My lord, now I have done everything. I went to a ball, like a fool in a fairytale. Dutch got us invited and off we trooped, trussed up like turkeys for Thanksgiving and waxed and polished and primped to within an inch of our lives. Bronte did not mingle with the other guests but lorded over the place like a Roman Emperor deciding who to have killed for his fun. Please was full of drunks, lunatics, liars & clowns. But the thing was kind of fun.
Arthur headed down the stairs, after being told to find and speak to the mayor, and to also mingle with the other guests. He had never felt so out of place in his life.
"You clean up pretty well, Mr. Morgan."
Arthur turned and saw Grace, back to full health, wearing an elegant silver-grey ball gown and matching opera gloves. Her hair was pinned up with flowers on her head with some curls draped over her shoulder.
"Heh, so do you," he said, "What are you doing here?"
"Decided to hobnob with the rich folks, especially after you said you would be here too," she grinned.
"How did you get an invite?"
"I didn't. But I find you can get in most places if you dress and act like you belong," she said, looking him up and down, "And you would've failed miserably."
"Why, what's wrong with this suit?"
"Nothing's wrong with the outfit, it's you. You look like you've worked every single day of your miserable life."
"Which I have."
"Exactly. You have to act like you've worked and toiled every single day of your life, while also looking like you haven't done any actual labour."
"You seem to know a lot about this."
"I've been to more than a few fancy balls in my time, so dull. The men talk business and politics, the women gossip and brag about how successful their husbands are and who their children are marrying, and ugh," she wrinkled her nose.
"And here you are," he gestured around them.
"Yeah, well, I have no obligation to talk with anyone. Besides, I just wanted to see if you'd actually dress up."
"What, you thought I was going to come in wearing blood- and mud-soaked rags?"
"Honestly? I was kind of hoping you would," she laughed, "But you look very handsome. Just..." she moved forward to adjust his bowtie, then removed one of the carnations from her hair and stuck it to his lapel with one of her smaller hair pins. "There. Almost perfect."
"Almost?"
"Could've worn a hat or used some pomade, but I seem to be just out right now," she grinned.
"Ha, well, thank you," he smiled back at her.
"So what have you got going on with Mr. Bronte? I saw you talking with him a few moments ago."
"I don't know yet. He mentioned something about money at the trolley station."
"The trolley station?" Grace frowned. "Doesn't seem like the kind of place to have much money."
"Bronte says it does."
"Hmm, I'd be careful if I were you," she then lowered her voice, "He's not exactly trustworthy, even if he did give Jack back without much fuss."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Arthur said, "I'll look into it more."
"Aren't you supposed to be mingling more, Arthur?" Hosea joined them. "Ah! The lovely lady who saved my behind back in Rhodes. Nice to see you again and under better circumstances."
"Likewise, how are you this evening?" she greeted him with a smile.
"Miserable, but keeping on," he replied, "Anyway, Arthur, don't forget what we're here for. Have a good evening."
"So you're going around looking for robbery tips, huh?" she asked Arthur quietly after Hosea left.
"Yeah, something like that," he replied.
"Careful who you choose," she said, "I mean, some of these people are snobs who have their noses so far up in the air they're up their own backside, but others are okay. Like her, Mrs. Dumont." She pointed to a large woman laughing loudly among a group of people. "Extremely wealthy and a bit flakey, but she donates a lot of money to charity. And that fella over there," she pointed to a skinny, nervous-looking man, "Mr. Dundas, probably richer than most people here put together, but he has his own retirement farm for horses. Once a horse gets too old or too broken down for work, he'll buy them before they're sent to slaughterhouses and they can live the rest of their lives on a big farm with lots of fields. Most people think he's crazy, but I think it's nice."
"A retirement farm for horses?" laughed Arthur. "Y'know, that ain't such a bad idea. Can we send him Hosea?"
"Heh, how does he like his oats?" she smiled. "But my point is, just because some of these people have enough wealth to share doesn't necessarily mean they aren't doing good with it."
