A Talent for Trouble (15 page)

“Felicia.”

Felicia turned her attention to the stairs and found Ruth at the top of them, glaring down at her.

“Why are you dawdling down there with Agatha while I've been forced to wait forever to speak with you? You must realize I still have numerous things I long to say and numerous questions that have yet to be answered.”

“I thought Jeffrey was going to start explaining.”

“He knows just about as much as I do—which isn't much.”

Felicia refused to sigh. “I'll be right up. Although I must warn you, Jeffrey's made numerous comments regarding my smell. I'm afraid my less than pleasant odor might linger awhile in the ballroom. I wouldn't be surprised if it lingered all the way to the next ball you host.”

“Perhaps it would be for the best if you were to bathe first. Take Agatha with you.”

“I don't believe Agatha needs to take a bath. She looks remarkably well groomed and smells pleasantly of lemons.”

“Do not try to humor me, my dear. You're in enough trouble as it is.” Ruth directed her attention to Agatha. “Remember
what I asked of you, and don't—I repeat, don't—disappoint me.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared.

“And I thought
my
mother was scary,” Agatha mumbled as she followed Felicia through the hallway, up one set of stairs and then another, until they finally reached Felicia's room. Agatha strode through the door, plopped down on a settee upholstered in deep blue, and smiled. “This is not what I imagined I'd find.”

“Were you expecting something more dramatic?”

“I must admit I was.”

Felicia smiled and moved toward her bathroom, turning around when she reached the door. “I won't be long.”

“Don't hurry on my account,” Agatha said as she lifted up her skirt, yanked a notebook from what appeared to be a string tied around her leg, dropped her skirt back into place, and leaned back against the settee. “I need to come up with some new story ideas, so I'll use the time it takes you to make yourself presentable to see if anything comes to me. I've been considering doing a feature on the less than effective sewage disposal systems in the tenement slums, but I'm not certain how much interest that story will garner from my editor, or my readers, for that matter.”

An intriguing thought immediately sprang to mind. Felicia took a few steps toward Agatha and stopped. “Perhaps you could do a feature on the Chinese immigrants who've settled in the city, or the ones who've settled down to do business on Mott Street.”

Agatha's eyes began to gleam. “Ah, the opium dens. Now, that might make a compelling story, but . . .” Her eyes lost their gleam as they narrowed on Felicia. “Why would you think to bring up opium dens?”

“I didn't bring up opium dens. I brought up the Chinese who live or work on Mott Street.”

Agatha waved a hand in the air. “They're one and the same, Felicia. Everyone knows that.”

Of course they were. How could she have neglected to consider that? Here she'd been confused about Grayson being somewhat evasive concerning the business he'd done for the Wu family, but it had been in front of her face the entire time—starting with Grayson's warning her about Posey's. He'd been, in some capacity, involved with the opium trade.

She bit her lip. “What do you know of Grayson's past?”

“Truthfully, not much, except for the fact that he lived in China and evidently was able to make a rather large fortune there.”

“And how do you think he made that fortune?”

Agatha's eyes widened. “Good heavens, I never really considered it before, but surely you're not suggesting he was involved in the opium trade, are you?”

“I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm suggesting it, but it is possible . . . isn't it?” She walked over to a chair and sat down. “What do you know about those opium dens on Mott Street?”

“Well, they're opium dens and . . . a lot of people seem to like to visit them—even society people.”

“Aren't they illegal?”

“I'm hardly an expert on the subject of opium, Felicia, but from what I understand . . . Hmm, no, I don't actually know the answer to that. I do know that the police occasionally make raids on them, probably when funds are running low, but for the most part, those dens are left undisturbed.”

“So . . . chances would be slim, if you
were
to ever investigate one, that it would be raided. Right?”

“That's not just a rhetorical question, is it.”

“Not really.”

Agatha got up from the settee. “And if I were to investigate an opium den, could I expect you'd want to go with me?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Not in the least.”

