by Tony Masero
It was hard for a man like Lamb to take on such a show with his normal cold objective bearing. On the one hand he was a hardnosed commander used to deceitful subterfuge and on the other a wounded creature marginalized in society by his ugly features. For the first time in his life he found himself with an adoring female kneeling plaintively before him and hinting at surrender with all kinds of sexual innuendo. True, there had been those in the past before he had lost his looks, young women that whispered promises behind their fans at officer’s balls but that had been many years before. His life had been a lonely one since those far off days. Lamb was at a loss, a circumstance that worried him as he helped Belle to her feet.
‘Until tonight,’ he stuttered, fumbling with the door handle.
‘I look forward to it most fervently,’ Belle breathed, allowing her bosom to rise and fall rapidly as if her heart beat fast at the prospect.
When she was gone, Lamb sat down heavily at his desk musing over his own consternation. He helped himself to a brandy and thought through the meeting in a calmer frame of mind. His old, calculating self fell into place and he wondered if the woman was in truth merely a widowed hysteric brought low by grief and despair or had she meant all that she had said and was indeed a true zealot. The conundrum confused him and yet interested him. For if she was a real supporter then he had never met such an ardent lady before and in that he saw the possibility of someone who might share his cause and all it stood for. To discover a genuine soul mate in all his ambitions, what a find that would be. When at last he called his adjutant in, he ordered the officer to examine the lady’s background and find out all that he could about her and her husband.
Feeling pleased with herself, Belle left the imposing Capitol building. She felt the wind blowing across the busy tree-lined plaza outside and was glad of the cooling influence under her heavy veil and cumbersome clothes. The breeze was an overture to the rain that was in the offing and the lowering sky was increasing the temperature with its thunderous oppression. She had him, she was sure of it. It would now take little convincing to evoke some information from the man. Some more plays on his vanity and she would have him in the palm of her hand.
Carriages and horsemen made their way around the grass-covered park where groups of soldiers paraded beside the gun emplacements whilst others marched past on their duty watch. Carters hauled meager supplies in their slow moving wagons and delivery boys with full haversacks raced between them along the road. Street sellers and corner newssheet salesmen called their wares, all amidst the stinging dust swept up by a relentless wind that rushed across the square.
As Joe Bellows walked towards the Capitol building wiping some of the grit from his eye, he skirted a loaded wagon and noted the erect posture of the woman dressed in black as she descended the steps. A fine looking creature, he reckoned. Another one set free by the killing. Richmond was becoming a playground of widows and camp concubines ready for the plucking. He leered at the thought then a dusty gust blew down the street and his face dropped.
The wind caught Belle’s veil like a sail, it blew underneath and lifted the black cloth high above her head. She caught it quickly and struggled to pull the material back down again in the constant breeze. But she was too late.
‘Belle Slaughter!’ snarled Bellows.
He watched her move off and followed, keeping well back in the crowd of pedestrians.
Chapter Fourteen
Kirby was lost.
He had been caught in a rush of Confederate troops making their way back from Williamsburg and heading for the capital. The band of men had crossed the Chickahominy River further upriver and were falling back to defend Richmond. They were a ragtag bunch that had stood defense under General Longstreet’s rearguard. Those surviving had been cut off in the general retreat and had free ranged thereafter striking where they might at the advancing Union troops until finally breaking through to make the run back to the capital.
‘What’s your name, boy?’ Kirby asked a resting young private sitting propped up against the bole of a tree. The fair-haired boy was not more than nineteen years old, pale faced and looking exhausted. His uniform was torn and ripped from the thorn bushes and he was splashed with mud from head to toe.
He looked up tiredly at Kirby’s question and noted the chevrons on Kirby’s jacket sleeve, ‘Trooper Paul Nightingale, Corp,’
‘What unit?’
‘32nd Virginia originally, though Lord knows where they are now.’
‘It’s been that bad, huh?’ Kirby agreed in a companionable way.
