City of Schemes

by Victoria Thompson

  “How would she have known his address?”

  “Sadly, I didn’t think to ask him when he gave me the letter, but I . . . I’ve given this some thought since Gideon asked me the same thing yesterday. I’m afraid she may have gotten it from Kellogg’s, uh, sweetheart.”

  “Kellogg had a French sweetheart, too?” This was getting more and more interesting by the minute.

  “He was . . . involved with a French woman, but it came to nothing. He must have given her his address, however. How else would Noelle have gotten it?”

  Elizabeth had no idea, but she decided she’d learned what she needed to know about Sergeant Kellogg and pulled the letter out of the envelope. Logan had also translated the part addressed to Kellogg, asking him to pass the rest of the letter along to Captain Carstens. Noelle was very trusting to expect Kellogg to perform such an important duty and very ignorant of American geography if she didn’t understand that Logan and Kellogg might have been discharged to homes on opposite sides of the continent. That would have made her request nearly impossible. But by some miracle, Kellogg was also apparently living in New York. How convenient.

  The letter contained surprisingly little to indicate Noelle and Logan were formerly lovers. She simply says how much she misses him and how she hopes he is doing well. Then she complains about how difficult things are in France and how she would like his help in immigrating to the United States. She mentions how everyone must be bribed and then promises to repay him if it takes the rest of her life. It was all very heartrending.

  “Does Noelle know your family is well-to-do?” Elizabeth asked.

  Logan squirmed at the question, as she had expected him to. The old society families never admitted to being rich. Of course not all of them were, which made it doubly awkward, but she supposed any of them could be expected to come up with a thousand dollars in a pinch.

  “We never discussed such things,” Logan finally said.

  “Let me phrase that another way. Did the French girls have the idea that all Americans are rich?”

  Logan frowned as he considered this. “I suppose we must have seemed rich to them. We had food and chocolate bars and money to spend, while they had been destitute for years because of the war.”

  Elizabeth folded up the letter and the translation and put the pages back into the envelope.

  “What do you think?” Gideon asked her.

  “It’s the Spanish Prisoner.”

  Logan and Gideon both frowned at this.

  “But Noelle is French,” Logan protested, “and she’s not a prisoner.”

  “No, she’s not, but that’s the name of the con, the Spanish Prisoner.”

  “Con?” Logan echoed.

  God bless him, he was truly innocent.

  “It’s a confidence game,” Gideon said. “Is that right, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. The way it works is a victim is identified, in this case you. Someone informs you that an important person is in a dangerous situation and must escape. That person is the Spanish Prisoner, or in this case, the abandoned French girl.”

  “But what does Spain have to do with it?” Logan asked, still confused.

  “Nothing at all. It’s an old con, and when it started, Spain was often used as the place the prisoner was trying to escape from. They were probably at war or something.”

  “Spain often was,” Gideon remarked.

  “So a go-between, in this case your Sergeant Kellogg, tells you that the prisoner, Noelle, needs your help to escape. In most versions of this con, the prisoner is wealthy, too, and promises to repay you with generous interest once he or she is free. That version plays on greed, while this version plays on your love for Noelle. You wouldn’t even expect to be repaid, would you?”

  “No, of course not,” Logan said indignantly, “but you’re wrong about this, Elizabeth. Noelle would never . . . I mean, I know she must be desperate if she went to so much trouble to contact me.”

  “Perhaps she is,” Elizabeth said, “but why is she asking you for so much money?”

  “For bribes, like she says in the letter,” Logan said, but Elizabeth could hear the doubt in his voice.

  “I notice she instructs you to give the money to Sergeant Kellogg. How do you suppose he intends to get the money to France?”

  “I . . . I guess the same way I would,” Logan said. “By wiring it to Noelle.”

  “Then why doesn’t she ask you to send her the money directly?”

  Logan opened his mouth but nothing came out. She gave him a few minutes to consider what she’d told him. “How do you know all this? About the Spanish Prisoner business, I mean?”

  “Elizabeth has an interesting background,” Gideon said before Elizabeth could speak. “We’re not at liberty to disclose her . . . well, the services she has performed for the government, so I’ll have to ask you to keep her part in this confidential, Logan.”

  Logan’s eyes were enormous as he looked at Elizabeth in a whole new light. “Was this . . . because of the war?”

  Elizabeth didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply turned to Gideon to see how he was going to answer. So far he’d managed to explain her unique knowledge of the grift without divulging that she herself had been a con artist, but also without even telling a small white lie. Could he keep that up?

  Gideon simply said, “Let’s just say that a group of German saboteurs is in prison because of her efforts.”

  Which was—remarkably—absolutely true.

  Logan needed a few moments to absorb all this, and when he did, his doubts returned. “So you’re saying you think someone is trying to convince me that Noelle is in danger so they can cheat me out of a thousand dollars.”

  “I’m very much afraid that is the case, yes,” Elizabeth said.

  “But that’s impossible. Noelle would never be involved in anything the least bit underhanded. Besides, she really is stuck in France, where things really are very difficult. She might even be starving right this moment.”

