An Untimely Frost (25 page)

C
HAPTER
1

 

—William Shakespeare,
Hamlet,
act 2, scene 2

 

 

 

 

“I
bloody well won't do it!” The declaration came from the angry man pacing the floor of William Pinkerton's office. “I'm a Pinkerton agent, not a blasted nanny.”

William Pinkerton pinned the young operative with an unrelenting look from beneath heavy brows. “You haven't any choice, McShane.”

Andrew Cadence McShane faced his tormenter with defiance. “So you're saying that I haven't yet groveled enough for you and your father?”

William stifled his own irritation at the bold statement. McShane was a loose cannon, and if it were up to William, he'd fire the man on the spot. Indeed, Allan
had
fired him a year ago, for drinking and brawling and generally behaving in a way that was unacceptable to the Pinkertons' code of conduct. But, claiming that he had his life together at last, McShane had asked for his job back about the same time the young actress, Lilly Long, had applied for a position. Allan, who had always thought the young Irishman was one of his best agents, had rehired him, on a provisional basis.

“You know exactly what I mean,” William said in measured tones. “No one was holding a gun to your head when you agreed to the terms of our rehiring you, which, as you no doubt recall, was probation for an undetermined length of time.”

Feeling a certain amount of uneasiness over his father's decision to hire McShane and Miss Long, William had suggested that McShane keep an eye out for the inexperienced Miss Long on her first assignment, which would hopefully keep him too preoccupied to get into any more scrapes. Allan had agreed. So while new agent Lilly Long tried to find the location of the Reverend Harold Purcell, a preacher who had stolen from his congregation and disappeared from his home near Vandalia, Illinois, McShane had kept tabs on her by pretending to be part of a traveling boxing troupe.

“Until we feel confident that you will not resort to your previous unacceptable behavior, you will work closely with Miss Long.”

McShane's eyes went wide with something akin to shock. “It was a barroom brawl, sir. I did not reveal any state secrets or compromise my assignment in any way.”

“We've been through all this before, McShane, and I refuse to revisit it again.” Smack dab in the middle of a case, McShane had gotten drunk and instigated a brawl. William's gaze shied away from McShane's, which had lost its belligerence and grown as bleak as the stormy April morning.

William cleared his throat. “Believe me, I understand that on a personal level you were going through an extremely rough patch at the time. For that you have my sympathy. But you must understand that the agency cannot have our operatives behaving in ways that make us look bad. We have a sterling reputation, and we must make sure it stays that way. If you continue to do well, you will soon be on your own again.”

All the fiery irritation seemed to have gone out of the younger man. “Yes, sir.”

“Actually, this assignment is one that will be best served by a man and woman working closely together.”

Wearing a look of resignation, McShane took a seat in the chair across from William's desk. “Tell me about it.”

“I prefer to explain things to you and Miss Long together,” William said. “She should be here any minute. But I will tell you this much. You will be going to New Orleans.”

* * *

Though the skies were still ominous with clouds, the rain had stopped shortly before Lilly's cab pulled up in front of the five-story building that housed the Pinkerton offices. She paid the driver and, careful to step around the puddles, entered the structure with a feeling of elation. Since returning from her first assignment just a week ago, she had been riding the wave of her success in bringing the case to a satisfactory conclusion, as well as basking in the knowledge that she would continue to be employed by the prestigious Pinkerton firm. She'd been more than a little surprised when she received a message that morning stating that William wanted to see her at once.

Though she knew she had a long way to go before she was a seasoned operative, the praise she'd received from both William and Allan was, to paraphrase the bard, “the stuff that dreams were made of.” When her missing person assignment had evolved into a twenty-year-old murder, it had been satisfying to know that she had helped bring about justice. And Allan, who loved correcting what he perceived as social wrongdoing, had been quite satisfied that things had been made as right as humanly possible. Lilly could hardly wait to embark on her next mission.

Pausing outside the doorway to the outer office, she tucked a loose strand of dark red nape hair beneath the brim of the straw hat she'd purchased as a treat for herself the day before. The soft green of the grosgrain ribbons of the hat was the exact hue of her new walking dress with its high stand-up collar topped with the wide, heavy white lace that marched down the front. The off-the-ground hem of her narrow skirt was trimmed with a wide band of the lace and showed the pointed toes of her shoes.

She stepped through the door to the outer office and saw Harris, William's clerk, pounding on the keyboard of the Remington typewriter, using the hunt and peck system. The morning sunshine behind him illuminated the long, thin wisps of graying hair that had been combed over to help disguise his balding pate.

Hearing her at the door, he glanced up. “Good morning, Miss Long,” he said with a polite smile. “You are looking particularly chipper this morning.”

“Hello, Harris,” she replied. “I am chipper this morning. I'm anxious to get back to work.”

Harris stood. “I'll just let them know you're here,” he said.

Them. Lilly smiled. Oh, good. Allan was going to be involved in her next project. She had the feeling that the great detective supported her being hired, even though William was ambivalent, at best, about his father's insistence on hiring women operatives.

“Miss Long is here,” Harris said, stepping aside for Lilly to enter.

She stepped through the aperture. William was coming around the desk, his hand extended in greeting. But it wasn't William who caught Lilly's attention. It was the man who had risen from a chair when she entered the room. It wasn't Allan Pinkerton who stood when she stepped through the doorway; it was Cadence McShane.

With her attention focused on the other man, she barely heard William's words of welcome. The last time she'd seen McShane, after the completion of the Heaven's Gate assignment, he'd made a cryptic comment and disappeared into the crowd. She supposed she'd seen the last of him, so what was he doing here?

After she shook William's hand, McShane took her hand in greeting. His hand was large, rough, and warm, and his words and smile were pleasant, but the coldness in his sapphire-blue eyes was undeniable.

