An Agent for Diana (The Pinkerton Matchmaker, Book 10)

by Rebecca Connolly

  It didn’t matter, and nor would any other flaws that he was sure would present themselves. She was beautiful, and it was a damned nuisance.

  Where was her gun, anyway? The layers of her skirt could have hidden anything short of a full army, but she moved with such ease and grace that it seemed highly unlikely it would be beneath them. Yet her figure was pronounced enough with the fashionable styles of the day that it was plainly impossible it could have been in the upper portion of her body.

  At any rate, he should not be examining any portion of her body, upper or lower, for suspected weaponry, husband or not.

  Did she even know how to use a gun? They hadn’t gone over that during training, as she was not to be a soldier, and theirs was an assignment of investigation, so it hadn’t seemed necessary. Now, it seemed, it would have been prudent to discuss, at the least.

  He cocked his head slightly as he watched her sleep, smirking a little as her mouth parted slightly with her heavy breathing, her own head lolling in sleepy motions.

  What sort of fun could he bring about with their being a married couple? She seemed the sort who enjoyed a good laugh, and they certainly bantered well enough to have fun in the right circumstances. He wasn’t the sort to pester a woman, but a bit of mischief making never hurt anybody, and any partner of his, woman or not, would need to learn such.

  The fact that she was his wife opened up entirely new avenues of opportunity for him.

  The train suddenly lurched as it started forward, and Diana lurched with it, her eyes springing open wildly as she jolted headlong towards the seat opposite.

  “Whoa there,” Wyatt commented, a bit unnecessarily, his hands instantly moving to her upper arms to keep her from slamming into anything.

  Diana blinked at him with the sort of owlish look known only to those awoken from a surprisingly deep sleep. “What happened?”

  Wyatt chuckled, rubbing her arms gently. “You fell asleep. Don’t worry, it was just the train. We’re on our way to New Albany.”

  “Oh.” She exhaled roughly, then dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Right.” She drew in a long breath through her nose, then dropped her hands and smiled at Wyatt. “Shall we prepare for our mission, husband?”

  She was always doing that, tossing out the word husband as though it were the greatest joke in the world, and it always shot a ticklish barb somewhere below the center of his chest. Or perhaps that was the wry quirk of her mouth every time she did it.

  Whatever it was, he’d much prefer she use his name.

  That would be safer.

  “Wouldn’t you rather get some actual rest?” he suggested, gesturing to the seat. “There is plenty of room for you to lay down, and you are clearly tired. There will be plenty of time…”

  “No,” Diana interrupted with a firm shake of her head, the dark tresses of her hair whipping against her shoulders and the seat. “There isn’t that much time, not if either of us actually want to sleep before we get there. Trust me, I will sleep much better if I feel prepared about what we’re getting into.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. He felt much the same way, depending on what the mission was. This one he hadn’t quite figured yet, mostly because there was so much unknown.

  Which was why they were heading in.

  Information gathering, investigation, and espionage; figuring out what was happening and what could be done. The freedom to act according to the circumstances and without answering to anyone of a higher authority, even if their final reports were going to be scrutinized.

  All with one caveat: do not leave footprints.

  It was a metaphor of course, but the meaning was clear. They were not to reveal themselves, not to leave a mark upon their destination, and to avoid making much of a ruckus, as Archie was so keen to remind them.

  Or perhaps he only said that to Wyatt.

  He might have been the only one that needed to hear it.

  “Where did I lose you?”

  Wyatt’s head jerked up. “What? Lose who?”

  Diana’s perfect brow arched more pointedly. “Whom. And you, it seems. Our mission? Good gracious, Wyatt.”

  His stomach clenched, stealing his breath, and he cleared his throat to cover the awkward pause his lack of words would cause. “Sorry,” he muttered roughly, scratching the back of his neck. “Just thinking over everything.”

  Including finding something else Diana could call him, as now both husband and Wyatt seemed to cause unwanted reactions.

  But that wasn’t part of the assignment, so he could think about that later.

  He’d have to.

  “Right,” he said gruffly, adjusting his position slightly. “Right. Do you remember hearing about the Reno gang a few years ago?”

  Diana’s high brow furrowed, her eyes lowering. “Were those the train robbers?”

  Wyatt nodded, strangely pleased that she knew that much. One never knew how much the society elite knew about anything outside of their circles. “Very good. They robbed an express car as it left the depot in Seymour, Indiana in ’66. Pinkertons get hired on after that and start on their trail. Then in ’67, a courthouse in Missouri gets robbed. One of the Reno boys gets captured, and he’s still sitting in jail. A couple of members of the gang were caught by Pinkerton’s own son after some robberies in ’67 and ’68, but they escaped and joined up with the rest.”

  “Of course they did,” Diana muttered, shaking her head.

  “The good people of Seymour,” he went on with an acknowledging nod, “decided they’d had enough, and formed a vigilante gang.”

  Diana’s eyes widened. “They did what?”

