Chapter 23

“Any plans for this evening?”

Beatrix looked up from the box of table linens she’d been unpacking and smiled at Miss Joan Caton, a woman who worked beside her in the Bargain Basement, the department where Beatrix now found herself since she’d been relieved of her duties at the coat check.

“I’m having dinner with my aunt,” she replied. “What about you?”

“I’m off to enjoy a show at the Columbia Theater with some other Marshall Field & Company girls. You’re more than welcome to join us if you’re not looking forward to spending the evening with your aunt.”

“How kind of you to offer. And while an evening at the theater sounds lovely, I don’t want to disappoint my aunt, and dinner with her, odd as this may seem, is always an adventure.”

“Perhaps next time,” Miss Caton said before she took a step closer to Beatrix and lowered her voice. “Everyone is appalled about you getting yanked out of the coat check and sent to the Bargain Basement. Why, if you ask me, you should have been promoted for having the gumption to reprimand Mrs. Sturgis. She’s a nightmare every time she comes into the store, and it’s unacceptable that she injured you and then complained when you brought the injury to her attention. I suppose, though, that you must have been relieved to have been sent here instead of getting dismissed. It’s most unusual for management to be so forgiving when an employee offends a customer, even if that customer is wrong.”

Beatrix knew full well that the only reason she’d not been dismissed was because Mr. Selfridge had been in New York when she’d had her encounter with Mrs. Sturgis, which had left Mr. Bailer responsible for disciplining her.

After arriving in his office, Beatrix had found Mr. Bailer in a most agitated frame of mind, his agitation a direct result of the dilemma he found himself in. He was quick to inform her that her behavior was cause for immediate dismissal, but he wasn’t going to dismiss her because Miss Gladys Huttleston had personally requested he consider hiring Beatrix in the first place. Aunt Gladys apparently terrified poor Mr. Bailer, although he hadn’t seemed aware of the relationship Beatrix shared with her aunt.

Mr. Bailer had then proceeded to hem and haw about what should be done with Beatrix, finally settling on sending her to the Bargain Basement, stating that Mrs. Sturgis had demanded that she never see Beatrix again. Reassigning Beatrix to the Bargain Basement would evidently assure that never happened because apparently Mrs. Sturgis never stepped foot in the part of the store that offered customers goods at an inexpensive price.

Beatrix had been beyond put out over the notion she was being disciplined because an insufferable customer had all but accosted her. However, she’d been downright dumbfounded to learn she was going to suffer yet another reduction in pay.

In all honesty, she was beginning to think, what with how often she was suffering demotions, that there might come a day when she was paying the store for the privilege of working there.

Her dumbfounded state had only increased when, after Mr. Bailer had informed her of her reduced circumstances, he’d handed her another copy of the Marshall Field & Company handbook, insisting she read it cover to cover right there in his office. That demand had made it impossible to see Norman again because she didn’t finish the book until the store had closed for the day. Norman, unfortunately, was nowhere to be found once she left the store and took to the street.

She’d actually considered taking the train to Prairie Avenue and seeking him out at his house—what with how she’d memorized his address—because she’d felt the strongest urge to tell him all about the grievances she’d suffered that day, until she’d realized it would hardly be acceptable for her to seek out a gentleman at his house, no matter the reason.

That she’d felt compelled to seek Norman out in the first place was telling in and of itself.

“After you finish unpacking that box, Miss Waterbury, you may leave for the day, as may you, Miss Caton.”

Shaking aside her thoughts and sending Mrs. Hartford, the supervisor of the linen department, a smile, Beatrix quickly finished her task. She then walked through the Bargain Basement with Miss Caton and up the stairs to the employee room, where she’d left her coat. After bidding Miss Caton good-bye, she headed for the stairs.

“Miss Waterbury, wait up,” Miss Dixon, her former co-worker from the coat check, called from behind Beatrix, catching up with her a moment later. “I’ve been hoping to run into you. How’s the Bargain Basement? I’ve heard it’s a madhouse down there at times.”

“Oh it is, but the customers who shop in the basement are far more pleasant than the ones who shop on the main floors, so I’m not upset at all about my recent demotion.”

“Mrs. Sturgis was in the store yesterday, probably to make sure you weren’t still manning the coat check counter.” Miss Dixon shook her head. “She’s a nasty piece of work, but that wasn’t why I was hoping to run into you. It’s about Mr. Norman Nesbit. He came looking for you three days ago after you’d been called to Mr. Bailer’s office. He then came to the store yesterday as well and seemed most concerned when I told him you no longer worked in the coat check but had been reassigned.”