"I'll make sure we don't rob the good ones then," he said. "Want something to drink?" Grace nodded and he picked up a couple of glasses off a passing champagne tray.
"Thank you," she said, taking the glass from Arthur, "Now, you're supposed to be mingling with these people."
"Yeah," he downed his champagne then looked around.
"Anyone in particular you're looking for?" she asked, taking a sip.
"The mayor."
"Ah, over there," she pointed to a group of men near the fountain.
"Thanks," he said, but didn't move.
"Not going to introduce yourself?" she asked with a smile.
"Yeah," he sighed.
"I'll see you around, Mr. Morgan," she smiled then walked away. He watched until she disappeared into the crowd.
He was about to head over to the mayor when he heard someone hacking near the nearby table overladen with food. A man in a ridiculous top hat was doubled over and choking. Arthur slapped him hard on the back, dislodging the food he was choking on. The man gasped for breath.
"You okay?" Arthur asked.
"Oh, my Lord, the pesky nut, what a way to go, eh?" the man said, taking some deep breaths. "Thank you, sir, oh, thank you!" He stood straighter after a moment. "Algernon Wasp," he introduced himself.
"Uh, Tacitus Kilgore," Arthur said.
"Hello, Tacitus Kilgore," said Algernon, "And what is it that you do?"
"I'm, uh, I'm an adventurer."
"Oh! Me too! Pursuer of the exotic and the remarkable!" He handed Arthur a business card, "My card, sir. Come and visit me in my atelier. Good evening."
Arthur pocketed the business card and then made his way over to the mayor by the large fountain where he was holding audience with a few other well-dressed men.
"It ain't complex, Lemieux," one of the men, clearly drunk, was saying, "and only an idiot like you, buddy, would try to make it so."
"I will not deny idiocy, sir, but perhaps now is not the time," the mayor replied.
"Hahaha, typical pansy!" the drunk man laughed.
"You are drunk, Ferdinand."
"I am not drunk, you fool, but this man," he patted the shoulder of the nervous-looking man next to him, "this man loves darkies."
Arthur stepped in, twisted Ferdinand's arm behind his back, and escorted him away. "You are pretty drunk. Why don't you go sleep it off." He brought him to the edge of the property and told him to go sit down for a while. Ferdinand grumbled as Arthur returned to the mayor.
"Thank you, sir," the mayor shook his hand, "Henri Lemieux. I hope you're enjoying my party."
"That's quite a place you got here," Arthur said.
"It's not mine and the city is horribly in debt but we can still put on a good show," mayor Lemieux chuckled. "Do you know Evelyn Miller?" He introduced the man Ferdinand had chastised earlier.
"My Lord, the writer?" Arthur said, as they were interrupted by fireworks going off.
"Shall we?" the mayor said before Evelyn Miller could speak, motioning towards the fireworks.
Arthur watched them light up the sky. He'd never seen anything like it before.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Grace said, joining him.
"Yeah," he looked over at her, watching as the fireworks lit up in her blue eyes. He moved closer until his hand was just touching hers and was just thinking about taking it when he was distracted by a servant nudging past him and mentioning 'Mr. Cornwall' to the mayor. He listened closer and overheard something about a paper needing to be signed. Dutch came up on Arthur's other side, having heard part of the conversation, and told him to follow and see what it's all about. Arthur nodded then turned to Grace. "I'll see you later," he whispered before following the servant.
Arthur kept his distance, pretending to be looking for someone in the crowd. He overheard the servant talking to a policeman, who was saying they were keeping a close eye on Bronte's men. When the policeman left, Arthur continued following the servant into the house. But once inside, he lost sight of him. He was just heading up the stairs when the servant found him.
"Excuse me, sir, but this part of the house is off limits to guests," the servant said from the bottom of the stairs, "The party is out this way."
