Mabel frowned. “Even when breaking into buildings means breaking the law at the same time?”
Lillian sniffed. “A good detective does what is necessary to solve the case.” She squared her shoulders and took the lead.
“You could call this ‘The Case of the Villainous Duke,’”Mabel said, skipping to catch up, her enthusiasm for the break-in growing.
Lillian linked their arms and continued forward. “Or ‘The Case of the Disastrous Machines.’”
“‘The Case of the Pernicious Progress.’”
Their lighthearted banter relieved some of the anxiety that had twisted through Eleanor’s insides, even if she could not muster the levity to take part in it herself.
The night had started with a simple statement as they’d traveled home after the thrashing—she wanted to face the thing that was about to ruin her, and not from across a stage. She wanted to see it, close-up. She wanted to touch it. She wanted to compare its feel to that of the sorts she knew so well. If she could understand it better, she could fight it.
She hadn’t anticipated that Lillian would propose such drastic measures, but it shouldn’t have surprised her. All their careers were on the line.
“What if there are dogs?” Eleanor asked, taking long strides until she reached them.
“There were no dogs today,” Lillian said, “and I have cuts of beef in my bag.”
Mabel wrinkled her nose as she looked at the satchel Lillian carried. “Raw meat? It is at least wrapped, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” Lillian said. “And if the juices escape and the bag is ruined, it will be a perfectly acceptable sacrifice if it means finding a flaw in the machines.”
“What if the duke has hired someone to guard the Linotypes?” Mabel asked.
“Then we launch straight into our cover story,” Lillian replied, pausing as a cab drove past and then striding across the street. “We left my purse behind and we need to retrieve itimmediately. Though I highly doubt he has hired security. You can’t exactly steal one of those machines. You would need four men and a wagon to move just one.”
“We could destroy them,” Eleanor muttered, louder than intended. Both friends snapped their heads in her direction, wearing completely different expressions.
Lillian looked nonchalant. “I brought sand,” she admitted. “And matches, just in case.”
Mabel gnawed at her lip, eyes worried. “We aren’t truly considering that, though, are we?”
“Considering fire or vandalism?” Eleanor asked as she looked to the left for cars. Both options were tempting.
Mabel stopped and pulled Eleanor and Lillian to a halt with her. “Please don’t do anything drastic,” she said, gripping Eleanor’s arm. “This afternoon, you were as angry as I’ve ever seen you.”
Eleanor took a deep breath, held it for a moment until her heart rate slowed, and then released it. “I am not angry enough to set fire to a building. The Great Fire of New York started in a warehouse, and that set the Hudson River alight.”
“A river caught alight?” Mabel asked, her worry receding in the face of curiosity.
“Yes.” Eleanor was grateful for the comfort of knowledge in this deeply uncomfortable moment. “It was frozen and turpentine had leaked from a nearby factory. The gale caused flames to race across the ice.”
“That would have looked beautiful.” Mabel had a natural tendency toward wonder and could see the bright side even of a tragedy.
“It is not the only time. A company has been dumping gasoline into the Cuyahoga River for years. It caught alight three times.”
Lillian cocked her head, brows furrowed. “Did we typeset that article? I think I would have remembered burning water.”
The story had been fascinating to Eleanor when she first read it. But given her current situation, the thought of it made her stomach churn. “No. I read about it in the journals of an American poet. He wrote that the people of Cleveland aren’t even angry. To them, the pollution in the river is a sign of progress.” How backward thinking. How self-defeating. The people of Cleveland should be rising up in protest.
Lillian appeared suitably affronted, but Mabel was appallingly unperturbed. “I can see their point, I suppose. Assuming that no one was hurt. If progress is giving them benefits that they wouldn’t otherwise have and the fire took nothing of import with it.”
Eleanor clenched her fists. “Progress can’t be at whatever cost, though,” she snapped.
Mabel’s step faltered and she pulled away. “I didn’t mean atanycost,” she said, eyes shining. “Just where it makes sense to help people.”
Progress was being driven by men who wanted to make money. Helping people, doing the right thing, didn’t factor into their thinking, despite what the duke might claim. Tycoons were creating entire industries with no consideration for the people they were displacing, or whose rivers they were polluting. Eleanor worked her jaw, trying to loosen it enough to say something that would put Mabel at ease, but unable to do so.
