Authors: Kathleen Y'Barbo
“Did you get it?” she asked, a fiery curl falling over her face as she looked down into his eyes.
“Yes. Don't move or I might cut something I don't mean to.” That stilled her until he could make short work of releasing the circle of wire that bound them. Jumping to his feet, he hauled Flora up and into his arms. “Why is it things are always so complicated when you're around?”
“Me? You're the one complicating things.”
“We'll see about that.” He leaned back a little to look at her. “I believe you and I were on our way to see your father before you attempted this ridiculous escape.”
A rustle of noise beyond the shrubs diverted his attention. A man who appeared to be a gardener hurried in the wake of the man Flora had called Father. In Mr. Brimm's hand was an oversized pair of shears. Lucas let his arms fall from around Flora, though he stayed close beside her.
“Is this the husband you wrote me about, Flora?”
Her father was tall, though not as tall as Lucas, and his posture spoke of boarding school and years following in the footsteps of his ancestors. He knew the type. If not for Kyle Russell and the Pinkertons, he might have been the type.
Mr. Brimm brandished the pruning shears far too near to Lucas for his liking. “Sir, I will have an explanation of what you are doing dangling outside my home while inappropriately entwined with my daughter.”
Where to start?
“Go ahead, Lucas. He'll find out eventually. You should probably tell him now.”
The pruning shears caught the gaslight inside and took on a decidedly sinister golden glow. “Tell him what?”
“Indeed, daughter. Tell me what?”
Flora shook her head, and another of her curls sprung loose. “We were going to tell you eventually, Father. Lucas and I are working on a case and hoping to give chase to a criminal without alerting him to our presence.”
“That is the most ridiculous statement I've heard in quite some time,” Mr. Brimm stated. “Almost as ridiculous as the letter you sent informing me you were to be married. Thankfully, your grandmother tells me that hasn't happened yet.”
“No, sir,” she said softly, her eyes averted.
“Actually, sir,” Lucas said, looking the man in the eye. “I am a Pinkerton agent. If you'll set those shears aside, I will reach into my pocket and show you my badge.”
Mr. Brimm gave him a doubtful look. “And what would that prove? I fail to see how your employment as a Pinkerton could possibly explain why you were hanging outside my home with my daughter, sir. And in the rain, no less.”
“It has everything to do with it, Father.” She paused to give Lucas what he assumed was supposed to be a meaningful look. “We only just received a message from the man that Mr. McMinn is tracking. Because he managed to deliver the message to Brimmfield unseen, it is likely he could still be watching the house now.”
“We did?” Lucas whispered, his lips against Flora's ear.
Flora nodded. “Please, let's just go inside and we will explain everything.”
“You're in luck. I've never been fond of standing in the rain unless I must. My dear, inside with you. And you, sir,” Mr. Brimm said to Lucas, “shall find another place in which to carry out your investigation.”
Linking arms with Flora, Lucas stopped her progress. “Sir, I know she is your daughter, but she is helping me with an investigation. I wonder if I might speak to her privately for just a moment before we join you in the house.”
“I'm afraid not.” He yanked Flora's other arm and set her back in motion.
Lucas thought to register a protest and insist on his legal right to interrogate a prisoner, but if Mr. Brimm was at all as stubborn as Miss Brimm, it would do no good anyway. Resigned for now, Lucas followed the pair inside and across the entry to a room beneath the staircase.
From the looks of the dark, wood-paneled space, it was being used as some sort of study. One of the walls was covered in paintings of horses, while two others bore framed maps hung in orderly grids. The fourth wall was dominated by a large oil painting of a dark-haired couple seated before a roaring fire. In the woman's arms was an infant dressed in a long white gown and matching bonnet. Standing beside the man was a girl with long dark curls and big blue eyes. Balancing out the painting was a pair of wolfhounds resting at the man's feet.
“Sit, Mr. McMinn.”
Lucas complied, but only out of deference to the man's position as Flora's father. Flora followed a step behind, taking a seat beside him without being told. When Mr. Brimm walked over to close the door behind them, Flora passed Lucas a note.
He opened the torn page discreetly.
Must follow the job to New Orleans. Marry me there?
was scrawled at the bottom of the page just above the place where the paper was torn. Intuition told him there was more to the message, but there would be time to look into that later.
Coming back to the front of the room, Mr. Brimm said, “I believe I would first like to see your badge, young man.”
Lucas silently handed it over. After studying it a moment, Mr. Brimm handed it back.
“It appears to be in order. So what's this about dragging my daughter into a Pinkerton investigation?”
“With all due respect, sir, your daughter invited herself into it. I am tracking a criminal who may have chosen Miss Brimm as his next victim. Had Miss Brimm not been insistent on withholding key information, I would not have need of keeping her in personal custody.”
Mr. Brimm's bushy brows shot skyward as he shifted his attention to Flora. “What's this, daughter? Mr. McMinn is not referring to the man you wrote me about, is he?”
“Yes, but it's all a misunderstanding, Father. The man Mr. McMinn is looking for is innocent, and I want to see that the facts are heard.”
“Then give him the facts, Flora. All of them.”
Her face reddened. “Iâ¦well, I cannot. It would mean betraying the confidence of someone who trusts me.”
“That is ridiculous,” he blustered. “Sir, I demand to know why you're using an innocent girl as part of your investigation. She obviously is not keen on giving a straight answer.”
“I'm not
using
her, sir. She is in my custody at the moment because she is, at the least, a material witness in an ongoing investigation conducted by the Pinkerton Agency. Any more than that I cannot tell you at this moment because it is classified.”
