Her fingers froze. “I did.”
Without a word, Clyde folded the newspaper into quarters, then flung it across the table at her. It landed on top of her scrambled eggs with a splat. She carefully lifted the newspaper and saw the photograph of the Poison Squad lined up in the parlor of their boardinghouse.
Her mouth went dry, for there in the front row was Luke Delacroix, crouching on one knee. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were still laughing as he looked directly into the camera. The headline jumped out at her:
Daring Team of Men Taunt Fate as They Join the Poison Squad
She set down the newspaper. “Yes, I took that photograph,” she admitted, then casually took a bite of eggs even though they tasted like sawdust.
“I forbid you to see that man again,” her father warned.
“I didn’t know he would be there,” she said truthfully. “I couldn’t have turned around and walked out.”
“Have you seen him on any other occasions?” Clyde demanded, his face pure flint.
Marianne glanced away, fearful her father would see too much on her face. She’d seen Luke often enough to start falling in love, and she was terrible at disguising her feelings.
“A few times,” she admitted.
“What man?” Vera demanded. “Is Marianne seeing a man and didn’t tell me?”
Andrew grabbed the newspaper, shaking off a few bits of egg and reading the article. His eyes quickly skimmed the text, and he began reading aloud from the story.
“‘A sign printed by the men hangs over the dining room entrance, reading “Only the Brave Dare Eat the Fare.” The men joke and tease during the meals, speculating about where the poison is hidden.’” Andrew glanced at her over the rim of the paper. “And you have something to do with this nonsense?”
“I only took a photograph for documentation,” she said. “I have nothing at all to do with that experiment.”
“Good, because it’s pointless,” Andrew snapped. “Food preservatives are perfectly safe, and these men are stirring up paranoia for no good reason. Listen to this nonsense.” He picked up the newspaper and began reading again. “‘The men jest about whose stomach is stronger. They claim the coffee cake was dusted with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a heaping spoonful of Rough on Rats.’”
Sam giggled at the name of the popular household rodent killer. “They eat rat poison?” he asked in excited wonder.
“Don’t be silly,” Marianne rushed to say. “The food is preserved with a bit of borax and formaldehyde, just like your daddy uses in our factory.”
“I want to try it,” Sam said.
“Marianne, who is this man your father is annoyed about?” Vera asked.
She risked a glance at Clyde, who clenched his fork as he smoldered at her from across the table. He nodded for her to answer.
“His name is Luke Delacroix,” she said. “He’s a—”
“I know who he is!” Vera cut her off. “Why on earth are you consorting with him?”
“I haven’t consorted with him! I was asked by my supervisor to take a photograph of the group, and he happened to be on the team.” This was exactly what she had feared. Why couldn’t she come from a normal family where she didn’t have to walk on eggshells or worry about lifelong feuds? She dared not mention the passionate kiss she had shared with Luke in the darkroom, but it might slip out that she’d also taken photographs of his office, and it would be best if she confessed that now. “I also took a few pictures of his office as a courtesy,” she said without meeting anyone’s eyes.
“I trust there will be no more such photographs,” Clyde stated.
“I’m supposed to take another set of the Poison Squad one month into the experiment. That will be next week at the beginning of March.”
“You will tell your supervisor that you are unable to take those photographs.” Clyde’s voice was implacable. “I want you to look me in the eye and promise me that you will do so.”
Her mouth went dry. Aunt Stella had been banished from the family for consorting with an unsuitable man. She didn’t think it could happen to her, but she couldn’t risk her entire world over a flirtation, no matter how charming the man.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“I’ve been very lenient with you,” Clyde continued. “You traipse around town at all hours, and I’ve permitted it because I have faith that you are a sensible young lady. If my trust falters, you could be on the next train to Baltimore to live with Andrew and Delia.”
“Come live with us!” Sam said, still completely oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. Marianne would rather live in the North Pole before subjecting herself to life in Andrew and Delia’s household.
In the end, it turned out Marianne didn’t need to ask her supervisor to be taken off the Poison Squad assignment. That night as she brushed her hair, preparing to braid it before going to bed, a soft tapping came at her door.
“Come in.”
Her father opened the door, his face ice cold. “I’ve called Mr. Schmidt and told him you will be unable to take any more photographs of the Poison Squad.”
“Yes, sir.” She wasn’t usually so formal, but Clyde was still fuming.
“And if you ever see that man again, you are to report it to me.”
The door closed behind him with a gentle click, which somehow frightened her more than if he’d slammed it.
Eleven
A sense of elation still lingered as Luke awoke the following morning. The blazing kiss he’d shared with Marianne was probably enough to keep him fueled for weeks, and he set off for the office the moment he finished breakfast.
He hadn’t gotten two steps out the front door when he noticed a cluster of onlookers gathered outside the boardinghouse.
“Are you one of the volunteers?” a young man in a postal uniform asked. He looked barely old enough to shave and had a hopeful, eager expression.
“I am,” Luke acknowledged.
The young man thrust a section of the newspaper toward him. “Will you sign the photograph? I already got the autographs of the two brothers and a little Italian guy. I want to get all twelve autographs.”
Luke glanced at the newspaper folded to the article about the Poison Squad. He took the pencil and signed his name beside his picture, and then two more people rose off a nearby bench to approach him. One lady also wanted his autograph on her newspaper, while a man with a thick mustache had a Brownie camera and wanted to take his picture.
Princeton and St. Louis must have heard the commotion, because they were soon on the landing too, signing autographs and posing for pictures.
“What’s it like?” the postal worker asked. “Are you sick all the time? Or only when you eat?”
“Say, can I sign up?” the mustached man asked. “I think it sounds like a cracking-good adventure.”
A man with a notebook pushed through the crowd. “Brian Musgrove from the New York Times,” he introduced himself. “Can we arrange an interview?”
Luke glanced around the crowd of people in amazement. This sort of publicity hadn’t been his intention when he spoke with Dickie. The story was supposed to influence legislation, not make celebrities of the volunteers, but it looked like that was happening. Princeton smiled broadly as he posed for a picture before the front door of the boardinghouse, and St. Louis was setting up a meeting with the journalist for an interview.