  Wyatt smiled very thinly. “Their entire purpose was to kill the Reno gang. Not capture, not arrest, but kill. Well, the Reno gang moves to Iowa and robs the treasuries of both Harrison and Mills counties. Pinkertons arrest them, they escape again, and come back to Indiana.”

  “This story just gets worse and worse.” Diana rubbed at her brow and made an irritated noise. “Maybe I don’t want to be a Pinkerton after all.”

  He’d ignore that one, as he’d felt the same way when he’d found out. “They robbed another train, killed the express messenger, and took in roughly ninety-six million dollars. Papers across the country picked up the story after that.”

  Diana had no comment now, shaking her head, her mouth gaping open.

  “The Pinkertons intercepted another attempt in ’68, a train again. They opened fire on the gang and wounded a few. Almost all of the gang escaped, but one was captured, and he agreed to identify the rest of the gang in exchange for a reduced punishment.” Wyatt looked out the train window, unable to see much of anything in the dark. “They arrested two more members the next day.”

  The relative silence of the train echoed in the compartment, only the screeching and squealing of the wheels against the tracks audible.

  “But?”

  He glanced up at her, somehow momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t reviewing the history of this case by himself in the dormitories in Denver. “What?”

  Diana leaned forward, clasping her hands, her eyes surprisingly bright in the faint light of the compartment. “The story doesn’t end there, does it? With one turning on the others and only two getting arrested? By my calculations, we’re still missing a couple of actual Reno brothers.” She quirked her brows, her mouth curving. “It’s rude not to finish such a thrilling story.”

  Wyatt found himself chuckling, though the worst of the story, in his mind, was yet to come. “Pardon me, let’s continue then.” He sat up and rubbed his hands together. “The three members of the gang captured were taken on a train, headed for prison. Then, three miles outside of Seymour masked men boarded the train and took them off. The men were taken to a nearby tree and hanged.”

  A faint gasp escaped Diana’s lips and she covered her mouth quickly.

  “And if that wasn’t enough,” Wyatt continued, a bitter edge entering his tone, “shortly after that, three other gang members w
ere captured by lawmen, returned to Seymour, and again, masked men took the prisoners and hanged them from the very same tree.”

  Diana covered her eyes now, exhaling slowly.

  “Justice the people’s way.” Wyatt shook his head, snorting. “Two of the Reno boys were captured by Pinkertons, and didn’t escape this time.”

  “Our reputation is saved,” Diana chimed in a dry tone, dropping her hands.

  An irritating burn started in Wyatt’s chest and he rubbed at it absently. “They were jailed and convicted, and very wisely transferred to a safer jail near New Albany.”

  Diana sat back and swung her legs up onto the bench, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “Wisely? How so?”

  “The day after the men were removed from the jail in Lexington, vigilantes broke in and attempted to catch and lynch them.”

  The story really was a miserable one, and Diana’s groan of dismay was a perfect accompaniment to the telling. “Another Reno brother and a fellow gang member were both tracked down and sent to New Albany with the rest.”

  “Good,” Diana sighed, briefly burying her head into her knees. She smiled at Wyatt in her relief. “A happy ending after all.”

  Such a pretty smile she bore, and he had to rid her of it.

  Why did it feel as though that would be happening with some frequency from here on out?

  “No, Diana,” he murmured in a very low tone. “No. December 11th, 1868. Roughly sixty-five hooded men went to New Albany at night by train. They forced their way into the jail, and into the sheriff’s home. The sheriff was beaten, then shot when he refused to turn over the keys. His wife gave them up, probably saving her own life. The Reno brothers and the other man with them, Charlie Anderson, were all dragged out of their cells and lynched one by one.”

  “Good lord,” Diana breathed, wide-eyed and pale. “Were any of the men…?”

  “Not a damn one,” Wyatt interrupted. “No investigation. No charges. All anyone ever said about it was that ‘Judge Lynch’ had spoken.”

  To this, his wife said nothing. She only lowered her chin to her knees, seeming to hug herself more tightly, making her figure almost frail in appearance.

  Wyatt returned his attention to the window, a sick feeling churning his stomach. He shouldn’t have told her everything. He should have taken a care for her sensibilities. He should have…

  Well, he should have insisted he have a different partner once the mission file came to him, but it was too late for that now. They were here, and this was their situation. There could be no shielding her from the rest of this, and there was no telling what they would find when they get there.

  He opened his mouth to apologize, but Diana spoke first.

  “So with all that in mind,” she said simply, her voice not nearly as weak as he thought it would be, “what is our focus? What’s sending us there?”

  He looked at her, hopefully hiding his surprise at the calm, determined manner with which the question had been asked. She wasn’t trembling as far as he could see, and though her posture was childlike, her expression was not.

  What sort of woman was this mysterious wife of his?

  “There have been rumors and reports,” he told her, the tension in his chest easing, “that there may be more trouble in the area.”

  “How?” Diana asked, tossing her hair. “The Reno boys are dead, except for the one in jail.”

