In a Gilded Cage - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,35

into the building and up the stairs to Farnsworth and Poindexter, Attorneys at Law. As I had hoped, a young male clerk was still hard at work. He looked up in surprise as I entered.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re actually closed for the day. I’m just doing some filing.”

“Oh, dear me, how vexing. So Mr. Poindexter has gone then, has he?” I tried to play the spoiled upper-class miss.

“Yes, ma’am. Left just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, what a pity. I took tea with his wife this afternoon and I promised her I’d pass him a message, as I was going to be visiting my accountant in this area. And now I’m too late and I’ve let Fanny down. You don’t happen to know where Mr. Poindexter went, do you?”

“I believe he said he was going straight home, ma’am.” The clerk was looking at me strangely.

“Really? Because Mrs. Poindexter was under the impression he was going to the theater.”

Did I notice the hint of a reaction to this last word?

“No, I’m pretty sure he said something to Mr. Farnsworth about ‘heading home.’”

“In that case my services weren’t needed and I can go about my business with a clear conscience, can’t I?” I gave him my most charming smile.

I suspected that Anson Poindexter would have said he was heading home even if his intentions were quite different. I had no choice but to go home myself. Not for the first time, I lamented the fact that I was a woman. A male detective could follow a man to his club, could chat with a cabby more easily and blend among men without arousing suspicion. I had taken this assignment blithely confident that I could carry it out. Now I started to wonder exactly how I was going to keep tabs on the wandering Mr. Poindexter.

Twelve

The next day I decided I would have to resort to subterfuge. My former employer, Paddy Riley, had been a master of disguise. It was something I seldom used but this might be a good moment. Accordingly, I found my oldest clothes and topped them with a truly awful hat from the used clothing store on Greenwich Avenue. Then I made sure my face was good and dirty with the help of some earth from my back yard. I stopped in at the Jefferson Street market and bought enough flowers to fill a basket, then made my way back to Pearl Street, this time as a flower seller.

I had actually made four sales—three buttonholes and a posy—by the time Mr. Poindexter emerged. I studied him as he came toward me. A dashing fellow indeed—the classic tall, dark, and handsome, with a strong jaw unadorned by side-whiskers. He carried himself with an air of authority, almost a swagger. I could well see how sixteen-year-old Fanny had fallen for him. He hailed a cab and was about to climb in when I approached him.

“Buy some flowers for the special lady in your life, sir?” I pleaded with the right amount of humility and desperation in my voice.

He glanced at my hand, which now held out a posy of primroses and jonquils. His face broke into a charming smile.

“Good idea. Why not?” he said, fished in his pocket, and dropped a silver dollar into my hand. Then he leaped into the cab.

Unfortunately, at the very moment he was giving his instructions to the cabby, a large dray passed with a loud rumble and the clatter of horses’ hooves. I thought I heard the word Broadway, but I might have been mistaken. I hesitated a second, then decided to act. I rushed to the nearest cab waiting in the rank opposite. “Follow that cab,” I said.

The cabby gave me a queer look. “Here, what’s your game, girlie?”

“I’ll make it worth your while not to lose him,” I said, in the process of hauling myself and the flowers on board.

“You better have the money to pay for this,” he said.

“Do you want the job or not?” I demanded, angry now as Poindexter’s cab was fast disappearing up Pearl Street. “Should I take another cab?”

“Okay, I guess. Climb in,” he said.

I did and we set off. I have to confess it was rather exciting. The horse even broke into a canter at times and we rocked around a bit. But as we headed uptown and reached Broadway the traffic increased. Several times I thought we’d lost him. The ride took forever and I began to wonder whether Mr. Poindexter was extravagant enough to hire a