Caught by Surprise

by Jen Turano

  Mercy tugged on her beard again. “She thought giving us references would look poorly on her, since society might not be impressed that she’d hired on uneducated people to begin with. Society folks don’t want people who can’t read and write good to work in their new fancy houses these days, not caring that it don’t take no reading for me to clean out a bedchamber, or for Eugene to muck out a stall.”

  Pursing her lips, Temperance soothed a hand down Mercy’s arm. “Someone needs to have a little chat with Mrs. Baldwin about her abysmal lack of compassion.”

  “This Mrs. Baldwin is no different from many members of society,” Gilbert said, walking across the library and sitting in a chair that was closer to Temperance, on the off chance Mercy and Eugene did have plans to harm her. “And forgive me for pointing this out, something that’s certain to incur your displeasure, but even though Mrs. Baldwin unjustly turned Mercy and Eugene out, that is no excuse for them abducting you.”

  The look Temperance shot him was hot enough to scorch his face, but before she could let loose the tirade she clearly longed to direct his way, Mercy, thankfully, spoke up.

  “Me and Eugene know we was wrong to accept the job to steal Miss Flowerdew. Our only excuse is that it didn’t really sound like a crime, not after the man who hired us explained that Miss Flowerdew was not expected to make a fuss, and that we was to travel to Chicago in a Pullman car and stay at the swanky Palmer House.”

  “You traveled to Chicago in a Pullman car?” Agent McParland asked, looking up from a notepad he’d recently pulled out and balanced on his knees.

  Mercy leaned forward, her gaze riveted on the notepad. “Why are you writing everything down?”

  “I’m a Pinkerton detective. Taking notes goes with the territory.”

  Mercy shrank back against the settee. “Are you going to use what I say to put me behind bars?”

  “If what you have to say is incriminating, yes.”

  “Then I ain’t sayin’ another word.”

  “He’s not going to send you to jail,” Temperance said before she quirked a brow Agent McParland’s way. “Are you?”

  “I can’t make any guarantees, not when she and Eugene have admitted they abducted you, which is a crime, if that was in question.” Agent McParland returned his attention to Mercy. “But I will say that if you cooperate, it’ll go easier on you and your brother.”

  Mercy leaned over Temperance and nodded to Eugene. “What should we do?”

  “We might as well come clean, Mercy. Our lives just keep gettin’ worse and worse since we agreed to take on the job of abducting Miss Flowerdew. I have to think that Pastor Roy, if he was still alive, would say our lives ain’t gonna get no better until we own up to the bad we’ve done and ask for some forgiveness.”

  “I was afraid you was gonna say that,” Mercy said, sitting back before she released a sigh. “We don’t know who hired us. Me and Eugene were having us a drink at a pub down by the Battery, and that’s where this man approached us. He kept his hat pulled low over his face, but he bought us another drink and a loaf of bread, which we sure did appreciate since we was hungry. When we was done eating, he asked if we’d like to earn some money. After he explained what needed to be done, and because gettin’ Miss Flowerdew out of town and to Chicago didn’t sound like a real crime, we agreed to do it.”

  “We just got confused about which Miss Flowerdew we was supposed to take,” Eugene added, sitting forward. “Who’d of thought there’d be more than one of them?”

  “Didn’t this man give you a description of the Miss Flowerdew he wanted you to take?” Agent McParland asked.

  “He did, but even though the Miss Flowerdew we snatched wasn’t wearing yellow like we’d been told she’d be wearing, we thought we had the right lady since that friend of mine told me she knew for sure that she”—Mercy nodded to Temperance—“was Miss Flowerdew.” She blew out a breath. “We should have known we’d made a mistake when she didn’t come quietly and we had to stuff her into a coffin to get her to Chicago.”

  Agent McParland set aside his notes and pinned Temperance under a steely eye. “You were stuffed into a coffin?”