Felicia smiled. “Then yes, I would want to go with you. I have this peculiar feeling that answers to Grayson's past just might lie in the midst of those dens, or at least the den that's close to the Wild Rose.”

“Visiting an opium den won't be pleasant—what with all the smoke I'm certain will be hanging in the air. Nor will it be pleasant if Grayson finds out. He won't thank either one of us for meddling.”

“I'm willing to take my chances.”

Agatha looked at her for a long moment. “All right, I'll look into it, but I'm warning you now, I have to get approval from my editor, and I'll need time to come up with a viable plan. We can't simply go wandering into an opium den without giving it some thought.”

Excitement, mixed with trepidation, surged through Felicia's veins as she sent Agatha a grin. “I bet we're going to uncover a wonderful story for you.”

Agatha sighed. “While that's normally my intent when searching out a story, this time I'm almost hoping I don't discover anything of interest.”

As Felicia turned to finally retreat to her bathroom, she found there was a small part of her, the part slightly intrigued with Grayson, that was hoping exactly the same thing.

C
ontrary to what Agatha had said the day before, it hadn't taken her long to come up with a plan—especially after she'd traveled to the
New-York Tribune
and gotten an enthusiastic go-ahead from her editor. That enthusiasm was the reason Felicia was currently standing behind a privacy screen as the afternoon sun flooded Agatha's room, trying to squeeze into a pair of trousers that didn't seem to want to go over her curves. She gave them a sharp tug, got them over her hips, and was contemplating how she was going to get them to fasten when Mrs. Watson's voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the screen.

“Agatha, I picked up the most adorable . . . Good heavens, you're dressed like a man . . . again. I suppose the question I must ask now, considering I am your mother, is why are you dressed like a man?”

Felicia sucked in her stomach and managed to fasten the trousers before she stepped out from behind the screen. Cora Watson stood in the middle of the room, holding some type of
garment in her hand as she stared at her daughter with what seemed like resignation in her eyes.

“No need to fret,” Agatha said as she shrugged into a jacket and took a moment to button it up. “We're working on a story my editor has asked me to submit to him in the next few days, and that story requires a little snooping and disguises.”

“We?” Cora pressed.

Felicia cleared her throat and stepped away from the privacy screen.

Cora swung around. “I do beg your pardon. I thought Agatha was alone. I'm Cora Watson, Agatha's mother.”

Felicia flicked the spectacles she was wearing down her nose, wincing when the hair from the long mustache she'd attached to her lip got tangled in the wire, causing the tender skin of her upper lip to feel as if it were in danger of pulling off. She gingerly picked the hair out of the wire and felt the mustache droop over her lip. Evidently, she wasn't proficient with the special glue Agatha had given her. She looked up, realized Mrs. Watson was regarding her somewhat oddly, and summoned a smile. “Mrs. Watson, it's me—Felicia Murdock.”

Cora's face paled. “Good gracious, child, what are
you
doing involved in one of my daughter's schemes?”

It was becoming only too clear that over the last four years she'd done a rather good job of convincing
everyone
she lacked an adventurous spirit.

“Felicia's agreed to be my assistant today,” Agatha said, sparing Felicia a response. “I've given her the task of recording details in my notebook because I discovered she has lovely penmanship.”

Cora crossed her arms over her chest. “An unlikely story if I've ever heard one, but—heed me well, Agatha—do not, under any circumstances, allow anything to happen which will result in the two of you being carted off to jail. I highly doubt
Ruth Murdock would appreciate being summoned to post bail for Felicia. She's always been rather proud of the fact that her daughter is a stickler for the proprieties.”

An unusual desire to be taken away in shackles and thrown into a dingy cell was immediate. Perhaps if she was carted off to jail, everyone would discontinue the absurd notion that she was so perfect.

It wasn't as if she wanted to be thought of as scandalous, but she was tired of being perfect, or at least pretending to be. The assumptions everyone had about her were getting rather bothersome.

“Mother, as I said before, there's absolutely no reason for you to fret. We're only going out to gather information for a story. It's not as if we're going to be dabbling in anything illegal. Besides, it's the middle of the day. How much trouble could we possibly find?”

