Chapter 27
That Norman wasn’t dumbstruck by the sight of a man scrambling over the fortress-like fence that surrounded Gladys’s house with a pack of cats leaping over that fence after him spoke volumes about the state of his life of late.
Kneeing Mort and giving a tug on the reins to set the mule after the rapidly fleeing man, Norman released a grunt when Mort refused to move. Thankfully, Agent Spencer, the Pinkerton who’d relieved Agent Cochran for the evening, was already chasing after the man, his horse apparently far better trained than Mort was.
The gate guarding the entrance to the Huttleston house creaked open, but before it was open more than a foot, another man came dashing though it, pounding down the lane as two additional cats raced through the gate, yowling up a storm.
The moment Mort caught sight of these particular cats, he bolted into motion—not after the fleeing man, but in the opposite direction. As he tried to get control of a mule that was now moving faster than Norman had thought possible, he caught a glimpse of women dressed in flowing trousers and billowing shirts racing through the gate and giving chase to the man, their faces completely covered in one of Blanche’s latest beauty concoctions, if Norman wasn’t mistaken.
It was a good five minutes before Mort decided to stop, and he didn’t stop gradually. One minute he was galloping along, and the next he wasn’t, the abrupt halt of forward motion sending Norman sailing through the air and landing with a thud on the ground.
“I’m going to have to get back to my electrical conveyance vehicle unless you start behaving like a proper mule,” he told Mort, lumbering to his feet and rubbing an elbow that had taken the brunt of his fall.
Mort moseyed over to a grassy spot, sent Norman an injured look out of his big brown eyes, then proceeded to close those eyes, apparently in need of a nap.
“This is hardly the time for that nonsense,” Norman told him, but when Mort didn’t so much as move a single eyelash, Norman threw up his hands, turned on his heel, and began striding back down the lane, hoping Mort would eventually decide to join him at the Huttleston house.
By the time he reached the house, women were streaming back through the gate, a row of cats slinking behind them. His gaze immediately settled on Beatrix, knowing it was her even with her face covered in something questionable and her hair hidden beneath a turban.
That he could identify her so easily was not a surprise.
Beatrix had somehow become permanently etched into his very soul, and he knew he’d always be able to pick her out of a crowd. She had also become important to him, important in a way no one had ever been before.
“Norman,” Beatrix exclaimed, breaking away from the crowd to rush his way. “What happened to you?”
“Got thrown from Mort.”
Beatrix blinked, the action causing the paste on her face to shift, a paste that gave off the distinct smell of lemons. “Where’s Mort now?”
“Taking a nap back that way,” he said, gesturing up the lane that was dimly lit by a few gas lamps. “I think Mort might have an underlying fear of cats, so I’m not certain he’ll rejoin us. Although I’m not quite sure about that fear, what with how he didn’t bolt when the first cats leapt over the fence . . . but perhaps he didn’t see those cats.” He shook thoughts of Mort aside. “Any luck with the men I saw fleeing from the house?”
Beatrix released a sigh. “Afraid not. The man we were chasing had a horse waiting for him, and since we were all on foot, he got away. But Phantom, he’s the black cat, jumped on the man as he was in the saddle and went after the man’s face with his sharp little claws.”
“That must have taken the man by surprise.”
“Oh, it did, but then he gave Phantom a backhand, which sent the poor cat flying, and off the man went. I doubt Phantom will be keen to jump on a horse again.”
“Mort will appreciate that.” Norman pulled out a handkerchief and took a swipe at a clump of something that was about to dribble off her chin. “What is this?”
“Lemon paste mixed with mashed cucumbers and some type of oil.” She grinned. “Blanche is trying to create a formula that will lighten a lady’s skin. She believes I’m the perfect candidate because of my freckles.”
“You want to get rid of your freckles?”
“Not particularly, but in the interest of assisting Blanche with what she hopes will turn into a lucrative beauty business someday, I’m willing to lose a few freckles or perhaps lighten them up.”
“I like your freckles. They make you, well, you.”
Beatrix beamed a bright smile at him. “No one’s ever said that about my freckles before.”
“Well, now someone has,” he returned with a smile right as Gladys and Edgar strode up to join them.
“I cannot believe someone had the audacity to break into my house,” Gladys exclaimed.
“There were two of them,” Edgar pointed out before he glanced past Norman and frowned. “And given that the man walking up the street—a Pinkerton, if I’m not mistaken—is holding two cats and doesn’t appear to have a man in custody, I believe it’s safe to say that both men escaped.”
That was soon confirmed when Agent Spencer reached them.
“He got away,” the agent said, disgust evident in his voice. “It was James McCaleb, which leads me to believe the men came here to steal what they weren’t able to steal this afternoon. He had a horse stashed up the lane, and even though the man suffered a cat attack, he still managed to jump on his horse and evade capture.”
A sense of guilt was immediate.
Norman took a step closer to Beatrix. “This is my fault because they were clearly after that satchel I gave you earlier, evidently not knowing that it didn’t contain my research papers.”
“You can’t blame yourself for this, Norman,” Beatrix said. “We couldn’t have known that one of those men evidently saw me take the satchel from you.”
“I should have considered that,” Norman argued. “It’s quite unlike me to neglect such an important consideration, but now that I’m getting a better grasp of how desperate someone is to secure my research, you may be assured that I’ll not be so careless again.” He caught Beatrix’s eye. “In fact, in order to keep you safe, I’ll not be letting you out of my sight for the foreseeable future.”
To his relief, Beatrix put up not a single argument to that, until he told her he wanted her to give up her job at Marshall Field & Company.