I picked at a fingernail and avoided her gaze. “I just want to know about our connection to the Wilcoxes... so I can understand Clarence better.”
Mama examined me for several seconds, considering my words. At last she said, “I always assumed it had to do with politics. Perhaps... perhaps dirty politics—the sort of thing of which Henry would never approve.”
“So...” I winced as the nail ripped off too far. “You want me to spend time with the people who ostracized Father because he wouldn’t play dirty politics? Who ostracized you because Father wouldn’t work with them?”
“The past is of no consequence. Your father’s business collapsed, Eleanor, and with it went his sanity and his family’s fortune. All that money wasted on a city council campaign.” She massaged her temples. “Soon our funds will be completely spent. The Trustee families are the highest in Philadelphia’s society. Powerful, rich, and—”
“Dead,” I mumbled.
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing.” I pinched the freshly exposed finger. I needed silence in order to work out this new information. I knew what game of intrigue my father had refused to play—dirty politics—though I still didn’t understand the game itself.
Daniel had said he would deal with the Gas Ring part of the puzzle, but I didn’t know if I could trust Daniel anymore.
“You are behaving very oddly this evening,” Mama said. “You had better collect yourself. I will not have you acting like a lunatic with Mr. Wilcox.”
I almost laughed. She had no idea how close to lunacy Clarence and I both were these days.
“I-I’m nervous,” I stammered with what I hoped was a shy expression. “About tonight.”
“Ah, I understand.” Mama tapped the side of her nose. “Well, I will call Mary in to finish your hair.”
“Yes, fine.” I waved her away, too lost in my thoughts to care about her satisfied smirk.
“Miss Fitt,” Clarence murmured, bowing when I greeted him in my family’s parlor. The dim, yellow glow of the gas lamps layered him in flickering shadows, hiding the haggard expression I knew he wore.
“You look simply stunning,” he added.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilcox.” The dress was a lavender silk lined with white lace and miniature roses, and it trailed at least three feet behind me. It did enhance my plain looks to a passable pretty. But no matter how much it flattered my figure, it could never be worth the three hundred dollars Mama had paid for it—or rather had bought on credit.
“You look nice as well,” I told Clarence with a wave to his crisp black suit and gleaming patent leather shoes.
He offered me his elbow, and I hooked my arm in his. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he gracefully escorted me to the carriage.
A rough breeze kicked at my curls, and I pulled my black velvet cloak tightly to me. Rain would ruin my elaborate hair and cover the gown’s train in mud. And how will rain affect the Spirit-Hunters’ mission?
I nodded to Willis, who sat with the driver on the back of the Wilcox carriage. He tipped his hat.
Clarence swung open the carriage door and hefted me in. I started when three leering faces emerged in the darkness before me.
Clarence guided me to a seat, plopped on the bench across from me, and slammed the door shut. “I took your advice, Miss Fitt” he said. “Allow me to introduce my newest guards.”
I squinted to see them. They were tough-looking men. Though all three wore shiny top hats, they looked more like men one would find patrolling the streets at night. Broad shoulders, bushy mustaches, and stiff postures.
“They’re Pinkertons,” Clarence said. “The best of the best.”
“Ah.” The Pinkerton National Detective Agency was well-known for its top-notch private security. Its motto was We Never Sleep. Even President Lincoln had hired them. Although, that hadn’t worked well for him in the end.
“How appropriate,” I murmured in a syrupy voice. “The men who never sleep to guard the man who never sleeps.”
Clarence laughed hollowly. “Well, perhaps now I can sleep.” He slouched back in his seat and rested his hands behind his head. “I’ve also decided to send Mother and Allison on a trip to our seaside cottage. They are at home packing as we speak. You were right to suggest more protection, Miss Fitt. Why, I haven’t felt this at ease in two weeks!”
So the Wilcox women were not ill at all. The carriage rattled to a start. None of the Pinkertons moved or even flinched.
“I’m glad I could help,” I said dryly.
“Yes. It’s wonderful to relax.” Clarence’s tone was light, and he was almost like his old charming self. If three stone-faced guards weren’t with us in the carriage, I might have enjoyed him again.
As if in response to my musings, Clarence said, “I must admit, Miss Fitt, I actually enjoy your company.”