Free Fiddlehead (The Clockwork Century) by Cherie Priest Page A

short notice.”
    Stunned out of their usual manners, Nelson Wellers and Henry Epperson stayed in their seats for another awkward beat, then fumbled their coffee cups aside and rose as they recalled that standing was the usual protocol when a woman arrived. But Gideon Bardsley stayed where he was. He, too, was dumbfounded, but even once his shock passed, he had no intention of rising.
    Maria Boyd, better known in the papers as “Belle Boyd,” was of average height, with posture that indicated good breeding. True to rumor, hers was the sort of body to launch a thousand ships: voluminous, shapely breasts and a narrow waist, graceful shoulders and a long, lean neck, but only the very kind or terribly nearsighted had ever described her plain, horselike face as “beautiful.”
    She was no longer the hoopskirted coquette from the gossip pages. Now the notorious spy of yore wore something simple but more modern, a gray dress that was full only at the rear. Gideon was idly surprised to note that the Cleopatra of the Confederacy must have fallen on hard times—for he knew an oft-worn, insufficient article of clothing when he saw one; and her black cotton coat could not have been enough to keep her warm, even when augmented with a blue wool scarf that did nothing to mask the outstanding swell of her figure.
    Calmly, deliberately, she unwound the scarf and unbuttoned her overcoat. “Gentlemen,” she greeted the lot of them, even catching Gideon’s eye in a pointed display of acknowledgment. “And Mr. President, of course,” she said to Lincoln. “‘Miss Boyd’ will be fine.”
    But when she dipped her head to remove her scarf entirely, Gideon saw a large black comb. A mourning piece. Oh, yes, he thought. That’s right. Divorced, then later widowed. By a Navy boy, wasn’t that the story? But that had been years ago now. Considering that she’d offered them no married name, maybe she wore it out of habit, or for lack of other baubles.
    Henry Epperson gave her a little bow and began to babble. “Miss Boyd, yes, Miss Boyd. I suppose that’ll keep things simple, won’t it? And I am sorry, ma’am—I don’t mean to be rude or strange, it’s just that I’m very surprised, you understand. I didn’t realize you were the agent they’d sent, that’s all. I just didn’t know.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with being surprised,” she assured him. She held her scarf in her hands like Henry would’ve held a hat, if he’d still been wearing one. She held it between herself and everyone else in the room. “I was more than a little surprised when I was given this case, I don’t mind telling you.”
    The marshal held out his hand as if to take her elbow and guide her into the room, but she was out of reach. She followed the gesture anyway, when he said, “Please, won’t you pull up a chair and join us?”
    “Thank you, I believe I will. I’ve read the files and I think my information is up to date, but I expect there’s quite a lot we can learn from one another, mister…?” she prompted him.
    “Epperson. Henry Epperson. Just Henry, really, if you don’t mind. Over there is Dr. Wellers—I mean, Nelson Wellers,” he said.
    She nodded. “Another agent, Mr. Pinkerton told me.”
    He nodded back and slowly reclaimed his seat. “That’s correct. It’s … a pleasure to meet you. I’d heard you joined the company a few months ago. Excellent work on that Clementine case, or so they tell me.”
    “You’re too kind.” She accepted the chair Henry brought her and drew herself forward into the circle. Once settled there, with her scarf now draped over the armrest, she addressed Gideon directly. “And I suppose that makes you Dr. Bardsley, the inventor. I’ve read quite a lot about you. They say you’re a genius.”
    Gideon rubbed his thumb against the rim of his coffee cup. “Of course they do.” Then he said to the former president, “Mr. Lincoln, I don’t care what kind of badge this woman carries these