An Agent for Alexandra

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Nearly, Mrs. A,” Alexandra told her, then winked slyly. “Though I would never be so far gone as to sleep before properly finishing your biscuits. Simply divine, they were.”

  “Old family recipe, dear,” Mrs. Ames replied, a cheery dimple appearing. “Granny McNabb taught me herself, and her granny taught her.”

  Alexandra leaned against the stair rail, folding her arms and smiling. “And would you teach me, Mrs. Ames?”

  Mrs. Ames straightened, a speculative look in her eyes. “What would be in it for me, dear?”

  “Oh, that depends,” Alexandra drawled easily.

  “On what?”

  Alexandra smirked with a mischievous air. “Do you need a recipe for a berry cobbler that will make you knock every stockin’ off in town?”

  Mrs. Ames was apparently not a woman for bargaining, for she beamed with the light of twelve sunrises. “I most certainly do! You let me know when you have an afternoon free, and I’ll teach you biscuits. And if you’ll tell Missy what ingredients you need for your cobbler, she’ll see it bought for you.”

  “You are kindness itself, Mrs. A,” Alexandra said without any forced enthusiasm. “My father will be delighted if I can have biscuits made for him when I’m back in Georgia.”

  “And what about your husband?” Mrs. Ames bustled over to the fire to prod at it a little. “Will he be pleased?”

  Curses, she’d forgotten all about Tucker. Blasted husband in name only.

  “I am sure he shall,” she almost-blustered, hiding her mistake behind a series of giggles. “Tucker doesn’t do much by way of tasting when he eats. It all just goes in like the man has never eaten in his life.”

  That earned her a hearty chuckle from the round woman, who straightened and tucked one of her stray curls up into her cap. “My Lenny was the same way, God rest him. You tell that husband of yours that we’ll be having chili tonight, and he’ll want to breathe in between spoonfuls. It’s got a kick.”

  Alexandra saluted their hostess with perfect precision. “Yes ma’am!”

  Mrs. Ames clapped her hands together, then rubbed them. “Now, dear, how about I get you some porridge, hmm?”

  There was no way to look enthralled about that particular prospect, and Mrs. Ames knew it, if the twinkle in her eye was any indication.

  “Now, now, Mrs. Carlton,” she scolded warmly, “this isn’t any ordinary porridge. You just sit your sweet Southern behind down and prepare yourself for some scrumptious goodness.” She pointed at a chair, one hand propped on her hip.

  Well, how was anyone supposed to argue with that?

  Obediently, Alexandra trudged over to the indicated chair and dropped herself in it, folding her hands on the worn tabletop. “Yes, ma’am,” she meekly responded.

  Mrs. Ames nodded once. “I’ll be right back.” And then she was gone, quicker than she should have been, and Alexandra was left alone in the room, drumming her nails against the table.

  She let her face relax, and simply breathed for a few minutes.

  It had been a late night, despite arriving around suppertime, and she woke this morning feeling every one of the miles she travelled from Denver, if not from Savannah. She ached in places she didn’t know could ache, and felt as though she had aged several decades. If she were at home, she’d have had a hot bath drawn, and rose oil added to it, then she would have soaked in her tub until the water turned lukewarm and her skin glowed a bright pink.

  She groaned at the thought and rubbed the back of her neck.

  There was no use thinking of all that now. She could have asked Mrs. Ames to have a bath drawn for her upstairs, but there was her husband to consider, and Lord knew, she would not risk being in such a compromising situation with that bullheaded mute.

  To be fair, Tucker had been as good as his word last night and told her everything about their assignment when they were settled. He’d talked so much, it was a wonder he had not grown hoarse. But there was much to discuss, and he had been perfectly candid about every detail, answering her questions without any hint of derision or superiority. He’d even complimented her a time or two.

  Well, he’d said her questions were good, if that counted as praise.

  She was taking it as such.

  Twenty-seven people had gone missing from Portland in the last year, as far as records could prove, and there was nothing that tied all of the people together. The closest they had come was that seven of the men had lived on the same side of Portland, but they were so varied in their occupations and situations that the connection was useless. Twelve men, ten women, and five children had gone missing, all without a single clue to give authorities anything to go off of.

  People did not simply disappear, Alexandra had insisted.

  Tucker agreed; he’d sworn that, eventually, bodies would be discovered.

  That hadn’t been exactly what Alexandra had been going for, but it certainly did give her a fresh perspective of the problem.

  Or so she told herself as she struggled to fall asleep, images of piles of dead bodies invading her mind.

  Thankfully, Tucker was convinced this was not some murder spree, but something far more puzzling, which was a comfort. Puzzling she could deal with. Murder not so much.

  They’d speculated and planned long into the night, and only when Alexandra had nodded off mid-theory had Tucker called a stop to their work and sent her to bed. She’d gone without complaint, pulling the decorative screen out to separate the room in two, and then she’d collapsed into bed, her clothing only half removed.

