Free Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) by N. S. Wikarski

themselves.”
    Evangeline fanned herself with a train schedule. “Then it’s to be the curtains, is it?”
    “No, dear,” Jane countered gently. “It’s to be the houses. But before we examine anything, we’re supposed to meet Mr. Bracecote. I wonder where he could be?”
    In answer to her question, a little man in a black suit, sweating profusely in the heat, came scurrying in their direction at top speed.
    “Miss Eaves?” He came to a dead stop before them, out of breath. “You are... Miss Eaves... aren’t you? And you’re Miss... LeClair from Mast House?”
    “Right on both counts,” Evangeline confirmed as she shook hands.
    “I’m Henry Bracecote, Chairman of the Central Strike Committee. So very glad to make your acquaintance.” The little man shook Evangeline’s hand again for emphasis before dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.
    “Miss Eaves has been unusually reticent regarding the purpose of our visit, so I must apply to you for more information, Mr. Bracecote.” Evangeline smiled engagingly. “What is it you wish us to look into?”
    Assuming a more official persona, Bracecote straightened up and cleared his throat. “Well, ladies, ahem, in short, I wish you to look into the town of Pullman : the houses, how we live, and what we pay for the privilege of living here. We believe you are in a better position to judge whether or not we have a legitimate cause for complaint—that our wages have been slashed without a corresponding reduction in our rents. You can carry our story to the wider world.” Bracecote stopped abruptly and cast his eyes toward Jane for confirmation.
    The lady nodded. “The Civic Federation is of the same opinion, Mr. Bracecote. Since neither I nor Miss LeClair are affiliated with your strikers or Mr. Pullman, we may be able to provide an outside assessment of the situation. We will inspect the housing arrangement here and will endeavor to determine if you are paying more than you might if you lived elsewhere in the area.”
    “That’s all we ask, madam.” Bracecote nodded his head vigorously. “Let the Civic Federation know, let the newspapers know, that we aren’t wild-eyed anarchists. We are simply men who have been ground down to a state of desperation. And no one will listen.”
    “We will,” Evangeline affirmed. “Lead on, Mr. Bracecote. We follow.”
    The chairman seemed relieved and relaxed his stance a bit. He replaced the hat which he had removed when greeting the ladies and swept his arm forward. “This way, if you please.”
    With the train tracks behind them, the trio headed east along One Hundred Eleventh Street at a leisurely pace. Bracecote pointed out various landmarks as they passed.
    “Ladies, I would ask you to take particular note of the factory which you see on your left. This is where we make all the Pullman railway carriages.”
    Evangeline’s eyes went first to a clock tower rising several stories above what she took to be the main administration building. With its steeply pitched roof and various outcroppings, it looked more like a cathedral than a factory. It was flanked on either side by long, low sheds of brick and glass. No smoke rose from the factory chimneys. All was quiet. Too quiet.
    “Mr. Bracecote, I confess I’m surprised. You are, after all, on strike. I expected to see picket lines but there is nobody about.”
    Bracecote stopped to contemplate the scene. “When the strike began, Miss LeClair, we gave our word there would be no demonstration. Management’s response was to lock the gates so the factory is completely shut down until further notice. A few security guards have been posted around the property but there is no need. This is a peaceful protest.”
    “I admire your restraint, Mr. Bracecote,” Evangeline teased. “Were I in your shoes I would at least be tempted to hurl an occasional rock.”
    Bracecote grinned as Evangeline. “I admit a secret urge to do the same, Miss LeClair, but I must remember the