Something Strange and Deadly (17 page)

I bit the inside of my mouth until I tasted blood. That was the explosion that caused Father to lose his contract. It was the explosion that killed his company.

Mr. Peger twirled a finger in his mustache and watched me.

Despite my wavering confidence, I forced myself to speak steadily. “I don't recall such an explosion.”

“Really? Well, no matter. I've a pretty good idea where Sure Hands Danny is hiding. The word is he's here—mighty foolish of him, considerin' his past and all. He may have gotten away before, but Sure Hands Danny can't hide from
me
. Not at the high price my client is willing to pay. I'm going to find him. So”—he leaned toward me—”if you happen to see this man, tell him he can't hide from me much longer.” He doffed his hat. “G'day, Miss.”

I hugged my parasol to my chest and watched him amble off into the crowd. I staggered to the Corliss engine, desperately needing a moment to catch my breath and gather my emotions.

When I reached a narrow set of iron stairs that soared dangerously upward, I plopped onto them. They led to a series of catwalks meant for aerial viewing of America's greatest mechanical triumph, and though I wasn't allowed to ascend—boys and men only—surely there was no harm if I simply sat.

Had Mr. Peger spoken the truth? Was Daniel a murderer? Had he destroyed the factory? Destroyed my father?

I couldn't believe it. Not Daniel! His temper was short and his manner crude, but he had never hurt me. If anything, he'd been protective. I trusted him. I believed him to be good.

But... but maybe it's all an act. Just like Mama pretends we're still wealthy. Like Clarence pretends his life is fine. Like I pretend to fit in with the high-society girls.

I rocked forward and back. Who was good? Who was bad? And if there was no one I could trust, did that mean I was all alone?

I pressed my hands to my face. No, I wasn't alone; I still had Elijah. Elijah was good. Elijah I could trust.

Soon, I will find him. Soon.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

“B
ut Mama!” I cried. “That's not appropriate!”
I stood in my bedroom, dressed only in my underclothes. After I'd arrived home from the Exhibition, my mind spinning with questions about Daniel and my mouth sputtering lies of a failed trip to the market, Mama had swept me off to the dressmaker (for the final fitting of a dress she had failed to mention she was having made) and then shoved me into Mary's hands to go back home for preparation.

Going to the opera was drab Eleanor's chance to shine—or at least it was in Mama's eyes.

It didn't take long before my head began to ache from the multitude of hairpins scraping at my scalp and straining at the tightness of my coiffure. After two hours of me being primped and curled under Mary's none-too-gentle hands, my patience was entirely spent.

Mama left the doorway and crossed to me. She still wore her robe, and her hair was untended. She waved a letter in my face. “Neither of the Wilcox ladies will be attending—do you know what sort of opportunity this is? It is great luck they are ill.”

“What a horrible thing to say.” I clenched my fists. “How can you even consider not joining? I am only sixteen, Mama. This isn't some casual drive—it's the
opera.
Everyone will see me alone with him!”

She snorted. “I thought you would be delighted to spend time alone with your sweetheart.”

“It's actually the last thing I want, and he's not my sweetheart.” The absurdity of the statement, of the situation, of my mother! I
had
to convince her to call the whole evening off. I had no desire to see Clarence Wilcox and his brewing insanity. My wrists were still tender from yesterday's outburst.

Plus, if she canceled our opera attendance, then maybe I could sneak away. Maybe I could go to Machinery Hall and help the Spirit-Hunters get their dynamite. More importantly, maybe I could confront Daniel. I refused to believe Peger's word until I heard Daniel's own explanation.

Mama gripped my shoulders and wrenched me around to face her. “Mr. Wilcox had better be your sweetheart, Eleanor.”

“And what will you do, pray tell, if Clarence isn't interested in me at all?”

“Clarence?” A squeal erupted from her lips. “Do you call him by his Christian name? Oh, Eleanor!” She flung her arms about me and squeezed.

“No, Mama.” I battled the embrace and backed away. “I do not address him as Clarence. We're not nearly as close as you imagine.”

“That is not what Mrs. Wilcox said.” She lifted a single, accusatory eyebrow. “Mrs. Wilcox said Clarence speaks of nothing else. Of how different you are.”

“Different? That's hardly flattering.”

“It is a compliment.”

“It is ridiculous. That's what it is.” I pulled my shoulders back. “I will
not
go without you.”

“You will. What more could you possibly want?”

“Anything!” I threw my hands up. “I'm only sixteen. How can I know what I want yet? Maybe I'll want a tall man with... with blond hair. A-and green eyes.”

Mama hissed and her eyes bulged. The reaction fueled my rant further.

