“Good day, Samuel,” Harry said.
The black man simply glowered at him, his brow wrinkling beneath a rounded hat.
“I understand you drove Mrs. Mills to my hotel that night.”
“Ain’t talkin’ to you.”
“Can you at least tell me how long she was there?”
“Ain’t talkin’.”
Harry came close to the carriage, leaning on a front wheel. “I’m trying to save the life of my man Caesar Augustus. They mean to hang him for Mrs. Mills’s death—just because he’s a black man.”
“Ain’t talkin’!” He brandished his horsewhip.
“Very well. Good day to you, sir.”
He mounted his mad horse. As he settled into the saddle, he saw Mills come out onto the front gallery of the house, whiskey decanter in hand. Harry saluted him, then trotted down the lane.
Returning to the stable near the Exchange where Caesar Augustus had left his horse, Harry set about switching mounts, only to find that the other had vanished from its stall.
“Soldiers took it,” said the stable hand.
“Took it?” Harry looked about the stable, counting at least eight animals.
“Yassuh. They had a paper. Said they was takin’ it for a cavalry mount. Said it belonged to a Negro who had no right to it.”
“It didn’t belong to him. I hired it. Now I have to replace it.”
“Well, it gone.”
The man reached for Harry’s horse’s bridle. Harry stepped in the way.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I won’t be staying here.”
He mounted, thinking how difficult his task would be on foot. It was looking to be nearly impossible as it was.
The landlord at the boardinghouse, encouraged by a silver dollar, agreed to let Harry keep his animal in his barn, and to claim that it belonged to the landlord should anyone in authority come around and ask.
Harry then returned to the Exchange on foot, stopping in the bar for a beer and a midday meal. Munching on a slice of ham, he pondered the view out the window and found himself with an idea.
There were three hansoms waiting outside. The driver of the first said he’d been home sick the afternoon Bella had been murdered. The second allowed that he had been working, but when Harry started to question him, demanded that he be paid for his time.
Harry tossed him a dollar and got into the carriage—an open-sided coachee. Taking the seat just behind the driver, he told him to go down to the river and return.
“You don’t want to stop somewheres?”
“No thank you. Just feel like a drive in this wonderful invigorating air.”
Invigorating, indeed. Harry calculated it was well below freezing.
The driver, a grubby fellow with a patched hat, was happy to talk.
“I remember that coach,” he said. “I made two hauls from the railroad depot, and it was still there each time I got back. Right where we’re supposed to unload baggage. I went to complain to the driver, but he wasn’t there.”
“What about Mr. Mills?”
“Don’t know who that is, but whoever he is, he weren’t there, either. Nobody was. Finally, I took someone out to Hollywood Cemetery, and when I got back, the carriage was gone.”
“Gone? You’re sure?”
“Yup. Then it came back again, but it was just the driver aboard.”
They rounded a corner, swinging by the wide road that led down to the wharves. Out on the river, a small Confederate gunboat was chuffing upstream toward the rapids.
“When did it come back?” Harry asked.
“After sundown. My passenger spent a long time in the cemetery, then had me drive her back.”
“Sounds like you had a profitable day.”
“It ain’t easy work.”
“But all you saw was the coachman? No white man with him?”
“’Less he was inside. Didn’t seem like it.”
“Did you see a woman anywhere near the carriage?”
“Why are you asking me all these questions?”
Harry decided to keep his pass from Davis in reserve.
“Official business. I’ll compensate you for the bother.”
“Good to hear.”
“Did you see a woman?”
“Yes.”
“Was she fair?”
“No. As I recollect. She had dark hair. Long dark hair, and no hat. She was talking to the driver. I waited for her to go afore I complained to him about taking our waiting space.”
Harry thought upon this a long moment.
“Did you see anyone carry anything from the coach into the hotel? A large trunk, or a large bundle?”
“No, sir.”
When they reached the Exchange, Harry gave the man twice the fare. “If you’d ask around, among the other drivers, I’d appreciate it.”
“You don’t want to tell me what this is all about?”
“Sorry.”
Harry descended to the street, where he was set upon almost immediately by Maccubbin and Detective Cashmeyer.
“You’ve got to come with us, Raines. General John Henry Winder wants to see you.”
Chapter 11
John Henry Winder was as old as the century. Graduating from West Point in 1822, he’d fought Indians on the frontier, when that was still east of the Mississippi, and served in the Seminole War in Florida as well. He’d been in the Mexican fight and become acquainted with Jefferson Davis. Word was that he’d looked more kindly on Santa Anna and his green-jacketed legions than he did now his former comrades in the Union Army.
He was the all-powerful provost marshal for the entire capital region and was in charge of all its prisons, including Castle Godwin.
Harry was thrust into his office by Maccubbin and Cashmeyer, each contributing a forceful shove apparently intended to impress their master. The room already had Winder and Captain Godwin in it, and so became quite crowded. There was a spare chair, but Harry made no move toward it.
Winder consulted a sheet of paper with a few handwritten notations on it, then looked up at Harry with a look of disdain and suspicion so withering Harry felt himself as good as before a firing squad.