"Oh, my apologies," said Arthur. The servant led him back outside. "Thank you, sir." Arthur then cursed under his breath. The servant went back into the house, looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed.
"Did you find anything interesting?" Dutch asked as he, Hosea, and Bill approached.
"No, I was spotted," said Arthur, disappointed. He should've been more careful.
"Dammit, Arthur," Bill grumbled.
"I could try," Hosea said slowly, deep in thought. "Where do you think it might be?"
"Probably that room we saw them lock up when we was leaving Bronte," said Arthur to Dutch.
Before anyone else could speak, the servant then reappeared looking quite exasperated with Grace following. "Sir, I believe this lady was looking for you," he said to Arthur.
"Thank you, sir, gosh, I get so lost sometimes! Such a scatterbrain," Grace said, pointing to her head with a laugh to the servant, who rolled his eyes and returned to the house.
"Well no wonder you was spotted," Bill hissed at Arthur.
"Yes, well, you dropped something back there," she handed Arthur a small folded piece of paper with a wink. "Thought you would like it. Good evening, gentlemen." She nodded at the group and hurried away, disappearing into the crowd.
"What the hell was that about?" asked Bill.
Arthur unfolded the paper and smiled when he read it. "Where I failed, she succeeded." He folded it back up and placed it in his pocket.
"In that case, I think it's time for us to leave," said Dutch, "And you are going to tell me more about her, Arthur."
Arthur found himself feeling nervous about telling Dutch about Grace, but he supposed Dutch was going to find out eventually. In the coach back, he told them a bit more about Grace, about how she'd been helping them out, from finding John in the mountains to looking after Jack at Angelo Bronte's mansion to misleading the Pinkertons. He left out the part where she had offered him all the money to leave, not wanting them to get any malevolent ideas.
"And she took out a Lemoyne Raider who was trying to choke me to death when we were trying to give away their shine in Rhodes," added Hosea.
"Well, I don't like it," Bill grumbled.
"How much does she actually know about us?" asked Dutch, frowning.
"Probably more than she lets on," said Arthur.
"If she's been misleading Pinkertons, then how the hell did they find us anyway?" Bill asked.
"Well we weren't exactly staying quiet, especially after burning down the Braithwaite place," said Hosea. He turned to Arthur, "Do you know if she's talked to them since we moved here?"
"I don't know."
"Hm, well, I think I'd like to meet this lady of yours, Arthur," said Dutch, "When do you plan on seeing her next?"
"Hah, I don't know, she usually shows up out of nowhere."
"Well, bring her into camp next time you see her!"
"Wait, what if she brings the Pinkertons?" Bill interrupted.
"I would think that if it were her intention, she'd have done so already," said Hosea, then turned to Arthur, "I assume she had nothing to do with them finding us at Clemens Point."
"Nah, she'd never do that."
"Okay, well bring her in, but be cautious."
"Always," Arthur agreed, then wondered if Dutch had an ulterior motive. Would it simply be a nice visit for everyone to meet Grace, or was he planning on getting her to so something for him? As much as Arthur trusted Dutch, he didn't want Grace to be manipulated by him. Sure, she was pretty smart, but would she be able to see through Dutch? He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing as he realised she probably already knew enough to not be persuaded by Dutch to do anything.
By the following morning, everyone knew about Grace.
"About time you got over that Mary woman!" said Miss Grimshaw.
"It ain't like that," Arthur protested.
"Well I can't wait to meet her, especially after risking her life to save young Jack like that," she was about to walk away when she turned back, "Wait, that was the Grace you mentioned back when the O'Driscolls got you, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Dutch did mention you were going to bring her in."
"I don't know..."
"Nonsense! We have a lot to thank her for! So long as she don't bring no Pinkertons," Miss Grimshaw left to presumably lecture the girls for something or other as Arthur headed towards the stewpot fire.
"Arthur!"
"What is it, Uncle?"
"What's this I hear about you getting a new lady and not telling us?"
