The White City

by Grace Hitchcock

  Tucking the decorative ticket into his pocket, Jude made his way through the energetic crowds, scanning his surroundings. He had heard tales of the grandeur of the world’s exposition from passengers on the train bound for Chicago, but seeing it for himself was quite another thing entirely. Following the flash of Miss Wylde’s white gown that practically glowed in a sea of navy skirts and suits, he wove through the maze of exhibits.

  She walked with such purpose that he knew she must be retracing her steps from this morning, possibly attempting to recreate the scene as she searched the ground for any clues. All he could see were the thousands of footprints, with little to no hope of finding anything useful. Miss Wylde paused by a building where he could see couples enjoying some refreshments through the window. Crossing her arms, she tapped her finger to her lips much like he had seen her father do.

  Miss Wylde seemed so engrossed in thought that she fairly jumped when a man approached her. She pressed her hand to her chest, her eyes wide, as if she were afraid. Jude reached for his holster hidden under his civilian’s coat and tried to resist the urge to rush in without cause. He didn’t want to expose himself if the man was not the suspect. But the man had a thick mustache and was rather skinny, much like the man she described to Baxter. Grasping his revolver, Jude approached the couple from behind.

  Chapter Two

  “Facts are such horrid things!”

  ~Jane Austen, Lady Susan

  Winnifred had been so distracted keeping an eye on the tall man following her that she did not even realize who was in her path until it was too late. “Mr. Saunders!” She gasped, stepping backward into a brawny man who bumped her shoulder, crushing one of the perfectly puffed sleeves of her gown. Sidestepping her, the man gruffly bid her to mind where she was walking. Winnifred righted her sleeve and turned her attention back to her would-be suitor. “You are still here.”

  “Well, since I took today off from work and you abandoned me without so much as a by-your-leave, I figured I might as well return to my tea and scones and see a bit of the fair,” he replied, the evidence of said tea clumping the ends of his bushy mustache into two moist peaks as he held out her lace-trimmed parasol to her. “You left this at the restaurant.”

  “Thank you.” She fought back a grimace as she grasped it by the carved handle. “I’m so sorry for running off, but—”

  “But you’ve returned, and so, all is forgiven.” Mr. Saunders grinned, reaching for her elbow. “However, I think you at least owe me a stroll around the exposition. Now, since we’ve already seen the Woman’s Building, let’s go to the States exhibits.”

  Winnifred withdrew her arm and licked her dry lips, trying to find the words to politely inform him that she wished never to spend one more second in his company. But, glancing over her shoulder, she found that the man following her had paused by a vendor, perusing the chocolate-covered fruit. She inwardly groaned as she forced herself to admit that it would be much safer to roam the fair with Mr. Saunders at her side to defend her if the man trailing her decided to make a move. Opening her parasol, she gave Mr. Saunders a demure smile and a stiff nod.

  Mr. Saunders slid his hand under her elbow again and gave her a guiding tug. “I saw the most astounding thing on the way in to meet you. There is a display of a tower of oranges. Oranges! Can you believe it? One would think the fruit would have rotted in the process of assembling the exhibit, but there they are, as lovely as the day they were picked!”

  “Oranges?” She bit her lip at his overwhelming enthusiasm. Hold it together, Winnifred Rose Wylde. You can do this. Politely refuse, and guide him to where the man was last seen with the woman in green. “While that does sound tempting, I—”

  “If that doesn’t strike your fancy, I heard there is a lovely exhibit of roses by the Horticultural Building that I think you would find most—”

  She jerked away as the man who had been following her tackled Mr. Saunders to the ground. The nearby fairgoers paused and watched the spectacle unfold as if the grappling men were merely part of an exhibit. It was up to her to save Saunders. Dropping her open parasol, she used her reticule as a mace, whacking the man over the head again and again as he wrestled Mr. Saunders into submission, which didn’t take much effort.

  The offender lifted his arm to block her whirling purse, but her next blow knocked off his black hat, revealing him as the dark-haired man from her father’s precinct. “Miss Wylde, stop! I’m with the police.”

