An Agent for Marla Page 2

  When her driver called in his deep baritone voice, “Whoa,” and the horse slowed to a halt, her heart soared. Any adventure that began in a house this amazing had to be a good one. She gathered her skirts and waited for the driver to open the carriage.

  “Good luck, Miss.” He put out his hand to help her down.

  She eyed him curiously. “With what?”

  “You’re applying to become a Pinkerton, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but how’d you know.”

  He shrugged with a toothy smile. “I’ve been delivering young ladies like you with hope in their eyes to this address for nigh on two years now.”

  She nodded. “Well, thank you.”

  He climbed atop the taxi and heaved her trunk down, gently setting it beside her. “I’ll haul this to the porch, if you want, Miss.”

  She looked toward the veranda and the long walkway. “Yes. Thank you.”

  He tipped his tall hat and walked behind her with the trunk in tow. As she moved toward the mansion she considered her driver. “What is your name?”

  “Miss?”

  “You’ve been so kind and helpful, and I don’t even know your name.” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

  He touched the brim of his hat. “M’name’s Amos, Miss.”

  She nodded and stepped onto the porch. “Well, Amos, My name’s Marla Porter. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She turned to him and put out her hand.

  He paused at the base of the steps, his head was about level with hers. A huge smile sprang onto his face. He put out his hand and shook hers. “My pleasure, Miss.”

  Then he heaved the trunk onto the porch and placed it beside the door. “If you ever need Amos’s help, Miss, just send a street urchin. They all know Big Amos.” He chuckled.

  “Thank you, Amos. That’s good to know and I appreciate your offer.” She turned and knocked on the huge door.

  It soon swung open and a lovely redhead peeked around it. “May I help you?”

  “Hello, ma’am. I’m Marla Porter, I sent a telegram to announce my arrival.”

  The stately redhead smiled graciously, but concern flooded her eyes. “Oh, dear. Yes, Marla. I’m Marianne Gordon. Please come in. Would you like a cuppa tea.” Her eyes landed on Marla’s trunk. “Um, I’ll get—” She looked over her shoulder. “I’ll get someone to bring your trunk inside.”

  “Tea would be nice, yes. And thank you.” Marla glanced at her truck as she walked away from it to cross the threshold and enter the large foyer. To her right was a room that looked like an office and beyond it was a solid door. Would that be Archibald Gordon’s office—?

  “Gordon!” Marla put two and two together. “Oh, are you and Archibald—”

  “Yes.” Marianne flushed pink. “Mr. Gordon and I recently married.”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Thank you.” She stood in the entry as if she wasn’t sure what to do next. “Miss Porter, I hate that you’ve come all this way. We do not have any openings with the Pinkerton Agency right now.”

  “Oh, dear.” Marla swallowed. “I just assumed… with my letter from my… the Kansas Governor, and my credentials, you’d have an opening for me.”

  “Yes, well, it doesn’t quite work that way, honestly.” She turned, then pivoted back to face Marla. “I’m sure your qualifications are adequate. But as a new recruit, you must be paired with an experienced agent. That’s how our training is done. And—”

  A loud thump hit the solid door in the office to the right. A man yelled in a Scottish brogue. She couldn’t understand his words from this distance and the closed door. Marla jerked and turned to Marianne for assurance.

  She offered none.

  Marla tilted her head. “Are… they alright?”

  “Oh sure.” Marianne bit her lip, as if she were considering something. “Oh, I’m sorry. Let’s have that tea and sit down.”

  Marianne led Marla to a dining room and slipped through swinging bat-wing door. Left alone with her own thoughts, Marla chewed her bottom lip. Marianne’s words echoes in Marla’s head. We do not have any openings. How could she be so stupid to just assume she could show up on their porch and be given an interview? Now what?

  A baby cried in the kitchen and a woman cooed soothing words. Big Amos said any street urchin could find him, should she find a child? Were there any street urchins clear out here? She had enough money for a train back and a room for the night, but then what? Go back to taking bottom of the barrel assignments?

