Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) (4 page)

“Did I make your head ache?”

“Oh. Don’t mind me. I’m trying to figure out how you cheated.”

Ellen banged her fist on the table with such force the chess pieces toppled over. “I didn’t cheat! That move is called a fool’s mate.”

“Which would make me the fool?”

“You said the words.”

He pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves. “I think I may have to study more before I demand a rematch.”

“Chess is a simple game, really. I like it because it follows a formula and rules. With each move you can examine the board and know with certainty what your opponent’s next move will be.”

“Funny. I’ve always considered chess a game of chance.” James tapped the chessboard. “You’re something else, Ellen Ingram. Your mind works four times faster with information than any man of my acquaintance. I’d put money on you in a chess match against anyone.”

“Do you know they are holding the first world chess competition in Europe this summer?” Ellen leaned her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her hand.

“And if they allowed women, I’m sure you’d be the champion.” He rose, stretching to his full height. “Well, half-pint, it’s been amusing but I have some errands before this bash at Cobb’s tonight. I assume I’m to escort you?”

“Aunt Louisa says you must, since I know no one in Chicago, and Lewis is away. You
are
the closest person I have to family in town. Unless, of course, there is another lady you wish to escort.” She followed him out of the room and into the hallway.

He plucked his beaver-skinned top hat off the of the hat tree and reached for the door. “I’ll call for you at a quarter to nine.” He tapped the end of her nose. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“I’ll always keep you waiting.” She laughed and swatted his hand away.

James sighed. “I know that all too well.”

Chicago, April 27, 1886

Perched on the second-story window, James gripped the crumbling sill. At least the anarchists held their meeting facing the alley. What might the drunks teetering down the road at this end of town bellow if they saw him squatting on the eight-inch ledge, with his ear pressed to the half-inch opening? At least if he tumbled, the rats and rubbish below might break his fall. The smell of waste, overrun from the outhouses after the earlier storm, made him gag.

Wind whipped down the street, sending bulletins and newspapers tumbling into the alley. He pressed closer to the building. It would serve him right if he fell and cracked his head on the ground. He didn’t consider himself ace spy material. Not that anyone would miss him if something terrible happened. That considered, maybe that’s what made him perfect spy material.

Only tonight, after this escapade, he’d return to the secure world of banking and hang up his spy hat forever. He just needed enough information to prove Hugh wrong. Lewis couldn’t be the villain Hugh claimed. Impossible.

Soot covered the walls of the buildings near the south end of the City. The 1881 law against dense smoke had been nothing more than a perfunctory gesture to the heavyweights whose mansions ate up the north end of Chicago. But in the vice district and near the stockyards, choking clouds of smoke veiled the night sky, blocking out the hope offered by starlight. Foul smells of death and chemicals radiated from the slaughterhouses, the discarded animal carcasses clogging the Chicago River to almost a standstill.

A scuffling sound of chairs in the second-story room stilled James’s thoughts. He held his breath and craned to listen. If only he could see inside to make out the meeting’s attendees.

“Looks like we’re all here. No one was followed?”

A muttering of “No” answered.

James angled his body, attempting to see faces through the flimsy curtain. His efforts proved fruitless. Hugh’s warning rang in his ears: “
Be covert at all times. The success of the Cygnus Brotherhood depends upon you.”

The problem was James didn’t much like being depended on.

A gruff voice cleared his throat inside the room. “The wheels are in motion. Workers won’t stand this treatment for much longer.”

“Indeed. The seeds of anarchy will only require the blood of a few to take root. Our time is now.”

A round of table thumping and raucous cheers ensued.

“But what will an overthrow of our employers really do to better our lot in life? My entire family—wife and three children—work twelve hours a day and we’ve naught to show for it.”

“Precisely! Your question is the core of our existence. We start with our employers and spread to the government, first with the overthrow of Chicago, then the State. Without them your family would be better taken care of, but now if you dare speak against the factory owners they sic their bloodhounds with billy-clubs after you.”

