make her and my stepfather happy, why does it trouble you so much? In my recollection, you came to Wheaton to see us but twice in my lifetime.” And if mother and Asa moved west, Ellen could visit them sometime and have a grand adventure.
Aunt Louisa moaned. “But I still knew I could come and see her if I ever wanted to. There was a certain comfort in knowing I could board a train and visit her the same day, even if I didn’t choose to take advantage of that. But now she will be gone.” She gave a long, stage-worthy moan. “Oh! She will be skinned by savages and conned by miners.”
Ellen read the letter as Aunt Louisa babbled. For the first time in many years her mother sounded joyful.
She looked up. “Scalping? I don’t think that sort of thing happens any longer.”
“And mountain men will no doubt abduct you.”
That caused Ellen to laugh. “Abduct me? Why would I—”
“Because you will go with them. Yes, you. A single woman such as yourself cannot expect to vacation in Chicago indefinitely. Mark my words, my sister’s next letter will summon you home to pack your things.”
A sick taste rose in Ellen’s throat. Aunt Louisa couldn’t be more right. Of course Ellen would have to move west with them. She had nowhere else to call home.
She blinked back the moisture that suddenly sprang to her eyes.
What if she never got the chance to bid farewell to James?
Tucking the letter in her pocket, she rose, looked at her watch, and then wrung her hands. Were the men of the west as coarse and shaggy as depicted in Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West show? Hopefully not.
Her aunt asked her to fetch her robe. She rose out of bed, and Ellen helped her walk to her dressing table.
Ellen stepped back to leave the room, but Aunt Louisa caught her hand. “You still have plans to attend the opera today with Mr. Hurst, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“Make the most of it, my dear. He could be your ticket to staying in Chicago. And just think,if you marry him you and I could take tea together every week. We could go shopping every Saturday and attend the same church.”
In need of fresh air to process everything, Ellen slipped downstairs and out the front door. She sat on the front steps and hooked her arms around her knees. Carriages clip-clopped past and the city continued its business, even though her world had just fallen to pieces.
Maybe the preacher Moody had been right. A Christian couldn’t find a true home on earth because heaven waited. If that was the case then it didn’t matter whom she made her earthly home with. Did it?
The images of the slums last night played across her mind, poor malnourished children with hollow stares and women who appeared twice their age from hard labor. Tenement homes with holes in the ceilings where any weather or rodent could stop in for an unannounced visit. Waste in the streets and animal carcasses left in public to rot.
Despite the sunshine that bathed her skin, Ellen shivered.
Granted, an earthly home mattered a little.
Because if she moved west with her mother or found a way to stay in Illinois, Ellen would never have to face such abysmal living conditions. But those people she’d witnessed last night would continue living like that. It made an ache spread through her chest. She didn’t know what to do with the pain. She wanted to help them but a terrible powerlessness threatened to drown her desire.
The front door opened, and Uncle Garrett joined her on the steps. “Thank you for cheering your aunt. Louisa is worlds different after speaking to you.”
The worried lines were gone from his face. Relief emanated from him in palpable waves.
He bumped his shoulder into hers. “She tells me you’re going for an outing with the young Hurst heir today.”
Ellen nodded.
“He’s a much better choice for you than that family friend.” Uncle Garrett patted her shoulder and stood. After stretching, he told her he had someplace to be and called for his team of horses to be prepared.
He loved her aunt, in his own way. Their relationship didn’t rival any of Ellen’s dime novels, but probably no match in marriage would. Maybe what Aunt Louisa had with Uncle Garrett would be enough for Ellen, too. If she married a man like Carter Hurst, she’d have disposable money like the Danbys.
Ellen popped to her feet.
In such a marriage she could help those poor people living near the vice district. Helping them would give her life meaning, even if a marriage to Carter wouldn’t. Moreover, Carter might not be so bad. He’d been nothing but kind to her—save for the one rough kiss.
Yes, that would be her new goal in life. She’d help those people in a more honorable way than Lewis was. No more of the silly spy nonsense.
Besides, she had no desire to run into James or her brother. Not when James wanted little to do with her and Lewis joked to comrades about hurting her.
With that resolved, she reentered the Danby mansion.
She had a date to prepare for.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Chicago, Present Day
As if it had grown fangs and bitten her, Whitney dropped the letter.
Had Lewis killed them? Each clue to the family history became more detrimental. Her great-great-grandfather was a traitor not only to country, but to his own blood as well.
There, she’d admitted it.
And the same blood pumped through her veins.
Not that she was afraid she’d start acting out in terrible ways like Lewis had. But there were more ways to be a traitor than by killing others. Was Whitney—in her own way—far more like her great-great-grandfather than she cared to admit?
Because the truth shook down to the fact that she had a boyfriend yet she spent every evening with Nate—loving every second of his company. She peeked at Nate who stepped away a minute ago to help someone at the research desk.
She wasn’t any better than Lewis. Not really. Owen had chosen her when he could have started a relationship with any number of women. And how did she repay him?
Guess the traitor doesn’t fall from tree.
Enough.
She sprang to her feet. Ignoring the confused look on Nate’s face she stormed out of the fourth floor research area, pounded down the stairs, and catapulted through the front doors of the Chicago Historical Foundation.
What a fool she’d been. She couldn’t vindicate a man who threatened to kill his sister. One who probably murdered his best friend too. So many hours wasted spent poring over old papers and trying to believe the best. Lewis had instructed Ellen to do that—believe the best about him—look where it landed her.
The rain had stopped, leaving behind an earthworm and storm sewer smell. She crossed her arms, only then realizing s
he’d forgotten her coat in her mad dash. No matter. She’d retrieve it another day, or just leave it there forever.
The next bus wouldn’t chug through this area for another twenty minutes. She didn’t want to stand out in public mulling over her thoughts. A glance across the street became her answer: Moody Church.
Her heart pulled, telling her she’d find solace there.
After traffic clogged at the red light, Whitney zigzagged through the cars. She skirted past a man hawking newspapers written by the homeless and veered up the steps. Afternoon light shimmered off the stained glass window bearing Moody’s name. And as she reached for the door handle she couldn’t help but think the heavy, carved wooden doors looked like something out of one of Tolkien’s books. She found them blessedly unlocked.
In quiet reverence Whitney followed the signs that pointed to the main sanctuary. When she walked through the doorway she gasped. Shiny pipes from the old-style organ filled the back wall, and chandeliers dangled from the arched ceiling. She closed her eyes and imagined what Sunday service must be like. Old ladies singing louder then they ought to, a man preaching with a zealous spirit at the center podium, and people shaking hands.
Had James and Ellen worshiped here? If only she knew.
With careful steps up the aisle she ran her hands over the backs of the chairs. She knew her actions were foolish, but for some reason she felt close to her ancestors—the good ones—here. Moody’s words had offered hope to Ellen during her captivity, maybe the church he founded could also set Whitney free.
She dropped into a seat, gripped the back of the chair in front of her, and rested her forehead on her outstretched arm. A few of her tears saturated into the carpet.
Owen said the news about Lewis had blown over, but what about next time the scandal resurfaced? And what if she did something that made him look bad again? Was she willing to spend the rest of her life performing?
No one would love her with all her baggage—least of which was her ruined family. At least no one solid and stable like Owen. Even if the story had cooled, his mother probably hadn’t. Something held him back. Maybe she banked too much on finding an established man, but she didn’t want to end up like her mother.
Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) Page 16