  “Let me ask you this,” Elizabeth said. “Did your Sergeant Kellogg know about your romance with Noelle?”

  Logan blushed again. “I . . . I’m sure many people knew about it.”

  “And he obviously knew you didn’t marry her and bring her back with you.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “So maybe he simply used this information to try to cheat you out of some money, and Noelle knows nothing at all about it.”

  But Logan frowned. “That does make more sense than anything else, although I can’t believe Kellogg would do something like that. He was such a good soldier.”

  “Many soldiers are bitter about the war, though,” Gideon said. “And they’re having a difficult time finding jobs now that they’re home.”

  But Logan wasn’t listening. He was apparently still thinking about Noelle. “But things really are very bad in France. Suppose Noelle truly does need my help. I can’t just ignore her if she did write that letter.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the letter. “Are you sure this is her handwriting?”

  “I . . .” Logan’s faith faltered, but only for a moment. “I’ve never actually seen Noelle’s handwriting before, but it’s obviously written by a woman.”

  Elizabeth had to agree the handwriting did look very feminine. “Then let’s put Noelle to the test, shall we? Do you have an address to which you can reply to her?”

  “Yes. I lived in her family’s house.”

  “Then write back directly to her.”

  “But her letter specifically says not to do that,” Logan protested.

  “Can you think of any reason why you shouldn’t?” Elizabeth argued.

  Logan frowned. “Well, no, now that you mention it, I can’t.”

  “Then reply to her. Tell her you received her letter and you want to make sure she receives the money sh
e needs and that if she will confirm she is still with her family, you will wire her the money there.”

  “That’s sounds like a perfect solution,” Gideon said. “If she really does want to come to America, you can help her. If not, you will save yourself a lot of money.”

  “But what will I tell Kellogg? He’ll want to know why I’m not responding.”

  “Blame it on me,” Gideon said. “Tell him there are problems with the trust and you can’t get the money. I can stall him for a few weeks while Noelle has time to receive your letter and reply. If you still want to send the money to her then, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  “And Mr. Kellogg should be glad to be relieved of this burden,” Elizabeth added.

  After a bit more persuasion, Logan agreed to this plan, but as he was preparing to take his leave, he thought of another problem. “I don’t have any idea what to say to Noelle. How do I offer to send her money to come to America if she never requested it in the first place? Won’t she misunderstand and think I’ve changed my mind about marrying her?”

  “I can see how that might be a problem,” Elizabeth said before Gideon could offer his services, because he would probably be just as ham-handed at this as Logan. At least Logan knew he couldn’t handle such a sensitive issue. “I would be happy to assist you, Logan.”

  Gideon, to his credit, looked relieved. “Perhaps the two of you would like to use one of our meeting rooms to compose a draft.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Elizabeth said.

  Smith escorted them to an empty room and provided the necessary paper, pen and ink.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help, Elizabeth,” Logan said when they were seated at the table.

  “I’m just glad I can be of assistance.” Elizabeth was sure that’s exactly how Mrs. Bates would have responded, although she would have had no idea what the Spanish Prisoner was or how to keep poor Logan from being taken. “I hope you can translate this into French, because I certainly can’t.”

  “Yes, I can, but I’m afraid I don’t have any idea even how to start a letter like this,” Logan admitted when Elizabeth had arranged the writing materials to her satisfaction.

  “Would you like her to know that you’ve been thinking about her?”

  Logan’s handsome face twisted in pain. “I’ve been thinking about her constantly, but I don’t want to give her the impression that I . . . that my situation has changed.”

  “I understand. How about if you just say you were surprised to receive the letter she sent to you via Sergeant Kellogg and happy to know that she is well?”

  “Yes, that’s good.”

  “I think we should proceed as if you believe the letter is really from her, in case it really is.”

  “Yes, I see. I certainly wouldn’t want to insult her by making her think I doubted her.”

  “Exactly. If she really did write it, she’ll be pleased to hear back from you. If she didn’t, she’ll be confused but also pleased that you were so willing to come to her rescue.”

  Plainly, Logan understood the benefits to him. Either way, he would look like a hero. He nodded vigorously. “Yes, I like that.”

  “And we won’t mention the amount of money. We’ll simply say you are willing to wire the sum she requested to pay her fare.”

  Logan had lost any trace of condescension he might have harbored. The look he gave her was pure admiration. “Those German spies never had a chance against you, did they?”

  “No,” Elizabeth graciously agreed, “they did not.”

  * * *

  —

  By Sunday morning, Elizabeth was still feeling very virtuous for having used her extensive knowledge of grifting to help Logan. She hadn’t even had to run a con herself, either! Was it possible she had reformed completely?

  No one she had ever known had, but miracles did happen, didn’t they?

  She was still feeling virtuous after a sermon on turning the other cheek. The new minister was a lovely man who gave a good sermon and finished on time and what more could anyone ask of a man of God? Considering how far short his predecessor, a depraved man more concerned with monetary gain than tending his flock, had fallen, Elizabeth couldn’t imagine.

