Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) (6 page)

Mr. Jackson took a deep breath and then slicked his hands over his hair. Ellen crouched, not daring to move, as he watched the green woman leave. A moment later he straightened up and walked down the steps and into the yard.

A love note!

Ellen followed after him on the ineffective tips of her silk slippers. Wetness from the grass seeped in over her toes. Aunt Louisa would burst into a conniption when she saw the ruined shoes, but a scolding would be worth it.

In a jerky movement, Mr. Jackson stopped, and looked left, then right. Ellen dropped to the ground behind an evergreen bush, its needles jabbing into her skin. Her palms dampened. A mildew smell flooded her senses as she peered through the branches.

Hands fumbling, Mr. Jackson extracted the love note and stared at it. He pulled out his handkerchief and sopped his brow. It must be a steamy letter like the ones in Ellen’s dime novels. Probably begging Mr. Jackson to leave everything and run away to the West with the lady in green. Maybe she offered to forsake her family and wealth to be with him.

After another moment he balled up the note and tossed it into a lawn fountain, then stalked away.

Ellen didn’t even wait until he was out of sight. She raced forward and plucked the letter out of the water. She shook it, launching droplets, and then squinted to read the missive by the light of the moon. The ink of two words smeared across the page but count her lucky stars— they were legible.

Office. 1 A.M.

James held his breath as he crept along the uneven stone wall. He tugged at his pocket watch—nearing one in the morning. He’d spotted Downing fast-walking down the north corridor of Cobb’s mansion. Under the pretense of locating the smoking room, James followed at a distance until Downing slipped into a room on the right. The heavy oaken door clicked behind the pudgy man.

With no foreseeable reason to explain entrance behind Downing, James continued down the hall. The room had to have a window situated on the back of house. His earlier exploit on the tavern window sill made him feel quite the expert. He’d simply pull that trick again. Besides, the door to whatever room Downing had entered proved far too thick to listen through. How would he explain himself if someone came upon him, ear pressed to the door?

Stealing through a back servant’s entrance, James found himself on a large back porch that wrapped around the entirety of the mansion. He squinted—
abandoned
—save for a couple ruining their reputations near the side steps. A few torches lit the end of the structure near the wide arch that led to the ballroom, but darkness cloaked the far end of the porch.

He pressed as close as he could to the rough-edged wall then balanced on tip-toe to peek into the first window. Nothing. Next window, he found the library. Empty. The third window he found to be situated lower than the rest near a group of potted trees, but someone had beaten him to his spying location. Of course, that meant he’d found his window. Now he just had an adversary to dispatch first.

James gritted his teeth. Those Ingrams should be glad he cared about them so much, because beyond exonerating Lewis he took no joy in crouching about in his finest shoes. He was a banker after all. Order, scheduled hours, dealing over a desk, these were the makings of the life he knew.

His mind raked over Hugh’s instructions. What should an operative do when he found his only source for information blocked? Patting his coat and trousers, James searched for a pocket revolver or a 22 caliber Double Barrel Derringer. At this point he would have settled for a dagger strapped to his calf or an old-style epee. Not that he’d use any of them, but a threat wouldn’t hurt.

After coming up void in the weapons department, James inched closer to acquire a better look at his opponent. He would sneak from behind and gag the person with his own tie. Fingers at his collar, he started to loosen the fabric.

Closer … closer….

James stopped and gasped.

That someone had their bustled rump in the air—to fine effect—as they peered through the window. The girl ducked and her whole form gave a tantalizing sway, the striped blue fabric whispering against the stone flooring. Wait. Striped blue? He’d know the curve of that creamy neck anywhere.

James rounded on her, pressing his hand over her mouth as he hauled Ellen backwards. With his other arm wrapped snugly over her middle, he pinned down her arms. Her body tensed. She gave a muffled yelp and kicked damp little slippers against his legs.

He pressed his lips against her ear and the scent of lavender water almost made him forget himself and kiss her right there. Almost.

“Confounded Ellen!”

Her silken black hair caressed his cheek as she turned. “James! Modulate your voice. What are you doing out here?”