“And maybe a man who isn't afraid if I say what I want, who doesn't care about... about etiquette and fashion and stupid, stupid Grecian bends—”

“Enough.” She took quick, shallow breaths, her nostrils fluttering. “I do not know what this little revolt is, but be certain of one thing: I am your mother, and you will obey me.” She straightened to her full height. “Mr. Wilcox honors you with his attentions. He comes from a wealthy family. His father and your father were friends once upon a time, and if my Henry considered the Wilcox name a worthy connection, then so will you.

“And, Eleanor, keep in mind that when I am dead, you will have no one left to care for you.”

“Elijah—”

“Elijah?” She shook her head slowly. “Where is my son
now
? He does not even care enough to return home. Your only hope lies in a husband. Only he can love and provide for you. Only a marriage and children of your own will ever offer you a chance at happiness.” Mama's eyes lost focus, as if she stared into some other realm only she could see. “Trust me.”

I swallowed my sharp retort and turned away. She had no pity from me. Once I might have clung to her, I might have believed her words and fretted over her desires; but I no longer did—I no longer could. I was capable of thinking for myself, and at that moment, my mind was reciting her earlier words:
His father and your father were friends.

“When?” I blurted. “When were they friends?”

She blinked. “Who?”

“Father and Clarence's father. They stopped being friends, didn't they? When? Why?”

“I scarcely remember—it was so many years ago. Something to do with business. Mr. Wilcox and some other men wished to leave behind the railway industry, and Henry did not like it.” Her eyes squinted with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

“So... so I don't say anything inappropriate in front of Clarence—in case he still harbors his father's attitudes.”

“If he still harbored his father's attitudes then he would not be spending time with us. Luckily, his mother recently wanted to reconnect with me. If our luck continues, then the other families will also be as generous.”

“What families?”

“The Weathers, the Suttons, and the Bradleys, of course. Do you ever listen to anything I tell you?”

Frederick Weathers, James Sutton, and Clinton Bradley. Three quite headless and quite dead young men.

I lurched at Mama and grabbed her robe. “The Gas Trustees? Did they offer Father a position in their business?”

“Yes, but Henry refused.” Mama pushed me away. “Why do you ask?”

I ignored her question. “Why did Father refuse?”

“Eleanor, calm yourself!”

“Just tell me,” I pleaded.

“I do not know why he refused. All he ever said was that he did not want to play their game.”

My excitement deflated, and I stumbled to my bed. Once again the strange game of intrigue—but what was it?

“What
game
?” I groaned. “I don't understand.”

“And I do not understand why you are so curious.”

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.”

My eyebrows darted up. “You sound as if this surprises you. Some people
do
like me, you know.”

He only laughed again. “Yes, yes, of course. Pardon me—I merely meant that although you have a vexing habit of never acting quite as I expect, I still enjoy my time with you. Perhaps that's precisely
why
I like you... or perhaps it's because you are the only person who knows of my situation. Either way, it makes your mother happy to have me around, and it makes my mother happy to see me showing such interest in a young lady—even one such as yourself.”

“Honestly, Mr. Wilcox, do you
hear
yourself? You insult me at every turn.”

He grinned and leaned toward me, setting his elbows on his knees. “Yes, and you're a wonderful sport about it.”

I sighed dramatically. “Are we still going to the opera?”

“Of course. And these men will be joining us. The three extra tickets shan't go to waste.”

“Oh.”

We descended into silence. This evening was turning out far different than I'd imagined. I couldn't even dream of escape—not with those Pinkertons there.

I tried to concentrate on something else, to lose myself in the clack of the horses' hooves, the rattle of the wheels, and—land sakes! Snoring!

I leaned forward and peered at Clarence in the darkness. The man had fallen asleep. I wilted back onto my seat, and the Pinkerton nearest me said, “I reckon he's tired. Don't wake him.”

Pshaw. I glared at the man and then turned my stare out the window. Why had Clarence even bothered to take me out if he intended to sleep the entire time? As intriguing as he might have been, a sleeping companion was utterly useless. I doubted our mothers would be particularly pleased to know he'd left me to make conversation with the Pinkertons.

A quarter of an hour passed, and we clattered to a stop on Arch Street. Clarence twitched to life and dragged himself from the carriage. He tugged me out with him, and I fought the urge to resist. As he spoke to Willis and the driver, I hugged my cloak tight and glanced around.

Families and couples in lavish evening attire traipsed all around the street. Women in pastel gowns shimmered under streetlamps, and their dragging skirts whispered like a symphony of moth wings. The men, all dressed in their long black coats and black top hats—identical copies of Clarence—guided their ladies to the granite steps and tall white columns before the Arch Street Theatre's entrance.