An Untimely Frost (6 page)

Lilly Long. Female operative.

C
HAPTER
11

L
illy awoke to daylight. Belching smoke and spewing sparks, the St. Louis, Vandalia, and Terre Haute locomotive rumbled through the early-morning sunshine toward its destination of Vandalia. They were due to arrive just after eleven o'clock, and she was past ready to do so. Her daily allowance from the Pinkertons did not permit a sleeping berth, which in any event she'd heard was comparable to sleeping on the floor. She'd spent the night in a seat, fleeing to the far corner of the passenger car when the heat from the woodstove in the center of the car threatened to broil her alive.

The makeshift accommodation had not been conducive to rest. Not only was there the snoring of various passengers, the whining of unhappy children, and the revelry of a group of rowdy young men the conductor said were traveling boxers, there was also the noise of the engine and the monotonous clacking of the metal wheels against the iron rails. All she'd managed was to doze off and on until pure exhaustion claimed her somewhere near dawn.

It had been a whirlwind week. Besides preparing for her journey, she'd spent each day being schooled by William Pinkerton. She'd been taught how to “shadow” people, and various scenarios of former “stings” were outlined, with Lilly being asked how she would have proceeded. It was not necessary that she be correct; often there was no right way, only different methods. They'd brought in two other operatives with whom she carried on lengthy conversations in both French and Italian.

Allan, whose office was much like the backstage area of a theater with all its costumes and disguises, showed up twice to gauge her progress. She knew that despite any reservations he might have about her youth, he was impressed with her skill with the sword and pistol, as well as her education.

She'd learned there were criteria for both employees and clients. Before the heads of any office agreed to meet with a potential client, that person must present identification and letters of reference and also be able to afford the daily fee, which ranged from three to ten dollars a day. Only then was a meeting arranged. For a variety of reasons, no client ever met the operatives working on their case face-to-face.

All too soon it was time to leave. Pierce and Rose had given her a going-away party the previous evening. The thought of leaving for a strange city all alone was almost more than Lilly could bear, but she knew she couldn't let on, or Pierce would renew his efforts to persuade her to abandon her silly notion to become a Pinkerton.

Instead of giving over to her melancholy, she'd laughed and drunk too much champagne. She'd been hugged by her fellow actors until her ribs hurt, and her cheek bussed by so many women and mustached men that it still felt raw. With her head spinning from the unaccustomed alcohol, she found herself in Rose's embrace.

“I'm going to miss you, Lil.” She heard the tell-tale huskiness in the older woman's voice as she whispered into Lilly's ear. “You're the only daughter I've ever had, and Pierce and I love you like you are our own.”

“I know that,” Lilly said, her giddiness giving way to the solemnity of the moment. “I feel the same.”

“If ever you need anything—money or help of any kind—telegraph us and let us know. We'll be there.”

In response, Lilly hugged Rose tighter. She knew that, too.

With a whisper for Lilly to take care of herself, Rose had taken her by the shoulders and stared at her for long moments, as if she were trying to commit Lilly's features to memory. Then, as a single tear slid down her cheek, she'd let go and fled from the room.

“Ten minutes to Vandalia!”

The sound of the conductor's voice curtailed her thoughts of the past. The closer she got to her new life, the harder it became to ignore the niggling suspicion that perhaps Pierce was right and she'd bitten off more than she could chew. It was one thing to let the pain of Timothy's deception and her own stubbornness ride on the coattails of her anger while she fought for her position with the Pinkertons. It was quite something else to go unaccompanied into a world about which she knew so little. She'd never been, or felt, more alone in her life.

She shivered. The blaze in the stove had died out during the night, leaving a definite coolness in the swaying passenger car. Determined to push her fears and loneliness aside, she checked the watch pinned to the lapel of her charcoal gray traveling jacket. The train was right on schedule. She gazed out the frosty window. Though there were small signs of spring here and there, a heavy cloud cover hid the sun, and a light veneer of frost covered the barren fields. She'd expected the farmland around Vandalia to be flat and treeless, but there was the occasional rolling hill, and groves of trees edged the fields.

