This Gun for Hire (11 page)

Calico paused unpacking her trunk to see who opened the door and was careful not to let her dismay show when she saw it was Beatrice Stonechurch. The woman stepped inside the room and then hovered there as if uncertain of her welcome. Calico decided to put that to rest.

“Please, won’t you come in?” She pointed to the trunk and the clothes laid out neatly on the bed. “I am only unpacking. What can I do for you, Mrs. Stonechurch?”

Calico observed that upon taking another step forward, Beatrice clasped her hands together. The gesture made her small stature seem somehow even smaller. Her narrow shoulders appeared to collapse as she squeezed herself into a tinier space than she was meant to occupy. It was difficult to judge the woman’s age, but Calico suspected she was younger than one might think at first blush, perhaps as much as a decade younger than her brother-in-law. The fine lines at her eyes and mouth were likely prematurely carved by her constant state of worry. It was the same with the creases in her forehead. They were always present but deepened when she raised her eyebrows. Her brown hair was thick and might have been called lustrous if it had been allowed to breathe, but Beatrice maintained it in tight topknot that contributed to her perpetually pinched expression. Calico would not have been surprised to learn that the ivory combs securing that knot were anchored just beneath her scalp instead of against it.

Beatrice had a trim, doll-like figure, curved precisely in the manner society—and Calico—admired, and in spite of her state of perpetual anxiety, or perhaps because of it, Beatrice Stonechurch looked out at the world through blue eyes that were unusually bright and attentive. Her smile, though genuine, was also tentative and faltered easily, but when it showed itself, it had the capacity to transform her features and leave the impression of a handsome, even lovely, woman in its wake.

Calico waited expectantly for Beatrice to speak. When the silence stretched for what seemed an inordinately long time, Calico prompted her with, “There was something you wanted to tell me, Mrs. Stonechurch?”

“Yes. Yes. You must call me Beatrice. Did I not say that when I came to take you to Ramsey’s study earlier? I should have. I meant to. Leonard called me Bea. That is B-E-A, not B-E-E like the insect, although sometimes he would say it should be B-E-E because I moved so quickly from one thing to the next that he was sure he heard me buzzing.” She stopped abruptly to take a breath and then continued. “Please call me Beatrice.”

Expecting there would be more after that pause for breath, Calico waited two full beats before she spoke. “Thank you, Beatrice. And I hope you will call me Katherine.” It was less difficult to say than usual. Calico supposed it had something to do with the dress. Her experience had taught her that in some small way you became the person you were pretending to be.

“Yes. Yes, I will. That will be splendid.” Another fine line appeared between her eyebrows as she pulled a frown. “You will not allow Ann to adopt that informality, will you? You are her teacher, not her friend. I helped my niece with her studies for many years, and while I love her as I would my own child, in the classroom our relationship was different, not that she did not always call me Aunt Beatrice—it would have been absurd to do otherwise—but she knew I was there for the specific purpose of instruction.” A deep breath, and then, “I hope I have not offended.”

“No,” said Calico. “Not at all. I would be foolish not to value your opinion. I have been wondering if perhaps you see me as an interloper. My presence here cannot help but change your role in Ann’s education. It would be natural if you felt some resentment.”

Beatrice unclasped her hands and clasped them again. “No. No resentment. Perhaps someone without Ann’s best interests at heart, someone who did not want her to be happy, might feel that way, but I am not that person. She reviewed
her curriculum with me before she showed it to her father, and I approved it, knowing all the while that I could not be the teacher to help her move on. I encouraged my niece to pursue her plan. Encouraging Ann in any endeavor has always been my role. I do not see that changing.” She took a quick breath, uncertain again. “Do you?”

“No. I certainly do not.”

Beatrice exhaled softly, and her hands fell to her sides. “Good. That is very good. Excellent.”

Calico waited a respectful beat, and when Beatrice merely continued to hover, she pointed to the clothing lying on the bed. “I wonder if you would recommend a dressmaker. I was not certain what I could expect when I left Falls Hollow.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I am happy to tell you that Stonechurch has two fine dressmakers: Mrs. Birden and Mrs. Neeley-Brown. I engage them alternately because their feelings are so easily hurt, and I do not want either one to think I have snubbed her. You might consider the same as it will go a long way to tempering tensions, and they will compete to offer you the best garment possible.” Her smile appeared, and this time it was wily. “At least I have always found it to be so.”

