An Agent for Alexandra

by Rebecca Connolly

  The size of the sewer tunnels towards the end of the alleys did.

  “An ace up my sleeve, I said,” Tucker murmured with some pride. He nudged Alexandra in the side. “Boy, was I right.”

  She nudged him right back, not nearly as hard as he expected her too. “Well, I couldn’t let you have all the brains, Mutt.” She grinned up at him, and suddenly he couldn’t remember what walls he’d been planning to put between them. “Shall we explore, Mr. Carlton?”

  Tucker didn’t hesitate; he grinned at his wife and held out his hand. “We shall, Mrs. Carlton.”

  She took his hand, laced their fingers, and took the lead this time.

  And he happily followed.

  They followed the alley as far as they could, analyzing everything they could and speculating aloud. The night grew cold, but Alexandra never so much as shivered, and even when he suggested they venture into the sewer tunnels themselves, she’d shrugged and slid between the bars without any difficulty.

  He, on the other hand, couldn’t do anything of the sort.

  “I’m not a grubby little street urchin anymore,” he sighed, gripping one of the bars, smiling ruefully at her.

  Alexandra leaned against the wall, her face almost entirely hidden in the increased darkness of the tunnel. “Street urchin? In New York City?”

  He nodded, pressing his head against the bars. “Yeah. I was raised in the streets, and my family were the other lads running around. We stole to eat, did favors for the criminals for money, picked pockets of the high and mighty.” He chuckled softly and glanced in her direction. “I’d likely have made off with your father’s gold encrusted pocket watch.”

  Her warm laugh rippled against the tunnel walls and into his ears. “That’s a five generation watch you picked. Get you plenty of money, and set you up mighty fine.”

  “I always know a good mark when I see one,” he boasted, only half teasing.

  She was silent at that, and the lack of expression available for his assessment made him uneasy. He quickly averted his eyes and pretended to eye the sewer tunnel.

  “I might have been mistaken,” Alexandra muttered in disappointment. “Unless someone put some doors in here, I cannot see someone getting a body in and out of these, easy as it was for me to slip in and out.”

  Something she said sparked in his mind, but he wasn’t sure he could put words to it yet, and he suddenly saw more in the creation of the tunnel than he thought. “Not all of us are blessed with your figure.”

  Maybe she had a point about the bars, but the tunnel… Now that would be something…

  He looked up the alley in the way they had come, then at the wall before them, the map of Portland shifting and turning in his mind, orienting himself to location and references...

  “Alright, husband, that sounded much too much like a compliment on my person,” Alexandra said, pushing off the wall and coming over to him, her hand taking a bar and trying to look where he was. “What are you thinking?”

  His hand moved along the bar, and suddenly he was touching hers. He hesitated, then let his fingers fall against hers and smiled as he looked down at her. “I’m thinking, Chickadee, that you might be onto something. Sewer might be wrong, but something else might be right. What would you say to exploring of a different kind?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers drummed along the bar beneath his hand. “Is it exploring suitable for a lady, Mutt?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  She grinned, and could have lit the entire city by its light. “Then we’d best be off. All the ladies have gone home for the night, and only explorers remain.”

  Chapter 5

  “Does the smell of sewer ever leave one’s hair?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “And you couldn’t have told me that before we ventured?”

  “You were the one who wanted to head into the sewers, Chickadee. I followed.”

  Alexandra rolled her eyes and continued to brush out her hair in the looking glass. “Want is a very strong word for the circumstance. No one wants to go into the sewers; I was simply willing if the need was there.”

  Tucker chuckled warmly and met her eyes in the looking glass. “And the tavern excursions after that? Were you simply willing then?”

  She sniffed and set the brush down, taking the mane of her hair and twisting it. “Doing my duty, and that is all. And we made some headway, did we not?”

  His eyes remained on her, flashing with some unspoken emotion she couldn’t translate. “We did. It was a good night.” He shook himself then and looked back down at the mass of papers surrounding him on the floor of their room. “Now if only we had made equal progress in the three days since then.”

  She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, argue with that. Their polite investigations were not nearly as productive as their less polite ones, and the last few days had been maddening. Tucker had the thought, after their venture to the sewer tunnels, that there might have been smuggling that had gone on, or was going on, that would have some sort of cache or tunnels leading to the docks.

  In order to examine anything of the sort, however, they needed to inspect taverns, and there were far too many to be done in one night.

  During the day, they attempted a more polite avenue, mostly trying for the docks and more respectable establishments, though each had been particularly stiff about questions from strangers. Try as he might, Tucker was not exactly adept at polite conversation, and tended to interrogate more than inquire.

  As Alexandra was supposed to be a quiet and demure wife to the overly curious tourist, she didn’t have much to do with the conversations, but she certainly chirped at Tucker enough once they were out of doors and out of character.