‘Could say, cold and wet mostly. Had nothing but a bite of corn meal and bacon one time this past three days.’
‘That’s tough. Not much fare in this man’s army.’
The soldier chuckled, ‘We did manage a meal from an old lady a week or so back, I can’t rightly remember when. The old biddy charged us fifty cents for supper.’
‘Fair enough, I guess,’ Kirby sympathized.
‘If you got the cash, I ain’t seen the eleven dollars a month I was promised on joining for a while now.’
‘You ain’t alone,’ grinned Kirby. ‘Any idea what lies north of us?’
From him Kirby learnt that the ironclad CSS Virginia had held sway in the York River and had blocked the river from Union forces but was now scuttled allowing free access to the river by the Union navy.
The men were moving off. Not that any one of them was in obvious command but as a united group they just got up and started out as if some unseen commander had given them the word.
‘You coming, Corp?’ asked Nightingale, climbing to his feet.
‘I reckon not,’ said Kirby. ‘I’m going to find my own way along.’
As the men moved off, Kirby bid farewell to Nightingale and slipped away into the boggy mire that surrounded the Chickahominy and made his way to the riverbank. There was no way across other than by taking a dip and Kirby reckoned he was wet and muddy enough already so bundling up his clothes he plunged in and swum across reaching the banks on the northern side of the peninsular.
From there he continued to make his way in a northeasterly direction determined to reach the York River, hoping to meet up with Union troops on the way or pick up a ride on a naval ship when he reached the river.
All around him were signs of the general confusion; men from both sides were lost and stumbling through the forests of the muddy river valley. He could hear the continuing sounds of battle west of him around the embattled Richmond and the occasional jingle of harness came to him through the woods as cavalry or unseen riders passed by. They were always out of sight amongst the trees or too far distant for him to determine their uniforms. It was frustrating for Kirby, being so close to his army and yet not able to make contact and all the time moving in fear of being shot by some nervy conscript.
He was south of the York River and at the edge of the woods overlooking a rising pasture of open grassland when he heard the sounds of rustling undergrowth behind him.
Turning quickly, he saw the young trooper he had met earlier coming up the slope.
‘Nightingale, what are you doing here?’
‘What the hell,’ shrugged the boy. ‘I thought I’d tag along, it don’t seem to make much difference which direction we go anyway. Them Union boys are every which way.’
Kirby frowned; he could well do without one of the enemy trailing along with him when he made contact.
‘Don’t you want to get along to Richmond, might find yourself a decent meal there?’
‘Well, what are you doing out here, Corp? Ain’t you going back?’
‘Not right now,’ said Kirby. ‘I got a mission in mind.’
‘What that might be?’
‘Have to take a looksee behind enemy lines. You’d best go back, Nightingale, this could get tricky.’
‘Well, I’m here now,’ the boy sniffed. ‘I’ll cover your back, Corp.’
He stared past Kirby then, his eyes opening in wonder.
‘Will yo
u look at that?’
A multi colored globe rose with ominous slowness over the brow of the hill beyond them and proceeded to drift ponderously along the skyline. It was a bizarre looking object and for a moment it startled Kirby into wondering if he was dreaming or not.
Both of them stood in shock at the strange object as it floated along. Distantly, Kirby heard the sound of a steam engine and the clank of couplings and guessed they must be near the York River Railroad line. As the strange shape rose higher Kirby made out a cable stretching from the base of the globe where a basket hung with two tiny figures inside. It was then Kirby realized he was looking at a Confederate hot air observation balloon being pulled along by the engine below.
The whole thing looked a homemade job sewn together from a variety of materials of different colors and sizes. He had heard about it from Lomas he recalled, how the balloon was filled each morning at the Richmond gasworks and then towed to overlook any battles taking place in the vicinity but this was the first time he had seen it in action.
For a moment it was in Kirby’s mind to steal a ride on the balloon. To cut the moorings and ride over the fields to Northern lines but the train moved off and the balloon drifted away westwards as the skies opened up and it started to rain.