  Wyatt shook his head quickly. “Not with the Reno gang. They’re done. No, there are rumors of people looking for their treasure. The vigilantes, I suppose. And reports have been sent in of some disturbances.”

  “In New Albany?” she asked, a wrinkle appearing in her brow. “Or in Seymour?”

  “Yes,” Wyatt answered, smiling wanly. “Both.”

  Diana’s brow smoothed. “Both? Where exactly is the trouble?”

  Wyatt opened the file and showed it to her, pointing to their destination. “Southern Indiana.”

  She blinked as she stared at the paper, then looked up at him in horror. “Southern Indiana? That’s what we have to go on?”

  His smile turned more wry than wan, though his amusement at the moment was minimal. “It’s an adventure and a mystery, Mrs. Bricker. Aren’t you just thrilled?”

  Chapter 3

  “Welcome to New Albany, Mr. Henderson, Mrs. Henderson. Please, let me show you to your rooms.”

  Diana smiled and looped her hand around Wyatt’s arm, letting him lead her gallantly up the stairs. Her long braid bounced against her shoulder, and she privately smirked at it. She had not worn braids since she was a child, but it had seemed all too perfect, when they had changed their clothing to the more hardy and simple outfits better suited for simpler folk, to dress her hair much the same.

  “Much obliged,” Wyatt told Mr. Foster, their frail but jolly host. He and his wife owned and ran the boarding house in the town, and were only too keen to have Wyatt and Diana join the rest of their current guests.

  Wyatt’s now subtle Texas accent, a relief to Diana’s ears, seemed to delight Mr. Foster, and Diana did her best to imitate one herself. If they were to be a pair of Texan transplants to this charming town in Indiana, they could both put their best foot forward. Their ensembles had been perfectly chosen, it seemed, for blending in without leaning towards either the wealthy or the destitute. Comfortable simplicity seemed to be their trend, and if the looks of those observing them were anything to go by, the general populace approved.

  As it happened, Diana approved herself. With the loss of the finery she had grown accustomed to in her life, she was delighted to feel a newfound freedom and near-exhilaration with her current wardrobe. Nothing to fuss or worry about, nothing to keep particularly neat or unwrinkled, and nothing at all for anyone to envy. She had freedom of movement, for the most part, and the extraordinary sensation of being absolutely ordinary.

  How perfectly perfect, especially given her assignment.

  Wyatt was equally perfect as a companion with his appearance. He was a handsome man as he was, particularly when he smiled, but for some reason, when he looked a bit more coarse, a bit less formal, and a bit more humble, he was quite the eye-catching specimen. Of course, it helped that the day was warm and the hat he’d swept from his head in polite deference had revealed the sandy colored hair that was just the slightest bit damp, and the blue of his shirt was a near-perfect match to the shade of his eyes…

  More than one young woman passing them had given Diana’s husband a second or third look, and a few of the less young ones as well.

  There was a thrilling sort of possessiveness in that, and she was only too glad that hers was the arm wrapped around his, and hers was the back upon which his hand was placed.

  “Are you very fatigued, Mrs. Henderson?” Foster asked, craning his neck as best as he could while still moving steadily up the stairs.

  Diana dipped her chin with modesty, though not to the precise depth to which she had been trained in her Baltimore days, given the disparity between stations then and now. “Some, Mr. Foster, but not very. I believe travel invigorates me rather than depletes me.”

  “Ah, a fine wife you have for yourself there, Mr. Henderson,” Foster remarked with a laugh as he rounded the stairs. “One who is not easily worn out by the excursions of a journey and finds it rather refreshing? I trust you are aware of your good fortune, sir.”

  Wyatt covered Diana’s hand and rubbed it a little, smiling indulgently for their host. “Oh, I am aware, Foster. We’d travel the world if only we had endless funds and time.”

  “Ain’t it the truth, sir, ain’t it the truth.” Foster laughed loudly, then turned to face them, gesturing politely. “Your rooms, sir. I’ve taken liberty of giving you a parlor as well as the bedroom. I thought it might suit Mrs. Henderson better, if she did not care for the company of the other guests.”

  “You are very thoughtful, Mr. Foster,” Diana said warmly, letting Wyatt lead her into the simple but comfortable suite of rooms. “Are y
ou very full at the present?”

  “Not to capacity, ma’am,” he replied as he followed them in, “but full enough. And we do get a fair number of the locals in the taproom after supper, if you have any interest in that. It’s not a rough group, they’re generally very pleasant, though there was that one incident with Mr. Chelsey a few years ago. It’s why my wife will not let us serve whisky after nine, and we are not to talk of it, so . . .” He held a finger to his lips, but winked.

  Wyatt tapped his nose twice. “Understood, Foster. I believe we’ll come down for supper tonight, and meet some of the guests and locals. Might do us good, don’t you think?”

  Diana looked up at him, her brow wrinkling. Go down? She didn’t want to go down, she wanted supper on a tray and a hot bath. She wanted to rest for a while, then sneak out at night to explore the town while it slept.