“Harrison Raines,” Winder said. “Do I know you?”
“I’m from the Belle Haven Plantation. My father is a colonel in …”
Winder waved his hand dismissively. “I know all that. I mean, have we met before?”
“I don’t think so, sir. I would have remembered.”
Winder leaned back and lighted a cigar. “Godwin here says he got a report from our people in Washington that says Rose Greenhow says you’re a Yankee spy and a traitor to Virginia.”
“That’s not true,” Harry said. Godwin and Cashmeyer were eyeing him as snakes might their next meal. Maccubbin appeared less menacing, if not exactly amiable.
“She says the only reason she’s in the Old Capitol Prison is that you betrayed her to Allen Pinkerton.”
“She’s in prison because of her own foolishness,” Harry said.
“I’d mind well how you speak of that woman,” Winder said, coming forward again. “She’s a martyr to our cause. Her information helped us win the day at Manassas. She was the best we had in Washington City.”
“And at times the worst. She used to meet with her agents in Lafayette Square, right across from the President’s House. My role in this was to warn her, several times. And to help her escape—an enterprise she thwarted by running back into her house again. You can ask my cousin through marriage, Belle Boyd.”
“That girl out in Martinsburg who killed a Yankee?”
“Yes, sir.” Harry felt a little woozy, he was about to move to the chair, when Godwin abruptly went over and settled into it, looking very satisfied having done so.
“General Winder,” Harry said. “I have myself been in three Yankee jails, including Fort McHenry. I have come home to rejoin my family and serve Virginia. I came here on a horse I stole from General Joseph Hooker, and …”
>
Winder gave another dismissive wave. “I’m aware of all that. Stop worryin’, Raines. You’re vouched for by President Davis and General Lee. That’s good enough for me. I was just twistin’ your tail a little. Far as I’m concerned, you’re free to leave and go about your business.”
“Thank you, sir.” Harry turned to go.
“Except for one thing,” Winder said.
Harry turned back. “What’s that?”
Winder’s fist came down hard on his desktop. “That damned Negro of yours!”
“He’s causin’ bad trouble up at my jail,” said Captain Godwin.
“The other inmates are raisin’ a ruckus ’cause we put a darky in with them,” Winder said. “All of them are, even those we know are Lincoln black Republicans. They claim it infringes or impinges or whatever on their rights. They want him out of there.”
“What’s that to do with me?” Harry asked. “You people put him there.”
“Yes, well, we people want to take him down to the river and shoot him. That’ll take care of everybody’s problem.”
Harry shuddered, hoping they didn’t notice. He rubbed his arms, as though against the cold.
“You cannot do that, sir, not for another five days at least.”
“We know about that, Raines. We’re just askin’ you to help us out.”
“You’ll be in uniform in a week,” Godwin said. “Probably a captain or major, with your connections. You won’t need that man.”
“Yes I will, and I mean to have him.” He looked to Maccubbin. “Your detective here and I have found evidence that Mrs. Mills may have been done in by two people—and maybe hanged after she was dead.”
“That true, Maccubbin?”
The detective shrugged. “That’s Raines’s theory. I guess it’s possible.”
Winder puffed on his cigar a moment, till his face was obscured by its smoke.
“Any idea who they might be?” This was directed at Harry.
“It’s what I’m spending every waking moment trying to find out. Her coachman was on the premises, and for a long time.”
“What’s surprising about that?” said Maccubbin. “He brought her there, didn’t he? She didn’t walk.”
“One of Godwin’s inmates said we should take your darky and move him to Libby Prison,” Winder said.
Harry’s thoughts, which had been a ramble, suddenly quickened. The prospect offered a number of possibilities.
“Those are mostly officers we’ve got in there,” Godwin said. “I don’t mean to show ’em any kindness, but you can’t do that. Can’t stick a Negro in with ’em.”
Winder took another large puff from his cigar. “We’ll put him in Libby. Those Yankee sonsofbitches got it comin’.”
Godwin stared at the general, then nodded. “Whatever you say, sir.”
Winder grinned. “Mr. Maccubbin—you see to it.” He turned to Harry. “You go do what you think you must, Raines, but don’t cause me any more trouble. If I have to, you know, I can have that rascal of yours shot tryin’ to escape.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Five days?”
“Yes, sir. Plus what’s left of today.”
“Just stay out of our way. A pass from Davis doesn’t mean you can do whatever you please. Not in Richmond City.”
Returning like some stubborn, cast-off dog to the hotel where he was no longer welcome as a guest, Harry went through the alley to the rear entrance he had earlier explored, waiting until only black faces were evident through the kitchen window. Then he quietly moved inside.
They all turned toward him as he stood in the kitchen doorway. Eyes lifted as he took a silver coin from his pocket and tossed it in the air.
“I have a dollar here,” he said, snatching it back from the air. “I’ll give to whoever’s willing to help me.”
They all ceased their labors, and stood still, all eyes upon him.