“Norman was at the store yesterday?”

Miss Dixon smiled. “Looking for you.” Her smile dimmed. “I’m afraid I was unable to fully explain what had happened to you because Mrs. Goodman came skulking about. But”—she leaned closer to Beatrix—“I heard him tell Miss Robinson, the lady who was accompanying him again, that he wouldn’t be able to track you down after work yesterday because he had a commitment with his niece. I wanted to tell you all that so you would know he’s been asking about you. In my humble opinion, I believe that suggests that Mr. Nesbit is sweet on you.”

Beatrix tripped over the bottom step. Regaining her balance, she headed for the employee exit. “He’s not sweet on me.”

Miss Dixon stepped with Beatrix through the door and began walking down the sidewalk beside her, pulling Beatrix to a stop a few seconds later as she grinned and nodded to something across the street.

“You’re wrong about that because Mr. Nesbit’s right over there. . . . But is he sitting on a donkey?”

Beatrix spun around and peered across the street, blinking when she spotted Norman, who was, indeed, sitting on top of an animal. She turned back to Miss Dixon. “I think that may be a mule.”

“An odd choice to be sure, but he’s waving at you.”

Turning again, Beatrix discovered that Miss Dixon was right, and that Norman was waving at her, although Theodosia, who was standing beside a pony attached to a wagon, was, curiously enough, leafing through a book.

“I should see what Norman wants,” she said, which earned her another grin from Miss Dixon.

“I believe I’ve already stated what he wants—and that would be you.”

Returning the grin even though she was fairly certain Miss Dixon was wrong in her conclusions, Beatrix told her to enjoy her Sunday off, then headed for the street.

Waiting for an open buggy to pass, Beatrix began making her way through traffic, coming to an abrupt stop right before she reached the sidewalk when she saw three men on horses charging directly for Norman.

That they were all wearing kerchiefs over their faces was not an encouraging sight.

“Norman, watch out!” she yelled, charging forward.

Before she could reach him, though, the mule he was sitting on surged into motion, carrying Norman down the street at a most rapid rate of speed, the hat on his head being left behind as he struggled to get control of his mule.

“Whoa, Mort, whoa!” she heard him yell, apparently still unaware that he was coming under attack, two of the riders now in hot pursuit. The third rider, however, had run afoul of Theodosia, who’d taken a swing at him with the book she’d been leafing through, knocking that man off his horse.

Thankfully, another man galloped into view, throwing himself off his horse and at the man Theodosia was now whacking with the book.

Relieved that Theodosia was getting assistance from a man who was evidently one of the Pinkertons responsible for keeping Norman safe, Beatrix spun around and headed after Norman. Racing down the street, she dodged carriages and wagons, until she spotted Norman a moment later.

He was no longer on the mule but lying in the street, one of the handkerchief-wearing men trying to wrestle a satchel away from him.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw the other man, one who was still on his horse, pull out a pistol and aim it directly at Norman. Fumbling with her reticule, she withdrew her pistol purse and took aim.

“Lower your weapon or I’ll shoot!” she yelled.

When the man didn’t lower his weapon, but instead turned it on her, she flipped out the trigger on the bottom of the purse right as a gunshot rang out.

After she lurched to the right, her relief was swift when she didn’t feel a bullet tear through her, but then the man took aim at her again, and she didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, thankful in that moment that her father had had the foresight to make certain she knew how to aim and operate a gun.

Satisfaction was immediate when the man dropped from his horse and landed on the ground, reaching for his shoulder, where a small stain of blood was already forming. That satisfaction, however, was short-lived when the man jumped from the ground and began advancing her way, menace in his every step.

Raising her purse again, she pulled the trigger, horrified when nothing happened and the man kept advancing.

“Beatrix, run!” she heard Norman yell right as the man stopped directly in front of her.

“You!” he roared. “I should have known.”

Sweat beaded her forehead and began running down her face the moment she recognized the distinct scar running up from where the kerchief covered the lower half of the man’s face.

It was the man who’d tried to rob her on the train, the same man who’d threatened to shoot her then, and given the rage she now detected in his voice and the horrifying sight of him raising his hand and training his pistol on her again, she was all but certain that this time he would shoot her.

