He considered it. We waited.
At long last, he said, “I sure do.”
We pretended we hadn’t been holding our breath. It was all I could do to keep my eyes down, but I didn’t want to give the game away.
“You come with me.” He gestured to Blue Eyes. “And you,” he said to me, “stay there.”
“I’ll be right here waiting,” I said with a broad wink.
They made their way out, slowly. Heck stumbled twice on only eight stairs. The second time, Blue Eyes tilted his shoulder into just the right place for the shorter man to lean on, making himself indispensable. The sight filled me with hope. I watched them until they were gone. I waited ten minutes and then went home.
All according to plan.
Well after midnight, I peeled off my shirtwaist, my corset, and the thoroughly damp chemise underneath, which clung to my skin as if pasted there. With a half-filled basin of water lugged up from the kitchen, I scrubbed myself with a rough, wet cloth over and over again. Limbs, chest, neck. Whether it was the smell or the feeling I was trying to scrub off, I couldn’t rightly say. Either way, my skin felt raw and ruined, and only exhaustion drove me to stop.
I lay perfectly still on my narrow bed, the only furniture in the cramped, bare room, the cotton sheets unpleasantly warm on my bare back. The windowless room was a boon in winter, I tried to remind myself. But by the time this winter came, unless today’s gambit had worked, I’d be on the street. Even Mrs. Borowski’s sainted patience would run out sometime. There were no cheaper boardinghouses in Chicago, and I had no stake to move elsewhere. I was a bad cook, an incompetent lady’s maid, an impatient shop clerk. I’d already applied to every possible position appropriate for a lady. Only the inappropriate ones remained.
And I wouldn’t know until morning whether we had truly been successful. Fatigue and suspense were poor bedfellows. But I had to believe my chances were better with Blue Eyes than without him. Weren’t they? And, in any case, wasn’t it too late to change the bet I’d made? It seemed we had carried off the plan in style. There was every reason to believe he had executed the last few steps just as capably.
Perhaps I would have been better off continuing my bath, such as it was. I lay awake most of the night anyway.
? ? ?
I had no idea what time Pinkerton would report to his office in the morning, so I went at seven o’clock, figuring I might arrive first. I waited for half an hour in the street, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I rehearsed, before I saw him turning the corner a block away and heading in my direction.
He wasn’t alone.
As the two men walked up, the taller one wouldn’t meet my eyes. He looked more reputable than he had last night. Out of his criminal’s disguise, his near-military bearing was more pronounced, and his ice-blue eyes were less forbidding in the bright light of day. When I wasn’t terrified of him, he was even handsome. Today, he looked every inch the operative.
He also looked downright cheerful. As did Pinkerton. For the first time in a very long time, I had a feeling that everything was, at last, going to be all right.
Which lasted only until Pinkerton spoke.
“Mrs. Warne! I’m afraid you’ve gone and missed your chance,” said Pinkerton, sounding not at all regretful. “The good Mr. Bellamy here has succeeded already at your task.”
“Has he?” I asked frostily.
“Found every penny of Heck Venable’s stash. With a right smart plan too,” Pinkerton said. “Plenty of drink and a well-timed pickpocketing.”
“Right smart,” I agreed. “And did he tell you whose plan it was?”
Now, Bellamy’s eyes came up. I could see him calculating, trying to figure out whether he could get away with it. He read my face, and I read his. I saw the moment he surrendered.
“I hadn’t gotten to that part of the story yet,” Bellamy said.
“Faith, there’s more?” Pinkerton asked.
“There’s more,” I said. “Let’s continue this conversation in your office, please, Boss.”
Pinkerton looked a bit startled at my forwardness and looked to Bellamy, who nodded with reluctance.
Upstairs, I told the tale from my point of view, giving him the full story of how the evening unfolded, leaving nothing out. I didn’t try to minimize Bellamy’s role, but I didn’t defer to him. I deserved credit, and I took it in full.
As I spoke, Pinkerton listened, his face betraying nothing. I might have been a genius or a chowderhead. I resisted the urge to embellish just to get a rise out of him; the tale was too important.
When I’d concluded at last, he asked, “And is that how it was, Tim?”
“More or less.” I could see the tension in the other man’s jaw. “I was going to tell you. She helped.”
“Helped?” I squeaked. I took a moment to collect myself and spoke more calmly. “The way I see it, it was my plan entirely.”
“However you see it,” Bellamy responded, “you would have failed without me.”
“And you without me.”
Pinkerton laughed—a booming, sonorous laugh that bounced off the walls of his office—and slapped his hand against the desk. Relief flooded my body like a drug.
“I don’t believe it!” he said. “What a team. I didn’t plan to have you try it the same night, but it could hardly have turned out better. Money found, case solved. We’ve earned our fee from First Eagle. That spells success to me. And I’ve a promise to deliver on.”
Pinkerton thrust his workingman’s hand in my direction. Gladly, I shook it.
“Welcome to my agency, Mrs. Warne,” he said.
I was grinning from ear to ear. Tim Bellamy wasn’t.
Chapter Four