“He’s right. The police have broken every rally and meeting we’ve held since ’84. Talk is no longer enough, it’s time to take action against our tyrants.” Metal mugs clanged together.

A tingling sensation, like a thousand of Aunt Louisa’s needles prickling him, settled upon James’s left calf. The pain twitched up his leg and pulsed into the back of his head.

“Are you suggesting we up the ante?”

“Violence is our only recourse now. The laborers of Chicago need an invitation to revolt.”

“You’re meeting with Downing at that hoity-toity party on Prairie Avenue, yes?”

“The Cobb’s annual ball. Yes, I’ll report to Downing and he’ll give the next instructions.”

“Tell him we’re ready. Our bombers and assassins are trained. There are many willing to step forward for the task of individual reappropriation.”

“Individual what-now?”

“Burglary, you louse. The wealth needs to be redistributed. It’s time to rise and take what is ours.”

“This all seems a bit much. When I signed on, we weren’t talking about stealing and murdering.”

“Unfortunately, it’s the necessary action when the state chooses to repress the working class.”

That voice
.

James’s heart lurched into his throat and the thump of blood pounded in his ears. He’d know his best friend’s voice anywhere.

Lewis cleared his throat and his voice filled the room. “Do you believe the government will stand and assist you against your employers? Has the Great Strike of 1877 faded from your memory so quickly? You would be years ahead now if you hadn’t backed down then. Instead your families live in utter squalor, and your wages make you slaves to positions that break you. These measures may seem drastic, but violence is the only remedy for an intolerable society.”

No.
Dear God, no
. Not Lewis.

Sweat pooled inside James’s gloves.

The best friend James followed to university had been a young man who came to people’s aid before asked and wore a ready smile. Well, up until last October….

James had to leave.
Now.

Hearing more would only strengthen his doubts.

James had walked right into the tavern earlier and climbed out onto the window ledge long before the meeting, but waiting ‘til they cleared out would prove to be torture.

Seizing the edge of his perch, James dropped his legs and dangled a few feet above the ground before releasing his hold. As trained, he landed, knees soft, then took off down the alley. He tripped across a man sleeping on the street corner, then hurdled manure along the dirt street as he ran in the direction of the waiting carriage two blocks away.

Glancing on both sides of the street, he made certain no one witnessed. Convinced no one loomed in the darkness, James ascended the steps. He pounded three times with an open hand.

“Enter.” The British accent of Hugh Gunther answered.

James yanked the door open and tumbled into the seat across from Hugh. In the dim light he could just make out the sharp angular nose, steel-like jawline, and piercing blue eyes of the leader of the Cygnus Brotherhood, a band of men sworn to protect the people of the city.

“Were we correct about their meeting?”

“Yes.” James rubbed his leather-clad palms against his trouser thighs. “I heard at least eight different voices. They plan to start using violence to communicate their message from here on out.”

Hugh castled his hands on top of his cane, the handle shaped like the head of a swan. Without warning, he rapped the butt of the cane three times against the floor. The carriage lurched forward.

Resting with his thumb against his chin and forefinger wrapped under his nose, Hugh examined James. “Was he there?”

“I assume you’re referring to Lewis Ingram?”

“Who else?” Hugh leaned back against the seat. “He’s the entire reason I recruited you.”

Expelling a breath, James looked out the window as they passed rows of sagging tenement homes. “I couldn’t see anyone, but he was there. I heard Lewis’s voice.”

Wash lines hung with all manner of tattered, graying clothes between the buildings and dripped onto the alleys below.

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain. I’ve practically lived with him for the past ten years. I’d know him anywhere. But I’m still not sure I agree with you as to his involvement.” Although Lewis’s speech in the dingy tavern antechamber seemed the most passionate of the lot, James wouldn’t consider his friend a traitor without more proof.

“Hardships can cause a man to do strange things. You said yourself he’s not handling his grief well. This movement might be his way to deal with his pain. To mask it.”

The carriage jostled over railroad tracks. James grabbed the seat to stay steady. “That’s ludicrous.”