Cora rolled her eyes. “I do believe I've heard all this before, young lady. You're the only person I know who has the propensity for getting arrested even when you're
not
breaking the law. The fact that it's the middle of the afternoon certainly won't ensure that the two of you won't end up in trouble.”

“Hmm, interesting point, but to relieve your anxiety,” Agatha continued rather loudly when Cora began to sputter, “Zayne's agreed to go with us.”

Cora's sputters ceased immediately as she brightened, all signs of anxiety disappearing from her face. “Ah, well, that's lovely. I suppose I have no need to continue protesting so vehemently then. Zayne will keep the two of you in line.”

“That might be giving the gentleman too much credit,” Agatha muttered before she lifted her chin. “Tell me, are my whiskers on straight?”

“I truly never thought I'd be having that question asked by my daughter, but yes, they're straight.” Cora smiled. “Now,
tell me, dear, where are you, Felicia, and Zayne heading off to this afternoon?”

Felicia blinked. She'd come to the conclusion that Cora was a remarkably progressive mother, seemingly willing to allow her daughter to waltz off dressed like a man, but the tone of her voice, even though she was smiling, indicated she wasn't blasé about the matter at all. It seemed Cora had sprung the question out of the blue, most likely in an attempt to catch her daughter off guard.

It was rapidly apparent Agatha was quite used to her mother springing questions in just such a way, because she barely batted an eye as she dismissed the question with a breezy wave of her hand. “It would probably be for the best if I didn't allow you too many details, Mother. That way, if Mrs. Murdock just happens to show up on your doorstep, searching for Felicia, you truthfully won't be able to tell her our whereabouts. It certainly wouldn't help me ferret out all the facts I need for my story if Felicia's mother showed up on the scene.”

Cora closed her eyes for a brief moment before opening them and settling her attention on Felicia. “Your mother isn't aware of what you intend to do?”

“My mother isn't actually speaking to me right now, so I didn't have an opportunity to explain to her my plans.”

“I've never known your mother not to speak to someone. She's constantly speaking.”

“I think she believes, if she gives me the cold shoulder, I'll reform my recent trying ways.”

Agatha moved over to her side and patted her arm. “Speaking of your trying ways, Zayne believes his purpose in accompanying us today is to cheer you up. I told him you were somewhat distraught.”

“Why would you tell him that?”

“I couldn't very well tell him exactly what we planned to do. He'd never have agreed to come along.” She shot an innocent look to her mother. “Not that we're going to be in danger or anything.”

“But I'm not distraught in the least,” Felicia pointed out, even as Cora began sputtering once again.

“You're going to have to pretend you are, because I told Zayne you're a touch dismayed that Grayson isn't escorting you to the ball.”

Felicia's mouth dropped open for a brief moment. “If you'll recall, Grayson and I never had set plans for him to escort me. You're the one who brought it up, and then he balked, only agreeing after you badgered him about it, but I never consented to go with him. I'm hardly dismayed about it. Besides, I have three brothers, all of whom are perfectly capable of escorting me to the ball.”

“Yes, but they're your
brothers
.”

Cora cleared her throat, quite loudly, and walked over to stand directly in front of Felicia, edging Agatha out of the way. “Am I to understand you and Grayson Sumner have formed an attachment?”

“Not at all.”

“But he wanted to escort you to the ball?”

“No, your daughter tried to meddle and told him to escort me, but I refused.” Felicia smiled. “Even if we'd planned on going together, I'm afraid that would no longer be possible since my mother is decidedly put out with the gentleman at the moment.”

Cora frowned. “I thought she was put out with you.”

“Oh, she is, but I do think she might be just a tad more annoyed with Grayson. He is the reason my life could be in danger, and he is the reason there's a very disturbing guard by the name of Mr. Blackheart dogging my every step.”

Agatha took that moment to smack herself in the head, the action causing the wig she'd put over her hair to wobble. “I forgot all about Mr. Blackheart. He's certain to complicate matters.”