The shot startled him as it came so close to his head and he spun around to see Nightingale’s raised Enfield rifle smoking in his hands.
‘Damn them bluebellies,’ chortled the trooper happily, lowering his rifle. ‘Too big a target to miss, sitting up there like a big old fat harvest moon.’
‘Nightingale! You fool…. That’s not a Union balloon, its one of ours.’
The crack of returning sharpshooter fire came from the balloon and Kirby dropped to the ground as shot whistled close by. Two more shots came their way as the balloon drifted out of range and Kirby lifted his head to see it vanishing over the horizon.
‘That was one dumb….’ He looked over at the trooper sitting spread-legged propped up by his drooping rifle. Slowly, the boy keeled over and slid to the ground and Kirby saw that half his face had been shot away.
With a sigh, Kirby laid out the body in a decent fashion and climbed to his feet. He looked around but there was no one in sight only the steady fall of a light rain and hunching his shoulders against the rainfall he broke cover from the trees and began to set off up the rise towards the railroad.
‘I’m telling you, Colonel, it was her!’
Joe was grinning from ear to ear and Monette poured himself a shot of whiskey before slamming the bottle back in his desk drawer.
‘Here in Richmond? Are you sure? How can it be?’
‘She was all dressed up in widow’s clothes. Her dress black as pitch and as she come out of the Capitol building the wind caught her veil. I swear, Colonel, it was your lady wife as plain as day. I’d know them golden locks and blue eyes anywhere.’
‘What was she doing in there? I thought the bitch would be long gone by now.’
‘I don’t know that but I followed her. I know where she’s lodged.’
‘Great God Almighty, Bellows,’ growled Monette. ‘If I can lay my hands on her she will pay a thousand fold for the trouble she’s caused me.’
‘Why not, Colonel. We can get her, sure as the day is long. You take down Belle Slaughter and your light will shine again here in Richmond.’
‘Yes,’ said Monette, guzzling his liquor and his eyes taken on a vengeful gleam. ‘Yes, it would be good. To bring her in and see all their faces as I present her to the General, then watch her riddled before a firing squad and be rid of her forever.’
‘I’ll get Obie, we can fetch her this instant.’
‘You have done well, Bellows,’ said Monette, opening the drawer and taking out his bottle again. ‘Here, have a glass with me.’
‘Why thank you, Colonel. Much obliged, I’m sure.’ Smugly, Joe leaned forward and accepted the offered drink.
‘Here’s to a worthwhile relationship,’ toasted Monette, with a slow smile. ‘I think we shall get on really well, Bellows.’
‘What hour do you want us ready, Colonel?’
‘Early evening, once we have full dark, I fancy. Bring your friend and we’ll meet up here and use my carriage.’
‘It’s done, sir,’ said Joe, swallowing his whiskey in a single gulp.
Later, once it was dark the three met as planned and Obie drove the closed carriage away from City Hall and along Broad Street until breaking off at the Seventeenth Street turn off and heading up to the Shockoe Creek neighborhood.
‘This is it,’ murmured Joe, knocking on the carriage roof with his fist to advise Obie they were at their destination and he pulled up the horse in the silent and empty suburban street.
‘Where is she?’ asked Monette, drawing his cloak more tightly around him as if he felt a sudden chill. He was both nervous and excited at the same time and Joe could see the shine of sweat on his sallow skin in the lamplight from house windows.
‘There,’ said Joe, indicating the building. It stood alone, a two-story brick structure set apart and in darkness except for a single lighted window.
‘Not many lights on,’ Monette observed as he took a silver flask from inside his jacket and swilled a slug. ‘She alone, do you reckon?’
‘Maybe,’ said Joe. ‘We’ll find out soon enough.’
‘What if that gunsel is with her? That Kirby Langstrom.’
