Something Borrowed

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Mary looked up at him. "Thank you." She took the gun from him and slipped it into her pocket.

  Lee turned to Judah and gently gripped his gnarled hand. "Good-bye, Judah. Take care of our ladies until I return."

  Judah nodded gravely. "You can count on me, young man."

  SOMETHING BORROW'!)

  "I know." Lee knelt on one knee to hug Maddy. "You be a good little girl while I'm gone. Mind Mary and help Judah and Louisa. Okay?"

  " 'Kay." Maddy nodded.

  Lee kissed her on the cheek.

  Maddy hugged him tightly, then planted several wet kisses on his face. "Mama!" she demanded shoving the doll at Lee's mouth.

  He kissed the doll as instructed by Maddy, then rose to his full height and grabbed his hat from its resting place on the newel post.

  "I shouldn't be gone more than three weeks," Lee said to Mary. "I'm going to Chicago first, then on to Washington. I left a man there working on the case, so with any luck…" He let his words trail off.

  "I understand," Mary told him.

  "I hate leaving you alone," Lee admitted, fiddling with the brim of his hat. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

  "Yes." She bit her lip to hide its trembling. Lee had a job to do—a job she wanted him to do—and Mary couldn't let herself interfere with its completion, no matter how much she wanted him to stay.

  "Well," Lee said, "the train leaves in fifteen minutes. I'd better be going." He picked up his leather satchel. "You know if you need me, you can telegraph the Agency. William Pinkerton knows how to contact me."

  "I know."

  "Or you can telegraph Reese or David."

  "I know."

  "I'll be traveling under the name G. M. Smith," Lee reminded her.

  Mary nodded.

  "Are you sure you don't want to return to Cheyenne to stay with your family at the ranch while I'm gone?"

  The train whistle sounded in the distance.

  "I'm sure," Mary said. "And you had better hurry or you'll miss the train."

  "But…"

  "I'll be fine," Mary assured him, moving to stand between Judah and Maddy. "We'll be fine. Go slay the dragons. Go rescue the fair little maiden."

  Lee jammed his hat on his head, opened the front door and headed toward Utopia's dusty Main Street. He had passed through the wrought iron gate to Ettinger House and was halfway down the street when he heard Mary behind him.

  "Wait, Lee!"

  He stopped and waited as Mary, skirts in hand, shapely legs visible, caught up to him. "What is it? Did I forget something?"

  She let go of her skirts. "You didn't let me give you my favor." Mary held out a red ribbon.

  Lee stared at her. Her face was flushed from the exertion of running in skirts and corset, her lips were reddened, and several strands of inky black hair had come loose from her elegant chignon. Lee shook his head in wonderment. She had gathered her skirts in hand and run out of the house, and exposed her long lovely silk clad legs to anyone who cared to look, just to give him a red ribbon. "Have I your favor now, Mary?" he asked in a husky baritone voice.

  "Yes," she answered breathlessly, staring up into his pewter gray eyes.

  "And when I return from Washington?"

  "Yes."

  "Then tie it on." He dropped his leather satchel in the dust and extended his arm so Mary could fasten her favor beneath Madeline's.

  "Are you certain?" He had to ask because afterward, there could be no turning back.

  "I'm certain." Mary smiled up at him. "You see, I had another reason for getting everyone all dressed up to see you off."

  "And what was that?"

  "To remind you of what you have to come home to."

  Lee stepped closer to her and traced the heart-shaped neckline of her dress with his finger. "Some reminder."

  "Do you like it?"

  "The dress is okay," he teased.

  "Only okay?" she questioned.

  "Yeah, but the woman inside it is pretty special." He leaned toward her. "One favor from you isn't enough. I need another."

  "Then, take it," she said as she closed her eyes and waited for his kiss.