“That's the same reason I cannot tell you why Mr. Tucker is innocent,” Flora interjected.
“Did we call a family meeting and forget to invite Grandmama?”
All eyes turned toward the Brimm matriarch, who stood at the door and allowed her gaze to sweep the room before landing on Lucas. “Mr. McMinn, it is always interesting when you and my granddaughter are in collusion. To what do we owe the honor tonight, and is it true you were found dangling up in the air with Flora?”
“He was just leaving, Grandmama,” she said as she swiped at the curls that had fallen. “He's going to New Orleans in the morning.” She paused only a second. “And I'm afraid I must accompany him.”
“No, dear, that's quite impossible.” Millicent Brimm swept into the room and seated herself behind her son's desk. “You cannot possibly leave until the following day. Tomorrow we are hosting a reception for you.”
“A reception for me?” She shook her head. “When was I going to be told?”
“Or I?” Flora's father asked.
Mrs. Brimm waved away the protests with a sweep of her bejeweled hand. “It's all quite impromptu, but it should be a lovely afternoon event.”
“Afternoon?” Flora turned to Lucas. “We can still sail tomorrow evening.”
“No, dear,” Mrs. Brimm said. “Tomorrow evening you will be attending a ball held in your honor. It will be a bit of a push to have the house ready for two events, but I'm sure the staff will manage.”
“Grandmama, why am I being honored at both a reception and a ball?”
The older woman shrugged. “I may have mentioned on the train from Eureka Springs that my granddaughter did not accompany me on the return trip because she was betrothed.”
Flora groaned. “So your friends think I am engaged.”
“I'm afraid so. Unfortunately, we will need to borrow a prospective groom for the occasion.”
All eyes in the room now swung toward Lucas.
“Oh, no,” he said a moment later, grasping their meaning. “I can't. I⦔ He paused to think about the situation in a rational and calm manner. “Honestly, I cannot think of a worse idea.”
“That's funny,” Flora said, “because I think it solves everything.”
“For you maybe, but⦔ He shook his head. “No. I'm sorry but no. I didn't create this problem, so I fail to see why I should solve it. Not when there's an investigation in progress.”
She leaned over to whisper, “It keeps me out of trouble for two days and gets us where we can meet with Mr. Tucker. I don't see the problem, do you?”
“What's that Flora?” her father asked.
“I was just reminding Mr. McMinn of how well he danced aboard the
Americus
. He's quite good.” The statement sent Flora and her grandmother off on a conversational tangent about dancing that finally had Mr. Brimm lifting his hands.
“Quiet!” he demanded. “Ladies, I wish to speak to Mr. McMinn alone. Flora, you will go with your grandmother and wait in the hall. As you will both likely stand at the door with your ears pressed against it, I will demand your ear trumpet, Mother, and I will declare that should you eavesdrop, Flora, my valet will alert me to it and you shall find yourself in more trouble than you are already. Now please go, both of you.”
“Son, you're not actually asking for my trumpet?”
He held out his hand, waited until his mother complied, and then watched them walk out the door. When they were gone and the door was shut behind them, he turned his attention to Lucas.
“All right. What exactly did she do?”
“I don't know what you meanâ”
Her father leaned against the desk and crossed both hands over his chest. “What is my daughter being charged with?”
Ah. “Receipt of stolen property.” He paused. “But if it means anything, I don't believe she knew it was stolen.”
“And yet you claim she is in your custody.”
Lucas shifted positions to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yes, sir. Until I knew for sure she wasn't in cahoots with this Tucker fellow, I needed to keep the suspectâthat is, Miss Brimmâclose.”
“And are you sure now?”
“I am, but I still need her.”
“Are we still talking about the investigation?” he asked, one shaggy brow lifted.
“We are, sir.”
“Fair enough. I will allow my daughter to see this investigation through on one condition.”
Lucas bit back a retort regarding the older man's ability to stop a Pinkerton investigation or to hold back material witnesses. Instead, he inclined his ear toward Mr. Brimm as he swiped at a raindrop that dripped off his hat.
“And what is that, sir?”
“That should you find that my daughter is somehow involved, you will inform me before you make an arrest.” He stood. “I love Flora, Mr. McMinn. She has taken on more responsibility for this family than anyone realizes, and yet she still seems to find herself in predicaments that are well beyond what anyone expects.”
“Yes, sir. I've seen that.”
He regarded Lucas for a moment. “I'm curious. How did the two of you really end up in such a predicament?”
Lucas told him, beginning with the part where he suspected she would climb out of the window, and ending with the explanation of how he got up to the second floor. “We didn't create the device with two persons in mind, and my colleague had just suggested a weight limit of two hundred pounds. My guess is that's where the trouble was.”
A look of interest flashed over Mr. Brimm's features. “So you invented this contraption that helps you scale walls?”
“I did, sir. Creating new things is a hobby of mine.”
“Have you invented anything else?”
Lucas told him of some of the things he and Kyle had perfected, as well as a few ideas he had been working on.
“You're an interesting man, Mr. McMinn, and well-matched for my daughter. I wonder if you've given any thought to an actual engagement with her.”
He certainly hadn't expected that. “I don't think she would have me, sir. Your daughter has her opinions, and I doubt she holds a very high one of me right now.”
Mr. Brimm chuckled. “Because you tell her no and refuse to allow her to go off and do things that are unsafe for her? I say bravo to the effort, even if I do not completely approve of the execution of the plan.”
“Yes, sir. I suppose that's the problem right there.”