Vandalia, a farming community of just under two thousand people, was situated at the end of the old Cumberland Trail on the west side of the Kaskaskia River at a place once known as Reeve's Bluff. Vandalia had served as the state capital until 1839, when that title was bestowed on Springfield.

She shivered again in the chill of the railcar. Springfield. The place her mother had met the man who'd taken her life. The place Kate had been murdered and buried. Lilly had long ago concluded that she would never know who killed her mother. The problem was not necessarily the length of time that had lapsed, but the fact that her mind refused to relinquish the smallest memory of the day beyond her hiding beneath her mother's bed when Kate announced her lover had arrived.

Lilly sighed. Perhaps it was just as well. Like finding Tim, finding her mother's killer was not her purpose in life. Her most pressing need was proving to the agency that she was capable of completing her assignment to their satisfaction.

By the time the train slowed at the station, her emotions were once more in control. Squaring her shoulders and donning the persona of a woman well versed in the ways of the world, she began to gather her things. She was picking up the canvas bag that held a few necessities when she backed into something—or someone—and gave a little gasp. Whirling around, she whacked the person with the bag and stumbled a bit to regain her footing.

“Careful there!”

Lilly looked up into the face of an attractive man who'd reached out to steady her. Defying convention, his bowler was cocked back on his head and a lock of unruly hair—so dark it was almost black—fell over his forehead. His lean jaw was covered with a day's growth of beard that gave him a somewhat dangerous look. A well-tended mustache draped the upper lip of a mouth that was curved in an impertinent smile that was echoed in his sapphire-blue eyes. A nose that had been broken more than once and a thin white scar that trailed the crest of his left cheekbone saved him from conventional handsomeness and added to the impression of danger.

“Careful there, colleen,” he said. “We don't want you falling, now do we?”

She didn't hear the teasing concern in his voice. All she heard was “colleen.” It made no difference that the word was a common endearment for a young girl. To Lilly it conjured a mental image of Colleen McKenna, a painful reminder of Tim's betrayal. Also realizing that their encounter was almost identical to her first meeting with Timothy, she stiffened beneath the man's grasp and stepped out of his reach, breaking both his hold on her and their locked gaze. Gathering her dignity, she murmured a polite “Excuse me.”

Without lingering to hear his reply, she stepped around him and headed for the exit. Waiting for the train to come to a full stop gave her time to regain her composure.

The conductor set a small stool on the ground, and Lilly stepped to the platform, her run-in with the stranger forgotten. Somehow she'd expected that Vandalia, which was more than 250 miles south of Chicago, would be warmer than the city she'd just left. It wasn't.

Lilly looked around, taking in the area. The train tracks ran more or less east to west, and the Vandalia House Hotel stood parallel to them. The tracks of the Illinois Central ran roughly northwest to southeast, with the town sitting in a pie-shaped area formed by the two rail lines.

She considered staying at the nearby hotel, but she'd learned from Pierce that one of the troupe's former actresses was playing at the Fehren Opera House, and since she hoped to enjoy a play and spend time with her old friend, it seemed smarter to find lodging closer to the theater.

The Dieckmann House, considered the finest hotel south of Chicago, was located kitty-corner from the Fehren, but it was a bit too much for her daily stipend, and William had cautioned her to keep close track of her expenditures. It seemed there had been a fair amount of expense sheet falsification and cash-flow problems in the past, and the agency's miserly accountant, Mr. J. G. Horne, now demanded scrupulous accounting of the agency's funds.

Though the Dieckmann was out, she was not the least concerned about finding agreeable lodging. She just hoped it was soon. After a long, uncomfortable night, she felt grumpy and rumpled and tired. She longed for a hot meal and to freshen up.

That bespectacled ticket agent, whose hair was whiter and wispier than the angel hair used to adorn Christmas trees, directed her to the Holbrook Hotel, which was located on the corner of Third and Johnson Streets, one block south of Gallatin, the main thoroughfare. He explained that the large home, which had been converted into a hotel, was reasonably priced and clean. It also had a dining room, and the food was good and plentiful.