  That would not do! She had to find a way. She pulled her gloves off as she looked around. The mansion was tastefully decorated yet not personally adorned. There were no portraits, but artful paintings and appropriately themed ceramic statuary. Beyond the dining room, was an inviting library filled with books and sitting areas. It looked like what it was: an office and home combination. She let her eyes move to a large staircase that turned and continued upward. It looked to be three levels. All bedrooms, she assumed.

  A tea tray hit the bat-wing doors. Marla turned. “Oh, thank you.” She hurried to the table and sat down. “This house is amazing.”

  “Yes.” Marianne let her gaze sweep the room. “Archie found it and knew it would be perfect for this western branch of the Pinkerton Agency. He hired me soon afterward.”

  Marla nodded while pouring milk into her tea cup. She offered to pour milk in Marianne’s. Marianne nodded, while she lifted the teapot and poured through a small strainer, filling Marla’s cup, then filed her own. A plate of cookies centered the tray, Marla reached for one and realized they were still warm. “Oh. Just made?”

  “Yes, Pearl seems to know when fresh biscuits are needed.” Marianne chuckled, her eyes darted to the door past the office as another thump echoed from the beveled door. Marianne closed her eyes, as if willing patience.

  “Who is in there?” Marla sipped her tea.

  Marianne jerked her eyes to Marla. “Oh, it’s two of our operatives, Pryce Adams and Bronco Wauneka… and Archie. Bronco is rather expressive… with a knife.”

  “A knife? You mean to say, that noise is him throwing a knife… at the door?”

  Marianne frowned. “Well, yes. But he’s harmless, I assure you. He is also recently married, well, it’s been a little over a year and they have a baby now, too. But he still wields that bloody knife.”

  Marla nodded and bit into her cookie. “Mmm. This is delicious. Lemon… mint?”

  Marianne glanced at the plate, distracted by the sound coming from the door. “Yes, I believe so. Pearl is an artist in the kitchen.” Marianne stood quickly. “Uh, could you excuse me?”

  She rushed away before Marla could answer.

  The west was wilder than Marla expected. If Pinkerton operative’s tossed knives at doors, inside a house, what else could she expect? She sipped her tea and watched for Marianne to return through that door that had become the target for some man named Bronco. Was the man angry or just fooling around? What were the other two men doing while this Bronco tossed his knife? Lying low, she hoped. A smile curled on her mouth. This could be more exciting than she had bargained for.

  The brogue accent bellowed through the closed door and Marianne’s yelled back. Marla smiled bigger. She liked this redheaded vixen. A character sketch began developing in her mind. Mrs. Gordon would be an interesting personality in one of Marla’s future books, that was for sure.

  Marianne slipped out of the door and closed it quickly behind her. She paused with a heavy sigh and walked calmly to the dining room. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “So, you say there are no agents to ‘pair’ me with, yet there are two in the meeting with Mr. Gordon.” Marla gave it her best shot.

  “Oh, but Bronco is already married and Pryce is twenty years your senior.”

  Marla stared at Marianne. “What does that have to do with my being trained?”

  Marianne sat stiff, her eyes unwavering from Marla’s. She just breathed. “I didn’t get a chance to explain everything. You see, in
order for a woman to become an operative, she— in order to preserve her reputation, we— you must marry your partner.”

  Marla’s eyes popped open wide, her jaw dropped. “Wha—”

  “That’s what Archie and I came up with and it has worked for two years. When you complete your training, you are allowed to go to Judge Hotchkiss and get an annulment. That is, if you remain celibate. It’s a marriage of convenience, for your reputation’s sake.”

  “Yes. You mentioned that. This is a non-negotiable condition for employment?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is, but, as I said, we don’t have a suitable agent to pair you with right now. They-they’re all out on assignments.”

  Marla scowled. She lifted a finger to point at the mysterious door. “Two of those gentlemen are married, I understand, but the other?”

  Marianne shook her head. “Pryce? He’s much older than you, Miss Porter. I wouldn’t suggest Archie pair you with him. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “Why not? You said yourself, it’s a marriage of convenience, we get an annulment once I am trained. I really do not see the problem? Is he decrepit or… not a good enough operative to teach me?”