  She had no idea where Tucker had slept, or how. He’d not been in the room when she awoke, and she wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to ask about him now. After she’d eaten, maybe, but only if he was gone so long that she grew bored.

  There was so much she could get done before that was a remote possibility.

  Separating every one of the individual hairs on her head for inspection was on the list.

  She snickered to herself as she imagined doing such a thing. It was highly doubtful she would do that, given time. She’d set out on her own and see what she could discover about Portland, if not about their victims themselves.

  Without Tucker to mind her, or confine her, she’d be unlimited.

  What a thought!

  The door to the kitchens swung open and Mrs. Ames bustled out again, a steaming bowl in her hands. “Here we are, Mrs. Carlton. I’ve added some strawberries, cream, and sugar for you. I have a sense about these things, and that seemed to me to be your exact toppings.”

  Alexandra grinned, though she would have preferred peaches above anything else. “We will see, won’t we, Mrs. A?” She dipped her spoon into the bowl, then brought it to her mouth and gently blew before taking a bite.

  Almost immediately, she groaned in response.

  “Heavenly days,” she said on a swallow. She shook her head and looked up at her hostess in awe. “That is the most delicious porridge I have ever tasted. It’s not even porridge, it’s more like… I don’t know, something between a pudding and a cream soup or gravy. But the flavors…” She groaned again. “Oh, Mrs. A, this is extraordinary.”

  “Even with the strawberries?” Mrs. Ames asked, a twinkle in her eye.

  Alexandra took another bite, and raised her hand towards the heavens. “Especially with the strawberries. I could eat twelve bowls of this.”

  “That wouldn’t be advisable, though I had four bowls myself.”

  Tucker’s voice reached her, but she wasn’t sure it was him. The tone was easy and light, and even fond.

  Did Tucker have a righteous twin? She’d gladly exchange him if there was.

  Yet there her husband was as she turned to glance towards the entrance. Dressed in a crisp denim shirt and brown trousers, a cap sitting almost haphazardly on his head, he barely resembled the man she’d spent the last few days with.

  For one thing, this one was smiling.

  At her.

  Suddenly she could barely swallow, which ma
de the next bite she took rather uncomfortable, but it saved her the trouble of answering.

  “Ah, Mr. Carlton,” Mrs. Ames greeted enthusiastically. “Could I persuade you to take some toast or something? It’s been at least two hours since your porridge, and you must be hungry again.”

  He turned his beautiful smile towards her and nodded almost sheepishly. “I won’t refuse some, Mrs. Ames. I’ll leave the selection of jam to you, as you have a knack for it.”

  Mrs. Ames nodded and moved back to the kitchen, leaving the couple alone.

  Alexandra stared at Tucker, suspicions whirling. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

  He looked at her, smile gone, one brow raised. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, there he is.” Alexandra exhaled loudly with feigned relief. “That was terrifying, don’t do that again.”

  Tucker scoffed and sat opposite her, watching her eat. “Sleep well enough?”

  She nodded as she continued to eat her porridge, no longer giving any sort of reaction to it. “I did. Don’t think I moved an inch in that bed. Honestly, I’m surprised I even woke, considering how dead I was.”

  “You most certainly weren’t dead,” Tucker assured her. “You mumbled and tossed for a good hour somewhere in the middle.”

  Her cheeks colored slightly. “I most certainly did not.”

  Tucker gave her a look. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “No, sir,” she replied primly. “Only mistaken.”

  He shook his head slowly, his blue eyes steady on hers. “Not mistaken. I promised honesty, didn’t I?”

  Alexandra made a face. “Yes,” she admitted with marked reluctance. “Although I fail to see why it’s necessary to be honest about a lady’s sleeping habits.”

  “It’s not,” he replied with all his usual bluntness, smiling slightly. “I just wanted to see your face when I told you.”

  She glared at him, her spoon halfway to her mouth. She looked down at the porridge there, thinking hard.

  “Don’t,” he warned, clearly amused. “It would be a waste of divine porridge.”

  “I’m well aware.” She tossed her hair airily, and gave him a simpering smile. “But sacrifices to the divine are a well-established practice.”

  Tucker all-out grinned. “Careful, Chickadee. I’m the retaliatory type.”

  Hmm. Something to consider.

  She popped the spoon in her mouth, smiling as she swallowed. “What did she put in your porridge, Mutt? Rocks?”

  He sat back, his grin fading into something less easily defined, though the light of his eyes was the same. “Strawberries, Mrs. Carlton. Fancy that.”

  Alexandra’s stomach clenched. That was purely a coincidence, wasn’t it? It had to be. Maybe everybody in the boarding house had strawberries, and her intuition was just recipe.

