Chapter 38

In Which Aunt Kate Takes the Lead, and I Try to Hurry and Catch Up

The enormous wooden doors at the end of the depot opened, allowing three figures to step inside. I watched them approach the train—Mr. Pinkerton was on the left, but I did not know the two other men. On the right was a nondescript gentleman of middling age, height, and handsomeness. But in the center, leaning on Mr. Pinkerton’s arm, was a stooped man hobbling on a wooden cane. A black coat was draped over his shoulders, the arms hanging empty. He wore a dark cloth hat whose wide brim and round top obscured his eyes, which I was trying without success to catch.

“My brother, how I’ve missed you,” Aunt Kate announced dramatically, descending from the train’s rear platform and greeting Mr. Pinkerton’s party as it reached the sleeping car. A few travelers passed on the right and left, but none seemed to pay attention to our group. “You must be exhausted, dear. Please come lie down.”

She ushered them onto the train, right past me, paying close attention to the stooped man. The four of them immediately took the berth across the aisle and drew the heavy red curtain for privacy. I heard deep voices as they spoke but could not get the shape of their words.

Within minutes, the wheels began to turn and the train started rolling down the tracks toward Washington. I sat there alone on my bench like a bottle of ginger ale that had been shaken up—so many notions were bubbling in my head, I thought I might explode. When the ticket collector came through, Aunt Kate emerged into the aisle and handed him exactly what he needed, so he didn’t even bother to draw back the curtain and peek at the others.

“He is so tall, he cannot even lie straight in his berth,” Aunt Kate whispered, taking her seat across from me with a breathy grin. I knew she was wondering if I’d deciphered the secret, but as always I was still a few steps behind her.

Mr. Pinkerton appeared a short time later, standing in the aisle and leaning low to speak with Aunt Kate in her seat. “I have men positioned all the way down the line from Philadelphia into Baltimore,” he said in a deep murmur. “One raised lantern means all’s well. And two”—he paused, his eyes flicking to me for a half second—“well, have your revolver ready, Mrs. Warne.”

I’d never seen Mr. Pinkerton so tense. I stared at the paisley pattern of the long red curtain across the aisle and considered pulling it back to see for myself who we were protecting behind it.

I watched Mr. Pinkerton step onto the rear platform, I assumed to keep an eye out for the lantern signals. As he tugged the small wooden door shut behind him, stopping the rush of cold night air into the car, I turned back to study my aunt. “No one but Mr. Pinkerton,” she said, her eyes never leaving the mystery berth beside us, “shall go in or go out.”

And as she repositioned herself on the cushioned bench opposite mine, her gaze locked, I didn’t dare speak. I could hardly let myself breathe as I spied, there on her lap, the familiar Colt revolver gleaming in the moonlight, one blue-gloved hand wrapped around the wooden base, the silver barrel glimmering like a night star.

“Aunt Kate,” I whispered some time later as the rocking rhythm of the train lulled us not to sleep, but to some tense, contemplative place. “You must tell me everything that’s happening. My imagination has gone wild, and I need to know the truth about all this secret service you’re up to. What will happen when we reach Baltimore?”

“You have the clues, Nell,” she said with an encouraging nod. “I know you can piece this puzzle together on your own.”

I sat in still silence, watching the dark scenery rush past. My thoughts were hurtling ahead as well. I worked it out in my mind again and again, but I was too timid to wager a guess—what if Aunt Kate and the others laughed at my wild imagination?

But still, the facts were lined up before me like books on a shelf.

I’d read enough newspapers these past weeks to know that another train was due to be traveling these tracks the next morning. It was the Lincoln Special, ferrying our new president into the nation’s capital. Was it possible he was slipping into Washington under the cover of darkness? Stooped and dressed in disguise?

But why?

“He won’t leave Baltimore alive.”

“The abolitionist traitor will never take the oath of office.”

“Assassination.”

I turned from the window to stare back at the red curtain. Aunt Kate was still at her post, revolver at the ready.

“It is him, isn’t it?” I whispered. “That’s Honest Abe we’re protecting over there, isn’t it? Our own Honest Abe.”

Aunt Kate kept her head turned toward the curtain, but the smile that beamed in her eyes told me all I needed to know. I’d done it on my own—I’d solved the mystery. But before she could utter a word of confirmation, a sudden lurch from the train sent me flying from my seat. Such a screech pierced the night, I felt a shiver of fright race up my shoulders. I shuddered as I tried to right myself back on my bench again.