  She halted her pummeling, the bag swinging in her iron grip. “Detective Thorpe? Why were you following me?”

  “You saw me?” His brow wrinkled as he adjusted his hold on his prey.

  She rolled her eyes, lifting a hand skyward. “You’ve been following me since I left the station. A child could have picked you out of a crowd with all of your veiled glances.” Realizing that Mr. Saunders was still under the detective’s grasp, she flicked her wrist, motioning for him to let go. “And Detective, please release Mr. Saunders at once. He is a friend of the family.” Winnifred fluffed her reticule, attempting to return it to its former glory before retrieving her parasol, which was dangerously close to blowing into a mud puddle. Aunt Lillian was not going to be pleased, since she had purchased the ensemble especially for Winnifred’s outing with Saunders.

  Mr. Saunders brushed off his coat, straightening his shoulders as he gave Detective Thorpe a well-deserved sneer. “I say. First Miss Wylde sees a man pull a revolver on a woman. Then, I’m tackled to the ground by a—a nincompoop! Your superior will hear of this, Thorpe.” He jabbed his finger into Thorpe’s chest, his finger crumpling against the sturdiness of the broad surface.

  Unmoved, Detective Thorpe retrieved his bowler hat and whacked it against his thigh, shaking loose the dust. “My apologies, sir, but it was my superior who asked me to look after Miss Wylde.”

  “Father sent you?” She rubbed her hand over her eyes and laughed. “While he might dismiss my claims, I should have known he would send somebody to watch me until he was certain I was safe. He may be too busy to listen to me, but not too busy to protect me.” She dipped into a shallow curtsy. “I’m Miss Winnifred Wylde, which you already knew.”

  He returned her greeting with a stiff bow of his own, as if he was not used to such formality. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Wylde.”

  Mr. Saunders cleared his throat and stepped between them. “Miss Wylde, shall we continue as we were before we were so rudely interrupted?”

  With the danger subsided, she grimaced at the task before her. If she did not turn Mr. Saunders away now, he would come calling again. Winnifred took his arm, gently pulling him away from Detective Thorpe’s side to afford them a bit of privacy.

  “Ah, I take it from our direction that you wish to see the tower of oranges.” He lifted his finger. “Interesting fact about oranges—”

  Enough with the oranges! She gritted her teeth and halted. “Mr. Saunders. I do apologize for the physical trauma you have experienced today from the hand of one of my father’s own detectives, but I’m afraid this isn’t going to work out.”

  “Pardon me?” Mr. Saunders scowled, his mustache dipping to his chin as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “I don’t think we are well suited to one another,” she whispered, in an attempt to maintain discretion.

  “Any woman would be happy for me to pursue her.” His nasally voice rose an octave. “I don’t need to put up with being manhandled for a mere inspector’s daughter, no matter how pretty she is.”

  Detective Thorpe placed a hand on Mr. Saunders’s arm. “The fault was mine. There is no need to be rude, sir. Report me to Inspector Wylde if you will, but take care what you say about Miss Wylde. She is a gentlewoman’s daughter and is to be treated as such.”

  Winnifred could have handled Mr. Saunders on her own, but she quite enjoyed the authority in Detective Thorpe’s voice and had to admit to herself that it was nice to have someone handle the awkwardness of dismissing a suitor for her.

  With a sneer,
Mr. Saunders picked up his straw boater hat, swiped the grosgrain band with his wrist, and muttered something about incompetence as he strode away.

  Winnifred looked up to her would-be-rescuer and smiled. “I guess that is one way to rid oneself of a suitor.”

  The detective shoved his hands into his pockets, his ears turning red. “I sincerely apologize for the confusion, Miss Wylde.”

  She waved her hand. “Please, don’t think anything of it. Now, my father doesn’t believe what I saw today, but I do, and I must keep searching for any clues to help us in finding the woman in green. I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”

  “Please, carry on as if I am not here.” Detective Thorpe nodded, falling behind her by several paces.

  Winnifred smothered her laughter and waved him to her side. “It would be silly for you to follow me since I know you are there. Come on, you can help me look.”