  “But Mr. Thomkins had apple bits and raisins,” Tucker went on, still watching her. “And Mr. Porter had blueberries. Both seemed perfectly pleased.”

  The kitchen door opened and Mrs. Ames returned to them, plate of toast in hand. “Here we are, my loves. Blackberry jam for you both, as I know that’s what you’ll love.”

  Alexandra swallowed quickly. “We don’t have to have the same, Mrs. A,” she said as warmly as she could. “Really.”

  “Oh, I know, love,” Mrs. Ames told her, returning the smile. “I just know it’s what you both love.” She left once more, winking at her.

  Tucker began spreading jam on his toast, entirely unperturbed. “Well, I won’t complain. I love blackberry jam.”

  Alexandra sniffed. “I do not,” she snapped, setting her spoon down and folding her arms.

  He bit into his toast and shrugged. “Oh well. More for me.”

  She lasted only a minute, perhaps, then scowled and reached for toast and jam herself.

  Blackberry jam was her favorite, after all.

  Purely coincidentally.

  “You could have woken me, you know. I would have come exploring with you.”

  Tucker fought a smile and looked down at Alexandra. Or, rather, what he could see of her. While this hat was smaller than the peacock one from yesterday, it still effectively hid her face from him, the sun, and possibly even the Almighty.

  He would never understand the current fashions of ladies’ headwear.

  “The point of exploring,” he told her patiently, “is to be able to maneuver as one wishes without consideration to anyone else. Having you with me would hinder that markedly. How could I take my wife into the seedy underside of the city?”

  He expected her to snap at him, stiffen in offense, though none had actually been intended this time, and braced himself for impact.

  It didn’t come.

  “Hmm,” she mused aloud, her fingers drumming against his arm. “I suppose that’s true. We’ll have to find some decent footwear for me if we’re to go exploring in truth together.” She turned to look up at him, her dark eyes thoughtful. “Would you be opposed to my wearing trousers for such a venture? I’d hate to offend any sensibilities, but skirts would impede my abilities to be useful, and I’d hate to be left out.”

  Somehow, she had missed the point entirely, and yet had come at the problem from an intriguing angle. One he could not argue against, in truth.

  But to take Alexandra into Portland’s underbelly?

  It made his hair stand on end.

  “I don’t mind,” he said evasively, looking forward once more. “We can get you some. I didn’t get far in my own explorations this morning, and I think I ought to have a better idea of things before I take you with me.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly,” she agreed, surprising him. “I’m not a squeamish sort of girl, but I’d certainly be abysmal as a partner in such filthy unknowns. Once you have your bearings, we can go in together.”

  It was odd, but she sounded as if she really meant it. That was entirely unlike the Alexandra he knew and loved to prod. She ought to have been biting his head off, not going along with him. They were about to begin their mission in truth, and she was setting him on his ear, which was one of the most uncomfortable sensations he’d ever known.

  He gently, but firmly, steered her out of the main thoroughfare and into a small but well-lit alley, turning to face her. “All right, what’s going on?”

  Alexandra’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  He folded his arms, trying to stare without glaring, though it was difficult to separate the two at the moment. “Why are you being agreeable? Why aren’t you fighting me on this?”

  Her thin brows snapped down. “Do you expect me to argue constantly?”

  “Yes.”

  She scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes. “Men.”

  “Come on, Chickadee,” he said, tempted to start tapping his foot. “Out with it.”

  She gave him a hard look. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Waite, nothing is going on. I’m being agreeable because I happen to agree. We may get along like cats and fire, but when it comes to this mission, I’m not about to be an idiot. You’re the more experienced agent, and I’m not fond of the idea of going around in dark and scary places in an unfamiliar city. I certainly wouldn’t choose to do so for my own entertainment.”

  That was a relief, he supposed.

  “But,” she said, bringing his attention back to her warily, “if the mission calls for it, and you are prepared enough to go in yourself, I’ll be there, trousers and boots and all. I’m determined to prove myself, but I’m not about to venture beyond my own limitations. I’m trying to not get in the way while still doing something. Will that satisfy your suspicious mind?”

  Tucker stared at her, wondering where the spoiled heiress from Georgia had vanished to and who had replaced her with a sensible, smart, and quite possibly brave woman. She might actually have potential as an agent, and he couldn’t believe he was even thinking that.

  “Well?” she snapped, tapping her foot against the cobblestone.

  Ah, there was Alexandra Drake Waite.


  It gave him a strange burst of pleasure to know she hadn’t left completely, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

  “Yes,” he said simply, offering his arm to her. “Yes, it will.”

  She nodded, took his arm, and said nothing as the two of them strolled back out into the street, polite almost smiles on both of their faces.

  “Remind me who we’re going to see?” she murmured through her smile.

  “The chief of police in the Portland metropolitan area.”