Over Your Dead Body

by Tony Masero

  ‘Now, hold on here, Mister Pinkerton,’ Kirby protested. ‘Belle’s a fine lady, I’ll not argue with that but she’s not trained in this kind of work.’

  ‘I think she will be most able,’ Pinkerton said looking to Belle for confirmation. ‘With the right kind of wardrobe and a flamboyant way she will introduce herself into the highest places and turn heads and loosen tongues, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You are very kind,’ said Belle, cocking her head shyly to one side. ‘I am flattered that you show such trust in me, Mister Pinkerton, when you know so little of me.’

  ‘It is my work to ascertain capabilities swiftly,’ frowned Pinkerton. ‘You will do well, ma’am.’

  ‘Then, how can I refuse?’

  Pinkerton sat back with a pleased look on his face. ‘I shall arrange funds for your travel and a sum set apart so that you may dress the part, my dear. And you, Kirby, must lay aside that ragged gear you wear and take on clothing a wee bit more suitable to the eastern seaboard.’

  At this Kirby wrinkled his face in distaste. ‘You’ll have me dress in some monkey suit? Mister Pinkerton, I’m a range rider and wild country boy, they’ll smell me out a mile away.’

  ‘Well,’ said Belle airily. ‘A bath would certainly not go amiss.’

  Kirby brooded on that for a moment before frowning, ‘What exactly are you saying?’

  ‘Just look the part,’ interrupted Pinkerton brusquely. ‘And at least keep your gun out of sight.’

  Belle and Kirby’s relationship altered somewhat from this time on. As they travelled across the country by train, Belle, now dressed in the finest travelling clothes Springfield had to offer, began to take on the role expected of her. That of a society queen. To back up her new character she was accompanied by an attendant baggage-train of hatboxes, valises and trunks that would have done any European potentate proud. Belle was surprised at herself and how easily the act came to her. She believed it was something to do with all her new finery, as if by putting on the clothes her attitudes also altered in some way. Since childhood she had hungered for such a wardrobe and now that she had it she was realizing all those childish desires. She was quite easily able to slip into her new persona. As a youngster it had been a dream founded in escape from the grim surroundings of her Tennessee home that had motivated her and the wish lived on and allowed her an easy transition. She blossomed and in doing so found that she received the kind of attention that bordered on celebrity status.

  Immediately on entering the train, Belle was welcomed by the willing service of not just railroad staff but also fellow male travellers, who would doff their hats politely and offer to assist in any way they might. To help her to her carriage or carry any small portmanteau she might have, to open and shut windows at her request. In effect, to fetch and carry at her beck and call as any willing servant might.

  Kirby, stuffed into a high-collared shirt, bow tie, tight tailed-jacket and vest, viewed it all with distaste. He fidgeted uncomfortably alongside Belle in the carriage, totally ignored by the other passengers, whose attention was solely fixed on the queenly Belle. He tried a number of poses inside the imprisoning suit, none of which eased his discomfort. He crossed his legs and grasped his knees, folded his arms and then unfolded them. It was, for Kirby, a taste of Purgatory and he longed to be back on his pinto pony again with an open skyline before him and not cooped up in a tiny carriage with a gang of fawning city boys doting on Belle.

  She was no longer the girl that Kirby had kissed so fervently in the hotel room. Now she had risen to a new standing that he did not recognize as the Belle he had known and he tried to hide his resentment under the guise of bodyguard and concern himself only with her security. But the marginal duty rubbed at him, rather like the uncomfortable clothes he wore.

  It was a long journey, over eight hundred miles and when the Northern Central train finally chugged into the Calvert Street station, it was into a busy and active port town cresting the head of the Chesapeake Bay. The port was alive with shipping, high-masted trading vessels, coal heavers and passenger steamers all off-loading their cargo for transport across into the land to the west.