  Jude walked beside her in silent mortification. Thankfully, Miss Wylde seemed so caught up in her search that she didn’t appear to notice his discomfort. Here he was priding himself on his stealth and practically boasting to the inspector over his file, and this spritely young woman discovered his presence in a matter of minutes. If he didn’t feel so chastened, he would laugh at the memory of her pummeling him. He straightened his shoulders and focused on his task at hand, protecting Miss Wylde. “So, where are we heading?” he asked as they paused under a directional sign.

  “I don’t think our suspect would return to the scene of his crime right away, so I’m not sure where to begin searching for him.” She planted her hands on her hips. “He could be anywhere by now. He may not even be on the fairgrounds, but I have to start somewhere. I last spotted him leaving the Woman’s Building, heading toward”—she turned, pointing down the Midway—“that direction.” I just need to keep her busy and away from this man, if he is indeed dangerous, until she loses interest. “How about the Ferris wheel? It’s on the Midway and could give us a good layout of the whole fair.” And far above any threat lingering on the ground.

  Her countenance brightened. “Oh, that’s true. I have been wanting to ride on it. The sign says it’s this way.” She lifted her impractical ruffled skirt to avoid a well-trodden muddy patch and stepped lightly around puddles until they reached a dry path.

  Spying a gathering crowd to their left, Jude read a sign for lions on horseback and tigers on velocipedes featured in Hagenbeck’s Arena. His jaw dropped as he stopped in his tracks at the ridiculous notion. “A tiger on a velocipede. Are they serious?”

  “I haven’t watched the show yet, but my friend Danielle, I mean, Miss Montgomery, said it was positively thrilling. But I’m afraid we cannot linger,” she said, tilting her head for him to continue down the Midway.

  “Of course.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked beside her, stealing glances at her out of the corner of his eye. When he had first seen her enter the precinct, her ethereal beauty disarmed him. Even though he didn’t wish to admit it, Jude was glad to have the opportunity to be near her and soon found himself captivated by her lilting voice as she told him which exhibits to avoid and which were to be seen at once.

  She paused and turned to him, expectance in her brilliant blue-green eyes. “Detective Thorpe?”

  He blinked and leaned toward her, brows rising as he chastened himself for growing distracted yet again. He would have to work on paying closer attention, lest she inadvertently give him a poor report to her father. Jude already had one mark against him, with her spotting him following her, and he could not afford another. “I’m sorry, did you ask a question?”

  “I asked why you started working at my father’s precinct,” she replied, continuing down the wide path.

  Jude knew that question was bound to come up, but he couldn’t rightly tell the truth, that he had moved to investigate the so-called “accidental” death of his brother-in-law, Victor. Victor had been too alert to have stepped out in front of that grip car, and while the autopsy had uncovered a blow to the head, it had been ruled as the car striking him and not manslaughter.

  Jude was one of the few people outside of Victor’s department who knew that Victor had been working undercover on a fraud case. No, he would keep the secret close to his chest. He could not risk the murderer being warned and having any trail left behind growing cold, so he settled on telling only half of his reasoning. “I moved here from New York to be with my mother and sister Mary after my brother-in-law passed in the spring. I wanted to be here for them and my nephew should they need anything.”

  “I’m so very sorry to hear of your family’s loss.” She gently touched his coat sleeve, genuine sadness in her every feature. “A life taken too soon is too great a sorrow to bear on our own.”

  Jude nodded, knowing that she was speaking from experience. He had heard from the officers of the untimely, unexpected death of her lovely mother. “And I am thankful that we are not left alone to bear it. It was only by the hand of the Lord that I was able to be offered a position so quickly here in Chicago at your father’s precinct.” He grinned, hoping to distill the sadness settling about them like a cloud. “I’m eager to prove my worth to your father and show him that hiring me was not a mistake.”

  “Well, my father was excited to hire a seasoned detective with such an impressive record from New York, but it seems that since I found you out, I must be the best detective New York has seen.” She turned sparkling eyes on him, a teasing light in her smile and voice.