"Oh for... It ain't like that."
"Uh huh, whatever you say," Uncle winked, clearly not believing him.
"Hey, Arthur."
"I said it ain't like that!"
"Okay, just wanted to offer you a coffee," Abigail said, handing him a cup.
"Sorry," he took the coffee and drank it.
"So. This new lady, Grace? She the one Jack's been talking about?"
Arthur nodded.
"Well, Jackie's been trying to convince me to invite her over, seems to like her a whole lot," Abigail moved closer and lowered her voice, "Just... don't let her get too involved."
"I won't, but she might anyway," Arthur finished his coffee and left camp for the city, hoping to run into Grace again. But it was so big, where would he even start? He left his horse in the stable again, checking to see if Tuula was there as well but she wasn't. He roamed around the city, hating nearly everything about it. The crowds, the noise, it was horrible. Maybe the market wouldn't be so bad.
The market was even more crowded and noisy. He could see vendor stalls piled high with produce and other food. Outside the market entrance, a monk was calling out for donations to the poor.
"You, kind sir," he waved to Arthur, "Will you help the poor?"
"I ain't so kind," Arthur replied.
"Yes you are, sir," the monk said, "You have it in you, I can tell."
"I'm a nasty bit of work, father," said Arthur, leaning against the wall and lighting up a cigarette.
"You're wrong on two counts, sir. I'm a humble Brother, a penitent monk, not a priest. And you're a magnificent bit of work. You may have made some poor choices but which of us hasn't?"
"Hah, you have no idea," Arthur laughed.
"Why don't you hedge your bets and give two bits to the poor?"
"Why not," Arthur pinched his cigarette between his lips and tossed in a few coins into the donation dish. "So how you gettin' on?"
"These are a somewhat apathetic lot I'm afraid," the monk looked around then moved closer to Arthur to speak quietly, "Thing is, poverty will always be with us, but slavery, I thought we banished that. But Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves out to some of the islands."
"It's 1899, I don't believe you," scoffed Arthur, stamping out his cigarette.
"Maybe you could take a look for yourself. I've heard that the pawnbroker down the block sells more than forlorn trinkets."
Arthur nodded and entered the market to investigate the pawnbroker's. In a way, he was surprised Grace hadn't heard about this yet and taken care of it herself.
"Arthur!"
Speak of the devil. He turned and saw Grace waving at him through the crowd of people, today wearing a black skirt and yellow blouse and carrying a basket.
"What are you doing here?" he asked when she neared.
"I was going to ask you the same question," she said, then held up her basket, "I was just picking up some things. And you?"
"I-" he stopped and pulled her to the side, leaning closer to her, "I've been asked to check out a possible slave seller."
Grace went silent and her face darkened. "Where?"
"Now, don't go crazy-"
"Where?" she demanded.
"Pawnbroker's."
Grace walked quickly towards the pawnbroker's and had reached the door before Arthur pulled her back.
"Wait, let's just do this quietly," he said, "Maybe it's nothing. We'll have a look around."
Grace nodded slightly then entered the shop. The pawnbroker greeted them both, but Grace ignored him. Arthur tipped his hat slightly, but concentrated on looking around the shop. Where would one hide possible slaves in here?
"Oh, uh, madame, nothing much back there, I'm afraid," the pawnbroker said to Grace who had gone to a small alcove, "Just a few old books."
"What's behind the bookcase?" she asked.
"I don't know what you mean, there is a wall, nothing more."
Arthur joined her and she pointed at the scratch marks on the floor, clearly showing the bookcase had been pulled away from the wall many times. He turned back to the pawnbroker. "How about you show us what's behind there?"
"There-there is nothing behind there," the pawnbroker stuttered, "On-only a normal b-bookshelf. A-and a wall."
Grace dropped her basket, spilling its contents across the floor, and stalked over to the pawnbroker who backed up into the shelves. She grabbed him by the ear and pulled him over to the bookcase. "Show us."