  “Well, no, he’s an excellent operative. He’s athletic too. He once jogged twelve miles to keep from losing sight of a carriage.” Marianne seemed to stop herself.

  “Mrs. Gordon—”

  “Please, call me Marianne.”

  “Sure, and you may call me Marla. I am pretty good at digging for the truth, myself. I—” She couldn’t reveal she had written about Kate Warne, or that she was an author. It would expose her hand and spoil her underlying plan for becoming a Pink. She needed to tread carefully. But she had to convince this woman she was a viable candidate for the job. Marla recognized the strong influence Marianne had over decisions made in this agency. “I have read a lot about Kate Warne. I admire the trailblazing achievement she has made for women in non-traditional jobs. I, too, prefer to take the road less traveled. I’m creative, and tenacious, and, if I do say so myself, I’m smart.”

  Marianne took Marla’s hand. “Oh Marla. I’m sure you are all these things. And, trust me, I will keep your resume at the front of my file. But we just don’t have a place to put you in our ranks at this time.” She let go of Marla’s hand and poured more tea. “I’m so sorry, you’ve come a long way from Topeka. You can stay here for the night, of course. And I truly promise I will notify you the minute we have a case for you.”

  Marla sighed. “There’s nothing I can do to convince you, is there?”

  Marianne lifted sad eyes. “No, dear. I’m afraid there isn’t. As soon as this meeting has ended, I’ll have Bronco bring your trunk upstairs. We have a guest bedroom on the third floor. There is a washroom and a lovely sitting area near the windows. You’ll enjoy the view from up there. Help yourself to anything in the library, and dinner is served at seven.”

  Marla stared at the creamy tan liquid cooling in her cup. She could rent a room and wait for Marianne to send for her. Perhaps Big Amos would know of a reasonable boarding house. Mr. Michaels had allotted her enough money to sustain her expenses until she began receiving a salary from the agency. If she were very careful, she could live on it for several weeks. And she still had a small nest egg from her dime novel sales she had not touched. Maybe now was the time to dip into that reserve. But Mr. Michaels will be expecting drafts of her undercover work. Could she just make something up to fool him into believing she was on an assignment?

  “Marianne!” The man with a brogue accent bellowed from the inner office. “Could you fetch us a tray of tea, me-darlin’?”

  Marianne jerked to her feet. “Could you excuse me?” She made her way to the swinging doors, talking over her shoulder as she went. “We’ll get you settled into the guest bedroom as soon as we can, in the meantime, please make yourself at home. The library is that direction and the garden is through that door.” She slipped through the doors and they creaked as they swung back and forth, finally coming to a stop.

  Marla glared at the bat-wing doors, then she turned her gaze to the mysterious door. She had to prove she was of a strong constitution. Staying here, as a guest and not an employee only made her look weak and vulnerable. She had never let anything stop her from getting a story. Why would she start now? Rising to her feet, she gathered her satchel and carpet bag, and laid down the envelope with Governor Walker’s letter inside. She took out a pencil and scrawled on the envelope, “Thank you for your hospitality. I will be staying in town until you have an opening. Big Amos will know how to reach me.” And signed her name.

  She walked to the front door and pulled it open. Her trunk was heavy, but she could manage… or die trying. Sliding her gloves back onto her hands, she took hold of the truck, and tilted it forward as she descended the steps. It bounced and jerked behind her like a dead body. With any luck at all, she might find a kid to fetch Big Amos, or a kind gentleman with a wagon who could take her into town. She’d walk all the way, if not.

  She turned at the end of the walkway toward the chain bridge and lifted her chin a rung. Humiliation washed over her and she bit her lip to stay unwanted tears. To anyone who would happen to pass by, she might look like a pitiful reject. But she knew better. She was going to get this story. Before long M.P. Porter would be a household name for crime and adventure novels. Especially her series about the women of the Pinkerton's Female Detective Bureau.

  CHAPTER THREE

  

  “Miss Porter!” Marianne hollered as she ran into the street, waving an arm high in the air. “Miss Porter, come back!”