Appreciating Beatrice’s craftiness in getting the better of the dressmakers, Calico chuckled. “I will certainly seek them out. Ann has offered to show me the town, or show me off to the town. I am not sure which it is.”

“A little of both, I should think, although you must not imagine that my niece presents herself in a superior fashion about town because she is the daughter of Ramsey Stonechurch. Ann is modest and retiring in public. I do not know if she would engage in more activities in the community even if her father would permit it.”

Calico intended to inquire about Beatrice’s own activities in town, but there was no pause for breath this time, and Beatrice went on, returning to the subject of Calico’s clothes.

“If you would rather,” said Beatrice, “I could arrange for what remains of your wardrobe to be sent here. I would be happy to do it. Falls Hallow, did you say?”

“Hollow. Falls Hollow.”

“And you were previously engaged there?”

“Yes.” She did not elaborate. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I am set on having some new dresses. I do not think I will miss what I left behind.” Which, in fact, was nothing.

Beatrice looked uncertain. “Very well, if you think that best.” She brightened a bit. “I could accompany you and Ann tomorrow. I should like to visit Mrs. Birden myself about a new shirtwaist blouse. It is her turn to be engaged, you understand.”

“I do. It will be a pleasure to have you come with us.” Calico thought it was a wonder the lie did not stick in her throat. She was warming to Beatrice Stonechurch, but not to the idea of sharing Ann with her on the walk around town. Beatrice’s presence would interfere with everything from conversation to introductions. Still, there was no polite way to refuse her. Calico heard herself say, “I would be grateful for any advice you could offer me.”

When she witnessed Beatrice’s sincere, uncomplicated smile, she was glad she had said it. It was only after Beatrice had departed that Calico wondered who she was becoming.

*   *   *

Feeling put off her stride in the aftermath of Beatrice’s visit, Calico struggled to find a polite tone when someone knocked at her door not more than thirty minutes later. Polite, she realized when she heard herself, did not equate to welcoming.

Quill stepped in the room.

“Oh, it’s you.” Calico turned back to the dresser and placed a pair of rolled stockings in the uppermost drawer. She removed another pair from on top of the dresser, gently rolled them around one hand, and placed them in the drawer as well.

“Settling in?” asked Quill.

“Trying to. I am besieged by interruptions.”

“Really? I saw Ann in the parlor, and I know Ramsey is in his study because I came from there.”

Calico chose another pair of stockings, but she did give him an over-the-shoulder glance while she wound them. “Beatrice . . . and now you.”

Quill’s approach was quiet, but not so quiet that Calico did not hear him coming. She spun around and threw the ball of stockings at him. He ducked and managed to catch them anyway. “Do not try to sneak up on me. I don’t appreciate it.”

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked. “I told you. I don’t like people sneak—”

Quill shook his head, stopping her. “You snapped at me before that.” He handed back her stockings. She squeezed them in a fist. “Was it Beatrice?”

Calico sighed. She relaxed her fingers and began to roll the stockings, smoothing them as she wound. “Since it seems it cannot possibly be you, then yes, it was Beatrice. But not precisely Beatrice. Her visit made me question what I am doing here.”

“I thought that after speaking to Ramsey, that would be clear.”

“The job is clear, but I’m not talking about that.” Her eyes slipped away from his and she looked around the room. “I suppose I am saying I was more comfortable in Mrs. Fry’s cathouse than I am here, and it was a burr under my saddle when I was only thinking it. Hearing it aloud, saying it to you, makes that burr a goddamn briar patch, and I am not thanking you for it.”

“Do you want to back out?”

Insulted, her head snapped up. Her answer was swift. “No. I don’t do that. I gave my word.”

“All right.”

“You should not have asked. If you knew me better, hell, if you knew me at all, you would not have asked.”

“I apologize.”