  He’d barely said a single word to her yesterday, so irritated had she made him.

  It had been terribly entertaining, to be sure, but hardly helpful to their task at hand.

  She picked up a few pins from the dresser top and stuck them in her mouth as she twisted her hair more tightly, then plucked one out and stuck it into the mass. “Wha’er you ‘lanning ‘oday?” she asked around the pins.

  Tucker glanced up, expression filled to the brim with derision. “Was that English?”

  She returned his look with a sharper one as she tugged another pin from her mouth and stabbed it into her hair. “Yesh,” she said against the remaining pins. “Go on.”

  He put the papers he held down and leaned back on his hands. “If you’re asking what I am planning for the day…”

  She widened her eyes meaningfully, fidgeting with more pins. “Well done.”

  “...Then I would say we need to try the docks again,” he went on, completely ignoring her, and looking back to the papers. “But I need to get a better idea from Dobson about smuggling in the area. It won’t help us to jump so far into that ring if it isn’t an issue here.”

  “It’s an issue in Savannah,” she told him as she removed the final pin and tried to decide where it should go. “You could use that with the docks, since your backstory has you in trade.”

  He returned his attention to her, surprised and alert all at once. “That’s… that’s an excellent idea, Alex.”

  Her knees gave a quick shiver, and she nearly stabbed her scalp with the pin. He’d never called her Alex before, rarely even called her Alexandra, but the soft note in a nickname she’d never liked before suddenly made it her favorite word in any language. Echoes of the alley moment raced through her, as they’d done on occasion since then, and it was all she could do to clear her throat and humph in an attempt to hide just how unhinged she’d almost become.

  “I do have those on occasion, you know,” she grumbled, her pulse pounding somewhere just under her tongue. “When my spoiled brain clears enough for an intelligent thought.”

  “Good for you,” came the unconcerned reply, looking over the papers again, this time with more energy. “What was the name of the witness from the docks?”

  Alexandra exhaled slowly, sanity
returning like breath of fresh air. “Landry,” she reminded her infernal partner. “Henry, I believe.” She turned from the looking glass and watched Tucker for a moment, his thought process almost visible from his actions. “Will you go to Dobson today, then?”

  He nodded absently as he found the paper he was looking for. “Yes, and then the docks, I think. No time like the present.”

  “Well, come see me before you do,” she said on a sigh, moving to the faded divan on one side of the room, picking up the newspaper he’d discarded after breakfast.

  “See you?” Tucker asked. “For what? A lady wouldn’t be at the docks, there’s no need to fetch you for that.”

  She rolled her eyes and lowered the paper to give him a hard look. “I know that, Mutt. Come see me so I can give you some credibility in the shipping world with names and details. I know people, remember? The industry is not that big, and you’ll need my help.” She brought the paper back up and turned to the society pages.

  “Why not tell me now and save us all the second trip?” he suggested in a dry voice.

  “Because then you would forget all about me, and I’d become insignificant to the case at hand.” She flipped the paper down for a split second to wink at him. “At least for today.” Back up the paper went, and she sighed with proper Southern dramatics. “I must make myself useful, Mr. Waite, and a woman in my position cannot be too careful.”

  Something that could have been a laugh met her ears, and she allowed herself a private smile at the sound.

  There was nothing quite like the sound of Tucker’s laughter, no matter to what degree he did so.

  “Well, I suppose I could come back here,” he said as he rose, stretching his back. “It would probably be wise to change my clothes.”

  Alexandra nodded, still reading the paper, though now it was all pretense. “It would. No one would think you a successful merchant dressed like that.”

  He glared at her, but she didn’t look up. “It suits me just fine, thank you, and you haven’t worn anything fancy in days, Miss Spoiled Rich Girl.”

  “That’s Mrs. to you,” she retorted, turning an unread page. “Or Agent, if you’d prefer. And I wear what is appropriate for the situation. If you need a wife with which to accessorize with your wealthier ensemble, I shall be at your disposal, and impressively gilded, to boot.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.”

  She looked up to find him smiling at her. Really smiling, not in teasing, though his tone surely was, and not in disdain, of which there was none. Just a warm, companionable, rather affectionate smile.

  And oh, how it made her heart tremble.

  She smiled back at him, somehow, and tilted her head rather coyly. “Are you amused, Mr. Waite?”

  His smile spread. “Always,” he replied with a single nod. He moved for the door, his steps sure. “I’ll be off now. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours, and then we, or I, can roam dockside.”

  “Wait!” she cried, scrambling from the divan with undue haste.

  Tucker paused, looking almost startled. “What?”

  Alexandra hadn’t thought too far beyond not quite wanting him to go yet, and now she was faced with looking a ninny before her superior agent, if not her rather attractive husband.