With her facing him, he clamped his hands over her shoulders. “I could ask you the same thing. What possessed you to wander around in the dark alone? Anyone could come upon you.”

“Like you?” She laughed.

He gripped her shoulders a litter tighter. “I’m not teasing, Ellen. Can’t you comprehend the danger?”

“But
you’re
sneaking about in the dark.” She pouted.

James fisted his hands. Cute as she may be, she probably just cost him the mission. Not that he’d agreed to espionage. He wasn’t, of course. Just seeing. Seeing and spying were different. Very different.

“Who is in that room?”

“Oh, yes!” Seeming to remember her reason for squatting outside, Ellen moved back to her earlier snooping spot. “I believe Mr. Jackson planned a tete-a-tete with a woman, but Mr. Downing has been sitting on the sofa making it impossible for them to be alone. He’s ruining everyone’s fun.”

James edged forward until he sidled up beside Ellen, both of them squinting into the window. “Why do you care about Mr. Jackson?” His palms slicked inside his gloves. Whether from the espionage, or the thought of Ellen showing interest in another man, he didn’t care to examine the reason.

Ellen placed her hand on James’s arm. “Do you know that woman?”

He turned his attention toward the lady in the room wearing green. “That is Mrs. Goodwell. She is the recent wife to Sid Goodwell, who has made a great deal of money in advertising. If memory serves me right, she was widowed once before meeting Goodwell.”

Mrs. Goodwell swept back and forth across the expanse of the room, talking with her hands. James pressed his ear to the opening in the window.

Downing stood. “Get the word out. I’ll see you both then.” He tipped his head and yanked open the heavy door, disappearing into the hallway.

“We have a deal, then? You will be on the boat tomorrow?” Mrs. Goodwell placed her hands on her hips.

Mr. Jackson leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his forehead against his palms. “You are certain they plan to bring in strikebreakers?”

“My husband’s cronies have assured me so.”

“Then I have no choice.” With slumped shoulders, he rose. “Tomorrow then.”

James grabbed Ellen’s arm and tugged her toward the lit section of the porch. Someone near the stairs scuttled into the darkness. Hopefully, they hadn’t been seen, or else word around town would be that James and Ellen were a pair. Not that he’d mind such a rumor. Maybe the idea would take root in her mind.

He released her and crossed his arms. “Now, thanks to you, I have no clue what boat they were discussing.”

“Pity.” Ellen laughed and started to walk toward the arch that led to the ballroom. She looked back over her shoulder. “I do.”

In two strides he caught her elbow. “Tell me.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Interested in gossip, are we?”

He growled. “Ellen.”

“Learn to have a little fun, James. Becoming worked up doesn’t suit you. It never has. You have crinkles by your eyes already from all the time you spend worrying.” She patted his hand. “The
S.S. Gondola
. They spoke of meeting on the steamship cruise soiree McCormick is hosting to benefit the Art Institute.”

“Is it an invitation only affair?”

“Yes.” Her lips pursed. “It so happens that my aunt and uncle are invited.”

“And you, too?”

“Of course.”

“May I escort you?”

She shrugged. “Might as well. Carter asked someone before meeting me or else we would have gone together.”

“Hurst? You’re already on a first name basis with him?”

Ellen leaned forward and offered a dramatic wink. “I told you I’d be engaged before the month ends.”

“I went to school with the man. I know him. He’s not the sort you want.”

“Huh, seems you know Prissy Conti rather well, too. Did you go to school with her as well?”

James groaned.

She held up her hand to block his words. “I’m going to find Aunt Louisa. Can you alert the staff to ready the carriage?”

“Will do,” he whispered, but she was already gone.

With a lurch, the
S.S. Gondola
puffed out into the murky night covering of Lake Michigan. Black water slapped the sides of the boat and a wash of cold April air drifted over the crowd gathered near a hors d’oeuvres table on the front deck. Madness and society alone assured people would show up to a boating party planned so earlier in the season before the lake warmed.

James grabbed the railing to steady himself. Cold wind nipped at his hands. Snippets of conversations floated to him, most concerning the needed expansion of the Art Institute’s home near Michigan Avenue and Van Buren Street.