Norman broke free of the man who’d been trying to wrestle his satchel away from him and flew at the man threatening her, tackling him to the ground.

Norman and the man rolled over and over again, and then Theodosia was rolling with them, having jumped on the back of the man after he’d rolled Norman beneath him.

“Good heavens, is that Miss Robinson?”

Turning, Beatrix found Mr. Harvey Cabot standing beside her, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at the sight of Theodosia thrashing around on the ground. A second later he apparently came to his senses and leapt forward, pulling Theodosia from the melee before throwing himself into it.

Grappling with the man who was all but smothering Norman, Harvey planted a fist in the man’s face as Norman lumbered to his feet and dashed a hand over a nose that was now bleeding. He immediately turned to the man who’d been trying to steal his satchel, who was now bolting down the street, the mule Norman had been riding chasing after him.

“Give me your pistol purse,” Norman yelled to Beatrix.

Rushing to his side, she thrust the purse at him. “It misfired just a minute ago so it might not be of much help.”

Norman nodded, tossed his satchel to her, then was off, racing down the street after his mule and the assailant.

“He’s getting away.”

Turning, Beatrix discovered Harvey Cabot lying on the ground, blood smeared on his face, his jacket torn, and his trousers covered in the filth that littered the street. The man with the scar was already leaping up into the saddle of his horse, kneeing his horse into motion.

Temper flashed anew when she realized there was little chance she could capture the man since she was on foot, nor would the Pinkerton man be of any assistance because he was in the process of securing the man Theodosia had first subdued. Her temper soon turned to trepidation, though, when the scarred man turned his horse in her direction. Realizing that the man was after Norman’s satchel and would probably resort to deadly means to get it, Beatrix turned and bolted across the street toward Marshall Field & Company, hoping to find safety and concealment amongst the well-heeled customers.

Before she could make it to the front door, though, police whistles rent the air. When she turned around, she saw the scarred man racing away, apparently unwilling to face arrest, even if that meant leaving Norman’s satchel behind.

Ignoring the curious looks of the ladies who were whispering behind gloved hands outside of Marshall Field & Company, Beatrix hurried back across the street and found Theodosia helping Harvey Cabot to his feet.

“Ah, Beatrix, thank goodness you’re all right,” Theodosia said, releasing Harvey’s arm and apparently not noticing that he immediately began to wobble about. “I was so afraid that man was going to run you over with his horse before the police arrived.”

“The two of you all right?” the Pinkerton agent asked, appearing by Beatrix’s side with one of the assailants in tow, a man who now had his hands firmly secured behind his back.

“We’re fine, Agent Cochran, but Norman went after one of the men,” Theodosia said.

“Which way?” Agent Cochran demanded.

Beatrix nodded down the street.

Agent Cochran pushed the man he’d apprehended toward Harvey Cabot and nodded. “This is James McCaleb. He’s a habitual criminal and is known to be crafty, but I need you to see after him so I can go after Mr. Nesbit. Do not allow him to get away.”

Before Harvey could do more than blink, Agent Cochran was in motion, racing down the street.

“How am I supposed to see after this criminal when I don’t even have a pistol to—”

Whatever else Harvey had been about to say got lost when James McCaleb suddenly headbutted Harvey, which had him dropping like a stone to the ground. McCaleb then bolted away, moving remarkably fast for a man without the use of his hands.

Beatrix, with Theodosia by her side, took a step forward, preparing to run after the man. But she was pulled to an abrupt stop a few seconds later by Harvey, who had gotten rather unsteadily to his feet.

“You two have no business chasing after a criminal. You’re ladies, and as such, you need to leave this nastiness to the discretion of men,” Harvey rasped, keeping a firm grip on Beatrix’s arm when she tried to tug it away from him.

“Release me,” Beatrix said between gritted teeth.

“I think not,” Harvey returned before he frowned at Theodosia. “Your father would never forgive me if I let something happen to you. Why, it’s bad enough you threw yourself into a brawl, but I’ll not tell your father the details of that if you behave yourself from this point forward.”

Theodosia shoved back a hat that had slipped almost over her eyes. “You overstep yourself, Harvey. You have no authority over me, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

“Your father and I have an understanding in regards to you,” Harvey said, continuing to hold Theodosia’s arm although he did release Beatrix’s.