  Grain came to the city from the north and west of the state and the resulting flour, produced by mills running on the fast flowing streams of the Patapsco River rivaled tobacco, grown on the sandy coastal plains and in the southern latitudes, for revenue. Both had assisted in the financial growth of city and as it sprawled along the coastline the horizon was alive with smoky factory chimneys and manufacturing centers. Monuments and churches of many denominations loomed on the skyline for this was a city much concerned with propriety. Methodist, Presbyterian and Quakers rubbed shoulders with each other and served a populace of over two hundred thousand, almost a third the entire population of the state.

  Fine houses marked the surrounding hills, built on the wealth founded by the textile industry and there were rich coaches exampling this that pulled up outside the station on the train’s arrival. A few of Belle’s admirers from the train journey proved to be the owners of these fancy carriages and they gladly offered her invites to elite social functions as they bade her farewell.

  Belle and Kirby set up house in a hotel apartment and took stock of their options.

  ‘Looks like you’ll fit in right well here,’ observed Kirby, a little wryly as he watched her standing poised by the tall windows of the well appointed sitting room that divided their separate bedrooms.

  Belle was searching through the calling cards she had received from her fellow passengers and looked up as she recognized the inherent criticism in his tone. ‘It’s what we’re here for,’ she said, waving the cards at him.

  ‘So is there anything of interest from these dandy folk?’ he asked sourly.

  ‘There’s a ball in the offing,’ she said, holding up a gold edged invite. ‘It is in support of some Southern Democrat who stood in opposition to Mister Lincoln.’

  ‘Well that’ll be a regular wild hoedown, I’ll bet,’ he offered her with a cynical twitch of his eyebrow.

  ‘Come on, Kirby,’ said Belle in exasperation. ‘Get in the swing of it. We’re not on the frontier here, we have to behave like gentrified folk if we’re to fit in.’

  ‘Well, you go right ahead and fit in, Belle. I’ll just watch you do it from way off yonder.’

  ‘I intend to,’ she said, her cheeks coloring angrily. ‘There’s bound to be a lot of Southern support at this dance, it’s an ideal opportunity to maybe pick something up.’

  ‘My guess is, there’ll only be one thing that’s picked up,’ muttered Kirby sullenly. ‘And that’s you, girl.’

  ‘Oh, Kirby!’ she huffed, turning away from him.

  ‘It just ain’t my style, Belle,’ he said apologetically. ‘I don’t fit into this scene and this damned stuff-suit is bringing me out in hives.’

  She smiled and swung around to look at him again, ‘Why, I think you look right fine in it. Quite, the gentleman if you could hide that pistol butt a little better.’

  Kirby had taken to carrying his gun in a shoulder holster under the jacket but the Navy Colt was a big pistol and still bulged out from under his armpit.

  ‘Don’t expect me to lay this aside,’ complained Kirby. ‘I’ve done left everything else behind but I’ll not part with my iron.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, at last showing him some sympathy. ‘It’s hard for you but you have to remember how Pinkerton was about this. It’s a serious matter and we stand a chance of doing something valuable here.’

  ‘What about Bellows and that rascal Hill? You forgotten about them?’ he asked.

  ‘Never!’ she said with a show of intensity. ‘But this must come first right now.’

  ‘I think you’re kind of enjoying this a little too well.’

  She mused on that as she laid the span of calling cards down on a side table, ‘Maybe I am,’ she admitted, catching sight of herself in a framed wall mirror. Unselfconsciously, she teased a stray loop of her golden hair back in
place. ‘It’s been a position I’ve long hankered for. Mixing with educated and mannered folk.’

  ‘Well, just be sure it don’t turn your pretty little head and you forget where you come from.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she promised airily. ‘But right now I’m a Tennessee born, gentleman farmer’s daughter up here in Baltimore visiting relatives. And you can be my ignorant hick cousin come off the farm to chaperone me, how’s that sound?’

  ‘Alright, except for the ‘ignorant hick’ part.’

  Kirby could see he was wasting his breath, there was still too much of the dreamy country girl in Belle and he feared for her safety without a colder more objective attitude. It was her lack of experience in matters of subterfuge that allowed this and it would take a real-time shock to bring her out of her fantasy.