She shrugged, put the stockings away, and shut the drawer. Feeling cornered against the dresser, she slipped
out sideways and moved to the bed. Quill did not follow. “Why are you here? Won’t it raise someone’s eyebrows if you are found in my room? I am painfully aware this is not Mrs. Fry’s establishment, but are you?”

“‘Painfully aware’ describes it pretty well.”

“Then?”

“Mind if I sit?”

She gestured toward the window bench. “Suit yourself.” She waited until he was seated before she perched on the edge of the bed and turned slightly in his direction.

“There has been some concern about the operation of one of the mines for a while.”

“The Number 1. Ann told me that there is trouble there, something to do with sharing in the profits, she thinks. She pays attention, you know. It makes me wonder what she else she has heard.”

“The threats, you mean.”

“Yes, and how you and I figure into them. She has one ear to the ground.”

Quill leaned back against the window, stretched his legs, and crossed them at the ankles. He folded his arms against his chest and regarded Calico thoughtfully. “Ramsey wants to get to the bottom of why Number 1 is not producing ore at the level he expects. He will not listen for long to any explanation that is contrary to the one he believes is correct. He thinks there is one man who is rallying the others to slow their work, and if I can identify this man and move him out of the way, the mine will begin producing again.”

“Move him out of the way? How will you do that?”

“I haven’t gotten that far. I want to see if he exists first. There might be no single man leading the way. Ramsey never said the word ‘union’ in regard to this, but I have to believe it is at the back of his mind. He has educated himself about the growth of the organizations and the steps being taken to stop the formation of unions. He knows it’s happening in other parts of the country. I have seen him pore over stories from Eastern newspapers, and he has strong opinions about it.”

“Daft socialist experiment.”

Quill nodded. “Something else you learned from Ann?”

“Yes.”

“Ramsey’s voice carries to the rafters when he is ranting.”

“It is no wonder she is concerned about his health.”

“Exactly.” He sighed. “Since I have been charged with discovering what’s happening at the mine, I will be gone from the house more often. That will require you to keep an eye on Ramsey.”

“Do you believe Ramsey is safe at home?”

“Yes. As long as he stays put. He gets it in his head that he has to leave and tears out of here like his hair’s on fire.” Quill regarded Calico’s flaming tresses for a long moment. “Like yours.”

Self-conscious, Calico tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

Quill cleared his throat and continued. “I’ve gotten used to listening for doors opening and closing, especially the front door because that’s how he leaves and he usually slams it hard.”

“I will keep that in mind.” She rose and began to clear the bed of the remaining clothes.

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

Quill did not offer again. She was firm enough in her refusal that he thought if he touched anything, she might break his fingers or threaten to.

Calico opened the door to the wardrobe and began to place her things inside. “Does Ramsey have a candidate in mind? For the leader, I mean. Has he mentioned anyone?”

“No. And I didn’t ask. I want to form my own opinion.”

She nodded. “I was wondering about the house staff.”

“My sense is that they are loyal and are happy to work in the big house, as they like to call it. They care that Ramsey Stonechurch is respected in town. They believe it reflects poorly on them if he is not.”

“They are probably right.” She looked over the contents
of the wardrobe now that everything was in place, and she was glad she would be visiting a dressmaker tomorrow. She told Quill about her plans. “So if you go to the mines tomorrow, Ramsey will have to go with you.”

“He will probably want to. He can stay in his office there with Frank Fordham while I poke around. The men know me. It won’t be unusual.”

“Do they trust you? You do look like a lawyer. No one trusts a lawyer.”

“Until they need one. You, on the other hand, you look like a . . .”

She waited, beginning to feel warm under his scrutiny. If he were smiling, she might have said something about the sun on her face, but he was not, just the opposite, in fact. His features were oddly solemn. She swallowed because that was what it took to move the lump from her throat and find her voice. “A teacher?” she asked.

He was still a long time answering, but finally he nodded. “Yes, exactly like a teacher.”

“Yes, well, that is a good beginning. Appearance helps. I told you I had mostly cavalry wives to instruct me. I wasn’t sure if I looked the part.” Truly, she thought, it was easier to look the whore.