A Sense of Entitlement by Anna Loan-Wilsey Read Free Book Online

sir.”
    “Then what are you doing here?” he demanded, pulling a monocle from his breast pocket and staring me in the eyes. I was relieved when not a flicker of recognition showed in his gaze.
    “I’m lost, sir. This is the biggest house I’ve ever been in. I can’t seem to find Madam’s sitting room.”
    “Carry on then,” he said. I stepped out of his way as he strode past me. I let out a sigh of relief as I watched him go down the hall and disappear into one of the rooms that had been closed.
    “Un, deux, trois,” I counted, trying to collecting my composure, but my mind raced. I pulled out the pad and pencil I always carried and started a list. My hands shook as I did.
Why would Mr. Mayhew want a trunk thrown overboard?
Why would he be involved with a Pinkerton detective?
What was in the trunk?
Why did everyone think Mr. Mayhew had arrived this morning and not yesterday?
    I tucked the notebook away, silently chiding myself for wasting time making a list of questions that had nothing to do with me. I was still lost and now late meeting with Mrs. Mayhew. But before I could get reoriented in this enormous house, footsteps and the sound of whistling echoed down the hall behind me. I froze.
    Is that “Ode to Joy” again? Hoping I was wrong and would find a maid carrying a duster or a footman with a tray, I looked back and locked eyes with the Pinkerton detective. I instantly turned my face away and feigned interest in the elaborate swirl pattern pervading the yellow marble wall but watched him out of the corner of my eye. Whether from the distance between us or his preoccupation, he didn’t give me any sign of recognition either. Instead he stopped at the same door Mr. Mayhew had entered and knocked. A moment later the detective opened the door and disappeared, leaving the door slightly ajar. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d headed straight down the hallway, walking slowly past the door the men had entered. Mr. Mayhew was speaking.
    “I won’t have this, Doubleday. As you can see, my time in the gymnasium has been interrupted again. The man’s a menace. I assume you’re aware of the telegraph operators’ strike?” Doubleday mumbled a reply. “It wouldn’t have happened if I’d owned the telegraph. No labor unions exist in my companies! Maybe I should speak to Gould when he comes to Charlotte’s party.” George Jay Gould? I wondered. I immediately took note to make sure he was on the guest list. “Anyway, what’s the news out of Biddeford?”
    “We took care of it,” Doubleday said. “The mills are running with most of the workers back on the job. The union men seem to have disappeared, though.” The man chuckled. “You shouldn’t hear anything more from them.”
    “Good. Either way, I want you to double your men and at first sign of any trouble make sure their weapons are visible. I can’t afford a strike or a slowdown in production. And cut wages in half if necessary.” Papers rustled and then were slapped down onto a table. “By God, did you see this headline, Doubleday? More banks have failed! Nine banks in six cities! What the hell is Cleveland doing to this country?”
    “It is unfortunate, sir,” Doubleday said obligingly.
    “Yes, it is . . . unfortunate,” Mayhew scoffed. “Let’s hope you don’t have savings tied up in a bank.”
    As they spoke of business and banks I’d been reminded whom I was eavesdropping on. After all, if Mr. Gideon Mayhew wanted a trunk pushed into the ocean who was I to question him? He had his reasons and most likely a simple and innocuous explanation. Perhaps the trunk didn’t even have anything in it, let alone a dead body! Had I let my imagination and previous experiences get the best of me? As I walked past the office door for the second time, I spied a chambermaid entering one of the rooms down the hall with her arms full of bed linens. She’d be able to guide me to Mrs. Mayhew’s sitting room, assuming the lady was still there. I gave