An Undercover Detective's Bride

by Blythe Carver

  He never had the chance. I never met him that day. I certainly did not expect to see him again.

  However, I believe I might have seen him one last time, in the final moments before my sisters and I left for the train station. It was difficult to see, a tall, broad-shouldered figure stood in the alley between our home and the one beside it. He was too deep in the shadow for me to know for certain whether this was the man I had become so fond of. At the time, it never occurred to me at all. I had a bad feeling about the man in the shadows, one which filled me with dread.

  Never did I imagine connecting the two until today. I saw a man who looked a great deal like the man I saw that night, at least in terms of his physical build. The same broad shoulders, roughly the same height. It only makes sense that the two would be one and the same. He was in Carson City, looking as though he had just arrived. He carried two cases and appeared to be heading for the hotel. If this is the same man, what business does he have here? Has he come for me?

  She realized then that this would make a fine letter to be left behind should anything befall her. A morbid realization, true, but there was no forgetting it.

  If this stranger had come all the way to Carson City with the purpose of finding her, there was little chance of his purpose being anything other than to threaten or menace her. Men simply did not make such journeys for the pleasure of saying hello.

  Yet she still could not for the life of her imagine how he’d found her. She had told her superiors at the telegraph office. He might have come in after she had departed and asked where she’d gone. He may have pretended to be a friend.

  How were they to know that he was anything but?

  By the time she finished, the headache she had feigned to Molly had become very real indeed. She put the papers aside, folding them in half and tucking them into her bedside table drawer. She then disrobed, hanging the skirt and jacket on the door of her chifforobe, followed by the linen shirtwaist.

  It would be good to lie down, to rest. Perhaps when she awoke all of this would make sense, and she would no longer feel as though they were anything to fear.

  5

  How he wished there was a way to find out exactly what was happening back in Baltimore.

  Carson City might have been the capital of Nevada, but it was far too great a distance from the East Coast to expect any major news to make its way through. By the time it did, it would likely be so old as to have already been eclipsed by something of greater importance. It seemed there was always an accident, an emergency, a new scandal either in government or behind the scenes.

  He did miss being so close to so much action, especially when it came to the location and destruction of those who posed a danger to innocent bystanders.

  Bystanders like Rachel Reed.

  He studied his face in the mirror above the washbasin, tilting his head to the right and to the left. He had grown the beard since the last time they saw each other, what were the chances that she would recognize him when he found her after the pains he’d taken to disguise himself? What were the chances that she would even remember him?

  So many people crossed the threshold of the telegraph office. He’d observed them for many days, choosing the least busy times to send messages back to the home office.

  The chances of her recalling their few brief meetings were slim when she’d spent day after day collecting dozens upon dozens of messages and relaying them to the telegraphists. His had been merely one face of many.

  Perhaps it was better that way. Perhaps if he simply explained that he had come all the way across the country to find her and warn her of the danger she had stumbled into without admitting how he had deceived her for weeks in Baltimore, she would be more likely to go along with him. Too much time might be wasted if she distrusted him.

  And he did so need her to trust him if there was any chance of taking her to safety.

  He stared into the mirror but no longer saw himself. Instead, he saw the face of his contact in Baltimore. The man he had befriended in order to ingratiate himself with the Molly Maguires. Liam O’Connor.

  It seems there’s been a leak of information. Liam had certainly seemed on the verge of murder when he’d relayed this development in the basement of the tenement building his gang used as a meeting place. An investigative agency out of Pittsburgh received several telegraphs from an office here in Baltimore. It seems one of their agents located Byrne and sent word back to his men. We intend to pay a visit to the girl who collects the messages before they’re sent back for relay, she might provide the answers we seek.

  Mason’s hands tightened around the basin when he recalled that meeting. His blood had turned to ice, all but freezing his heart. Rachel was in danger.

  It had been pure torture, lingering with the others to keep up appearances after Liam had left to tend to other matters. Pretending as though there was no hurry when there was, in fact, a tremendous one. Was she already injured? Bleeding? Worse?

  He could imagine one of Liam’s thugs beating her, blackening her lovely eyes, bruising her delicate cheeks. Splitting plump lips, always ready to curve in a smile.

  She would never be the same bright, clever young thing after suffering something so heinous. She would never trust again. Never sleep without a light burning.

  If she survived at all.

  He’d fled to the house at the first opportunity upon leaving the tenement, having already followed her there on more than one occasion and knowing the route by heart. She’d never noticed, and if she hadn’t recognized Langley’s name on one of the messages he’d written out, he would never have felt the need to follow her at all.

  At the time, he’d chalked this up to taking precautions. Making certain she wasn’t truly in league with the man or any of his associates.

  One look at the stately home in which she’d lived had given him pause, making him question her background. He’d then recalled her mentioning her mother’s passing and presumed the woman had been well-off, but that her daughters had been left with less than they’d imagined.