  Lee thought about Mary all the way to Chicago. He thought about her as he gave his report to William Pinkerton and dreamed of her as he dozed on the east-bound train and after he reached his destination and had settled into a comfortable room at the Madison Hotel. He dreamed of her good-bye kiss, the way she looked in her ruby red dress running down the walkway to catch him and tie her favor around his arm. But most of all, Lee dreamed of the other favors she had promised when he returned. He told himself to turn around and head back to Utopia. He told himself that the best thing he could do for Mary was to send her away from him before it was too late—before he ruined her for Pelham Cosgrove. Lee told himself that he should send her back to Cheyenne so she could have the kind of life she deserved with a better man than he was, but deep down, Lee knew he couldn't… wouldn't do it.

  He wasn't that noble or self-sacrificing. Mary had reached a decision. She was ready to explore the attraction between them, and Lee intended to take full advantage of her curiosity and her temporary weakness. He had been fighting his attraction to her from the first day they met and he'd be damned if it wasn't time to do something about it. She'd married him in a church before God and witnesses, and while he might not have been her first choice, he was the man she ended up with. And Lee meant to end up in her bed, just as soon as he finished his business in Washington.

  Washington. The topic of conversation in the city had changed in the few days Lee had been gone. The shocking news of Senator Warner Millen's tragic death had been replaced by other news. Lee sat the bar of the Madison Hotel sipping a cup of Irish coffee and listening to the talk around him while he waited for his contact, Dan Willis, to join him.

  Five minutes later, a smartly dressed gentleman slipped onto the barstool beside him. "Hello, Kincaid."

  "Hello, Willis," Lee replied as he motioned the bartender over. "What will you have?"

  "Beer."

  "Beer for the gentleman," Lee said to the barman, "and another Irish coffee for me." He waited until the bartender moved to the other end of the bar, out of earshot, before he spoke again. "Good to see you again, Willis. What have you learned?"

  "Pretty much what you expected," Willis said. "It appears to be harder for a rich prominent man to hide an illegitimate granddaughter than the late Senator Millen bargained for, especially after the senator became involved in some questionable business dealings with some less than honorable men."

  Lee smiled. "Someone as well known as Senator Warner Millen would need help concealing his daughter's fall from grace. And that help would have to come from someone he trusted. If the person who helped Millen keep his little secret demanded payment for keeping it, then the distinguished senator would have no choice except pay or be exposed."

  "Right," Willis confirmed. "I've been following various members of the late senator's staff, and one of the senator's most trusted staff members has made some very interesting trips since the senator's death."

  "Let me guess," Lee said. "James Sarrazin."

  "Exactly. The late senator's personal clerk has been a very busy man. He's made two trips to Pennsylvania since you left, and at least one trip to the Millen residence in Georgetown."

  "As Milieu's personal secretary, Sarrazin was privy to almost everything that went on around the senator— personal as well as professional," Lee told him. "It's inconceivable to me that Sarrazin didn't know about Lily Catherine's birth. Someone had to arrange a place for Caroline to stay until the baby was born. When Caroline left Washington, Senator Millen mentioned to several of his cronies that his daughter was going to visit relatives in Pennsylvania for the season. Later, Millen announced that Caroline had died suddenly while visiting those same relatives. Did you have any luck questioning them?"

  Willis shook his head. "I wasn't able to locate anyone in Philadelphia who saw Caroline Millen during the last year
of her life. As far as I can tell, there isn't any branch of the Millen family or of Mrs. Millen's family, the Gaynors. The Inquirer ran her obituary when she died, but there isn't a single newspaper article to corroborate the Senator's story that his daughter was visiting in Philadelphia—not even on the society pages. And I didn't talk to a single soul who remembered meeting or seeing Caroline Millen at any of the society functions that season. And you would think that someone would remember meeting the daughter of a powerful and influential senator; someone would remember dancing with her or escorting her." Willis finished his beer and motioned for another one.

  "Which means the senator lied about his daughter's whereabouts," Lee concluded. "And it doesn't make sense for him to have lied when the facts could easily be checked."

