“Quite a performance there, Miss Belle.”
Maria blinked slowly; and through a rounded window to her right, she could see the tips of roofs falling away beneath the craft-and the dark, scattering flutter of birds disturbed from their flights.
To her left, the empty seat beside her was no longer empty. It was now occupied by an average-looking man in an average-looking suit. Indeed, everything about him seemed utterly calculated to achieve the very utmost median of averageness. His hair was a moderate shade of brown and his mustache was of a reasonable length and set; the shape of his body beneath the tailored gray clothes was neither bulky nor slender, but an ordinary shape somewhere in between. Only his shrewd green eyes implied that there might be more to him than blandness, and even these he hid behind a pair of delicate spectacles as if he were aware of the threat they posed.
Maria replied, “I’m afraid you must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Not at all!” he argued, settling in the seat without her welcome to do so. He shifted his hips so that he could almost face her, and he said, “I’d know you anywhere, even without that outstanding display.”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea-”
“-What I’m talking about, yes. Here, let me begin another way instead. Let’s pretend that these are the first words I’ve said to you, and that my introduction is as follows-my name is Phinton Kulp, and two…perhaps three years ago…I saw you perform in a very fine presentation of Macbeth in Richmond. Your interpretation of the wicked Lady was not to be undervalued; I’ve seen far worse from far more expensive productions.”
For a few seconds she merely stared at him. Then she retreated, shifting so that she nearly leaned against the window in order to face him, in return. She said, “Phinton. That can’t possibly be your real name. I don’t think it’s anyone’s real name. Did you make it up on the spot?”
“You were wearing the most lovely blue gown, as I recall, and the pig’s blood on your hands was as convincing as if it’d gushed freshly from the torso of an inconvenient Lord.”
“I’m not entirely sure what you’re doing here, Mr. Kulp, but I’m fairly certain that you’re a liar, an unrepentant flatterer, and someone who has his own seat several rows away-to which he probably should return. The flight ahead is a long one, and I’d prefer to be left alone to rest.” She folded her arms across her chest, crossed her legs at the ankles, and reclined more fully against the window. The metal and fabric siding was fiercely cold when pressed against her back, but she made no sign that it bothered her.
Phinton Kulp feigned affront. He leaned forward and put his hands on the armrest between them and said, “Are you trying to insist that you’re not, in fact, the renowned actress and former, shall we say, ‘Confederate enthusiast’ Belle Boyd?”
“You’re not very good at this,” she said dryly. “I was a spy, you silly man-and a far better spy than I was ever an actress, but a lady has to eat and the stage kept me in meals between the lean times. Now. I want you to settle some things for me, in quick succession-or else I’ll summon the captain and have you forcibly returned to your appropriate seat.”
“Anything to satisfy your curiosity, ma’am.”
“Excellent. Tell me your real name, what you’re doing aboard this ship, and what you really want from me, and tell me quickly. Though it’s not yet noon, I’ve had a full and tiring day already and I do not speak in jest of my desire for solitude.”
Behind his spectacles the jade-colored eyes narrowed in a way that didn’t quite match the catlike grin he fashioned. “Very well, and very reasonably proposed. My real name is Mortimer, so you must pardon me if I selected something else. Phinton was the name of my sister’s first horse, and he was a good horse, thank you very much, so I’ve appropriated it and I will insist upon it. I am on board this ship with the express intent of reaching Jefferson City-”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” she interrupted.
“And so I shall. In that grand city I have business which must be attended to, and attended to without delay. Following the death of an uncle I scarcely knew, I seem to have inherited a dance hall. On the off chance that this satisfies the demands of your question, I’ll now move on to your final query before you have a chance to scowl at me any further-I wanted only to speak with you, and to express my most heartfelt admiration.”
“For my acting skills?”
“That and more,” he hid a smirk behind a delicate clearing of his throat.
Against her better judgment, Maria asked, “To what do you refer?”
“Only that I’ve long heard tales of the Southern girl with a tongue like a razor and a smile that moves mountains…or dirigibles, as the case may be. That was quite a lashing you gave the poor gent at the ticket counter.”
“I’m well past girlhood, Mr. Kulp; and as for the ticket agent, I did him no harm whatsoever.”
“Yet the threat was rather present, I think you must admit-to yourself, if not to me.”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” she lied, but it was a worthwhile lie because she’d decided to keep him talking, if only to lead him into saying something useful. His true intent still eluded her by design, and she didn’t care for it.
He cleared his throat again, using the expectoration as an excuse to cover his mouth with his fist. “Since you’ve not denied being the actress Belle Boyd-which is just as well, since we both know precisely who you are-and since you’ve already so eloquently confessed to your wartime activities, I might assume that once or twice, you’ve been known to hurt a man or two.”
“Once or twice, plus half a dozen or more. And if you don’t vacate these premises, perhaps that tally will rise.”
He pouted. “Come now, Belle. There’s no need for threats. Why can’t you give me the same sort of smile you’ve given our illustrious captain?”
“Because Captain Oliver was a gentleman.”
“And I’ve shown you something other than the utmost chivalry?”
She shook her head. “The circular talk will get you nowhere.”
“Except back to the beginning. Shall I try again?”
“You shall not, Mr. Kulp. You shall return to your seat with all haste if you have nothing of substance to tell me, and if you are likewise incapable of leaving me in peace.”
He shrugged merrily and said, “How on earth am I supposed to comply with such contradictory instructions? You’ve now ordered me to say something pertinent, and yet to keep quiet.”
“No, I suggested either one or the other. Meet one of these goals or be on your way.”
Finally, for a moment, he was silent. He stared pointedly at the folder in her lap, and something in his voice changed when he said more quietly, “So it’s true. The Pinks have snatched you up and put you to work.”
She hesitated in her response. “It’s not a secret,” she said, which was true.
“It’s not a widely known fact,” Phinton Kulp replied, and this was also true.
“Then what’s it to you?” she asked him flatly.
“Nothing at all. It’s as you said before, ‘A lady has to eat.’ But there must be a less dangerous way for a woman of your notoriety to keep herself in skirts and furs.” He retreated several inches, giving her both more breathing room and yet, cause for a little more worry.
“My state of employment is no concern of yours,” she told him.
And he said, “You’re right. But you can’t blame me for being curious, and you might want to treat interested strangers with less defensiveness. Pinkerton has operatives and informants from coast to coast, you know; and it won’t serve your purposes very well to send them trundling off to their seats, as if they’re naughty children caught under the tree before Christmastime. There are networks in place, alliances and allegiances to be balanced. Not everyone loves the Pinkerton name-even among those who sometimes serve it.”