  Marla considered continuing toward the bridge. Her heel slipped on a rock and jarred her step. She staggered to regain her balance. Her trunk fell flat on the ground with a thud. The last thing she wanted was to trip while Mrs. Gordon was watching. She heaved a sigh and turned to Marianne.

  “It’s alright. I’ll be fine, Mrs. Gordon!” She yelled back. Her eyes darted to see if anyone was witnessing this uncivilized exchange in the middle of the road. Bending to lift the trunk by its handle, she pulled hard and took another step away from the mansion.

  “No, Marla! Please come back! Archie has an assignment… for you!” Marianne’s voice lowered from yelling. Marla thought she heard the woman mutter, “Against my better judgement.” Then she spoke in a normal volume. “He wants to pair you with Pryce Adams.”

  Marla gaped at her. “I thought you said—”

  “Yes, I know.” Marianne pulled at her skirt and hurried to Marla. “That stubborn old goat doesn’t always— he’s the one in charge, not me, of course.” She pursed her lips. “But I suppose his pig-headed determination works to your advantage.” She chuckled. “Please come back. At least hear him out. You make your own decision about taking the assignment with Pryce Adams or not. He’s not decrepit, he’s a handsome gentleman.”

  Marianne reached Marla as she puffed her last words. “Alright?” Breathing heavily from her sprint, she put her arm on Marla’s shoulder. “Please come back. Archie’s pretty upset with me for letting you get away.”

  “Is he?” Marla smiled. “Alright. I’ll see what he has to offer.” She struggled to turn her trunk around. Marianne took hold of the side handle and helped pull it back to the yard. “Let’s just get it inside the fence, and I’ll ask Bronco to bring it the rest of the way.”

  “Thank you.” Marla heaved at the cumbersome thing, wishing she’d packed lighter.

  The two women propped the trunk up on its end once they had it inside the little fence, and walked the remainder of the way to the mansion. They were breathing so heavily, neither spoke. Archibald Gordon leaned against the open door, as they crossed the threshold. “Miss Porter. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Marla put out her hand, huffing for breath. “My… pleasure… Mister… Gordon.”

  They shook. “Come into my office. I have a proposition for you.”

  Marianne tsked her tongue. “Archie!”

  M
r. Gordon took a double look over his shoulder toward his wife. “What? It’s a perfectly appropriate proposition, me-love. Don’t tsk that sharp tongue at me.” He led the way to his office muttering as he walked. “I swear, even after marriage, you still forget who is boss of this company…”

  Marla smiled as she followed him into the room. Curiosity overwhelmed her as he closed the door behind her, she had to see this target of Mr. Wauneka’s knife. Sure enough there were many gouges in the wood on the inside of the door. She turned amused eyes to the two other gentlemen. They both stood when she entered the room. One had to be Bronco Wauneka. He looked like a savage in a suit with his long black hair drawn back behind his ears, his jacket looked like something Wild Bill Hickok would wear. He jumped away from his chair and put out his hand with all the civility of a refined eastern-businessman. “Bronson Wauneka, Ma’am.”

  She accepted his proffered hand without hesitation. “Bronson? I thought your name was Bronco, like the horse?”

  He chuckled. “Bronco is what my friends call me. You may call me that.”

  “I’m Marla Porter.” She turned her gaze to the other gentleman. His piercing blue eyes met hers. Her heart leapt to her throat. She had never seen such a distinguished gentleman in her life. His scalloped graying hair exposed a portion of his sun-kissed scalp, but added to his refined sharp features. A close-trimmed beard, whiter than the hair on his head, framed his thin upper lip that formed a straight line over his full lower lip. Not like a pout, but a stern, neutral, but pleasant, expression. His long, obstinate nose flared as he buttoned his jacket and extended his hand toward her. “I’m Pryce Adams.”

  Marla sensed discomfort but it certainly didn’t show in his steely eyes. She could fall into those eyes and contently float for a lifetime. This was the man she would marry in order to be a Pinkerton detective? She could do worse!

  “Marla Porter.” It was all she could say. Her throat was too encumbered with her intrusive heart. She struggled to clear the lump and not sound like she was gagging.