Lilly thanked him and found a hack to take her to the hotel. The driver loaded her chest with help of a sturdy young man who assisted Lilly into the buggy and they started out, taking a left onto Sixth Street. The chill wind whipped color into her cheeks and made her brown eyes water. She took in her new surroundings with an eager eye. Vandalia seemed to be thriving, but it was far different from Chicago. She saw no fancy-dressed businessmen with hats and canes, no women out for a morning stroll in chic walking dresses. Most of the men wore clothing designed for hard work, and though many of the women wore hats of some sort and most wore gloves, their attire was, in most cases, a simple shirtwaist and skirt.

She spotted the Fehren on the corner of Fifth and Gallatin. The famous Dieckmann House sat on the opposite corner. The imposing three-story brick building did not disappoint. It was magnificent. As was customary, a hardware store, a restaurant, and dry goods establishment were located on the lower floor.

The buggy rolled down another block, passing the most recent of three capital buildings to be built on the site. The Federal-style building had been built in 1836 and served as the courthouse since the capital had been moved to Springfield.

The driver took a right on Third, and the horse pranced past Ireland's, the livery stable where her driver and rig originated. The remainder of the block behind the stable was taken up with a shed and a somewhat muddy, tree-studded paddock. The Holbrook Hotel was located across the street from the horses, which were feeding on piles of hay.

The hotel exterior was painted a pristine white with forest green shutters framing the windows. A wide porch wrapped around three sides of the well-maintained structure. A hitching post complete with two horses was located in front of a flower bed, barren except for a few brave crocuses. A wooden watering trough stood on the opposite side of the porch.

All was protected by the enveloping arms of two huge maple trees whose branches blushed with the red of new buds. The stately trees would provide much-welcomed shade during the heat of summer. Willow rocking chairs lined the porch, and Lilly envisioned a warm spring evening with guests chatting while sipping lemonade and munching on tea cakes rich with plump raisins. She relished the idea of being able to enjoy that kind of leisure.

Tethering the rig, the driver helped her alight. Inside, she found the moderately sized lobby quite pleasant. The room smelled faintly of wood smoke and the scent of lemon balm, which, as she'd learned from Rose, was mixed with beeswax and used to polish furniture. The walls were painted navy blue. Lace curtains hung at the windows. Tan camelback sofas and wing chairs upholstered in navy, tan, green, and Indian-red tartan formed seating areas around hand-braided rugs.

Beyond the parlor, through opened pocket doors, was a large dining room. The mouthwatering smells reminded her once again just how hungry she was. The registration desk stood tucked beneath the staircase leading to the second floor, where there were six rooms, if the keys hanging on wall pegs were any indication. The third floor also had six rooms for visitors. No doubt Vandalia was a popular stopping-off place for settlers headed west, since it marked the end of the Old National Road, which ran east all the way to Cumberland, Maryland.

Hearing the jangling of the bell on the door, an attractive woman glanced up from a ledger and gave Lilly a welcoming smile.

“Welcome to the Holbrook Hotel,” she said. “I'm Virginia Holbrook.”

“Lilly Long,” Lilly said, extending her hand. “I was wondering if you have a spare room for a week or so.”

“As a matter of fact, two guests just checked out. Would you prefer the second or third floor?”

“Second, please.” Lilly signed the register and paid for her week's stay in advance.

“Are you here for a visit, or just passing through?” the owner asked, after summoning her sons to carry Lilly's trunk upstairs.

“Business. I represent a client who is looking to purchase a place to put in a new business.” At this point she saw no reason to let the woman know she was affiliated with the Pinkerton Agency.

“Really?” Virginia Holbrook looked a bit surprised by the fact that Lilly was a working woman, traveling alone. “I wasn't aware anything in town was for sale.”

“Actually, it isn't in town,” Lilly said. “It's a mile or so off the road that goes to Houston.”