by Megan Besing
Her walk to the post office proved uneventful, although May had been unprepared for the cost of posting letters. During her time of caring for her mother, no letters had been written. There had been no need.
She sighed as she stuffed the letters back into her reticule and walked back out into the afternoon sunshine. With time enough to spare until her meeting with Mr. Bingham, May decided to become a tourist in her own city.
Although she had been born here in that house that no longer existed on Dumont Street, she had seen very little of the city. With Papa gone and Mama sick, she had spent most of her life on Dumont Street.
Lifting her gaze to the sun, May closed her eyes and allowed the sound of traffic, the press of people walking past, and the warmth of the June breeze to soak in. Someone jostled her, and May opened her eyes.
“Watch out, lady,” a young man in a red cap said as he slipped away in the crowd.
She saw the cap bobbing along in the sea of people and wondered what in the world might cause anyone to hurry on such a lovely day. Then she realized the reticule that should have been hanging from her wrist was gone.
Chapter 4
It didn’t take a Pinkerton detective to know the boy wearing the red cap was doing something he shouldn’t when he came flying by not caring whom he ran over in the process. It was a simple matter to stand between the thief and freedom and grab the arm that was gripping some woman’s purse, and Jeremiah had him captured.
Three steps later, he and the thief stumbled into the police station where he handed the young man over to the first officer he found, a portly fellow named Officer Harlan. The policeman emptied the contents of the purse onto the desk in front of him while another officer hauled the lad away.
Other than a stack of letters missing their stamps and a few coins, there was nothing of value inside. He turned to leave only to spy a face that was becoming quite familiar.
She wore a dark green skirt today and a matching blouse sprigged with tiny red flowers, her honey-colored hair now tucked into a fashionable style beneath her simple green hat.
“You,” Miss Conrad said as she stopped short. “Are you following me?”
“Hardly,” he said. “Though I’m curious as to why you are following me.”
Miss Conrad looked as though she might protest then merely shook her head and walked toward Officer Harlan. “That is mine,” she said as she nodded toward the bag still on the policeman’s desk. “It was stolen by a young man of slightly more than average height wearing a red cap. Have you found him or only this reticule?”
Jeremiah moved close enough to hear the policeman tell the story of how the stolen item came into his possession. As he moved closer, Miss Conrad gave him a sideways look, her expression guarded. Once again, he was struck by how young she appeared.
“This man brought my stolen reticule to you?” The suspicion in her voice was unmistakable.
“Yes, he did,” Officer Harlan said, obviously noting the interaction between Jeremiah and the woman. “Along with the thief, who was wearing a red cap, just as you said he would be.”
“I see.” She once again turned her attention to Jeremiah. “It appears I owe you both an apology and a debt of gratitude.”
“Not necessary,” Jeremiah told her. “I am glad to be of service.”
Harlan looked over the woman’s head to meet Jeremiah’s gaze. “You two give me just a minute and I’ll have the lad fetched up here so you can identify him.”
“I’m afraid I cannot identify anything more than his cap and perhaps the clothing he wore,” she said to the officer. “I did not see his face. It all happened so fast.”
“You’ll do the best you can then,” he told her before turning his attention to Jeremiah. “It just may be this man here who saves the day and makes the identification.”
Miss Conrad nodded in the officer’s direction then returned her attention to Jeremiah. “Thank you,” she told him as she swayed slightly.
“Sit down.” He guided Miss Conrad toward the officer’s empty chair.
“It appears I continue to be in your debt,” she said as she did as he told her. “I only just meant to mail some letters, and look at how that turned out.”
More missives to heartsick suitors, no doubt. “Well, perhaps those letters weren’t meant to be mailed,” he offered along with some sarcasm of his own.
“Oh no,” she said softly. “It cannot be.”
“What?” Jeremiah followed the line of her sight and spied Officer Harlan returning with the prisoner. “Do you know him?”
Miss Conrad nodded, eyes wide. “That is Antoine. He works for Mrs. Baronne.” Interesting. Jeremiah watched the thief closely as the burly officer hauled him across the room. Any look of defiance was gone when he spied May Conrad.
“I didn’t want to,” he said before May could do anything more than rise.
“Oh Antoine,” she said. “Why would you frighten me like that? I have nothing you want.” She shook her head. “Have you taken up thieving because you’re not being paid? I will certainly have a word with Mrs. Baronne if that is the case.”
The lad she identified as Antoine ignored May to look over at Jeremiah. “You friends with her?” he asked.
“We have become acquainted,” Jeremiah said.
“Then get her out of that house,” he said. “Bad things are supposed to happen there.”
“What kind of bad things?” Miss Conrad demanded. “If the people who reside in that home are in danger, you must tell Mrs. Baronne.”
Antoine laughed. “They said you were an innocent, but I didn’t believe it.”
Jeremiah stepped between Antoine and Miss Conrad. “What bad things? And be specific.”
A rumble went up at the far end of the room, jerking Jeremiah’s attention away from the suspect. There he spied a pair of matrons pouring in the door and howling something about a fire nearby. Several officers hurried to help, but Officer Harlan only tightened his grip on the thief.
