Sadie's Secret: 3 (The Secret Lives of Will Tucker) (6 page)

Two days later, Sadie sat very still, her thoughts centered on the argument she’d just lost with Henry. Though brief, their words were spiced with just enough vigor and irritation to cause her to need more than a moment to calm herself.

But a moment was all she had. The prisoner would be released any time now, and it was her job to see that he arrived safely at his destination.

Her job. To babysit a man perfectly capable of seeing himself back to Mobile, Alabama.

She allowed a quiet but inelegant snort. If the man were in possession of the credentials the London Metropolitan Police had claimed, then he well ought to be able to see himself onto some sort of public conveyance and find his way home.

Sadie sighed. For all the humor she might attempt, there really was nothing funny in the situation. Had this fellow not been so impertinent as to accuse a judge of receiving stolen property, he might have slept in his own bed in Mobile last night.

As it was, finding a means to have him released had taken a full two days. Two days of delay she could ill afford. Another sigh. At this point she would never get to New York City to solve Mamie Astor’s Rembrandt problem.

Thanks to Uncle Penn, at least the issue of her father’s demand that she immediately return home had been temporarily handled. How long Daddy would be put off by his brother-in-law’s visit and the assurance that Sadie would be along shortly was anyone’s guess.

So was the reason he would give for her delay. Sadie’s only request was that her uncle not lie. Beyond that, she would trust his good sense and creative mind.

According to Henry, the plan was to transport Mr. Tucker by carriage to St. Francisville some twenty miles to the south. There, the new agent in charge of the Will Tucker case would make contact and take over.

While she fully expected Henry to make the attempt to lull either Lucas McMinn or Kyle Russell out of their retirements, she doubted he would meet with success. Other agents were fully capable and likely near enough to the vicinity to be of service. With the notes in her valise, he—or possibly she—would have no trouble taking up the case where Sadie left off.

Which meant she would then travel on to New Orleans and then to Callum Plantation in River Pointe to face Daddy.

The weather was chilly for the last day of April, and the sun’s light barely showed through the thick clouds, although the hour was well past noon. Back home in River Pointe, these sorts of days gave over to fog and dampness that could soak a person to the bone. North of Baton Rouge, however, the gray morning was merely unpleasant.

The talk was of flooding up and down the Mississippi River. Levees were giving way and fields and roads inundated with water. That she would be traveling along that very river was not lost on Sadie. She prayed there would be no danger or delay.

A picnic basket Uncle Penn had provided before dawn sat at Sadie’s feet
untouched. Perhaps Mr. Tucker would make good use of it, for she had no desire to make the attempt. Reaching for the handkerchief soaked in Guerlain Lavande perfume, her current favorite, Sadie made yet another attempt to blot out the scent of the awful prison as it wafted through the open windows of the carriage. The effort failed miserably, so she reached to close the windows.

A jostling alerted her to the fact that the driver had climbed from his position, and the blur of a man in a dark suit hurrying toward the prison’s main entrance told her where he’d gone.

Sadie steeled herself for the moment when the Tucker fellow would join her. There was more jostling as the driver apparently returned to his position. Then the carriage lurched into motion. Lowering the window, she called for him to stop.

A moment later the wheels ceased their motion and the driver jumped down to stand at the window. “Trouble of some kind, Miss Callum?”

“Have we forgotten Mr. Tucker, Sam?”

He glanced up and then back at Sadie. “Mr. Tucker prefers to ride with me, ma’am.”

“I see. And why would that be?”

“Perhaps because he hasn’t had a bath since this time last year. The fellow mentioned he’d welcome a nice rain shower to knock off some of the critters.”

Critters. Sadie shuddered.

“Ah. Well, then,” she said as she recalled the filthy but defiant prisoner she’d seen in the courtroom two days ago. Indeed, that man was not one with whom she wished to spend any length of time in an enclosed space.

However, Henry’s instructions were explicit.
“Shadow Mr. Tucker until you hand him off to the next agent. This man might not be the Tucker we’re looking for, but he is our only link to him.”

He could not be allowed to ride atop the carriage where he might easily jump off at the first stop or, worse, be set upon by his brother or others.

She met the driver’s expectant gaze. “Tell him that is quite impossible.”

“But, Miss Callum, he’s a mite worse for wear, having been in that place long as he was.”

“I understand that, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it. I am charged with an assignment and I must fulfill the terms.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll let him know, then.”

Sadie waited, handkerchief in hand, until the sound of men’s voices rose outside. Sam Fenton was one of several drivers handpicked by the Pinkertons and on call for situations just like this. He was paid far too well to ignore an order, and thus a few minutes later, the door flew open.

“He gave me a mite of trouble, but I believe I explained it so he understood,” Sam said. “He may have a headache when he wakes up, though.”

A body wrapped in a blanket landed in a crumpled heap on the floor at her feet.