Joe looked on his nervousness with a hint of distain ‘You up for this, Colonel? We don’t want no shake and rattle when we go in there. If Langstrom’s with her, they won’t be expecting us. It’ll be fine, I’m right looking forward to it, you know you ain’t the only one that owes Belle Slaughter for past deeds.’
Monette frowned at the glint of his teeth in the darkness. ‘Just being cautious, that’s all,’ he said in justification although Joe could hear the tremble in his voice.
Joe opened the carriage door and signaled up to Obie to tie off the reins at a nearby picket fence and get down from the driving seat. He looked into the carriage’s gloomy interior, ‘You coming or not, Colonel?’
‘I’m come, I’m coming,’ said Monette, bustling out.
‘Go check out the back, Obie,’ Joe ordered. ‘See if there’s a back door open.’
Belle was preparing for her dinner with Lamb inside the house as Obie stealthily made his way around back. She had laid out her dresses on the bed and was deciding which would best serve. She could not face wearing the veil and black again as she felt it did not become her nor would it help in any of her seduction plans to appear as a woman cloaked in death.
Her natural inclination anyway was to display her wares and since childhood she had always preferred the fanciest of dress. She made her choice and found preference in a tasteful number in satin with a long bustled back that swept the floor, the shade of green enhanced her eyes and the tight-waisted bodice enabled her to present her ample breasts to best advantage.
Once that was decided her next task was to set up her hair in ringlets and she sat in front of her dressing table mirror in a simple cotton shift and set about it. The job was best done with a maid but they could not risk having a stranger in the house so she heated the scissor-shaped tongs herself and coiled her golden hair as best she could alone.
She stopped once thinking she heard a creak on the stairs outside the bedroom but the house was old enough to offer all sorts of noises in the stillness of the night and she shrugged and continued crimping her hair into shape. Her arms were raised above her head holding the hot tongs in place when in the mirror’s reflection she saw the door to the room swing open and a tall dark shape appear.
‘Lomas?’ she asked. ‘That you?’
The lamp beside her shone on her image in the mirror but did not extend beyond into the darkened room.
‘I’m just getting ready to go see the General,’ she added. ‘You back from that Circle meeting?’
‘It ain’t nobody but me,’ said Joe as he came into the room, followed by the
other two, their silhouettes crowding the doorway.
Belle gasped, starting to rise, ‘Joe Bellows!’ she hissed. ‘How in the hell….’
‘Yeah,’ said Joe, moving quickly forward and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, pressing her back down into her seat. ‘Surprise, ain’t it?’
His hand played over her shoulder pushing the thin material away and caressing the sheen of her skin underneath. ‘Been a while, Belle. I see you still look a good as ever.’
Belle did not hesitate; she laid the hot iron tongs on the offending hand, scalding the wrist.
Joe yelped and cursed pulling his hand away quickly. ‘Goddamn you!’ he spat, bunching his fist and hitting her hard across the back of the head. Stunned, Belle slipped sideways off the edge of her seat and fell to the floor.
‘Get her up,’ ordered Joe and Obie straddled Belle and grasped her arms.
‘She sure is a pretty one, ain’t she?’ he chuckled.
Belle scissored in her position on the floor and kicked out, her bare foot missing its mark and striking Obie on the inner thigh.
‘Oh, my,’ he chuckled as he grabbed her firmly and lifted her up. ‘We have a fighter here.’
Joe sucked the back of his burnt hand and looked at Belle malevolently. ‘There’s someone here to see you, slut.’ He stepped away and revealed the cloaked figure of Monette standing in the doorway.
‘Good evening, wife,’ sneered the Colonel. ‘How good to see you again.’
Belle lowered her head and stared back at him, ‘What do you want, Courtney? It’s over between us now.’
‘I know that, my dear,’ said Monette, moving into the room full of smug confidence. He threw back the edge of his cape and took out his whisky flask. ‘But you have caused me such unpleasantness I could not leave you to run away without a last farewell. You have a charge of spying to answer for and maybe by handing you in I can reconstitute some of the honor you have lost me in the process of your deceitful behavior.’