Hugh Gunther appeared at his side. The man stopped about a foot away and trained his eyes on the city. “Keep your eyes forward. Try not to move your lips much when you’re speaking and pretend we do not know each other. We need to seem like two men standing apart staring at the pretty view, nothing more.”

“Pretty view? It’s all smoke and buildings.”

“That’s what progress looks like.”

“Not to me.”

“We’re not here to talk pleasantries Mr. Kent. Might we continue with the true subject at hand? We will then part and not speak to each again until I call upon you.”

With a fraction of a nod, James let Hugh know he understood.

“Good. Thank you for continuing on with me.”

James rested his forearms on the railing. “I haven’t promised I’m in. I’m still undecided.”

“Well, I have something of a boon that might change your mind. After you told me what you saw last night, I spent today conducting a little investigation of my own.” His even voice betrayed nothing. “We have an information leak.”

“Are you accusing me?”

“Not at all. It’s the girl you showed up with, Miss Ingram. As she paid calls with her aunt today, she spread word around the Gold Coast about Mrs. Goodwell’s meeting with Mr. Jackson.”

Bolting up, James broke the rules and turned toward Hugh. “I didn’t say a word. I’d never endanger her.”

Hugh’s face hardened. “Kindly face the city, Mr. Kent.” His lips hardly parted as he spoke.

James obeyed.

Hugh twisted his cane around in his hand, the head of the ornamental swan catching light from the hanging lanterns. “It doesn’t matter. For some reason, she knows, and now a faction of the anarchists believe Miss Ingram is the spy who’s been foiling their plots these past few weeks. Sort of a good sibling against bad sibling bit.”

“She doesn’t even know about Lewis. She thinks he’s in New York conducting business for their stables.” The blood drained from James’s veins. “Wait. Th-then she’s in danger.”

“But you, my friend, are not. Her suspicion offers you effective cover.” Hugh stretched. “I’m tired of this view. I saw some pastries on the sweets table.” The lanky man sauntered toward the bow of the ship.

Blood pumping, James flashed from ice cold to boiling. What would possess Ellen to run around town gushing about the assignation they observed? James wanted to chase after Hugh, grab him by the arm, and ask what happened to someone the anarchists believed to be a spy.

Kidnapping? Death?

Were they watching her?

His stomach twisted.

Feet moving more quickly than propriety allowed, James made it to the front of the boat and scanned the crowd for Ellen. Her bright yellow dress dazzled in the lantern light that bathed the deck. She laughed at something Carter Hurst said as James charged toward her. Without ceremony, he pressed a hand on the small of her back and propelled her from the crowd.

She jerked away.

He smiled to the group, even Carter. “If you’ll excuse us, I just need to speak with her for a moment.” James offered Ellen his arm.

She took it, pinching the tender inside of his bicep. Through his thick coat she didn’t achieve the pain he knew she wished to inflict. “This had better be good, James.”

“What? Did I steal you from prime courtship time?” Sure that they were safely out of earshot, he released her. Shadows played across her pale skin when she faced him.

“As a matter of fact, you did.” Ellen crossed her arms.

James clenched his jaw. “You shouldn’t even be with him.
I
escorted you.”

The boat pitched to the left and Ellen staggered into him. The smell of rose water from her hair flooded his senses. He caught her in his arms—so small, so breakable—and fought the desire to pull her tighter against him. She was in danger and he needed to protect her. For a moment, James could only think about how delicate and soft she was, and how much he wanted to kiss her.

Ellen shoved out of his hold.

“Only by default.” She peeked back at her companions.

“What?”

“You’re only my escort because you wanted to use my invitation to come on board the ship.”

“Last night … I didn’t like how attentive you were to Hurst. You shouldn’t flaunt yourself in a man’s direction.”

She spun on her feet. “I can’t believe you. This conversation is over.”

He blocked her path. “Not by half. I’m serious, Ellen. Slow down with Carter. You’ve known the man one day, and last night you sat closer than any married couple I know. What if he’s not the man for you? What if other men, good men who might have been interested, decided you are claimed or not worth their while because of your flirtations?”