Five

T
he moment Sam pulled away the heavy fabric and tossed it behind him, the odor arose. And then so did the source, scrambling to his feet as the door slammed shut. Mr. Tucker’s hand went to the latch, but Sadie got there first.

“I wouldn’t advise that,” she said as she tried not to gasp from the horrid smell. “My assignment is to keep you in sight, and unfortunately for both of us, that means you must ride in here with me.”

The man ran a hand through tangled wet hair that promised to be a lovely shade of pale brown once the dirt was removed and sat down on the bench seat opposite her. “You’re the Pinkerton agent.”

Southern with an influence of something else she hadn’t noticed during his courtroom testimony. British, from his dossier, by way of Mobile, Alabama. There should be a story in that, although Sadie didn’t expect to be around him long enough to hear it.

His clothes had been well cut, the shoes, or what remained of them, more of a Western variety. A man of means, perhaps. Or had been.

“Agent Sadie Callum, Mr. Tucker,” she managed before retreating behind her handkerchief. “I’m to escort you as far as St. Francisville, where another agent will take you the rest of the way to your home.”

“And protect me from my brother?”

Indeed, there had been some discussion that the original Will Tucker might be provoked to act once word of his brother’s release reached him. The potential threat was enough to have Henry send Sam, the biggest brute of the agency’s drivers, to escort them on this leg of the journey.

“If necessary.”

He did not look away. “It won’t be.”

A trickle of blood slid down his temple and into his ragged beard, staining the reddish hairs a darker crimson. Sadie made the difficult choice to give up her handkerchief.

“You’ve been injured by my driver,” she said as she offered the delicate bit of cloth. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be if you don’t lower those windows and let in some fresh air.” He accepted the handkerchief and then swiped at the strings of hair hiding his face. “And for the record, he didn’t hit me hard enough to do this. That happened during a disagreement with one of the guards before I left.”

Her gaze collided with his as the carriage lurched into motion. “Oh.”

Mr. Tucker lowered the window nearest him and then reached down to retrieve the blanket covering the food basket. “You’ll be needing this,” he said as he handed the blanket to her and then lowered the other window. “Especially when the rain hits, which I figure should happen soon.”

Sadie accepted the blanket, not because she needed it to ward off the chill but because the layer of fabric just might make up for the loss of her handkerchief. If only she had access to the bottle of Lavande that was tucked into the trunk she’d given the driver this morning.

“Won’t you eat?” she said to distract herself. “I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking in the basket.”

He eyed it for only a moment before nodding. “Anything without bugs or rot would suit me.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t appropriate for a woman to hear.”

“I assure you I’ve heard worse, Mr. Tucker,” Sadie said as she lifted the basket onto the seat beside her companion. “Please, enjoy what my uncle has provided.”

The man’s neutral expression went slack when he spied the contents of the hamper. “You’ll join me?”

“I assure you I’ve had my fill already.” And she had, though not of the contents of the hamper. This morning’s toast and jam would have to be sufficient until she could exit the carriage. With the stench, likely nothing else would stay down anyway.

“Please,” she said again as she gestured to the hamper and then reached inside to offer him a tin plate and a blue-checked napkin. “This is for you.”

“Thank you.” Somewhere between the fried chicken and biscuits and the jar of sweetened tea, he finally filled what must have been an extremely empty gut. “I haven’t had food like that in a very long time,” he said as he dabbed at his mouth.

Sadie’s response was just a smile. As she certainly hadn’t had the presence of mind to consider that the former prisoner might be hungry, she could take no credit.

Her traveling companion leaned back against the seat, his eyes falling shut as the carriage jolted along. Just when she thought he might have fallen asleep, he opened his eyes once more.

“It seems a year in prison has caused me to forget my manners. I owe you a debt of gratitude, Miss Callum.”

“Honestly, you do not. The food was courtesy of my uncle. I will pass along your message when I see him next,” she said as she tried not to think of how soon that would be.

“I wasn’t referring to the chicken and biscuits, although that was a mighty fine meal.” He paused. “You stood up to the judge when a lesser man—or rather, woman—wouldn’t.”

She hadn’t expected that. “I was merely doing my job.”

“A job you’re apparently quite good at.” He let out a long breath. “I’m going to miss that revolver and folding knife, but I don’t suppose I can complain about being compensated for them. The London Metropolitan might have a different idea about that since the weapons belonged to them.”

“Yes,” she said as she reached for her reticule, “but this belongs to you.” Retrieving the pocket watch the judge had entrusted to her, Sadie placed it in Mr. Tucker’s palm.

He smiled. “Should I ask how you got this?”

“Apparently his honor had no idea that he had purchased—or been gifted, as the story varies—a watch that might have been stolen.”

“Might have been?”

Sadie shrugged. “Does it matter? You have your watch back, and the judge has his reputation intact. A satisfactory arrangement.”

“A win for both of us,” he said, sarcasm coloring the statement. “Are you part of this arrangement?”