“One of your own, my man Caesar Augustus, sits in Castle Godwin, wrongly accused of murder and waiting to die. I mean to save him. I’d like your help.”
“What you need, sir?”
“I want you all to think hard upon this. Two days ago, at about this hour, or possibly earlier in the afternoon, did any of you see two men come through this back entrance and go upstairs, carrying something heavy? Might have been two black men, might have been two whites, might have been a white and a black. But there’d have to be two, and strong enough to carry a heavy burden between them.
“Two men, sir?”
“Yes.”
“No, sir, I ain’t seen ’em.”
“Anybody else see anybody like that?”
There was a general shaking of heads.
“How about a woman—a white woman?” Harry tossed the coin again. “A silver dollar.”
They began returning to their work. Harry lingered a moment, to no avail, then made his way outside again, pausing there to give the rear of the hotel a more careful examination. He was poking behind some trash barrels when he felt a tug at the tail of his frock coat.
“Mister?”
Harry found himself confronted by a small, black face. The boy could not have been ten.
“Yes?” Harry asked.
“You say a silver dollar?”
Harry held it up, gripping it firmly. “Yes I did.”
“I see a lady come in. She come in through this door.”
“You work here?”
“I’se kitchen boy. I see a lady come in.”
“Was she fair? Or did she have dark hair?”
“Don’ know. She got her head all covered up.”
“A hat?”
“Nosir. Cold outside. She got a hood pulled close over her head.”
The boy was wearing ragged trousers, a soiled shirt, and cracked shoes, nothing more.
“Did you see anyone else?”
“Yessir, I see two men, like you ask.”
“Two men? When did they come in?”
“They came in with her. One was feelin’ poorly.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was kinda hangin’ on to the others.”
“Did you see his face?”
“His head was hangin’ down.”
“What color was his beard?”
“Ain’t got no beard.”
“Did anyone else see them?” Harry asked.
“Don’ think so. Only me. I was shinin’ shoes in the pantry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me inside?”
“I’se ’fraid I git whupped fo’ talkin’ to a white man.”
“Whupped by who?”
“Boss man come by yesterday and say not to talk to a white man if he come by. That be you?”
“That be me.” Harry placed the silver dollar in the boy’s hand, but held on to his shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Jimmy.”
“Well, Jimmy, I may want to talk to you again. Maybe show you some pictures.”
The boy grinned, but the expression abruptly vanished. “You won’t git me whupped?”
“Won’t get you whupped.”
He released his hold. The boy darted through the door and vanished.
On his way back to his boarding house, Harry saw no fewer than three wagons idled in the streets with their traces empty and teams gone. The equine press gangs were out with a vengeance.
And soon, they’d be out after men.
Weary from his walk and day, he trudged up the stairs to his room, only to be halted on the landing by the voice of his landlord, calling from below.
“Say, Raines. Hold a moment.”
“Yes?” Harry asked.
“Something for you in your room.”
“From whom?”
“Don’t know.”
“Thank you.”
Completing his climb, he saw light coming from the crack at the bottom of his door. It was unlocked. Swinging it open, he saw a wide-eyed black woman sitting on his bed.
Chapter 12
Harry shu
t the door behind him.
“What are you doin’ here, Estelle?” he said, “Last time you saw me, you took off running like a scared cat.”
“I run away, Mister Raines.”
“Estelle, you can’t do that. They’ll just hunt you down.”
“Can’t stay there. Mister Mills, he goin’ crazy. Drinks all the time. Walks around with a gun. And Samuel, he been beatin’ on me bad.” She pointed to her cheek.
“But why do you come to me?”
“Caesar Augustus say he know a way to the Underground Railroad. Maybe you know it, too.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I don’t. And I am very preoccupied at the moment trying to get Caesar Augustus out of prison.”
She looked down at the floor, sadly. He saw that she was wearing house slippers and black stockings.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“I hear Mister Mills tell Samuel where you stayin’.”
“Why did he do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Samuel ask.”
He took a step toward her. Startled, she hopped back a little on the bed. She was a lovely woman, and he wondered if she had been presumed upon in her servitude—possibly by Palmer Mills himself. Harry was feeling extremely uncomfortable with this situation.
“You and Caesar Augustus are, uh, friends?”
“Yes, sir. Long time.”
“I mean to save him, Estelle, but it’s a hard row. I have to find the person who killed Mrs. Mills. And I could use your help.”
“My help?”
He sat down on the bed next to her. She kept her eyes lowered.
“Were you in the carriage when Mrs. Mills came to see me—on the day she died?”
“Nosir. I was at the house, all that day.”
“But you accompanied her the first time she came visiting me. She took you everywhere.”
“Yessir. But then she git real mad at me. Tol’ me I couldn’t come. I weren’t to leave the house.”
“Why was she mad at you?”
“’Cause I’se friends with Caesar Augustus. ’Cause he come by the house. She won’t let me go nowheres.”
“What about Samuel, the coachman?”
“He the coachman. He goes where de coach go.”
“Did she say anything about coming to see me that afternoon? Did she say why?”
The Ironclad Alibi Page 12