Felicia shook her head. “No, he won't, because he didn't see me leave home. I climbed out a back window and snuck off down a side street.”

“Why didn't you just walk out a back door?”

“I thought it was entirely more cloak-and-dagger to use the window. It helped me get into the right frame of mind for what we're about to do.”

Agatha wrinkled her nose. “You're somewhat odd. You know that, don't you?”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn't meant as such, but I have to tell you, Mr. Blackheart is not going to be happy in the least when he discovers you've given him the slip.”

“I don't think Mr. Blackheart is ever happy.”

Agatha grinned. “True, but he's incredibly loyal to Theodore and takes his job seriously. I've had him escort me to the tenement slums on numerous occasions, and while he is a dreary sort, he's very capable.”

Cora began to tap her toe against the floor. “If he's so capable, I must ask why neither of you seemed to consider asking him to go with you today?”

“Oh, I don't think that would have been wise, Mrs. Watson,” Felicia began when she realized Agatha didn't seem to have an answer available to her and had taken to staring at her reflection in the mirror, incredibly focused on making certain her whiskers were securely patted into place. “Mr. Blackheart seems to be the sort who believes in following a strict rulebook, and . . .” Felicia stuttered to a stop when Cora seemed to swell on the spot.

“Do not even tell me the two of you are going to be investigating brothels today.” Cora rounded on Agatha. “Is that why you mentioned you didn't tell Zayne where you're going, knowing full well he'd balk?”

“We're not investigating brothels, Mother. I do plan on traveling back to some of those in the future, but not today.”

“Where are you going, then?” Cora pressed.

“Mother, we've been over this, numerous times in fact. My position as a journalist for the
New-York Tribune
requires me to travel to all parts of the city, and some of those parts, if you knew exactly where I was going, are bound to distress you. Since I'm not willing to give up my position with the paper, and you and Father did finally agree that I should be allowed to pursue my dream, you're simply going to have to trust me and accept that I'm a responsible lady.”

Cora narrowed her eyes. “Felicia's mother has not been given the courtesy of knowing what her daughter is getting into today.”

Felicia stepped closer to Cora and laid a hand on her arm. “Mrs. Watson, forgive me, but I'm twenty-four years old. I'm quite old enough to make my own decisions without seeking out my mother's permission.”

“You're twenty-four?”

“I reluctantly must admit to it.”

“Then I suppose I really am going to have to hold my tongue and allow the two of you to get on with things. But I do expect both of you to promise me to be careful and to try your hardest to avoid arrest.”

Felicia smiled. “We'll do our best.”

Cora opened her mouth, but before she could give what was certain to be another piece of motherly advice, Agatha suddenly grinned and waved toward the door.

“Ah, Grace, I was wondering when you were going to stop lurking outside the door and join us.”

Felicia watched as Agatha's younger sister sidled into the room, her appearance so similar to Agatha's that Felicia couldn't help but grin. By her shifty expression, much like the one Agatha frequently wore, it was clear that Grace had been lurking for quite some time.

Grace came to stop in front of Agatha and gave Agatha's beard a tug. “That's an interesting disguise. You do realize that your wig doesn't match your beard though, don't you?”

“I had to work with what was available, and no one will actually see much of my wig once I get my hat into place.” Agatha gestured to Felicia. “What do you think of Felicia's costume?”

“Very nice, except those trousers are a bit tight.” She smiled. “I'm Grace by the way, Grace Watson. I've seen you before, Miss Murdock, but I don't think we've ever been formally introduced.” She lifted her chin. “I'm not old enough to come out into society quite yet.”

Felicia smiled, unable to help herself from immediately adoring the young girl. She was completely charming, and Felicia knew that when she did reach the age where she could come out, New York would never be the same.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Grace. Please, call me Felicia, and tell me, are my trousers really too tight?”

Agatha strode across the room and picked up what looked to be a gentleman's jacket, in a rather unusual shade of lime green. She tossed it to Felicia. “That should take care of the problem, but Grace is right, they are a touch snug. I hope they don't burst a seam.”