  That would explain the need to work for a living.

  The investigating he’d done afterward only confirmed his presumptions. Father recently deceased, had lived in Carson City, Nevada. A rancher. Divorced his wife fifteen years earlier. Mother originally from Baltimore, father was a banker. Her marriage to a rancher had caused no small scandal. It was a marvel that she’d been accepted back into society at all, though Mason had imagined her blaming the whole tawdry thing—divorce, even the marriage itself—on her former husband.

  Five daughters. Rachel was the second youngest. They had no ties whatsoever to politics, and the only reason they planned to attend the upcoming ball was to make themselves available to any eligible bachelors also in attendance.

  A familiar story, all of it.

  By the time he had run nearly all the way to her home that fateful night after Liam had mentioned her, it was too late.

  She had already left for the train station. The house was dark, and the cook from the house next door had confirmed the departure. The girls were on their way to Nevada to settle their father’s estate.

  No telling how long they would be there, but this had granted him a measure of peace. She was out of harm’s way for the time being, and he might have the chance to secure her safety once she returned.

  He’d waited a solid week, nearer two, haunting her quiet, pleasant little street every morning and evening, until finally, it became clear the Reed sisters would not be returning at all.

  “Staying out there,” the cook had announced in a hushed whisper after he’d slid a banknote into her palm. “Something about a will. They have to live there if they wish to claim the inheritance.”

  How she’d known this had never been clear, though he was aware of the underground communication system run by domestic servants in all major cities. They met up at the market and exchanged news. Sometimes more than once or twice per day. Word spread quickly.

  Quickly e
nough that he’d begun to suspect he would not for long be the only one who knew of her location. He only regretted his leave of absence taking so long to acquire.

  He’d required along with it permission to take her into hiding if need be. “She’ll need protection if any of O’Connor’s friends find out where she lives. If it is indeed a ranch, the house will be isolated. No neighbors nearby to sound the alarm. It will be imperative, then, to keep her somewhere safe.”

  His uncle had agreed, though not before making his reticence known. “Are you certain this is the sort of thing you ought to be handling on your own?”

  Mason had merely scoffed at this. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t think I’m up to the challenge?”

  “No, it’s my way of making sure my sister’s only son doesn’t get his fool neck broken. Every time you volunteer to put yourself in harm’s way, I imagine what she would say if she were alive to hear it.”

  “Just what would she say?”

  Uncle Robert had merely shaken his head. “You’re still not old enough to hear that sort of talk.”

  He chuckled at this now, running a soft brush over his hair until it gleamed in the morning sunlight. Too long now, when he preferred it cropped short. It brushed against his collar and got caught underneath, making him uncomfortable and itchy.

  He had never cared overmuch for starched shirt collars, bowties, shining shoes. There were times when dressing like a street criminal so as to blend in with the men whose activities he sought to monitor had its perks. He dressed much more comfortably, for one.

  Here in Carson City, he was not one of Liam O’Connor’s band of thieves and brawlers. He was a respectable man of means, a man merely looking to spend his precious time away from work in pursuit of simple pleasures and relaxation in the fresh, clean air.

  That would be the explanation he gave to anyone who happened to inquire as to the nature of his presence in town.

  Not that he expected many such questions. He had long since learned how to gather information on a subject without revealing much about himself. It was a fact of nature that people tended to release their suspicions whenever in the presence of someone unafraid of expressing curiosity and appreciation.

  After brushing the tan coat of one of his new suits, he slid his arms through the sleeves and adjusted his shirt cuffs. Into the right inside pocket he slipped a badge identifying him as a member of the McKendrick Detective Agency.

  If all went well, he would not have to brandish that badge. No one would have to know he had come such a long way on the job.

  The hotel seemed quite busy that day, though its guests and even those who found employment there seemed content to go about their business in a peaceful, quiet manner. Were it not for the visual evidence of their presence as he walked the hall on his way to the stairs, he might have believed himself the only guest of the hotel at present.

  Another way in which this city different from all the many cities he had visited in the four years since Uncle Robert had decided Mason worthy of a detective badge.

  He tipped his hat to a comely young woman dressed in lilac, a handful of tea roses tucked into a sash around her waist. She seemed pleased at the attention, blushing prettily before looking away. Modesty compelled her to do so, just as it compelled him to go about his business rather than follow her progress with his eyes.

  No sense in being branded a masher mere hours after his arrival.

  Then again, it had not merely been hours. It was half a day, and he had slept soundly through the night after a bath and a hot meal from the hotel’s impressive kitchen. After endless days spent sitting up on the train, a deep sleep had been inevitable. Not only had he been exhausted in body but also in mind, he would need both to be at their best if he hopes to find Rachel Reed soon, and then to convince her of his intentions.

