Guiding and teaching me in this way, DeForest reminded me of Paul: good with his hands, easy to talk to. Of course, Paul had grown thin at the end, pale and wasted. I’d had to help him move the heavier props and scrims so he could keep his illness secret. A weak stagehand would be instantly dismissed. The two men looked nothing alike, but there was a deeper resemblance.
After I’d emptied the pistol of its bullets, we went back to the office together. I wanted to tell Pinkerton, right away, that I’d removed his objection. I needed to know whether this would satisfy him or whether he would quickly manufacture another one to replace it.
As we entered the office upstairs, DeForest put his hand on my back to usher me through the door. His fingers snaked around the side of my waist. I was sure it looked quite intimate, and I didn’t care for it. I shrugged him off, trying not to make a scene. Funny how he’d been nothing but a gentleman when we were alone. I read the room quickly—two operatives I didn’t recognize were deep in conversation with Mortenson, who didn’t look up, and Bellamy, whose glare confirmed that he’d seen what happened and didn’t approve.
The boss himself looked up from his papers, read the set of my jaw, and said, “Let’s talk in my office.”
Once the three of us were behind the closed door, I said, “You said I could go on a case when I could defend myself. I can do that now. DeForest’ll tell you.”
“She’s a natural,” said DeForest, winking at me. “You can send her to the woods with me anytime.”
I winced at his suggestiveness and hastened to clarify. “We were shooting targets in the woods; that’s what he means.”
“She’s a dab hand with a gun,” said DeForest.
“You can defend yourself?” Pinkerton asked me.
“Yes.”
With no delay, he reached out toward my side, where the gun hung in the holster, and I had only a moment to react. So I did. I pulled the gun away before his fingers could close around it, and holding it by the barrel, I swung the grip down against his wrist. He yelped in surprise.
Without looking away from him, I returned the gun to the holster smoothly. Pinkerton rubbed his wrist. I knew it would sting for a few minutes but leave no damage or mark. It had been my mother’s favorite punishment for that reason.
I heard DeForest chuckle gently. I very much wanted to answer with a grin, but instead, I turned to the boss, waiting.
Pinkerton looked neither impressed nor angry. If he was surprised that I took the bold step of striking him bodily, despite our very different positions, he was covering it exceptionally well.
He folded his arms. I folded mine. There was no need for me to ask the question aloud; he already knew it. He looked me over with his burning gaze, reading my resolve in my braced stance and raised chin.
“Very well then,” he said. “Tomorrow. Look rich.”
Chapter Six
The Snake Ring
The next day, I approached the office in the early morning, before the heat of the day had settled on the city. I wore the same claret gown I’d worn for my exploits at Joe Mulligan’s, with a fichu patterned with small blue flowers to make the neckline more modest. An additional petticoat belled out the skirt, a straw bonnet artfully crowned my neatly bound hair, and the rich silk gloves given me by Mrs. Borowski provided exactly the right finishing touch. I was beginning to suspect that the main difference between rich women and whores lay mostly in the accessories.
I was lost in thought—What case would I be assigned? What would happen if I didn’t succeed?—but slowed my steps when I noticed a man with a heavy beard and a cheap, worn sack coat lingering in the entryway.
I could try to ignore him, but he was right at the door, blocking my progress. He seemed enthralled with something in his pocket. I thought about circling the block once to avoid him and see if he’d cleared out by the time I returned, but I didn’t want to be late, and I didn’t imagine anyone seriously dangerous would linger in the entryway of the best-known detective agency in the United States. Even the most foolish criminals would have better sense.
Striding toward the door, I cleared my throat to suggest he move aside.
The man turned and caught my eye, and I knew him instantly under the disguise.
“On the job, Mr. Bellamy?” I asked.
His icy blue eyes narrowed. “Hello.”
“Mrs. Warne,” I said, though I knew it was impossible that he didn’t recognize me.
“Yes.”
When he said nothing more, I added, “You may have heard I’m starting my next case today. I hope to secure the evidence quickly and return in triumph.”
He answered me with a derisive laugh.
I decided to address the matter directly. “You have no confidence in me, then?”
“None at all.”
“Mr. Pinkerton seems to disagree with you.”
“I think he’s made a mistake.”
“Oh, do you?” I decided not to be riled. “And have you told him so?”
“I have,” replied Bellamy coolly. “Women are too delicate to do what our position requires. You might skate by for a while, but there will be a reckoning. When the day comes and you’re called to perform an extraordinary task, you’ll find yourself unable.”
“I will not.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you have the desire,” he said with something in his tone that approached kindness, making it far more insulting. He lectured me as he would a child.
I thought about what DeForest had said. Well, I would not be taking tea in a crinoline, not for Bellamy’s sake or anyone else’s. I was here to work.
“Then what do you doubt?”
“Your strength. You imagine you have the wherewithal to act, but our mettle is tested beyond imagination. In our service, a man has to be willing to do many things.”
“Ah, there you’re wrong!” I said, eager to interrupt.
“Am I?”
“Willingness to do many things will never be enough. We must be willing to do all things.”
The dark beard and unruly hair surrounding his face made his icy blue eyes stand out even more brightly. He stared me down. I didn’t move. “You talk a good game. You convinced him with your talk, I take it. But you don’t convince me.”
“Perhaps someday, I shall.”