  While Gideon and his mother chatted with some friends, Elizabeth glanced around to see if there was anyone lingering in the sanctuary she would like to speak to. Before should could find anyone, Rosemary Westerly hove into view.

  “Elizabeth, how are you?” she asked with a rather smug smile. Did she expect Elizabeth to be prostrate with apoplexy after reading the announcement of her engagement in the gossip columns last Sunday?

  “I’m doing very well.” Elizabeth gave Rosemary the dazzling smile of a rich woman without a care in the world. She had practiced that one many times.

  Rosemary waited a few seconds for Elizabeth to ask after her health in return, but she waited in vain. She didn’t let that distract her from her mission, however. “I do hope that we can be friends, Elizabeth. I know Logan and Gideon would like that.”

  Elizabeth knew that Rosemary would like that, although Rosemary’s idea of friendship was probably much different from Elizabeth’s. “I don’t know any reason why we shouldn’t be,” Elizabeth said guilelessly. She’d practiced that, too. “Do you?”

  Rosemary blinked a few times, but her smile never wavered. “Of course not. I was hoping we might have lunch tomorrow.” She mentioned the name of a quaint little tearoom where respectable ladies could go unescorted and enjoy crustless sandwiches and Earl Grey.

  “I do happen to be free,” Elizabeth admitted, wondering what on earth Rosemary might be up to. Surely, Logan hadn’t told her about the letter from Noelle or the help Elizabeth had given him in replying. Still, she didn’t think Rosemary really just wanted to be friends, either.

  “How lovely. Can we meet there? Let’s say one o’clock?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “And afterward, I’ll take you to meet my modiste.”

  Her eyes took on a crafty expression, as if she expected that Elizabeth wouldn’t know what that word meant. “Are you suggesting my wardrobe needs improvement?”

  “Oh no, not at all,” she insisted, although she looked a little disappointed. “But this woman does marvelous work. She’s French, you know.”

  “The French do have such a sense of style,” Elizabeth agreed.

  “And you’ll be adding to your trousseau, I’m sure.”

  “Very likely.”

  “Then I shall see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Elizabeth decided not to mention her luncheon with Rosemary to Gideon. She didn’t want him to worry.

  * * *

  —

  The following morning, Gideon had just summoned Smith to show a client out and was finishing up his notes on their meeting when Smith returned wearing a disapproving frown. Gideon had learned to recognize the expression.

  “Did someone ask to see me without an appointment?” he asked as sympathetically as he could. Smith was far more jealous of Gideon’s time than Gideon was.

  “He’s been waiting almost an hour while you finished with your last client. I encouraged him to schedule a time tomorrow when you would be free, but he said he preferred to wait.”

  So it wasn’t someone Smith knew. “Did he give his name?”

  “Oscar Thornton.”

  Gideon was glad he was sitting down. Hearing the name was like a punch in the gut. The last time he had seen Oscar Thornton, Gideon had unwittingly helped cheat the man out of a fortune and Elizabeth lay dying at his feet. Thornton had fled that day, and Gideon had never expected to see or hear from the man again. Until the debacle with their engagement announcement, Gideon hadn’t even thought of Thornton in almost a year.

  So much for his theory that Thornton didn’
t read the gossip columns. Rosemary Westerly had a lot to answer for.

  “Show Mr. Thornton in,” Gideon said, pleased to hear his voice sounded perfectly normal even though his heart was hammering in his chest.

  Plainly, Smith sensed Gideon’s unease, but he nodded and hurried out to do his bidding. A few moments later, Smith escorted Thornton into his office.

  He looked older than Gideon remembered. He’d lost some weight, though, so perhaps that was it. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes a bit sunken. His hair might have been thinner as well. His clothes were as good as ever, though. He wasn’t destitute if he could still afford a good tailor.

  Gideon didn’t rise to greet him, nor did he invite Thornton to sit down. The two men stared at each other across the width of Gideon’s large desk until Smith discreetly closed the door behind himself.

  “Thornton,” Gideon said at last.

  Thornton smiled at that, a grin that bared his teeth but otherwise changed his sour expression not at all. “Bates. I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Gideon refused to react. “Are they?”

  “You’re engaged, I hear. Or rather I see in the newspapers. To Miss Elizabeth Miles.”

  Gideon said nothing.

  “Elizabeth Miles, who I thought was dead.” He waited, and when Gideon still did not reply, he added, “She must’ve recovered.”

  “Is that all you came for, Thornton?” Gideon said, not having to feign his annoyance. “Because I’m very busy and—”

  “No, that’s not all I came for, Bates,” Thornton said, ostentatiously taking a seat on one of the client chairs, much to Gideon’s dismay. “I want my money back.”

  Of course he did. “As you very well know, I do not have your money.”

  “But you know who does.”

  “No, I do not.” Gideon took great pride in never telling a lie, and this was technically the truth. He could guess, but that wasn’t the same as really knowing.