by Jen Turano
While her brother had gained white hair with age, he’d evidently lost part of his mind in the process.
“Is that why you think I’d do well to cultivate an alliance with Grayson? Do you find him an adventurous gentleman?”
“I never suggested you form an alliance with the gentleman—especially since, again, he seems to be responsible for placing you in danger. However, I do think he’s an adventurous sort, or perhaps a better term would be worldly, and I have the impression that at heart he’s a good man.”
Thor took that moment to turn on his own accord into a dirt alley, effectively ending the conversation when Felicia realized they’d somehow reached home.
A groom ran out to greet them, and much to Felicia’s amusement, after she climbed down from the cart with Jeffrey’s assistance, Thor, rather than balking at the groom taking the reins, allowed the man to lead him away, his ears drooping and his demeanor forlorn.
She smiled and took the arm Jeffrey offered her, walking with him up the pebbled path toward the house. “I bet Mother beat us home,” she said, pausing before the front door.
“I’m sure she did, and I’m sure she’s used the time alone to craft a suitable lecture to give you once we step inside.” He grinned. “Perhaps I should bid you a good day now and avoid all the drama that’s sure to erupt.”
“Don’t be a coward,” she said, gripping his arm tighter and prodding him forward, pausing again when the front door opened and, surprisingly, Agatha stepped out.
“It’s about time. Your mother got home ages ago, and I must say, she’s in an unusual frame of mind.”
Felicia dropped her hold on Jeffrey and stepped forward, giving Agatha a quick hug and then releasing her as a grin stole over her face. “Thor was being difficult.”
“Of course he was,” Agatha said with a returning grin before she turned to Jeffrey. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Murdock.”
“It’s lovely to see you as well, Miss Watson.”
It really was unfortunate Agatha’s affections were firmly centered on Zayne. She would have made a more than excellent sister-in-law.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Felicia asked as she took Agatha’s arm and Jeffrey took her other, and together they stepped through the door and into the house, stopping for a moment in the entranceway.
For a second, Agatha’s eyes went stormy, but then she blinked and the storminess disappeared. “Gloria Beckett came to pay my mother a visit, and the two of them immediately turned their attention to talk of the upcoming ball. I soon found I needed an escape to, ah, more peaceful surroundings, so I thought I’d come over here and see if you were home.”
Here was further proof that Agatha had not completely abandoned her feelings for Zayne and was, indeed, bothered by his impending departure.
“However,” Agatha continued with a cheerful grin, “when I arrived, I found your mother in an agitated state, but since she wouldn’t divulge to me the reason for her mutters, of which there have been many, I’m afraid I have no idea what has sent her into such a tizzy.” She frowned. “What is that smell?”
Jeffrey laughed. “I’m afraid it’s my sister.” He shook his head. “I was thankful we were in an open pony cart. Otherwise, well, I’m afraid her scent might have upset my tender stomach.”
Felicia glared at him. “And here I was just thinking how delightful you’d become with age, when in reality, you’re still the annoying little boy who used to torment me endlessly.”
She switched her attention back to Agatha, who was staring at her with what could only be described as pure horror on her beautiful face. “It’s only a bit of ale, Agatha—nothing to warrant any concern.”
“I’m not concerned about the ale, although I’m sure that’s a riveting story. Why have you abandoned your lovely new wardrobe and gone to back to your former style?”
Honestly, her wardrobe hadn’t been that revolting.
“This isn’t my gown, Agatha. Arabella lent it to me because my gown was soaked with ale and other nasty things—mostly blood.” When Agatha’s eyes grew huge, she hurried to say, “But it wasn’t mine.”
“Thank goodness for that, and thank goodness that isn’t one of your old gowns. I was worried we were going to have to start from scratch.” Agatha considered Felicia for a moment. “Why does that gown look so familiar?”
“It’s the one Arabella wore the night the two of you got carted off to jail.”
Jeffrey blinked at Agatha. “I never heard about you and Arabella getting carted off to jail.”