  Temperance shrugged. “It sounds much worse than it was. And because Eugene doused me with a sleeping potion and let me out of the coffin when I awoke, I wasn’t overly traumatized.”

  Agent McParland seemed to swell on the spot. “They doused you with a sleeping potion and yet you still don’t believe they belong in jail?”

  “Ah, lovely, here’s Gertrude and Harrison with the food and drink,” Temperance said, completely neglecting to respond to Agent McParland as she got up from the settee. She nodded to Mercy and Eugene before she gestured to the carts Gertrude and Harrison were pushing, each cart filled with tea, cakes, and sandwiches. “You two go first.”

  As Mercy and Eugene hurried to the carts, Temperance returned her attention to Agent McParland. “While I appreciate your indignation on my account, Agent McParland, there was no harm done to me during my unexpected adventure. With that said, I expect you to discontinue threatening Mercy and Eugene with arrest because no one ever enjoyed a meal with a stay in jail hanging over their heads.”

  “Would you like some cake?” Gilbert asked Agent McParland, who was now looking quite as if he had no idea how to proceed, especially since the woman he was trying to seek justice for clearly didn’t feel as if any justice needed to be served.

  “I’d like Miss Flowerdew to stop arguing with my every word,” Agent McParland began before he smiled. “But since that’s unlikely to happen, a piece of cake would be most welcome.”

  The next ten minutes passed with little conversation as Gilbert, along with Agent McParland, enjoyed the cake some of the students at the school had made, while Mercy and Eugene sampled everything that had been brought from the kitchen.

  When every last crumb had been devoured, and every spot of tea drunk, Mercy blotted her lips with the napkin Temperance handed her, shook the crumbs from her beard, then nodded. “I thank you for that, Miss Flowerdew,” she began. “And now that I can think again since my belly isn’t rumbling, I need to tell you why Eugene and I are really here. You’re in danger.”

  Temperance set aside the cup she’d been holding. “Danger?”

  Eugene leaned forward and nodded. “Talk on the street is that someone’s been trying to hire on people to see one Miss Temperance Flowerdew good and dead.”

  Chapter

  Twelve

  For the briefest of seconds, Temperance’s mind went curiously blank, until a thought began to fester. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but one that exactly explained who would be at the top of the list of people wanting her dead. With anger churning through her veins, she shot to her feet.

  “If all of you will excuse me, I have a matter of great urgency I need to address.” She began stomping her way across the room.

  “Not that I want to disrupt what is clearly a very dramatic exit, Temperance, but I must insist you delay your departure until you explain that matter of great urgency that no one in this room except you seems to understand.”

  Turning, she found that Gilbert had already risen from his chair and was watching her somewhat warily. Heaving a breath, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I would think it obvious what that matter is and where I’m off to next.”

  Gilbert shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not obvious, at least not to me.”

  She lifted her chin. “My cousins have evidently taken complete leave of their senses and have decided to put a price on my head, which will effectively have me out of their lives for good.”

  Striding to her side, Gilbert took hold of her arm. “And you’ve decided to what—saunter over to their home and confront them?”

  “I’m far too angry to saunter, Gilbert. I’ll borrow Miss Henrietta’s buggy, which will allow me to arrive at Park Avenue in a far timelier fashion.”

  His hand tightened on her arm. “You cannot go rushing willy-nilly over to your cousins’ on
your own, particularly when there is the chance you’re mistaken about the culprits behind this threat on your life. As Harrison and I only recently discussed, your cousins are evidently somewhat nasty people, but I’m not sure they’re the type to stoop to murder.”

  Temperance shrugged her way out of his hold. “I’m not mistaken, Gilbert. Wayne, Fanny, and Clementine are the only people I know who’d want me dead. Truth be told, I’m now feeling all sorts of a fool for not having implicated them in my abduction in the first place. I simply thought it would be detrimental to the Flowerdew name, of which I unfortunately share, to allow all of society to learn about the ridiculous plot they concocted to force you into marriage with Clementine. Now, however, they’ve stepped over a line, and they need to be held accountable for their madness once and for all.”