“I don’t know you nearly well enough for you to have any type of understanding with my father.” Theodosia shrugged her way out of his hold. “Do know, however, that I intend to have a chat with Father at my earliest convenience since he’s suffering from some type of misunderstanding about the two of us.”

“I would think his expectations should already be clear to you,” Harvey argued. “Surely you’ve realized how amiable he’s been to the idea of me escorting you around town.”

“You’re taking me to a ball,” Theodosia said impatiently, looking around. “That’s not escorting me around town.” She nodded to something over Harvey’s shoulder. “Seems like half the city’s police are descending on the scene. We should give them our account of what happened, which will hopefully assist them with apprehending the criminals.”

Beatrix nodded, tightened her grip on the satchel, then fell into step with Theodosia as Harvey trailed after them. They were quickly approached by three officers, who immediately began taking notes as they recounted their stories.

As she talked to the policemen, Beatrix saw numerous customers from Marshall Field & Company pass by, as well as numerous employees. But whereas the employees sent her looks of concern, the customers regarded her with suspicion, as if she’d done something wrong and was now being interrogated by the police about it.

She couldn’t help but wonder—and not for the first time—how those ladies would have reacted if they knew her as Miss Beatrix Waterbury, grand American heiress, instead of a salesgirl from a store they frequented.

“There’s Norman,” Theodosia said. “He must have lost the man he was chasing as well, but . . . oh dear, he seems to be experiencing some difficulty with Mort.”

Excusing herself from Officer Stewart, the policeman who’d just finished questioning her, Beatrix turned her attention to a most curious scene unfolding half a block away.

Norman was standing in the middle of the street, gesturing to a mule that appeared to have turned stubborn since the animal was not moving a single inch, blocking traffic in the process.

“Should I assume that’s Mort?” Beatrix asked.

Theodosia nodded. “Indeed. Norman only recently purchased him, even though I told him mules have a tendency to be tricky, but he wouldn’t listen.” She shook her head as Norman tugged on Mort’s reins to no avail. “Bet he wishes he’d listened to me now.”

“While I’m more than intrigued about why Norman would have purchased a mule, I believe he needs some assistance.”

After handing Norman’s satchel to Theodosia, Beatrix slipped through the congested traffic, stopping a few feet from Norman.

He was looking the worse for wear, his clothing dirty and his face smeared with blood, while a distinct trace of annoyance radiated from him as he tried to pull Mort into motion.

“You’re trying my patience,” Beatrix heard him say. “And while you’re obviously feeling very disappointed that you were unable to catch that criminal, we have important matters to attend to now, such as ascertaining that Beatrix and Theo haven’t been harmed. That means you need to stop being muleheaded and come with me.”

“Theodosia and I are fine,” Beatrix said, which had Norman lifting his head, relief replacing the annoyance as he looked her over. “As for your mule, may I suggest you simply release the reins and walk away from him? Mules are complicated creatures, and Mort may be testing you at the moment to see how much he can get away with. I would advise you to not allow him to do that because you’ll never be able to manage him properly after that.”

Norman frowned. “You think I should let go of the reins?”

“I do. That will show him you’re the boss, and he should eventually follow you.” She glanced at Mort and frowned. “Although mules are unpredictable, so my advice might be way off the mark.”

“Since I don’t have any other thoughts about how to get him to move, I’m willing to give it a go,” Norman said, dropping the reins and striding Beatrix’s way, taking her arm once he reached her side. “Shall we?” he asked, tugging her forward without so much as a single look back at Mort.

Beatrix tried to sneak a peek but stopped when Norman shook his head. “Aren’t you even curious as to whether or not he’s following us?” she asked.

“’Course I am, but at the risk of allowing him to believe he’s got the upper hand, I’m going to ignore my curiosity for the moment.” With that, Norman increased his pace, not slowing down until they were a few feet away from Theodosia and Harvey.

“Harvey’s looking rough,” Norman said, nodding to Harvey. He was standing beside Theodosia, who’d retrieved her book from the ground and was, peculiarly enough, reading it again.

“The poor man got headbutted by James McCaleb, the one and only criminal we captured, who then made a rather spectacular escape.”

“He got away?”

“He did. Theodosia and I tried to go after him, but Harvey, unfortunately, intervened. He apparently thought that we, as women, had no business pursuing a member of the criminal persuasion.”

Norman’s hold tightened on her arm before he nodded. “Odd as this may seem, for once I find myself in full agreement with Harvey.”