“Believe me. I know a thing or two about pain.”

“You’re suggesting that his sister’s death propelled him to turn against the government. That makes a pittance of sense.”

Hugh’s face remained stoic. “You said yourself that Lewis believes he’s at fault for her demise.”

James picked at the button on the cushion. “He drove the carriage at the time.”

“Did they plan any specific attacks at the meeting?”

“None, just spread incitement, but someone at the meeting will be at Cobb’s tonight and they are scheduled to speak with Downing.”

Hugh snatched his hat off the seat, then clapped it onto his head. “I knew Downing was a part of this. He’s been envious ever since McCormick opened his factory. Downing believes the property should have gone to him. He thinks McCormick cut a deal with the City. It’s not true—McCormick is an honorable business man, but it’s enough to make Downing turn his hatred into motion for their movement.”

A church bell rang out, signaling nine o’clock.

“Where are we headed? I was supposed to pick Ellen up a quarter of an hour ago.” James straightened his tie. Forget scalping, his fiery, raven haired friend would cook up twenty more gruesome and painful ways for him to suffer.

“By the time we reach the north end of the city, it’ll be too late. We’ll head straight to Cobb’s. You will exit the carriage two blocks away and walk to the house. Once inside, conduct yourself such that everyone present would assume we don’t know each other. Locate Downing and flag him, make sure you know every conversation he has tonight.”

“Wait a second. I haven’t pledged to be part of your campaign.” James crossed his arms and leaned back into the seat. “Listen, you piqued my interest last week when you told me you thought Lewis was a part of a government uprising. I agreed to spy for you tonight in order to prove you wrong. Now I don’t know what to think, but I’m certainly not committing to anything.”

“Take heart, the county needs you. You’re the ideal candidate. Your relationship with the Ingram family lends itself to shadowing Lewis—if and when he shows his face. The anarchist won’t suspect you, and Lewis may be fooled into share information with you at some point. If not, at least staying at the Danby residence will afford you entrance into every party in the city, something no operative but me has right now.”

“That’s
if
Lewis shows himself. Remember, his family believes him to be in New York at present. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not so sure I want to collaborate against my best friend. If I implicate him, he could be arrested, or worse.”

“That’s not your concern. He’s already done himself in.”

“Be that as it may, but I won’t be a part of causing the Ingram family more pain.”

“Well, Lewis should have considered the consequences before joining the wrong cause. Intelligent pupil like him, he could have been a useful weapon for our side.”

“Is that all your men are to you? Weapons at your disposal?”

“We humans all surrender to something we consider a greater good. It’s your choice as to what. But may I caution you, if you ever breathe word of our Brotherhood to another person, I will destroy you and all you hold dear.”

The carriage came to an abrupt halt. Hugh rapped his cane three times again and the door flew open.

“Your stop, Mr. Kent.”

James fought an eye roll, but climbed out of the carriage nonetheless.

Hugh spoke from the darkness inside the carriage. “Keep your ears open at the party. Consider what I’ve said. I’ll be in contact with you.”

The team of horses clomped away. James shook his hands at his side, willing the tension out of his shoulders.

Lake Michigan lapped against the shoreline in the distance and gas street lamps washed the roadway in a warm glow. Fenced-in mansions towered on either side of the well-kept road and James turned the corner as a team of matching horses pulling a handsome carriage jingled past. The strings of an orchestra, the promise of a party already in full swing, drifted from the 1900 block of Prairie Avenue as he assessed the mansion. With large recessed arches, rough-faced stone walls, and cylindrical towers, it looked like a European castle. He counted five chimneys.

James tugged on his watch chain. Nine twenty. Hopefully the Danbys had enough sense to arrive at the Cobb’s without him.

Either way, Ellen wouldn’t just kill him … she’d do it ten times over.

Ellen stomped her foot. She’d kill him. Chop his body into little pieces and toss them off the pier for the fishes and whatever else lived under the black lake waters. Or pinch him ten thousand times. He hated that.