  "But," Willis pointed out, "the senator circulated the first story when he sent Caroline away—after he learned of her disgrace. Now, all of Washington knows Millen had a falling out with his attorney, your friend David Alexander, which resulted in David's leaving Washington. But only a handful of people know why the senator took it upon himself to ruin Alexander's promising Washington career." Willis took a breath. "Millen sent his daughter away to avoid a scandal during an election year. In the natural course of things, Caroline Millen would have given birth to her child, the senator would have arranged for someone to take the child and raise it as their own, and Caroline would probably have spent a season in Philadelphia, then returned to Washington as if nothing had happened."

  "But Caroline didn't return to Washington," Lee said. "She simply disappeared. And eventually the disappearance of the daughter of a popular United States senator was sure to be noticed by someone." He took a sip of his coffee. "Her disappearance from Washington society had to be explained, and the senator couldn't risk telling the truth. He couldn't announce that his daughter had died delivering his illegitimate grandchild."

  "How did David Alexander find out?" Willis asked.

  "David returned quietly to Washington several months after the senator and Mrs. Millen sent Caroline away. David demanded to see the senator because he was concerned about Caroline's well-being. That's when the senator informed him that Caroline had died, but that the bastard half-breed child had survived. When David asked about the baby, Senator Millen told him that on her deathbed, Caroline had insisted on naming her daughter Lily Catherine Alexander. The senator and Mrs. Millen granted their daughter's last wish, then promptly sent the child to an orphanage."

  The bartender set another mug of beer down on the bar in front of Willis. Willis cleared his throat and shifted his weight on the barstool. "I've confirmed what you said about David Alexander. He isn't Lily Catherine's father. Now that the senator's dead, people have begun talking, mentioning things here and there. And I've learned that there was never any relationship between Alexander and the senator's daughter."

  "How did you manage to breach Washington's close-knit society?" Lee asked.

  "I've been temporarily assigned to Secretary Fish's staff," Willis told him.

  "I'm impressed by your connections," Lee raised an eyebrow at Daniel Willis. Hamilton Fish was President Grant's very capable Secretary of State.

  "Not my connections," Willis said. "Pinkerton's. But the job has been an asset. I've been introduced to all the Washington hostesses and I managed to meet Caroline Milieu's closest friend. Her name is Anne Greenberry, and I've been escorting her for two weeks now. Anne told me that Caroline Millen told her that she had only met David Alexander twice—once at her sixteenth birthday party and the night he took her home from the theater." He hefted his beer mug and took a swig before adding. "According to Anne, Caroline was at the theater that night because she had gone to see one of the actors, one of the male leads. Anne also told me that Caroline and the Shakespearean actor had been secretly meeting for weeks and that they had shared several romantic trysts. Apparently Caroline saw herself as a modern day Juliet to the actor's Romeo. They met in secret because Caroline knew her father wouldn't consider an actor as a possible son-in-law: It was out of the question."

  "How does Caroline's friend know all of this?" Lee asked.

  "Caroline confided in her."

  "How does she know Caroline didn't make this up—that it wasn't just the romantic fancy of a sixteen-year-old girl imagining herself in love with a handsome actor?" Lee asked.

  Willis grinned. "Caroline kept a journal and she entrusted it to Anne for safekeeping."

  "Have you seen the journal?"

  "No," Willis said. "But I believe it exists."

  "Does anyone else about the journal?"

  "According to Anne, Mrs. Millen knew Caroline kept a daily journal. Caroline gave the book to Anne so her mother wouldn't be able to find and read it."

  "But Anne Greenberry knows David Alexander isn't Lily Catherine's father," Lee said.

  "Yes."

  Lee smiled. He took another drink of his Irish coffee. "If Caroline Millen told her best friend about her actor lover, then it's possible someone else knew about him. Someone like Senator or Mrs. Millen, or…"

  "James Sarrazin," Willis continued David's train of thought. "The senator's personal secretary. And Sarrazin was in a position to know exactly how much embarrassment and political damage Lily Catherine's existence could cause the senator if the word got out that his daughter was carrying the illegitimate child of an actor and that Senator Millen had deliberately destroyed David Alexander's Washington career because Alexander refused to marry Caroline."