  They spent the day touring the town and visiting coffee houses where once again Belle attracted a great deal of attention and Kirby had to admit that she was ideal for the part. Enamored of her as he was she still managed to take his breath away as he watched her in a pretty bonnet and sweeping crinoline dress, her tiny waist offset by a flowing band of ribbon as she chatted to the men gathered around her. Her blue eyes seemed to dance with light and her face glow with attractive charm but the attention she was getting only depressed Kirby more. Whilst he had to keep attendance on her for her protection he felt marginalized and out of sorts and it was only by an effort of will that he overcame this petulance and began to pay strict attention to all the hopeful callers.

  There was no doubt that most were of Southern leanings as when the subject came up in conversation it was not, perhaps surprisingly, on the basis of slavery that the issues were discussed as this was in decline across the state but more their sense of becoming second class citizens and losing a way of life they felt was theirs by right. It was the coming of the first Republican president that focused resentment and ushered in a sense of division between north and south. There was a tangible restlessness at mention of the situation and it was clear to Kirby that under the surface Baltimore was a seething bed of discontent waiting to explode. All it needed was a spark to set it off and that, might well be found in the assassination of a president.

  The ball given in honor of the defeated Southern Democrat was a grand affair and poor Kirby cringed as they arrived at the sweeping stairway up to the palatial hall. He arrived in a hired carriage along with Belle, who looked truly spectacular in an extravagant pale blue gown, worn scooped at back and front and sliding seductively off the shoulder. Her hair was set with pearls and her long neck bare of any decoration. A planned oversight that only enhanced the décolleté swell of her ample bosom.

  Footmen with lighted torches lined the steps leading up to the pillared entrance and they were ushered into a crowded room where music was already playing and happy dancers swirled around the ballroom in a lively polka. It was a brightly lit affair and the elite of the city were gathered to show their support for the outgoing politician.

  It was not long before Belle was surrounded by young hopefuls all requesting her to mark them down for a dance.

  Kirby for his part after gaining a glass from the punch bowl slunk to one side and watched from the shadows of a pillar as Belle was swept away. She was no dancer, he noted, her education falling short on that score but she pulled it off and none of her young attendants seemed to notice her failings.

  ‘You with the young lady?’ a voice asked at his elbow.

  Kirby turned to see a portly figure standing beside him. A tubby, white haired fellow, well dressed and with an avuncular looking round face framed by bushy side-whiskers.

  ‘My cousin,’ Kirby supplied. ‘I am chaperoning her.’

  ‘Ah, indeed. Then you will have your work cut out, I fear,’ he smiled, as he held his hand out in introduction. ‘I am Carter Waynes, merchant in this fair town, and you, sir….’

  ‘Kirby Langstrom.’

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mister Langstrom. New in town, I trust?’

  ‘You’re right there,’ said Kirby. ‘Just arrived.’

  Despite his pleasant homely way there was something that Kirby’s honed senses felt was amiss about the man. A look in his eyes that spoke of a shrewd contemplation of both Belle and himself.

  ‘Troubled times, I’m afraid,’ said Waynes. ‘We are all a-flutter with the upcoming visit. I believe old Abe himself is passing through the town on his way to Washington.’

  ‘Is that a fact,’ Kirby observed with a show of vague disinterest.

  ‘But here,’ offered Waynes brightly. ‘Join me in a taste of something stronger than this vapid punch. Good Southern brew, I assure you.’

  He pulled a silver flask from inside his jacket and, flipping the lid poured a healthy portion into Kirby’s glass.

  ‘What is it you do, Mister Waynes?’ Kirby asked in an attempt to distract the man away from himself.

  ‘Dry goods mostly, I run an auction house as well. It nets me a fair income, and you?’

  ‘Me, I’m just a farm boy. Belle’s Pa has a fair spread and I work for him.’

  ‘I see you are armed,’ Waynes nodded at Kirby’s distinctive bulge. ‘Is this normal in your neck of the woods? To come prepared for war to a dance?’

  ‘Kind of a habit, I guess,’ Kirby excused himself. ‘Wouldn’t be anywhere without my piece.’