The entire group went outside, taking the excitement with them. Jeremiah tried again. “Antoine, tell us what you’re talking about when you say bad things will happen.”
“What time is it?” Antoine said. “Because if it is three o’clock, that fire is over on Dumont Street.”
Officer Harlan retrieved his pocket watch. “It’s straight up three,” he said as he returned his watch to his pocket then grasped the lad by his shoulders and shook him. “Tell me what you know about a fire.”
Jeremiah placed his hand on Harlan’s shoulder. “Don’t hurt him. It appears he has valuable information. Is there a place where he can speak to us in private?”
“I got nothing more to say,” Antoine said. “Except that she was supposed to be in that house this afternoon and it was supposed to blow up. Now take her somewhere safe.”
“May I?” Jeremiah said to the police officer. At Harlan’s nod, Jeremiah led the boy to a quieter corner of the busy station house. “All right, Antoine, if you knew this and you saw Miss Conrad on the street, why steal her purse?”
The lad looked defeated. He sighed before looking up at Jeremiah. “Because when I saw her I realized there was hope she wouldn’t be harmed if I did something. I figured she’d be smart enough to either chase me or go file a police report. Given how close the Baronne house is to the post office, I was afraid she was heading home.”
“Where she would be when the house blew up.” At Antoine’s nod, Jeremiah continued. “So you led her here to keep her safe.”
“She’s a nice lady,” he said, tears threatening. “Like I said, she’s an innocent. She has no idea…” His voice trailed off as he furiously swiped at his eyes with his free hand.
“Antoine,” Jeremiah said carefully. “I cannot help you unless you tell the truth. Why would Mrs. Baronne want to harm Miss Conrad?”
He let out a long breath but said nothing. Jeremiah decided to try again.
“All right, then,” he said. “Tell me this. What was going on in tha
t house that Mrs. Baronne needed to hide?” When the lad remained silent, Jeremiah continued. “Perhaps they wanted to hide the fact that they were running a marriage fraud scheme? And who better to con into helping with such a scheme than a woman who was a complete innocent?”
This time the lad’s tear fell without being swiped away. “She had no idea. The old lady asked her to write those letters, but it was the old lady who got all the money from those men.”
“Are you willing to testify to this in court?”
“Court?” His eyes widened. “They’d kill me for sure.”
“Who are they?”
He shook his head. “The old lady and her husband. What you know about those ads is nothing compared to…” He clamped his lips tight.
“Then we need to make sure they don’t get the chance. Will you sign a statement attesting to what you’ve just told me?” He paused. “In exchange for dropping all charges and letting you go, of course.”
“I will,” he said.
“All right, then.” He led Antoine back to Officer Harlan and explained the situation, keeping his voice low. “I will need that affidavit if I am to make a case against these people,” he told Officer Harlan. “Once the federal government has had their go at them, then they can be remanded back to New Orleans for your court system to take over.”
“Fine by me,” Officer Harlan said. “But what about the girl?”
Jeremiah stole a look at Miss Conrad. “Leave her to me. I can keep her safe until the Baronnes are in custody.”
“She’ll need to be willing to testify.”
“I’ll see to it,” Jeremiah said. “You have my word.”
The police officer nodded then led the lad away to write up the affidavit. Jeremiah returned to Miss Conrad and handed her the purse.
“Shall we go?” he said as casually as he could manage.
She rose but stalled. Those jade-green eyes seemed to assess him. “You weren’t interested in buying my property, were you?”
Miss Conrad appeared more upset about this than about anything else that had happened since she arrived at the police station. Jeremiah looked away. He hated this part of undercover work. He hated even more the fact that he had disappointed her.
“No,” he said as he swung his gaze back to her, “I was not.”
“I see,” whispered across the space between them. “Then who are you?”
“Where’s Harlan?” an officer called from across the room. “Lady says you’re holding her employee and her house is on fire.”
Stepping between Miss Conrad and the officer, Jeremiah showed his badge. “Officer Harlan is with a prisoner. Tell her to come in and have a seat here at this desk. And do not let her leave. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the policeman said, his brows lifted as he turned to walk away.
Jeremiah slid his arm around Miss Conrad. “Forgive the familiarity,” he said as he ushered her off in the opposite direction from the front door, “but unless you want to see Mrs. Baronne get arrested, we need to get out of here. I’ll tell you everything you want to know once you’re safe.”
After what appeared to be a moment of indecision, Miss Conrad nodded. He led her through a labyrinth of hallways and small rooms until he found a door that led outside to an alley. Immediately he smelled the acrid scent of smoke.
A fire this close would mean other structures could be involved. “This way,” he told Miss Conrad as he led her through the alleys to emerge on the opposite side of the neighborhood. From there, Royal Street was a quick walk, but he did not intend to risk being seen.
“Stay here, but watch for my signal.” Jeremiah hailed a cab then went back to find Miss Conrad, who was waiting right where he left her, a rare quality in a woman—at least in his experience.
May allowed herself to be jostled into a buggy. With a word of apology, the dark-haired man threw her onto the floor and removed his coat.