"I-I-I don't know what you mean!" the pawnbroker pleaded.
Before Arthur could do anything, Grace pulled out a knife and held it to the pawnbroker's throat. "Tell us how to get behind that bookcase or I swear to God they will never find your body."
"The-the red book! That big one there, just pull it!" the pawnbroker broke down, "Please, just let me go."
Arthur gently pulled Grace away and told the pawnbroker to scram. She pulled the red book and the bookcase unlocked. Arthur pulled it open to reveal a set of stairs leading down to a basement. They headed down to hear hushed voices.
"Jesus," said Arthur, looking at the chains and manacles on the wall. In the corner, two young men, were chained by their hands to the wall. They started speaking quickly in a language Arthur didn't understand.
Grace ran to them, speaking in their language, while Arthur unlocked the chains. They helped them up the steps, clearly weak from lack of food and water. Upstairs, Grace picked up her basket and the fruits and vegetables she had spilled and gave it to them. While they ate ferociously, Arthur helped himself to the cash in the register and divided it between the two men.
"Here, now let's go, there's a man out here who will take care of you," said Arthur as he started to herd them out the door.
"Qué?" asked one of the men.
Grace translated and they nodded their heads in understanding. They followed Arthur back to the monk, who seemed surprised to see him.
"Brother..?"
"Brother Dorkins, friend."
"Arthur Morgan," he pointed to Grace, "Grace M- I mean, Bellerose. And I found these two imprisoned in that shop." He gently nudged the two men to Brother Dorkins.
"Oh my, well they are blessed to have met you, Arthur."
"Trust me, in that they're very unusual, I don't think they speak much English."
"They speak Spanish," Grace said. She turned to the men and spoke to them again in Spanish, pointing at Brother Dorkins.
"My brothers, come," Brother Dorkins started to usher them away, "Let's get you something to eat. Comida. Please."
"Hey, you forgot this," Arthur picked up the donation dish.
"Oh, thank you, I-" Brother Dorkins took the dish, then held it back to Arthur, "Here. Payment, for your services."
"Give it to the poor, Brother," Arthur said.
"Thank you, I will. Come see me again sometime. Old church on Gaspar Street in St. Frances."
They watched Brother Dorkins and the two freed men hurry down the street.
"And you say you aren't a good man," Grace elbowed him.
"And here I thought you were the good one," he turned to her, "What was that back there, threatening a man like that?"
"Anyone who imprisons people like that is not a man," Grace said angrily, "He's lucky he got away at all."
Arthur nodded in agreement. "So. You speak Spanish too?"
"I learned in Spain."
"Of course. Any languages you don't know?"
"Oh, plenty. Anyway, I'm sure you have plenty going on," she turned to walk away.
"Wait! Will you, uh, will you come back with me?"
"No."
"Dutch and them want to meet you, you know, to thank you for, er, everything you've done for us."
"You can thank me by taking my money and leaving."
He sighed. "I can't do that."
"You can't possibly be that stupid, Arthur," she shook her head in disbelief, "Anyway, I'll see you around." Before he could say anything, she headed back into the market and disappeared into the crowd.
He didn't understand, why wouldn't she go back to camp with him? Did she think it was a trap? Did she think that maybe he had told them she had money and they planned to rob her? Arthur then laughed to himself as he realised no one would steal anything from her. They could try, but he knew her well enough by now that anyone trying to steal from her might end up with her knife at their throat, or worse. But he was sure no one would try. No one knew she apparently has all that money.
But what if she offered the money to Dutch? Then what? Could he really leave Grace behind, just like that? He didn't want to leave her, not now. But he knew how persistent Dutch would be if he didn't introduce her soon.
He rode back to camp, trying to figure out a way to convince her. When he arrived, Mary-Beth called out to him from the gazebo.
"Hi, Arthur, you got a letter," she said.
"Okay, thanks."
"Looks like it's from Mary."
Oh.
