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Bell interrupted.
“Thank you, ladies. I will speak for myself. To answer your question, sir, I enjoyed steady advancement in the Van Dorn Detective Agency. Now I’m striking out on my own. I intend to start my own firm, and I will work hard to make a go of it.”
“How much will you earn?”
“Sufficient for my needs.”
“Sufficient to support a family?”
“Pregnancy,” said Nellie, “has not come under discussion. Yet.”
Matters glowered.
Edna said, “I believe that Mr. Bell is a Boston Bell, Father. The bankers. He does not need to ‘marry well.’”
“American States Bank? Is that true, Bell?”
Bell looked from Edna to Nellie and addressed his answer to their father’s questions to both of them. “I would rather marry happily than ‘well.’”
Bill Matters barked a laugh that did nothing to soften his eyes. “Hear! Hear! Well said! O.K., you won’t be a detective for long. Take over the bank when your old man retires.”
“I will remain a detective,” said Bell. He did not elaborate upon the deep contestation with his father on that issue, nor that his grandfather had interceded with a legacy that made him financially independent. Neither was Matters’ business, beautiful daughters notwithstanding.
“Have it your way. Sit down. Girls, let’s give Mr. Bell something to drink.”
Matters’ butler appeared in the doorway. The man wore a tailcoat and white gloves, and his face was remarkably smooth, but Bell pegged his stance and light-footed gait as that of an ex-prizefighter who had retired before he lost a match.
“What is it, Rivers?”
“Telephone, sir.”
Matters hurried off without a word. Edna rose. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
&n
bsp; “Where are you going?” asked Nellie.
“Mr. Bell is calling on you, not me.”
“Don’t be absurd. He’s calling on both of us. Aren’t you?”
Isaac Bell said, “Considering we’ve dined together, traveled together, been set upon by drunks and shot at together, I feel less like a caller than an old friend catching up.”
“Do you want me to stay?” asked Edna.
“Of course,” Bell and Nellie chorused.
Edna was still hesitating when Bill Matters returned to the drawing room, his face set in a grave mask.
“What is it?” asked Edna, resuming her seat.
“Old Comstock died.”
“Another bites the dust,” said Nellie. “That’s two in a week.”
“You won’t mourn him, will you?” asked Edna.
“I won’t speak ill of the dead,” said Bill Matters. “But you know I won’t miss his badgering.” To Isaac Bell he explained, “Averell Comstock treated me like some sort of interloper. He made it hard to do business, and hard to advance in the firm.”