“I’m not surprised,” Agatha said. “My parents, along with Arabella’s, have done their best to keep the matter hushed up, but I assure you, it was all a huge misunderstanding—as was the first time I landed in jail.”
Felicia released a dramatic sigh. “I’ve never even had the pleasure of landing in jail once, let alone twice.”
“Don’t let Mother hear you say that,” Jeffrey muttered. “And speaking of Mother, I suppose, being the wonderful older brother I am, I should go pave the way for you—especially since, from what Agatha said, she’s still fit to be tied. Where is she? In the drawing room?”
“She’s in the ballroom,” Agatha said. “I think she needed a large space that would allow her plenty of room to pace back and forth as she mutters things like ‘I’m a horrible mother’ and ‘Where did I go wrong?’”
Jeffrey grinned. “Well, this should be a cheerful experience.” With that, he strode to the curving staircase and bounded up it, leaving Felicia standing in the entranceway with Agatha.
“I don’t envy him breaking the ice with Mother.”
“I can’t say I do either,” Agatha replied. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen your mother quite like this. Do you know that while I was waiting for you, she consumed three cups of tea and four pieces of cake?” Her eyes began to sparkle. “When I set down the plate of cake she thrust at me—before I’d taken one bite, I might add—she absconded with it.”
“She’s always been a nervous eater, but perhaps I can hope the cake has put her in a better frame of mind, or maybe caused her to forget some of the more distressing things she learned today.”
“She muttered something about a pub, Chinese men, and Theodore setting a guard to watch you.”
“Good heavens, I forgot all about Mr. Blackheart.” Felicia walked back to the door and opened it. Sure enough, there was Mr. Blackheart, sitting on his horse and staring, unblinking it seemed, at the house. She sent him a nod and closed the door. “He’s right outside.”
Agatha arched one delicate brow. “Are you going to explain to me what happened? I fear I must tell you that when we heard you’d returned, your mother discontinued muttering just long enough to instruct me to get all the pesky details out of you.”
“Felicia.”
Felicia turned her attention to the stairs and found Ruth at the top of them, glaring down at her.
“Why are you dawdling down there with Agatha while I’ve been forced to wait forever to speak with you? You must realize I still have numerous things I long to say and numerous questions that have yet to be answered.”
“I thought Jeffrey was going to start explaining.”
“He knows just about as much as I do—which isn’t much.”
Felicia refused to sigh. “I’ll be right up. Although I must warn you, Jeffrey’s made numerous comments regarding my smell. I’m afraid my less than pleasant odor might linger awhile in the ballroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if it lingered all the way to the next ball you host.”
“Perhaps it would be for the best if you were to bathe first. Take Agatha with you.”
“I don’t believe Agatha needs to take a bath. She looks remarkably well groomed and smells pleasantly of lemons.”
“Do not try to humor me, my dear. You’re in enough trouble as it is.” Ruth directed her attention to Agatha. “Remember what I asked of you, and don’t—I repeat, don’t—disappoint me.” With that, she turned on her heel and disa
ppeared.
“And I thought my mother was scary,” Agatha mumbled as she followed Felicia through the hallway, up one set of stairs and then another, until they finally reached Felicia’s room. Agatha strode through the door, plopped down on a settee upholstered in deep blue, and smiled. “This is not what I imagined I’d find.”
“Were you expecting something more dramatic?”
“I must admit I was.”
Felicia smiled and moved toward her bathroom, turning around when she reached the door. “I won’t be long.”
“Don’t hurry on my account,” Agatha said as she lifted up her skirt, yanked a notebook from what appeared to be a string tied around her leg, dropped her skirt back into place, and leaned back against the settee. “I need to come up with some new story ideas, so I’ll use the time it takes you to make yourself presentable to see if anything comes to me. I’ve been considering doing a feature on the less than effective sewage disposal systems in the tenement slums, but I’m not certain how much interest that story will garner from my editor, or my readers, for that matter.”