  He still hadn’t the first idea just how he would manage it.

  First, he would have to find her. To find her, he would need to gain the trust of at least one talkative townsperson. Surely, those making their home or doing business along Carson Street must have been aware of the five sisters from Baltimore whose father had brought them across the country so they might claim ownership of his ranch.

  He might easily be able to learn of the location of this ranch, and might even secure a horse or a buggy and be on his way in a matter of minutes.

  What would happen then? Who would greet him, and how? Just how far from the city was the ranch and how long would it take to get there?

  So lost was he in this maze of questions that he nearly missed the sound of his name being called. Not his real name, which would have made it easier for him to recognize the sound.

  “Mr. Smith? I say, Mr. Smith!”

  It was only then that he realized the girl behind the desk—the same as the one he’d met upon arrival—was speaking to him. Yes, in Carson City, he was Mr. Smith. He would do well to remember it.

  Evidently, a full night’s sleep had not been enough to get his mind working as it ought to.

  The girl held out a small envelope, a shy smile tipping the corners of her rosebud mouth. “This came for you several minutes ago,” she explained. “I was only just about to send it up to your room.”

  He flashed a smile, more out of habit than anything else. “I suppose this is a timely meeting, then.” His eagerness to read the message his uncle had sent was of slightly more importance at the moment then engaging in trivial conversation.

  She had no way of knowing this, naturally. “I suppose it’s a message from your family? Wondering if you made it safely?”

  The girl could use a bit of practice in the art of asking questions which revealed the answers she wished to know. She might have done better if she’d come straight out and asked whether or not he was married, or if he had children. Far less effort would be required from both parties.

  “I suspect it is,” he murmured with a smile before turning away. Best to avoid making too deep an impression.

  Awaiting your reports. All signs point to plans moving ahead as suspected.

  Plans had moved ahead as suspected. The other agents in Baltimore must have reported one of Liam’s associates leaving for Carson City. Most likely, Liam himself.

  His heart sank for no reason.

  He knew not what he’d expected. There was no reason to believe that Liam had abandoned his interest in Rachel. Though many weeks had passed, it would not be enough for a man like him. He didn’t rest easy on hope and assumption.

  No. He would not rest until he was certain that any last threat, no matter how small, was eliminated.

  This added a touch of urgency to Mason’s gait as he left the hotel, stepping out into a fine morning. It was time to get started, and he would have to use all of his skill to not only find the girl who’d brought him across the country but to avoid notice from the man who had come to think of him as a friend, a confidant.

  It was like a game of chess. Only the other player was not aware of his presence on the board.

  And he had to keep it that way, for as much danger as Rachel might be in, that danger would increase tenfold if Liam became aware of his presence.

  He set about exploring the town. It would begin with a breakfast at Ruby’s, after which he’d browse several of the businesses lining the street. He would listen. He would ask seemingly innocent questions. By midday he hoped to have an idea of not only where Rachel lived but how she lived, and how he might make his way to her.

  And then he would set about the hardest task of all, making her understand why he had lied to her those many weeks then, gaining her trust.

  Making her understand the difficult situation he had brought upon her, and earning her forgiveness.

  6

  The tiny clock which sat upon her night table read half-past-three by the time Rachel’s eyes had opened. She hadn’t intended to sleep so long, yet the greater surprise was that no one had woken her. Cate was hardly known for keeping her voice down. In fact, she seemed to
become louder the quieter she tried to be.

  For once, her sleep was dreamless, her overwrought mind far too exhausted to entertain even pleasant images, much fewer nightmares.

  She had already wrestled with nightmares while awake. No sense in continuing them while asleep.

  The time spent alone, the large, sleeping house surrounding her as she’d made her way down its darkened halls in her bare feet, had given her time to formulate a plan. A plan which even now, hours later, seemed almost too far-fetched to ever come to fruition.

  From where she sat, behind the team of chestnut mares she customarily drove into town, there was little else to be done. She might sit at home and wait for the inevitable to take place. She might hope her pursuer never learned where she and her sisters made their home.

  But that would never be, and she knew it. He’d found her in Carson City. It would take little time for the Tall Man to find the exact location of the ranch and to secure the use of a horse which might carry him there.

  After that, the rest would be easy for him.

  She had no intention of making it easy for him.

  Her reticule sat beside her, satin overlaid with lace. The drawstring at the top of the bag was pulled tight and double knotted so as to keep the contents inside secure.

  Contents which included the pistol from Lewis’s desk drawer.

  If only she could make it back before he noticed it was missing. If only she could manage to dissuade the Tall Man from pursuing her further without having to fire the thing.

  She had never found cause to fire a pistol before, no, nor any of her sisters. It seemed simple enough. Aim the thing, pull the trigger.