  Despite the twinge her words brought, Jude enjoyed her banter. “It would seem that way, yes. So shall you be going by Detective Wylde, or are you aiming for your father’s position as inspector?”

  “Of course. We Wyldes only want the best. I will answer to Inspector Wylde or Captain Wylde.” She laughed. “But if I’m honest, I think you were only sloppy because you didn’t think that playing nanny to the inspector’s silly daughter warranted much stealth.”

  Jude dropped his gaze to the ground. The inspector had been right. She was very observant. He would have to be careful. “Miss Wylde, I would never call you silly.” Beautiful, disarming. But never silly.

  “So how long did Father assign you to my post?” She looked toward the bustling crowd that was gathering in front of the Street in Cairo exhibit as a vendor exclaimed in Jude’s ear the marvel of his wares, nearly deafening him.

  He pressed his hand over his ear and sent the man a glare before taking her arm, pulling her away from the screaming vendor. “Until your father feels that it is safe for you to wander about the city alone,” he replied, studying her reaction as they continued down the Midway.

  She sucked in her breath through her teeth and sidestepped a freshly dropped ice cream cone, sending the wailing boy a sympathetic glance. “With all the crime that the exposition has brought to our city, that could take months. If you want to get back to what you’ve been trained to do, help me solve this case. Let’s find the proof we need together and capture this rogue before it’s too late.”

  Only hours ago, her proposal would have sounded appealing, but now that he’d met her, Jude wasn’t so sure that he wished to expedite his time with the charming Miss Wylde after all. “I don’t know. Your father assigned me to keep you out of danger, not intentionally place you in harm’s way by tracking a potentially violent criminal.”

  “Think of it this way,” she said as he purchased their tickets, and she pulled him into the massive, winding line for the Ferris wheel ride. “If you hadn’t discovered me, or rather if I hadn’t discovered you”—she poked at him again—“I would still be doing what I’m doing, so you might as well help me. I’ll be far safer with you by my side.” She looked up to him, her blue-green irises pulling him in as her golden curls caressed a tan face, which told him that, even though she may look the part of a young socialite, she had an adventurous soul.

  He bit back his laughter at this breeze of fresh air in the form of the inspector’s daughter. “Come along, Miss Wylde.” He extended his arm t
o her, escorted her to the front of the line, and flashed his badge to the engineer. “Police business.”

  The man gave them a wink. “Looks like mighty pleasant police business to me.”

  Jude felt Winnifred stiffen, but he ignored the man and led them inside the overcrowded car.

  The air pulsed with the excitement of the fairgoers as Winnifred followed Detective Thorpe onto the crowded Ferris wheel car that carried about fifty other passengers. The doors closed behind them and the odor of warm bodies filled the air, but she refused to give Detective Thorpe the impression that she was a delicate flower and refrained from pressing her handkerchief to her nose as the fine ladies did behind her. As the Ferris wheel jerked to life and began its slow and steady climb, the passengers in the middle pressed toward the windows, jostling her. She grabbed at her hat and bit her lip as a man on her right stood a little too close for comfort. She turned to reprimand him, but caught him grinning at her in a most disconcerting way as he moved even closer.

  Detective Thorpe reached for her wrist and guided her between the window and himself, spreading his arms on either side of her shoulders and splaying his fingers against the glass, creating a safe haven for her before narrowing his gaze at the offender. “Step back or you’ll see naught but stars on this trip.”

  The man, eyeing Detective Thorpe’s massive build, stepped away without an argument.

  Winnifred nearly sagged with relief. Not wanting to reveal how much his action touched her, she kept her back to Detective Thorpe’s chest and gazed out the window, breathless with the sight before her. Facing the east fairgrounds, the dome of the Moorish Palace rose up to her right and, beyond it, the brilliant white of the buildings gleamed in the light of the late afternoon sun. The crowds below didn’t seem as overwhelming from this vantage point, and she felt certain that such a brilliant emerald-green gown would show as a beacon amongst the mostly dark-clad crowd. But the young maid and the man with the revolver were long gone.