To Know Her by Name (12 page)

“Good. I want to talk things over during dinner.”

“Very well.”

“Am I headed out in the morning?” Pup wanted to know as the curls began to fall again.

“If we can finish your briefing tonight. You can show up any time this week and still have the job.”

“Camille said it was a clerk's job.”

“Yes, but it's special. You'll be in Duncan Phipps' bank.”

Pup smiled. She knew the name well. Nick had wanted to get a handle on this successful but shady bank owner for a long time.

“Am I gathering information or going for broke?”

“I'm not sending you in there to make an arrest if that's what you mean, but if it comes to that I'll welcome it. As you know, the evidence has got to stick.”

Pup didn't do anything more than nod, but her eyes were still on her boss. There was a gleam in Nick's eyes that Pup had seen before. It was as Camille had said; he believed he had a live one.

“You'll be in a boardinghouse this time,” Nick said between bites of food.

An unreadable look came over Pup's face upon this announcement, and Nick, who was drinking water from a crystal goblet, knew from experience that she was thinking. She had seemed herself through the meal, spilling her own water once and dropping her knife a few times, but now the mask had dropped over her face. It was all too easy to imagine this was the only face McKay Harrington had seen. Pup would not have felt free to be herself with McKay. The fact that she'd lit a towel on fire told Nick that she'd been partially herself, but her silence could unnerve a man. Nick knew this firsthand.

“Talk to me, Pup,” he said at last.

“I'm sure you're not asking me to share a room, Nick, but when do I let down? If I can't even eat my meals alone, when do I get to relax?”

Nick knew in that instant that he'd taken her for granted. She was so good at what she did—so good at stepping into a role and never slipping, at looking innocent or even dull-witted when things got hot or she was questioned—that sometimes he forgot that it was all pretense. She did need time on her own. People couldn't pretend forever. If they could, the treasury department would never catch anyone.

“I'm sorry about this, Pup. I had Paine set it up,” Nick said thoughtfully. “I was busy with something else and just told him we needed a place for a new man. It's my fault for not handling it and, again, I'm sorry. However, I don't think it will be too bad. If my memory serves me correctly, you're boarding with a mature woman who rents five rooms; she stays in the sixth. I think you're on your own for breakfast and at noon, but you eat dinner together. It's all men, so you don't need to worry about anyone proposing to you again.”

Pup's shoulders shook with silent laughter. It was funny now that it was two years past, but it had been no laughing matter when a woman who was employed next door to the bank where she was working as a male clerk fell for her and proposed. The woman had been heartbroken, and Pup had been ready to give up spying forever.

“What about the proprietress herself?”

“I think everything is aboveboard, but until I find out, you'll stay put. Are you clear on the job itself ?”

“Yes. Did you say that you'd told Paine it was for a new man?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I don't want to go in as Peter Crandall this time.”

This got Camille's attention. As much as she hated to see Pup's hair cut, she was intrigued by what the younger woman did. She leaned across the table slightly and said, “Whom are you going as?”

Pup thought for a moment. “What do you think of the name Daniels—Bryan Daniels?”

“I like it,” Camille said firmly, looking at her spouse, her eyes almost daring him to disagree.

Nick grinned at her before saying to Pup, “Where did you come up with that one?”

“I don't know, but if I have to share even partial lodgings with someone else, I can't go as Peter Crandall.”

“Why not?” Nick was still not catching on.

“Because Peter's lived in this town before. I need to act differently this time. If I come across someone who recognizes the name Peter Crandall, I'll fall under scrutiny. Bryan Daniels is new in town, he's from the East, and no one's ever heard of him or seen him before.”

“What are you going to do to make yourself look different?” This came from Camille.

“Those thick-rimmed glasses should do it, and I found some flashier vests the last time I was out; Peter always dresses in such dull colors.”

Sitting quietly now, Nick knew this was one of the reasons he took her for granted. It had never been necessary to tell Pup what angle to take. She had been play-acting when he met her, so any advice he might try to give would have been pure foolishness.

“Any problems?” Pup had been watching Nick's face.

“No,” he said honestly, “I'll let you go to it. Plan to visit here at least twice a week, preferably in the evening. You know which door to use.”

Pup nodded and smiled at Miranda, the Wallace's cook and housekeeper, as she set a piece of pie in front of her.

“It's nice to see you again, Mr. Crandall.”

“Thank you, Miranda, it's nice to be here.”

There was no way the loyal Miranda couldn't have known who she was. She'd been cleaning Pup's room upstairs for years, the room that held her regular dresses along with a dozen costumes, some of which included beards and wigs. But she never greeted her as anyone except who she looked like. And since her hair was already cut, Pup had been forced to dress as Peter Crandall before coming downstairs. It wasn't a problem for her really, since mentally she was already starting to fall into the role of Bryan Daniels.