  "But we have to prove James Sarrazin was blackmailing the senator. You've followed him to Pennsylvania and to Mrs. Millen's Georgetown home following the senator's death. What can we prove?" Lee asked.

  "Word is that Senator Millen was spending rather large sums of money on a regular basis, but I haven't been able to prove it," Willis said.

  "If we could tie the money to Sarrazin and to the Millens, I'm sure I could get an audience with Mrs. Millen." Lee finished his coffee.

  "I've tried to call on her twice," Willis said, "to offer my condolences, but she's refusing all visitors."

  "Except James Sarrazin," Lee mused aloud.

  Willis drained his beer mug. "But Sarrazin was the senator's secretary. He may have had a very legitimate reason for calling on Mrs. Millen."

  "Keep an eye on Sarrazin just the same," Lee instructed. "See if he's spending more money than usual, and find out where he banks. If he's not spending it, he must be depositing the money somewhere—either in Washington or in Philadelphia. Oh, and find out if any other members of the Senator's staff have visited Philadelphia or the surrounding area since the distinguished gentleman's demise. Find out if any little girls Lily's age have been left in any of the orphanages in the vicinity of Philadelphia."

  Willis groaned. "Do you know how many two-year-old female orphans there could be?"

  Lee thought of Maddy. She was just a bit older than Lily Catherine, and orphaned, too. Maddy had him and Mary to love her and to take care of her. Lily Catherine might be alone. Lee shook his head. "I only know that if we work hard enough, there might be one less orphaned little girl."

  Willis nodded. "What are you going to do while I'm visiting foundling homes?"

  "I thought I might pay a visit to Mrs. Warner Millen."

  "She won't see you," Willis warned.

  "I think she might," Lee said. "If she thinks I've come about her husband's account at the bank. But first, I have to contact a friend of mine," Lee said, "at the Treasury Department."

  Willis smiled. Lee Kincaid had his own impressive connections.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  The morning after Lee left the house, Mary began a frenzy of activity. While Louisa kept an eye on Maddy and Judah, Mary made a trip down Main Street to Sherman's General Store.

  A big, broad-chested man came around the counter to greet her as she entered the store and Mary noticed he walked with a pronounced limp.

  "Hello, welcome to Sherman's General Store. I'm Jed Buf
ord, owner and operator." He extended his hand. "And you must be Miz Gray's sister-in-law." He repeated Louisa's earlier greeting in a slow, southern drawl.

  "I'm Mary Kincaid." Mary stepped forward to shake hands with him. And as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the store, she discovered Jed Buford was much younger than she thought. Mary had been expecting an older man, but found Jed Buford to be around her own age. He had bright red hair that was thinning on top and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were bright blue and they seemed to radiate with humor and intelligence. Mary liked him immediately.

  "We've—" He stopped and smiled. "I mean the people here in town have been expecting you for a while now, Miz Kincaid. Tabitha said you would come to take care of the little one and old Mr. Crane. We were a bit worried about your leaving once you learned the mine was closed, so you can imagine how happy this whole town is that you and your husband have decided to stay and make Utopia your home."

  "Thank you," Mary said. "We're glad to be here." She made the polite response even if it might not be the entire truth. Mary opened her purse. "I've come to settle the Ettinger House account and to order a few things."

  Jed shook his head. "The only bill I've got for Ettinger House is the one for the groceries Lou picked up yesterday. And that comes to three dollars and sixty-eight cents."

  Mary handed Jed three dollars and the change. "What about Tabitha's account?"

  "I closed it out when Tabitha passed away," he told Mary. "There wasn't much outstanding—only ten dollars or so—and I'll gladly absorb the loss. Tabitha did so much for me and the people of Utopia."

  "I'm sure she was a paragon."

  Jed laughed. "Oh no, she wasn't. She had a temper and faults just like the rest of us. She enjoyed having money while the mine was open, but she didn't like the way her uncle treated the mine families."