  “Are you absolutely certain your relatives were responsible for your disappearance, although . . .” Agent McParland rose to his feet and frowned. “Am I to understand you really weren’t supposed to be the target of that abduction?”

  Temperance blinked. “Goodness, do forgive me, Agent McParland. I fear with all the confusion the arrival of Mercy and Eugene created, and learning Gilbert and Harrison had been ambushed in Central Park, I neglected to realize you’re still in the dark about numerous matters.”

  She walked back across the room. “I’ve also forgotten the reason you wanted to pay me a call today was to discuss some interesting information you uncovered in the last few days while you were searching for me at Miss Henrietta’s request.” She plopped down on a dainty chair. “Perhaps it would be for the best for me to delay my trip to confront my Flowerdew cousins while you fill me in. I have the sneaking suspicion your information might have something to do with the unseemly business of my cousins wanting me dead.”

  “It very well could,” Agent McParland said, retaking his seat. “But before I delve into that, if you could bring me up-to-date about what really happened to you, that may fill in some of the questions I have regarding your relatives.”

  Nodding, Temperance began recounting everything that had happened to her, beginning with Eugene tossing her into the carriage. Twenty minutes later, she finished with “And Wayne, Fanny, and Clementine left the train depot in a cloud of indignation, proclaiming to Miss Appleton and Miss Wells that I was delusional. They also stated most emphatically that Gilbert wasn’t a gentleman they’d now consider a good match for their darling Clementine. He’d apparently ruined their good opinion through his careless disregard of Clementine’s tender feelings, which they evidently didn’t believe him capable of because Gilbert is, after all, related to an earl.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think they may have changed their opinion about him again, though, because they sent Gilbert a note asking him to call on them this morning.”

  Agent McParland turned to Gilbert. “You’re related to an earl?”

  “The Earl of Strafford is my half brother, but I don’t believe that has anything to do with someone wanting to murder Temperance.”

  “True.” Agent McParland smiled. “I was simply curious. I’ve never met anyone related to a real aristocrat before, but you seem normal enough.” He bent to look through his notes. “Clearly, this is a case that’s destined to become more fascinating by the second. I’m looking forward to tracking down the culprits who ambushed you and Harrison today in Central Park.”

  “There won’t be much tracking involved, Agent McParland,” Temperance said. “Not when it’s highly likely Wayne’s responsible for that nasty bit of skullduggery.”

  Gilbert frowned. “As I mentioned to Harrison earlier, having me murdered seems a bit of an overreaction and does come with the very real consequence of spending a life in jail, if one gets caught.”

  Temperance sat forward. “But you embarrassed my cousins. To them, that is unforgivable, especially since there were witnesses.”

  “It still seems to be an overreaction.”

  “As does the idea they’d hire someone to murder me simply because they believe I’ve stolen a gentleman Clementine desires, but I’m convinced that’s what they’ve done.”

  “Perhaps that’s not the real reason they want you dead,” Agent McParland said as he flipped through his notepad, scanning the pages. He stilled when he was about halfway through his notes, silently mouthed the words he’d written, then lifted his head. “When Miss Henrietta contacted me about your disappearance, I didn’t know where to start, but did know that disappearances are normally perpetuated by someone known to the victim.”

  Temperance’s brows drew together. “Wayne didn’t mention anything at the train depot about you paying him a visit, or even let on he knew I’d gone missing.”

  “That’s because I never paid him a visit.” Agent McParland tapped a finger against his chin. “It’s hardly productive to allow a suspect to learn they’re being investigated. Which is why I began looking into Wayne Flowerdew’s life without allowing him to know I was looking.”

  He looked back at his notes again. “What struck me as odd is that I could not find a credible source of employment for Wayne. I also found it curious that even though he apparently has no reliable income, he was able to move his family to Park Avenue and into a rather fine brownstone.”