An intriguing thought immediately sprang to mind. Felicia took a few steps toward Agatha and stopped. “Perhaps you could do a feature on the Chinese immigrants who’ve settled in the city, or the ones who’ve settled down to do business on Mott Street.”
Agatha’s eyes began to gleam. “Ah, the opium dens. Now, that might make a compelling story, but . . .” Her eyes lost their gleam as they narrowed on Felicia. “Why would you think to bring up opium dens?”
“I didn’t bring up opium dens. I brought up the Chinese who live or work on Mott Street.”
Agatha waved a hand in the air. “They’re one and the same, Felicia. Everyone knows that.”
Of course they were. How could she have neglected to consider that? Here she’d been confused about Grayson being somewhat evasive concerning the business he’d done for the Wu family, but it had been in front of her face the entire time—starting with Grayson’s warning her about Posey’s. He’d been, in some capacity, involved with the opium trade.
She bit her lip. “What do you know of Grayson’s past?”
“Truthfully, not much, except for the fact that he lived in China and evidently was able to make a rather large fortune there.”
“And how do you think he made that fortune?”
Agatha’s eyes widened. “Good heavens, I never really considered it before, but surely you’re not suggesting he was involved in the opium trade, are you?”
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m suggesting it, but it is possible . . . isn’t it?” She walked over to a chair and sat down. “What do you know about those opium dens on Mott Street?”
“Well, they’re opium dens and . . . a lot of people seem to like to visit them—even society people.”
“Aren’t they illegal?”
“I’m hardly an expert on the subject of opium, Felicia, but from what I understand . . . Hmm, no, I don’t actually know the answer to that. I do know that the police occasionally make raids on them, probably when funds are running low, but for the most part, those dens are left undisturbed.”
“So . . . chances would be slim, if you were to ever investigate one, that it would be raided. Right?”
“That’s not just a rhetorical question, is it.”
“Not really.”
Agatha got up from the settee. “And if I were to investigate an opium den, could I expect you’d want to go with me?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Not in the least.”
Felicia smiled. “Then yes, I would want to go with you. I have this peculiar feeling that answers to Grayson’s past just might lie in the midst of those dens, or at least the den that’s close to the Wild Rose.”
“Visiting an opium den won’t be pleasant—what with all the smoke I’m certain will be hanging in the air. Nor will it be pleasant if Grayson finds out. He won’t thank either one of us for meddling.”
“I’m willing to take my chances.”
Agatha looked at her for a long moment. “All right, I’ll look into it, but I’m warning you now, I have to get approval from my editor, and I’ll need time to come up with a viable plan. We can’t simply go wandering into an opium den without giving it some thought.”
Excitement, mixed with trepidation, surged through Felicia’s veins as she sent Agatha a grin. “I bet we’re going to uncover a wonderful story for you.”
Agatha sighed. “While that’s normally my intent when searching out a story, this time I’m almost hoping I don’t discover anything of interest.”
As Felicia turned to finally retreat to her bathroom, she found there was a small part of her, the part slightly intrigued with Grayson, that was hoping exactly the same thing.
12
Contrary to what Agatha had said the day before, it hadn’t taken her long to come up with a plan—especially after she’d traveled to the New-York Tribune and gotten an enthusiastic go-ahead from her editor. That enthusiasm was the reason Felicia was currently standing behind a privacy screen as the afternoon sun flooded Agatha’s room, trying to squeeze into a pair of trousers that didn’t seem to want to go over her curves. She gave them a sharp tug, got them over her hips, and was contemplating how she was going to get them to fasten when Mrs. Watson’s voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the screen.
“Agatha, I picked up the most adorable . . . Good heavens, you’re dressed like a man . . . again. I suppose the question I must ask now, considering I am your mother, is why are you dressed like a man?”
Felicia sucked in her stomach and managed to fasten the trousers before she stepped out from behind the screen. Cora Watson stood in the middle of the room, holding some type of garment in her hand as she stared at her daughter with what seemed like resignation in her eyes.
