Death of a Robber Baron Read Free Page B

“Would you consider working for my agency?”
    She stared quizzically at him. He seemed slightly embarrassed, as if thinking she might regard his proposal as inappropriate. Why had he asked to join her at the cemetery? She hardly knew him personally, though he had helped her investigate Jack’s secret life and violent death and had defended her interests in court. Since then he had advised her on financial matters, charging her much less than the going rate for New York lawyers.
    That bothered her. Was he putting her in debt to him and would he later take advantage of her? Still, her financial situation was so desperate that she had suppressed her fears and accepted his services.
    â€œI’m serious,” he went on. “My offer might take you by surprise. But I sense that you’re ready to move on.” He paused, while he opened the gate for her. “For a start, I need an assistant, preferably female, to guard Macy’s jewelry department. You would blend in with the men and women who shop there. You are observant. You also need the money—beginning at fifty dollars a month. We’ve already worked together and gotten to know each other. Think about it.”
    â€œI’m grateful for your offer,” she replied. “I’ll consider it for a few days, then give you my decision.”
    He closed the gate behind them. “By the way, I should warn you. Brenda Reilly’s father, Dennis, has been paroled from prison.”
    â€œShould I be alarmed?” A tremor ran through her body.
    â€œYou must be alert. He surely nurses a grudge against you for putting him in prison. Still, he’s under a court’s supervision, so he might show restraint.” Prescott gestured to his coach. “May I take you home? City streets can be dangerous.”
    â€œNo, thank you,” she replied gently. “A brisk walk will clear my mind. Besides, I have a blackjack and a walking stick. My husband insisted that I carry them for protection while I was working at St. Barnabas Mission in such a dangerous part of the city.”
    â€œI understand.” Prescott tipped his hat and drove off.
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    On the way to her boardinghouse early that afternoon, Pamela stopped to visit with her friend Peter Yates. Semiretired, he was Jeremiah Prescott’s senior clerk and legal reference librarian. In his seventies he remained mentally alert and well-informed.
    More than a year ago, when she had needed a lawyer, he had introduced her to Prescott. Initially, Yates had handled most of the details of her case. Later, as it grew more serious, Prescott had played a more active role but had revealed little about himself. Before she could accept his offer of a job, she needed to know him better. She hoped that Yates would offer a cup of hot tea to take the chill out of her bones—and answer a few questions.
    His niece, Miss Amy Steele, led her to his study. “He’s in good health today,” she said brightly, “and will be happy to see you. I’ll bring tea.” Pamela knocked, and he invited her into his cozy scholar’s den. When the tea arrived, he poured for both of them.
    â€œWhat can you tell me about Mr. Jeremiah Prescott, the man, the person?” Pamela asked. “He has invited me to work for him. I know he was born into a wealthy family, fought in the war, graduated from Columbia, and became a rich, successful lawyer in New York. But he shares those characteristics with dozens of other gentlemen.”
    Yates nodded and offered her milk and sugar. “I’ve worked for him for twenty years and know him well. In fact, he joined the Union army at eighteen over his parents’ strong objections and was wounded at Gettysburg. He convalesced, stubbornly returned to service, and left the army in 1865 as a captain.”
    Pamela sniffed. “Am I to conclude that he was a ‘patriot’ and had a taste for heroics and violence?”
    â€œYes, at