  Hmm.

  She forced a playful smile, picking a tactic and running with it. “Be sure you’re home before supper, Mr. Waite, or you’ll be sleepin’ in the barn.”

  He chuckled and hooked a thumb on the pocket of his trousers. “Well, I do hate how the hay makes my skin itch,” he drawled in a poor attempt at a Southern accent.

  She clamped down on her lips hard, suppressing giggles. “It does give you the most fearful rash,” she replied, sweeping her hands behind her back and sidling over to him. “And it is ever so troublesome to tend to.”

  His eyes widened as she approached, and she bit back a grin at the sight of it.

  Not quite steady around her, was he? Well, well…

  She paused before him, raising a brow. “So. Before supper, husband.” She went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, lingering a moment. “Or it’s the hay, and the itch,” she whispered, her voice dipping.

  It was as though his skin rippled, and she could see it before her very eyes as she lowered herself back down, the same rippling now coursing through her.

  Tucker stared at her, barely breathing, then, suddenly, he was out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

  Alexandra stared at the door, then let loose with wild giggles before flopping herself back down onto the divan and picking up the paper once more. “So much for walls of steel, Mr. Pinkerton Agent,” she said to herself, feeling a thrill of feminine satisfaction.

  Her eyes darted absently over the page, when, out of the blue, they fixed on a name.

  How did she know that name?

  She sat up quickly, backtracking to the beginning of the story and scanning it.

  A business venture has been struck between Mr. Marshal Creet, whose wife is a cousin to the Astors of Baltimore, and Portland newcomer Mr. Lawrence Teague, whose business enterprises span the country from Chicago to Dallas to California. Both men, and their wives, will be present at a dinner party to celebrate the affair at the Gilded Cage Hotel on Saturday, sure to be the grandest social occasion in over a decade. Invitation only, we are told, and invitations will be limited at best.

  Marshall Creet…

  She looked over at the papers on the floor, their carefully constructed notes, and she ran through every detail she could remember.

  They hadn’t been able to interview him yet. He was always unavailable, and he hadn’t been able to give much of anything to the police either. He wasn’t from any great stock, he’d just married well and had a keen business sense that made him something of a rising star in the business world, if not the social one.

  She looked back at the print, biting her lip.

  Then she smiled rather slyly.

  Now, Lawrence Teague was another issue altogether, but she knew exactly what to do about that one.

  Or, rather, she knew someone who could do something, and the current vacancy of her husband was suddenly most convenient.

  She had a telegram to send, and it would be better for all concerned if he knew nothing of it.

  “Telegram for you, Mrs. Carlton. It was just delivered.”

  Alexandra smiled at Mrs. Ames as she entered the boarding house, her walk leaving her cheeks feeling brisk and rosy from the afternoon chill. She closed her umbrella and shook it out, then sighed as she came to the desk. “A telegram? Who am I to be so important as to get a telegram while visiting Portland?”

  Mrs. Ames chuckled and handed the telegram over. “I’m sure I don’t know, dear, but I’m sure you deserved it.” She tutted as Alexandra began to remove her gloves, taking in the sight of her. “Did you go out in the rain on purpose, Mrs. Carlton? You’re going to catch your death of cold.”

  “I’ve a strong constitution, Mrs. A,” Alexandra assured her with a wink. “We don’t get delightfully cold rain like this in Georgia. It’s all hot and soggy down there, and it makes my hair do something awful frightful.” She shuddered and turned to go back out of the front door.

  “Mrs. Carlton!” Mrs. Ames screeched. “Not back out, surely!”

  Alexandra looked back over her shoulder, slightly dampened tresses whipping around as she did so. “Just to the porch, Mrs. A, I promise. The breeze is so deliciously cool, and I must read my note out there.”

  Mrs. Ames did not look remotely convinced or pleased by this. “But the chill.”

  Alexandra took pity on the woman and faced her, smiling. “Would it make you feel better if I were to come back in directly after and let you sit me before the fire and see me wrapped in blankets?”

  The kind woman nodded repeatedly, clasping her hands. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Carlton. I’ll put some water on the stove for tea as we speak!” She clapped once, then toddled off to the kitchens.

  Charming woman, but really, Alexa
ndra was a grown woman, and she certainly did not need someone to pamper her excessively like a nursemaid. She hadn’t even enjoyed such attentions when she was of an age to truly receive them, but to endure them now was really too much.

  Back out on the porch, she sighed and took a few moments to inhale and exhale deeply.

  There really was something quite magical and majestic about the clarity and freshness to the air, and she felt rather renewed by it.

  Tucker was out and about doing something or other that she would have been superfluous and incongruous for, a woman being a marked hindrance to some of the more unsavory parts of investigation in the particular realms to which they were focused.