“No need to fret,” Agatha said as she shrugged into a jacket and took a moment to button it up. “We’re working on a story my editor has asked me to submit to him in the next few days, and that story requires a little snooping and disguises.”
“We?” Cora pressed.
Felicia cleared her throat and stepped away from the privacy screen.
Cora swung around. “I do beg your pardon. I thought Agatha was alone. I’m Cora Watson, Agatha’s mother.”
Felicia flicked the spectacles she was wearing down her nose, wincing when the hair from the long mustache she’d attached to her lip got tangled in the wire, causing the tender skin of her upper lip to feel as if it were in danger of pulling off. She gingerly picked the hair out of the wire and felt the mustache droop over her lip. Evidently, she wasn’t proficient with the special glue Agatha had given her. She looked up, realized Mrs. Watson was regarding her somewhat oddly, and summoned a smile. “Mrs. Watson, it’s me—Felicia Murdock.”
Cora’s face paled. “Good gracious, child, what are you doing involved in one of my daughter’s schemes?”
It was becoming only too clear that over the last four years she’d done a rather good job of convincing everyone she lacked an adventurous spirit.
“Felicia’s agreed to be my assistant today,” Agatha said, sparing Felicia a response. “I’ve given her the task of recording details in my notebook because I discovered she has lovely penmanship.”
Cora crossed her arms over her chest. “An unlikely story if I’ve ever heard one, but—heed me well, Agatha—do not, under any circumstances, allow anything to happen which will result in the two of you being carted off to jail. I highly doubt Ruth Murdock would appreciate being summoned to post bail for Felicia. She’s always been rather proud of the fact that her daughter is a stickler for the proprieties.”
An unusual desire to be taken away in shackles and thrown into a dingy cell was immediate. Perhaps if she was carted off to jail, everyone would discontinue the absurd notion that she was so perfect.
It wasn’t as if she wanted to be thought of as scandalous, but she was tired of being perfect, or at least pretending to b
e. The assumptions everyone had about her were getting rather bothersome.
“Mother, as I said before, there’s absolutely no reason for you to fret. We’re only going out to gather information for a story. It’s not as if we’re going to be dabbling in anything illegal. Besides, it’s the middle of the day. How much trouble could we possibly find?”
Cora rolled her eyes. “I do believe I’ve heard all this before, young lady. You’re the only person I know who has the propensity for getting arrested even when you’re not breaking the law. The fact that it’s the middle of the afternoon certainly won’t ensure that the two of you won’t end up in trouble.”
“Hmm, interesting point, but to relieve your anxiety,” Agatha continued rather loudly when Cora began to sputter, “Zayne’s agreed to go with us.”
Cora’s sputters ceased immediately as she brightened, all signs of anxiety disappearing from her face. “Ah, well, that’s lovely. I suppose I have no need to continue protesting so vehemently then. Zayne will keep the two of you in line.”
“That might be giving the gentleman too much credit,” Agatha muttered before she lifted her chin. “Tell me, are my whiskers on straight?”
“I truly never thought I’d be having that question asked by my daughter, but yes, they’re straight.” Cora smiled. “Now, tell me, dear, where are you, Felicia, and Zayne heading off to this afternoon?”
Felicia blinked. She’d come to the conclusion that Cora was a remarkably progressive mother, seemingly willing to allow her daughter to waltz off dressed like a man, but the tone of her voice, even though she was smiling, indicated she wasn’t blasé about the matter at all. It seemed Cora had sprung the question out of the blue, most likely in an attempt to catch her daughter off guard.
It was rapidly apparent Agatha was quite used to her mother springing questions in just such a way, because she barely batted an eye as she dismissed the question with a breezy wave of her hand. “It would probably be for the best if I didn’t allow you too many details, Mother. That way, if Mrs. Murdock just happens to show up on your doorstep, searching for Felicia, you truthfully won’t be able to tell her our whereabouts. It certainly wouldn’t help me ferret out all the facts I need for my story if Felicia’s mother showed up on the scene.”