Lamb to the Slaughter

by Tony Masero

  ‘But do I detect a certain softening towards our absent friend?’

  ‘Well,’ said Belle, looking out of the carriage window. ‘He does have a certain appeal, I suppose.’

  ‘He’ll be mighty glad to hear that.’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ said Belle angrily. ‘Don’t you dare say a word, Lomas Bell. You hear me?’

  Lomas laughed into the shadows, ‘I knew you’d come around in the end, Belle. Kirby’s a mighty fine fellow; I’m sure you’ll make out swell together.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. Now don’t you go putting words in my mouth, Lomas. Kirby’s nice enough, I’ll admit to it. He’s a good friend that’s all, there’s no need to make more of it than that.’

  The Spotswood Hotel stood on the corner of Main and Eighth and was a huge and impressive four-story-high brick building with fine accommodation that was favored by many of the best visitors to Richmond. Newly opened, with the advent of the war it had since been occupied by rear echelon officers and their entourages and the suppers, balls and wild carrying on were already legendary in the town.

  Baltimore whores, so decorously called ‘scarlet women’ by the locals had been drawn as if by magnets to the mass of eager army men so far away from home and their loved ones. And the place was alive with a ready supply of female company all willing to party.

  Belle was welcomed into this swirl of activity by the proprietor and manager Mister Hoenniger, who obsequiously guided her with practiced ease through the busy dining room and into the private room set aside for the Major General.

  Belle swept in determined to make a show and found the General seated solemnly at the head of a small dining table set with silver on starched linen. Behind him hung a swathe of heavy curtains and gas brackets burned on the walls, their lights turned down to a subdued level creating an intimate and faintly funereal atmosphere.

  The General looked her over approvingly, his good eye set with a pinpoint gleam of light in the shadows whilst the glass one reflected a dull glow.

  ‘Mrs. Moresome, you have shed your widow’s garments and the improvement is, might I say, phenomenal,’ he inclined his head in polite greeting.

  ‘Will that be all, General?’ asked Hoenniger. ‘Shall we serve now or later?’

  Lamb did not take his eye from Belle, ‘Later, I think. Much later. Mrs. Moresome and I have things to discuss first. Pray take a seat, ma’am.’

  Hoenniger held the chair for her to sit across the table opposite the General then silently left the room, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Things to discuss?’ asked Belle, spreading her skirts more comfortably.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Lamb brightly, the frozen half of his face showing as little sign of activity as the whole. ‘I bear glad tidings.’

  Belle leaned her head forward in query; the spun gold of her resurrected curls shining as they moved in the gaslight.

  ‘Yes,’ Lamb went on. He had not moved since Belle had entered and it gave him all the appearance of a statue or some kind of idol in the gloom of the room. ‘Your husband is found.’

  Belle made no move but internally she froze. ‘My Josh is alive and well?’ she managed.

  ‘He is indeed, I’m sure you will be most pleased to hear the news. They were cut off by the enemy apparently but he has made his way back safely to our lines.’

  ‘That is so good to know.’

  ‘There is a strange anomaly though. A query I hope you might clear up for me.’

  ‘And that is?’ Belle’s hand was already slipping into the purse on her lap searching for the reassuring feel of the derringer.

  ‘Yes, he claims to be a single man and one having never been wed in his life.’

  ‘Oh, the dear boy,’ said Belle in an off-hand manner. ‘He must be so shocked by his experiences, perhaps he suffers some mental malady that would cause him to forget.’

  ‘I think not,’ said Lamb and Belle heard the sounds of the dining room outside as the door behind her opened. ‘You see, he is here,’ Lamb moved for the first time and raised his hand to indicate behind her.

  Belle turned to see a young pale-faced and hollow-cheeked man of some twenty-five years, the remnants of mud still evident on his uniform. He looked tired and stared at Belle from dark rimmed eyes.

  ‘You know this lady?’ asked Lamb.

  ‘If I did, sir. I should surely remember her,’ said Moresome in an appreciative yet low-pitched voice.

  ‘She is not your wife then?’

  ‘Would that she was. Forgive me, ma’am, I do not mean to be impertinent, but I would marry you this instant if you give the word.’

  Belle forced herself to give a casual laugh, ‘You are too gallant, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Fetch in Major Winder’s man,’ Lamb ordered sharply and Moresome saluted and hurried from the room.

  ‘You have called on the Provost Marshal?’ asked Belle. ‘Is this necessary?’

  ‘I believe so. My adjutant, a loyal and thorough servant, has done something of a search on your background madam. We need the word of a single officer to confirm his findings.’

  ‘Who might that be?’ asked Belle, cocking a doubtful eyebrow.

  ‘Your true husband, ma’am. Colonel Courtney Monette. You see, I believe you are the escaped spy, Belle Slaughter.’

  ‘Ridiculous,’ sniffed Belle. ‘True I took on Moresome’s identity but to do no more than succeed in bettering my lot.’

  ‘Then who are you in reality?’

  ‘I’m known as Madame du Maison, General. Just a simple working girl looking to make her way.’

  Lamb pouted his lower lip, the one half that moved turning it into an ugly leer. ‘And how came you to Richmond, Madame du Maison?’