What the devil was going on? she wondered again, her imagination steering her toward a deduction that was not the least bit acceptable. Seeking an answer to the questions roiling around in her head, Lilly turned her puzzled gaze to William. Allan Pinkerton's son was not noted for his slowness in assessing situations. He did not miss the query on Lilly's face or the disdain on McShane's.

“Have a seat, Miss Long,” he said, gesturing toward the chair Cade had vacated at her arrival.

Lilly did his bidding, clutching her purse in her lap.

“My father and I have decided on your next assignment,” William told her, wasting no time at getting to the point. “You and McShane will be going to New Orleans.”

“What!” Lilly gasped, her gaze flying to Cade's. If the grim twist of his lips and the blatant annoyance in his eyes were any indication, he was no happier than she.

“Do you really feel that is necessary, sir?” she protested. “While I appreciate the fact that you were concerned about my inexperience, I thought you were happy with my work in Vandalia.”

“We were extremely pleased,” William assured her, “but one successful assignment does not afford you any vast field knowledge. While you were the one who discovered the truth about the Purcells, if it had not been for McShane, you might very well be dead.”

Though Lilly had been in the process of trying to free herself from a very sticky situation by jumping from a small window onto a steep roof, she could not deny that there was a kernel of truth in William's statement. Her plan could have gone very wrong.

“Keeping your youth and inexperience in mind, my father and I feel that at least for the next few assignments, you and McShane should work together. It will give you a chance to hone your skills.”

Lilly looked askance at Cade, who was lounging with apparent indolence on the chair, though the set of his jaw and the glittering hardness in his eyes left no doubt of his true feelings.

She made one last attempt to change the course of her task, indeed, the course of her life, at least for the foreseeable future. “And is Mr. McShane agreeable to this arrangement?” she asked.

William's calm gaze flickered over the younger man. “McShane is a professional, Miss Long,” William said in a no-nonsense tone. “He accepts his obligations and gives this agency his best.” Though he was speaking directly to her, she could not shake the notion that his words were meant as much for her new partner as for Lilly.

She sighed. Disappointment, anger, and frustration vied for supremacy. Clearly, neither she nor Cadence McShane had a choice in the matter, and to argue it further would only cause her to appear contrary and disagreeable. As she had with her first assignment, she would accept the situation gracefully, do her best, and hope that soon she would be trusted to go it alone.

With a lift of her chin, she said, “So we head for New Orleans.” The statement told her employer that she had accepted her fate and was ready to hear the details of the assignment.

“Yes. Actually, Miss Long, I believe you will embrace the case once you hear about it,” William told her, stepping from behind the desk and handing each of them a copy of the journal they were given at the beginning of a mission. The book held the name of the Pinkerton client, the situation, and the agency's ideas for following through. As was customary, the persons seeking help would not be formally introduced to the agents or have any idea how that help might come about.

“If indeed there is a crime involved, it is against a woman, so I know you will derive a great deal of satisfaction from working it,” William said to Lilly.

“A brief overview of what you'll find in the journal is this: Just days ago, we received a special delivery letter from one Mrs. Etienne Fontenot, whose given name is LaRee. She and the legitimacy of her concern have been confirmed by her long-time attorney, Mr. Armand DeMille.”

William looked from Lilly to Cadence McShane. “Mrs. Fontenot believes that her deceased grandson's widow, Patricia Ducharme, has been wrongly committed to an insane asylum by her husband, Henri.”

Lilly's irritation at being paired with Cade, faded as she gave her attention to William's tale. “Are you saying she believes there is nothing wrong with the granddaughter-in-law?” Lilly asked.

“That is exactly what she believes,” William said.

“Why?” The question came from Cade who, like Lilly, seemed to have lost his animosity as his interest in the case grew.

“Mrs. Fontenot is convinced that the purpose of Patricia's new husband, Henri Ducharme, is to gain control of the family fortune, which, according to Mr. DeMille, is extensive.”

“I don't understand,” Lilly said. “Wouldn't it pass down to the remaining heirs?”

“Indeed. Louisiana operates under the Napoleonic Code, which means that the closest male relative handles the business and monetary affairs of their womenfolk, who are considered little more than chattel to their fathers and husbands.”

Lilly felt herself bristling. Once again, a male-dominated world sought to keep the fairer sex under its thumb, no doubt offering the notion that they should not have to deal with matters that might be too mind-boggling for the feeble female brain to comprehend, much less deal with.

“I see you take umbrage to that notion, Miss Long, as I suspected you would,” William said with a slight smile. “As you know, social injustice is one thing that infuriates my father, so he was immediately drawn to this case. It is also common knowledge that he has strong beliefs that women are very capable or he would not have hired the first female detective.

“But I digress. When Mrs. LaRee Fontenot's husband, Etienne, suffered a stroke many years ago at a relatively young age, he began to think of ways to insure the money he had amassed stayed within the family. With Mr. DeMille's help and advice, Etienne transferred all his business holdings as well as a house on Rampart Street and a plantation called River Run to his son, Grayson, in whose capabilities he had complete trust. All this before his death.”

“Wouldn't everything have gone to Grayson at his father's death?” McShane asked.

“Good question, McShane, and you're right, it would have, and he would have held control of his mother's portion, which was quite generous until she remarried. By all accounts, Mrs. Fontenot was quite a lovely woman in her youth, and her husband feared that she would fall for some unscrupulous ne'erdo-well, who would gain control of her fortune. Etienne Fontenot hoped that by giving everything to his son before his own death, he could avoid the possibility of his family losing everything he'd worked so hard to gain for them if his wife married unwisely and her portion was given to her new husband to oversee. Etienne knew Grayson would be generous and fair in providing for his womenfolk, and include them in the family decisions, yet they would have no money of their own.”