Harriet had expected to be tested by her colleagues, just not before she'd progressed beyond the lobby. She couldn't allow herself to be dismissed by the secretary. What would Prescott think? Standing her ground during the interview had won her the job. She hadn't wilted when confronting Theodore Prescott; she wasn't about to do so now because his blustery secretary was uninformed. If she were to last the first hour in the role, she would need to stay put.
"Madam, I am here because Mr. Prescott hired me"—Harriet paused just long enough for her next words to carry extra weight—"as a junior field operative. That you are unaware of my employment does not erase the fact. I was told to report here"—Harriet glanced at the clock—"precisely six minutes and fifteen seconds ago. I have no intention of not being present when Mr. Prescott arrives. I shall wait."
To Madelaine's sputtering dismay and the receptionist's stunned silence, Harriet lowered herself onto the sofa's thin cushion, maintaining eye contact with Madelaine.
"We shall see what Mr. Prescott has to say about this," Madelaine huffed.
Harriet gave a sharp nod. "I'm pleased we agree that it's his word that matters."
Accepting momentary defeat, the secretary threw her arms in the air—dispensing another whiff of powder—spun on her short heels, and retreated down the corridor. The receptionist wore an unreadable expression, which Harriet guessed was either admiration or pity—or perhaps a bit of both. Her accompanying words, "You've got nerve,"
did nothing to clarify her intent.
As Harriet awaited Prescott's arrival, she regretted that her parents weren't alive to have seen her off that morning. They had encouraged her bold ambitions. As a lawyer representing the interests of labor unions, her father had urged Harriet and her brother to pursue occupations engaged in righting wrongs instead of "tsk-tsking while reading the latest troubling headlines in the morning's Tribune." Her mother, who'd been an active member of the Illinois Equal Suffrage Association and supported the campaigns of women to serve on school boards, had told Harriet to pursue her dreams, despite what others might think of them. Harriet had taken her parents' advice to heart but knew that most jobs available to women in social justice were limited to secretaries, prison matrons, and cooks. The first two made her grimace. The third, given her discomfort in the kitchen, caused her to shudder. Then she heard about Kate Warne—America's first female detective. Hired by Allan Pinkerton right there in Chicago, Kate Warne had worked cases in the 1850s and 1860s, decades before Harriet had even been born. Harriet figured if Kate Warne could do it, why couldn't she? Sitting there, she realized the question had an answer—and it might come soon.
At ten minutes past nine, Harriet sensed her left buttock had fallen asleep when Theodore Prescott marched into the lobby. Seeing Harriet, he barked, "What in blazes are you doing there? I don't pay my employees to sit and gaze out the window."
Struggling to her feet, Harriet started to explain, but Prescott was already halfway down the hallway toward his office, still barking. "I suggest you follow me, Miss Morrow. Unless you want your first day as an operative at this agency to also be your last."
As Harriet hurried after her new boss, she caught the dumbfounded look on the receptionist's face. She couldn't help but return a smile. Theodore Prescott had just confirmed it.
She was now a detective.
CHAPTER TWO
As Theodore Prescott approached his office, Madelaine sprang to her feet. He placed his hat and long coat into her outstretched arms. Then Madelaine saw Harriet.
"You!" she exclaimed. "Just where do you think you're going?"
From his doorway, Prescott turned back. His eyes darted from Madelaine to Harriet, then back again. "For heaven's sake, Madelaine. Miss Morrow works here."
"But sir." Madelaine appeared suddenly distraught. "I was unaware that we needed another secretary. If only you'd said something, I would have happily—"
"You may bring my morning coffee." He turned to Harriet, who stood off to the side, hoping she didn't appear as uncomfortable as she felt. "Coffee, Miss Morrow? Tea?"
"Nothing, thank you." Harriet croaked out the words, so unexpected was the offer.
