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“I hear the restaurant downstairs is a good one. Do you mind eating with capitalists?”
“I will take it as an opportunity.”
“For what?”
“To observe the enemy up close,” she replied.
“You’re smiling,” said Bell. “But I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“Not while miners walk the Monongahela Valley.”
“You were there?”
Mary nodded. “Their spirits are high. But rain is forecast.”
The Cadillac Hotel’s breakfast room was packed with out-of-town buyers. A bribe to the headwaiter got them the last table. Mary noticed the money pass hands and said, after they were seated and she had spread her napkin on her lap, “Do I assume correctly that, in truth, your father did not lose his mansion in the Panic of ’93?”
“He did not. Nor is it in the Back Bay. I was born in Louisburg Square.”
Mary took a folded newspaper page from her purse, laid it beside her.
“That would make you a Bell of the American States Bank.”
“That is my father’s bank. How is it that you know Boston?”
“Why do you work as a detective?”
“Because I want to.”
Mary returned his even gaze with a searching one of her own. Before she could ask a question, they were interrupted by a loud man at the next table, a wholesaler entertaining buyers. “The shirtwaist and skirt will be replaced next year by a full-costume combination — a single piece of garment— How do I know? Paris declares such combinations plebeian, particularly in different texture or color. New York will lead the change, and your ladies in Chicago will take the same view.”
Mary looked down at her gray shirtwaist and blue skirt and smiled. “So I’m to be plebeian?”
“You look lovely,” said Bell. “I mean, stylish and attractive.”
“Do you really believe that Van Dorns are different than Pinkertons?”
“I know they are. How is it that you know Boston?”
“How are Van Dorns different?”
“We believe that the innocent are sacred.”
“Those are pretty words.”
“Words to live by. But before we debate further, our waiter is headed this way, the restaurant is busy, and we should order before they run out. What would you like for breakfast?”
“What are you having?”
“Everything that can’t run away. I’ve been up all night and I am starving.”
“I walked from the ferry. I’m starving, too. I’ll have what you’re having.”
Bell picked up the menu. “Good morning,” he said to the waiter. “We both want coffee, buckwheat pancakes with cranberries, fried bananas, omelets with mushrooms, and calf’s liver.” Mary was nodding approvingly. Bell asked, “With onions?”
“And bacon.”
“You heard the lady. And may we have our coffee as soon as humanly possible?” Of Mary he asked, again, “How is it that you know Boston?”
