head in his hands, praying that for once in her life the infallible Nora Quillan was fallible—and dead, dead wrong.
For someone who had proceeded with slow caution for most of her twenty-six years, Anna Matlin felt as if she were speeding downhill on ice skates. For someone who had enjoyed invisibility for so long, she suddenly felt as if she were standing, quite naked, in the hot glare of a spotlight. And Anna wasn’t altogether certain that she liked it.
Everything was happening so fast, so unexpectedly. First there had been Mr. Pinkerton and his astonishing request. Then, at the Edgewood Inn, where Anna habitually took her meals, when she quietly announced she would be gone for the next few weeks, everyone had seemed, well…disappointed. Even sad. Anna had been amazed, particularly when the cook, Miranda, after shaking Anna’s hand, pulled her to her great, damp bosom and wailed how much she would miss her.
Right now, her landladies were behaving as if Anna were the center of the universe.
She had been a boarder in the big frame house on Adams Street for six years. She paid her rent on the first Saturday of every month and, when she wasn’t working at the Pinkerton Agency, Anna spent most of her time in her third-floor room, reading. Her landladies, the Misses Richmond, had always treated her kindly while keeping their distance. Until tonight. Anna had asked to borrow a trunk. Along with the luggage, however, she was now receiving a good deal of unasked-for advice.
Little Miss Richmond—Verna—was perched on the footboard of Anna’s bed at the moment, while big Miss Richmond—Dorothy—stood in the doorway, rather like a prison matron, jingling a set of keys.
“Your employer purchased a ticket for you, I presume,” Miss Dorothy said now.
“Well, not exactly.” Anna stuffed her hairbrush in the carpetbag, then took it out again and put it on the dresser She’d be needing it in the morning. She reached into her handbag and produced a small but official-looking square of paper. “He gave me this, instead.”
Miss Verna snatched it from her hand. “Oh, my. This is interesting. It seems to be a pass of some sort for the Chicago, Alton and St. Louis Railroad.”
“I’d be more comfortable with a ticket, myself,” Miss Dorothy said with disdain “One never knows about these things.”
“It looks quite official to me, sister.” Miss Verna handed the paper back to Anna. “I’m sure it’s all right.”
“A lot you know,” the larger sister snapped. “And just when did you last travel by train, Verna Richmond?”
“Actually, I’ve never…”
“Precisely.” Miss Dorothy gave her keys an authoritative jingle. “I’d be much happier, too, if you weren’t traveling alone, Mrs. Matlin. You did say that was the plan, didn’t you?”
Anna merely nodded now, as she continued to take underwear from the dresser, fold it, then lay the garments carefully in the trunk. She had indeed told her landladies she was being sent to St. Louis alone, not knowing whether or not they would take exception or offense to the truth, unsure whether or not they would let her return after traveling with a member of the opposite sex. For, when this surprising assignment was over, Anna had every intention of returning—to this house and this room, to her quiet life.
A little ripple of excitement coursed through her, bringing goose bumps to her skin. She was going to St. Louis with him. With Johnathan Hazard. As his wife! Suddenly she wanted to pinch herself—again— to make certain this wasn’t a dream. If it was, Miss Dorothy’s voice broke into it.
“We’ll want to know where you’re staying, dear. I don’t suppose your employer gave you a hotel pass, as well? You’ll want to choose a simple establishment.”
“Hotels can be dreadfully expensive,” Miss Verna put in, but when her sister clucked her tongue, she quickly added, “Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never stayed in one personally.”
Anna laid another chemise in the trunk. “Actually, I don’t know where I’ll be staying. Someone in the St. Louis agency is meeting me there. I’m sure he will have made all the proper arrangements.”
Her landladies gasped in unison.
“He?”
“Who, dear?”
“Or she,” Anna said quickly. “Come to think of it, the manager of the St. Louis agency is a woman.”
It was a lie, of course, albeit a small, off-white one, but it allowed the Misses Richmond to let out their collective breath. After another few minutes of quizzing and advising, the two spinsters left Anna to her packing. Miss Verna came back a moment later to present her with a going-away gift—“A volume of verses by Mr. Browning, dear. I know how much you like to read. And do be careful with your spectacles. Traveling can often bring mishaps. Or so I’ve heard.” The woman even kissed her on the cheek before retreating downstairs.
All things considered, it had been an amazing day, Anna thought when she had finished packing, then donned her cotton nightdress and finally slid beneath the covers of her bed. She laid her spectacles carefully on the nightstand, as was her habit, closed her eyes and crossed her hands over the counterpane, with every intention of falling asleep instantly, as she always did.
A second later, she was sitting up, staring wide-eyed into a moonlit corner of the room.
“Dear Lord, how did this happen? What in the world have I done?”
She knew precisely when it happened—that moment in Mr. Pinkerton’s anteroom this morning when Johnathan Hazard’s gaze met hers and sent her heart skittering up into her throat and her stomach plunging to the soles of her feet. It had been as if the man had hit her. She hadn’t been able to catch her breath; she had even feared she might faint. Then he had walked out of the office, and for a second Anna had been tempted to run after him. She had stood there, her fingers clenched in the folds of her skirts, every muscle in her body about to explode with motion, every nerve screaming for speed.
Even now Anna wasn’t sure what she might have done if Miss Quillan hadn’t clapped her hands just then. “Ladies, it’s time to get back to business,” the secretary had proclaimed. Then, after conferring briefly with Mr. Pinkerton, Miss Quillan had added, “Oh, Mrs. Matlin. Would you be so kind as to remain here a moment, please? Mr. Pinkerton would like to have a word with you.”
“Me?”
She had felt her face burning then, believing that somehow her employer had read her thoughts, that Allan Pinkerton, master detective, had detected her explosive heartbeat and was about to fire her for such inappropriate behavior.
But, instead, once Anna was in his office, the first words out of his mouth had been, “Mr. Hazard needs a wife.”
After that, although he spoke at length, Anna had barely comprehended his meaning. She remembered nodding solemnly. She remembered saying yes and taking the railroad pass from Mr. Pinkerton’s extended hand.
“Be at the depot at 8:30,” he had told her. “Hazard will fill you in on the particulars.”
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Word had gotten out in the office, despite the fact that Anna hadn’t breathed so much as a syllable. How could she have? She’d still been hard-pressed to catch her breath.
“Why did he pick you?” someone asked. Anna could only shake her head.
“Some people have all the luck,” Mayetta had said with an indignant sniff.
Some people did, but Anna Matlin had never considered herself one of them.
And this wasn’t lucky at all, she thought now as she stared at the packed trunk in the corner of her room. This was insane. Whatever had possessed her earlier, and