“What’s happening?” I asked as the train’s shrieking brakes slowed us to a halt. “Why are we stopping?”

Aunt Kate’s eyes darted from the heavy red curtain to the back door of the railcar, where Mr. Pinkerton was still standing guard.

“I believe we’ve reached Baltimore, Nell,” Aunt Kate whispered, “the very end of the northern line. The tracks that will take this train into Washington are about one mile away from here. A team of horses must pull our sleeper car through the streets to the Camden Street Station, making us as vulnerable as a newborn babe.”

And after a heavy pause, she added, “We will be easy prey to attack.”

We watched and waited, for what, I did not know. My blustery secessionist companions? The razor-wielding barber? My heart was thumping in my chest faster than a frightened rabbit’s. As we sat in that silent railcar, tense and braced, no one dared to make a sound. I was alone with my imagination, which did not always prove to be a good companion.

Every noise in the night seemed to find its way to my ears. I suddenly wished for my own weapon. Not that I had ever shot a gun at anything that couldn’t be put in a pot and served for supper. But then I’d never been forced to. I thought of teaching Aunt Kate how to shoot. What would I do now, if presented with the chance to fire a bullet at a deranged assassin? Would I pull the trigger?

Finally, the wheels began to slowly roll again, and Aunt Kate turned away from the heavy curtain. “I will be returning to the Barnum Hotel to witness the scene throughout the day and to listen for more schemes. Because of the danger, I cannot allow you to come with me into the streets. You must stay on without me, Nell.”

It was as if she’d thrown cold water on my face. Aunt Kate was getting off the train here in Baltimore? She was returning to the hornet’s nest? What if those fire-eating secessionists found out she was spying on them? What if they knew she wasn’t Mrs. Barley at all but a highly skilled detective from Chicago?

I shook my head, preparing to argue. But just as I began to protest, Mr. Pinkerton stepped into the railcar from the back platform and pulled the door shut, slipping his watch into his vest pocket.

“It is three thirty in the morning, and the city of Baltimore—thankfully—appears to be sleeping,” he said. “Mrs. Warne, you must be careful as you venture back to the conspirators. I want a full report of the day as it unfolds. Call for a carriage at the ticket window.”

Aunt Kate gathered her carpetbag and stood up to go. I saw her slip the revolver into the pocket of her traveling cloak. I jumped to my feet beside her, picking up my feathered bonnet as if to join her.

“But before you take your leave,” Mr. Pinkerton continued, “I’d like a brief moment for some formal introductions.”

And he finally pulled back that deep-red curtain and moved aside, allowing the mysterious stooped man to step into the aisle. Off came the dark hat to reveal a head of wavy brown hair, thick arched eyebrows, and chiseled cheekbones. He shed his traveling coat, which Aunt Kate took obligingly and folded over her arm. He handed me the walking stick and smiled, only then standing to his full height.

I blinked more than a few times, hardly trusting what my eyes beheld before me. He stood well over six feet tall.

“Mrs. Kate Warne is the chief of my Female Detective Force,” Mr. Pinkerton announced to our towering traveling companion. “She has never let me down.”

Then, turning to me, he continued, “And this is her able-bodied niece, Miss Nell Warne.”

We both gave respectful curtsies, though I couldn’t help but add a few bows at the same time, which might have given me the appearance of a whooping crane in courting season.

“There’s your Nuts, Nell,” my aunt whispered for my ears alone, confirming what I’d spied in her coded messages. I felt a surge of joy mingled with pride pulse through my body as I stood as tall and straight as a lamppost beside her. I quickly ripped the blue cockade off my dress and threw it on the floor behind me.

“Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Abraham Lincoln, president-elect of the United States.”

My breathing was so fast and my corset so tight, I could not catch my breath. I shifted my feet in my heavy boots and felt myself swoon. But one sideways look at Aunt Kate, and I knew to collect myself.

“Mrs. Warne, Miss Warne. It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he said in a voice that was slightly higher pitched than I’d expected for a man so tall. I noted just the faintest hint of a country twang. “Two detectives together under one roof—I imagine your family must be quite proud.”

“It is,” my aunt said firmly. “Very proud.”