Andrea Hackett, alias Peter Crandall, alias Callie Jennings, alias Bryan Daniels, could have probably enjoyed a successful life on the stage. Instead she was an agent for the treasury department of the United States of America. She could honestly say that there was very little about it that she didn't enjoy. In fact as she was finishing a wonderful meal and contemplating sleeping in a comfortable bed tonight, she couldn't name a thing.

11

You can talk to McKay
had been some of Nick's last words to her that afternoon. She hadn't known exactly what he meant and hadn't taken time to question him, but now it was all too clear. Standing in the foyer area of Mrs. Meyer's Boarding Home for Gentlemen, Pup could see McKay at the dining table. Hoping he wouldn't notice her, she turned slightly away and waited for Mrs. Meyer to return with the key.

“Now then, Mr. Daniels,” she said as she suddenly appeared. “We've just sat down to dinner. Would you care to join us?”

“N-no th-thank you, ma'am,” Pup stuttered. “I'll j-just go to m-my r-room.”

“Of course,” she smiled kindly. “You must be tired after your train trip. You can meet the other gentlemen tomorrow night.”

“Th-thank you,” Pup said with a smile, and followed her a short way down the hall and up the stairs. She was careful to keep her face averted as she passed out of view of the dining room. McKay was going to see her—it was only a matter of time—but she wasn't prepared. There was no way she could hope to go unrecognized—after all, he'd spent three weeks in her home. But this was her first day out as Bryan Daniels, and Pup thought it might be easier for her if it could wait even one day. She started at the bank in the morning; she would be ready by tomorrow night.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Meyer said as they stopped before a door at the far end of the upstairs hall. Pup snapped her mind back to attention as Mrs. Meyer used the key and showed her into a nicely furnished bedroom. Pup took a swift glance back out to the hall and saw a closed door across from hers before turning her attention to her own room. The room had two windows with simple blue curtains, a full bed with a wooden headboard and a thick quilt, a washstand, a tiny stove that vented out the roof, an oak dresser, and a small writing desk and chair. Pup was pleased with the overall effect.

“Now, Mr. Daniels,” Mrs. Meyer was saying, “this room is 25 cents more a week because of the stove. Did you understand that when you read the advertisement?”

Pup nodded.

“I collect the rent every Monday evening. You can leave it on your dresser if you're out. I clean this room on Wednesdays. I
never
go through my boarders' possessions. Your things are always safe here. Does that meet with your approval, Mr. Daniels?”

“Yes, m-ma'am. Th-thank you.”

“Very well,” she beamed at him. She wasn't a large woman—on the round side, but not what anyone would call heavy. Her face was unlined and there wasn't so much as a strand of gray in her hair. Her smile encompassed her whole face, and she seemed genuinely pleased that Bryan Daniels was moving in. “I'll leave you to settle,” she turned toward the door, “and expect you tomorrow night for dinner.”

“Yes, m-ma'am. Th-thank you, m-ma'am.”

“Good night,” she said cheerfully, going out the door and closing it behind her.

Pup turned in a full circle to see if she'd missed anything on the first look. It was a temptation to remove the glasses and
really
look around, but she had to get used to seeing through the clear glass in the frames.

The rug she was standing on was an even weave of blues, rust, and gold. It was clean and covered most of the floor. Pup walked toward one of the windows, her footsteps nicely muffled, and was relieved to see shades that could be pulled down on both windows. The windows looked out at another home much like Mrs. Meyer's. Pup opened the closet door and found it clean and empty, save for a dozen or so hangers. Her chest rose and fell with a satisfied sigh. The room was very nice, and so was Mrs. Meyer. The close proximity of the other rooms in the hall and the community dining table in the evening, however, were going to make for some adjustments. Ah, well—her heart was pragmatic as she began to unpack her bag. Another job had begun.

Mr. David Carrie jumped up the moment Mrs. Meyer came back into the room. The other four men watched as he helped her into her chair at the head of the table. It was plain to see that he was sweet on her, and that Mrs. Meyer enjoyed the attention in return.

“The new boarder's not joining us?” Mr. Ramsey, who also had a room upstairs, asked.

“Not tonight,” Mrs. Meyer explained. “He wants to get settled in. I'm sure the train ride was tiring.” She paused to take a sip of coffee. “He has the most dreadful stutter, poor dear. And not very old,” she added as if this should make a difference.

Mrs. Meyer did not allow smoking or gossip in her dining room or parlor, but she felt so badly for the poor man upstairs that she had to mention his stutter. The men did not comment on this but continued with their meal. Not all of Mrs. Meyer's rules were easy to live by, such as no noise after 9
P.M.
and no kitchen rights, but the cleanliness and the meal each evening were worth the rent and inconvenience.