“Wait just a minute,” she exclaimed. “Surely you do not wish me to sit on the floor.”
He looked down at her, his expression broaching no argument. “I can either hide you from the persons who just attempted to murder you or you can argue about how you will be treated.”
Not since the morning she stood on the lawn and watched the embers of her former home smolder did she feel so befuddled. She curled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, holding on tight as the buggy bounced along.
Finally the vehicle stopped and she heard the creaking sound of an iron gate. The buggy proceeded, and then the gate shut behind them with a loud clang as the vehicle stopped.
May threw off the coat and climbed to her feet to look around. The buggy had stopped in front of a carriage house attached to a rather large home in the older part of New Orleans. The sound of a fountain echoed against the bricks and served to mostly drown out the noise of traffic and street vendors on the other side of the high wall.
She was in a place she did not know. With a man she did not know. Under the control of someone besides herself.
Again.
“You’re safe now,” the man said.
Ignoring the man’s offer of help, she climbed down from the buggy and stalked toward the iron gates. “Safe is it?” she said, anger rising. “I would say I have traded one prison for another.”
The stranger exchanged quiet words with the buggy driver along with what appeared to be a significant sum. The driver returned to the buggy, and the gate swung open to allow an exit.
May followed the carriage with the stranger a step behind. “I offer safety here,” he said. “I cannot guarantee that if you leave.”
The same thing Mrs. Baronne had told her. Something inside May snapped.
She whirled around, not caring if anyone on the crowded avenue saw. “Who are you?”
His expression softened. “I’m a Pinkerton detective, ma’am.” He swung his gaze up to meet hers. “And my name is Jeremiah Bingham.”
Jeremiah Bingham. Oh.
The wind went out of her and she sagged against the wall. So the man she thought she might have a future with was a Pinkerton detective.
“The same man who wrote me letters?”
He had the decency to look away. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I see.”
Mr. Bingham gripped her elbow and guided her back inside the gate. “I don’t think you do, but we’d best talk about this inside.”
She stood up to her full height, still pitifully smaller than the Pinkerton, and squared her shoulders. “Are you arresting me, Detective Bingham?”
Chapter 5
Should I be?” the detective asked.
May’s eyes narrowed. “If you must. Otherwise I will take what remains of my pride and go.”
He stepped in front of her. “I’m sorry, Miss Conrad, but I can’t let you do that. I promised Officer Harlan I would see to your safety and guarantee you would testify.”
“What does testifying entail?”
“I would expect the court will need a written statement from you regarding this whole mess with the Baronne family as well as an assurance you will attend court and answer questions if the judge requires it.”
“Fair enough.” May allowed herself to be ushered back into the courtyard then cringed when the gates clanged shut again. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
Detective Bingham gave her a sideways look. “What do you mean?”
“You need me to testify. Then I will testify with a written statement.” She shrugged, avoiding his direct gaze. “As to keeping me safe, once I make my statement, I will merely leave the city and fix that problem entirely. I will keep the court informed as to where I can be found.”
Where she would go was anyone’s guess, for she had no idea and no close relations. Perhaps one of the gentlemen who had made an offer for her hand would be a good means of escape.
He shrugged. “All right.”
May shook her head. “So it’s that easy, then?”
“Yes, it is th
at easy.” He nodded toward a side door that was obviously meant for the owners of this fine home. “Come with me.”
Clutching her reticule, May followed Detective Bingham across the lushly planted courtyard to a door that appeared to open of its own accord. A servant dressed in a staid black dress and white apron stepped back to allow them through.
“Whose home is this?” she asked.
“It’s a safe house.”
“It’s a very nice safe house.” She followed the Pinkerton detective’s broad back as he walked down corridors where beautiful paintings hung one after the other and the thick carpet swallowed any sound of footsteps. Emerging into a vast foyer that rose three stories to culminate in a stained-glass window depicting cherubs and clouds, she gasped.
Apparently Detective Bingham was not impressed, for he continued walking as if she were still behind him. Finally he stopped at a door and nodded for her to enter the room. It was a library of some sort, filled from floor to ceiling with volumes of all sizes and colors.
Had the Pinkerton not followed her, May would have gravitated toward the books. Instead, she did as he indicated and settled on a chair nearest to a large carved rosewood desk.
“I wish we had met under other circumstances,” Detective Bingham said as he seated himself at the desk. “I do regret all of this.”
She studied him a moment, watching his handsome features for signs of how he truly felt about this entire debacle. Finally, she made her decision.
“Yes,” she said, “I believe you do. Nevertheless, that still leaves us with the situation at hand. I should have known I was perpetrating a fraud. I regret that I did not.”
“I believe you.”
May hadn’t expected that. “Why?”
He toyed with the top of a silver inkwell then set it back in place. “Another employee has come forward to tell his story. He puts the blame squarely on Mrs. Baronne.” Detective Bingham shrugged. “Even if he hadn’t, now that I’ve met you I would never expect you to be involved in anything like that.”
“Thank you.”
He shook his head. “However, I do wonder about those letters in your bag. Tell me about them, Miss Conrad.”