  “Wayne moved everyone to the city not long after he came and fetched me from Paris,” Temperance said. “He and Fanny wanted Clementine to make her debut in New York high society instead of in the small town they were living in at the time.”

  Agent McParland turned his full attention to Temperance. “And all of you moved to New York not long after you returned from Paris?”

  “We did, but if you’re going where I think you are with your line of questioning, do know that there was no money left from my father’s estate for Wayne to use to purchase the brownstone.”

  “And you know this . . . how?” Agent McParland pressed.

  “I met with my father’s attorney, Mr. John Howland, as soon as I landed in New York. He was given the unpleasant task of informing me that the entirety of my father’s fortune had been lost due to a bad investment decision on my father’s part before he died.”

  Agent McParland began jotting down some notes. “Would you happen to have this Mr. Howland’s direction?”

  “From what I remember, he has an office off Fourth Avenue, but I haven’t spoken to the man since our meeting where he told me I was destitute and that my father had left instructions for Wayne to become my guardian.”

  Agent McParland frowned. “Mr. Howland’s never bothered to look in on you to see how you were faring?”

  Temperance smiled. “From what little I recall of him, he seemed to be a most nervous sort and was not at all comfortable divulging the sad state of my finances to me. It’s been my experience that nervous men of business do tend to remove themselves from situations that may involve distraught young ladies, many of whom are known to dissolve into bouts of weeping.”

  “You dissolved into a bout of weeping when you met with your father’s solicitor?” Gilbert asked, leaning forward.

  She waved that aside. “Of course not, although I was rendered practically speechless after everything that was disclosed that day.”

  Agent McParland scribbled something else on his notepad. “I’m going to need you to provide me with an accounting of your father’s assets.”

  “I never received an accounting of my father’s assets because I was told there was nothing left.” She frowned. “I do recall Mr. Howland mentioning something to me about giving Wayne a ledger that might have had all the debts my father had incurred written in it, but Wayne never shared the contents of that ledger with me. And, to be honest, I never had the desire to see proof of my father’s financial mistakes.”

  Agent McParland’s lips thinned. “I see.”

  Temperance rose to her feet. “What does that mean, I see?”

  Agent McParland hesitated, glanced to Gilbert who was looking grim and getting to his feet as well, then back to Temperance. “It means I believe,
given the information I’ve already uncovered about your cousin, that there’s a good chance you have been swindled. I’m just not certain how he went about it or how much swindling was involved.”

  Temperance pressed a hand against a temple that was beginning to throb, a direct result of the fury that was now rushing through her. “If what you say is true, Agent McParland, and I have been swindled in some manner and Wayne’s learned someone’s been poking around in his business, it would explain why he might want me dead.” She lifted her chin and nodded, just once. “Having said that, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to do what I should have done from the very beginning—demand the truth from my cousin. But someone will need to loan me the use of a pistol because I may have need of one.”

  While Gilbert had always been somewhat powerless to refuse Temperance, lending her a pistol was not a request he was comfortable accommodating. Taking a step backward when she began advancing his way looking far too determined, he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head when she held out a hand.

  “I’m not giving you my pistol, Temperance,” he began, taking another step backward when she kept advancing. “You’re a horrible shot, and you know as well as I do that you’ll end up shooting yourself. That would allow Wayne to get his way in the end, if he is the one behind wanting you dead.”

  Gilbert was not reassured when Temperance rolled her eyes and kept her hand extended.

  “Of course Wayne’s behind it, as well as Clementine, if I’m not much mistaken. They’ve never cared for me and certainly never wanted me to join their family. If I discover they not only want me dead, but also stole whatever pittance might have been left of my father’s money, well, I guarantee you my proficiency with a pistol will be most impressive.”

  Gilbert cleared his throat. “You’re not going to shoot your relatives. You don’t have the stomach for that nasty business.”

  “Watch me.”

  Gilbert shot a look to Agent McParland who, surprisingly enough, was smiling. “I could use a little help here.”