  ‘Well, I trust you have no intention of causing a fracas in here.’

  The appearance of two heavily built men behind Waynes gave Kirby understanding that he was now under the watchful eye of some kind of security and that the man before him was more than a casual partygoer.

  ‘I wonder if you would step outside with us for a moment, Mister Langstrom? Quietly now, we wouldn’t want to upset the ladies.’

  ‘What would I do that for?’ Kirby asked innocently, his eyes flicking from one of the bearish fellows to the other.

  ‘Well,’ said Waynes, sipping from his silver flask. ‘Just a word in private. We like to keep the good people of Baltimore abreast of all eventualities at their dances. Not more than a moment, I assure you.’

  Kirby looked across the ballroom to where Belle sat surrounded by attentive males. She seemed to be safe in the crowded room and although he tried to catch her eye there was too much going on between them for her to notice.

  The two men had him suddenly by the arm, one on each side.

  ‘Obliged if you fellas would let me go,’ said Kirby. ‘I don’t take kindly to being manhandled.’

  Waynes smiled greasily, ‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘But you must step outside with us, you really must.’

  ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘A question of credentials.’

  ‘We got fair invite,’ protested Kirby. ‘Belle there was inundated with party papers.’

  ‘That may be so,’ said Waynes easily. ‘But any man arriving armed at such a function in these troubled times must be put under question.’

  He gave a flick of his head and Kirby, trapped between the two burly figures was lifted from his feet and carried bodily through a side door. They carried him out onto a long, tiled veranda that ran the length of the building and was enclosed on one side by a stone balustrade that overlooked neatly arranged gardens below.

  Belle meanwhile, was being courted by a military type. A proud looking thirty-five year old man of tall bearing and handsome features. He was obviously a person of some renown, she could see that by the envious glances flicking her way from the other ladies that sat alongside.

  ‘Courtney Monette, ma’am,’ he said, bowing over her hand.

  ‘You are a soldier, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘You have me pegged. A colonel.’

  ‘Indeed, Colonel, well there are many men in service and not all of them know where their loyalties lie. Let me ask you where you stand now with all the divisions present in the city? I hope you are a true patriot.’

  ‘I shall follow my best inclinations if there is conflict, on that you may be sure.’

 
He was leaning over her, his hand upon the back of her chair and successfully barring any others that might try to intrude.

  ‘Well,’ said Belle, looking at him from beneath lowered eyelids. ‘I just hope those inclinations of yours blow from a southerly direction.’

  ‘I am a Southerner, ma’am,’ he affirmed, with a grin that quirked one side of his mouth and showed a row of even white teeth. ‘Through and through.’

  ‘You know, I am forever impressed by our bold fighting men,’ praised Belle, with a winning smile. ‘So ready and able to stand for our liberties. It does my heart good to know the call to the flag will be responded to with such vigor.’

  ‘Have no fear, dear lady. You shall sleep safe in your bed before any damnable Yankee attempts to overthrow this city of ours.’

  She simpered and hid her face behind her fan, watching him coquettishly above the edge.

  ‘Such fair promise,’ she murmured. ‘I trust you are well armed, for if this frail female body is about to suffer invasion I would like to know our defense has a strong sword couched in a sturdy sheath.’

  She watched his face twitch at the suggestive remark; he wore a dark mustache and his hand automatically brushed at the fringes in a devil-may-care attitude. Belle knew she had him hooked. He was a rakish man and full of his own self importance and she instinctively knew that with the right kind of inducement he would open up to her quite freely.

  ‘My weapon is ample enough to meet any demand and always at your command,’ he bragged in answer, his voice dropping in volume to a leering whisper.

  ‘Perhaps we could meet to discuss this more fully at some time,’ she breathed. ‘I find that I am quite swollen with curiosity at the state of your preparedness.’

  ‘You do me honor, Miss Slaughter.’

  ‘Please, call me Belle. If we are to be friends, Colonel Monette, we must think of each other in a kindly fashion. With tenderness and gentle communion.’