  ‘I came in with a few other ladies. We were all out looking for employment.’

  ‘So you are in fact no more than a common whore attempting to lure me into some kind of love nest, is that right?’

  ‘It would be a very hospitable nest, General,’ smiled Belle slyly.

  ‘You underestimate me, woman,’ said Lamb coldly. ‘I am not moved by such displays.’

  The door to the room swung open and there was the sound of heavy boots on the boards behind Belle.

  ‘This the woman?’ asked a rough sounding voice.

  ‘It is,’ said Lamb. ‘Did Griswold send you?’

  ‘He did, sir. It’s only the one woman is it?’

  ‘Just the one. Although treat her tenderly, my man, it would be a shame to damage such a splendid looking creature.’

  ‘Makes no difference to me, sir. I seen ‘em all, sweet and sour and they all bleed just the same.’

  ‘I dare say,’ said Lamb with an air of boredom. ‘See she is taken to the jail until positively identified.’

  ‘Right come along,’ said the voice and a heavy hand descended on Belle’s shoulder.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ warned Belle with quiet menace.

  ‘Lady, I’m an Officer of the Watch and you are duly placed under arrest.’ He smelt of tobacco and beer and Belle turned away as he leaned across her. ‘We cannot find Colonel Monette yet, sir. We’ll do as you say and hold the woman until he can be found.’

  Lamb nodded and flicked a dismissive hand.

  ‘Come on you,’ said the Watch officer, pulling at Belle again. ‘Make me do it and I’ll have you crawling on all fours all the way to your cell.’

  As the man pulled again at Belle’s shoulder, she began to rise, sliding the derringer out as she did so. She leaned quickly across the table and shot Lamb point-blank in the chest, he jumped at the impact and stared disbelievingly at the well of blood suddenly appearing on his uniform jacket, before looking up at her his mouth opening and shutting with no sound emitting.

  Turning quickly, Belle thrust the derringer deep into the left eye of the surprised man looming behind her and pulled the trigger. The man shuddered, his head nodding repeatedly as if in an echoing vibration to the bullet’s passage through his skull before he collapsed
to the floor without making a sound.

  The noise of the two small-bore derringer shots had passed unnoticed in the general hubbub of the busy dining room outside and Belle turned back to Lamb, tossing the empty gun on the table.

  ‘If I had another bullet in that, I would finish you,’ she said, leaning across the table and looking Lamb directly in his good eye.

  ‘I think I am done for anyway,’ gasped Lamb, clutching at his chest. His breathing was labored and his uneven face twisted in pain.

  ‘Who is your bounty jumper contact in the north?’ Belle asked. ‘Tell me and I’ll fetch you help.’

  ‘I am a Knight of the Golden Circle,’ Lamb panted desperately. ‘Do you think we will surrender so easily. Go to hell, my dear. I will tell you nothing.’

  ‘You will die, if you don’t talk,’ said Belle, resting both hands on the table and leaning across to look at him with serious intent. ‘You’ll bleed out in a hotel dining room. Is that a fitting end for Major General of the KGC, do you think?’

  ‘Someone will be in,’ said Lamb, sluggishly drawing himself up in his chair, his hand clutching at his wound.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Belle, slowly unbuttoning her bodice. ‘If anyone comes in it will only be to disturb an officer with his piece of fancy for the night. And that won’t happen, I’m sure the ever-discrete Mister Hoenniger will see to that.’

  Lamb watched her coldly as the wings of the bodice came apart and her undergarments were exposed. Belle brushed aside cutlery and sat on the edge of the table overlooking Lamb. ‘You see,’ she said, pushing her chest forward proudly. ‘Now do you want to receive help or not? Every minute counts, you’re going to bleed out pretty soon.’

  Lamb mobile side of his face winced in pain, ‘I am dying, woman. Bring someone, I beg of you.’

  ‘Tell me and I shall,’ Belle promised.

  Lamb fumbled at his uniform buttons and opened the front of his jacket to reveal the gore of his blood soaked shirt underneath.

  ‘My God,’ he gasped. ‘I am finished. You are a cold and evil woman.’

  ‘No worse than you, General. I think more is frozen about you than your face.’

  They stared at each other for a long moment.

  ‘His name is Xavier Bond,’ Lamb finally whispered in capitulation.

  ‘He is a politician?’

  Lamb nodded and tilted dazedly sideways in his chair, Belle got up and refastened her dress.

  ‘Will you help me now?’ Lamb pleaded in a blurred voice and Belle could see he was slipping into unconsciousness.

  ‘I’ll keep my word,’ she said, standing and brushing down her dress. ‘Good luck, to you General, you may survive yet.’

  She left the room in a rush, looking panicked and screaming, ‘Help! Help! The General’s been attacked! Somebody go to him. He shot the assassin but he’s been wounded. Medical assistance, somebody bring a doctor.’

  After a few moments of stunned silence, the officers in the dining room jumped to their feet and amidst loud shouts and queries they ran in a crowd to give help. Belle unnoticed in the confusion, made her way out of the hotel lobby.

  As she stood in the doorway outside, a figure left the shadows and came up beside her.

  ‘It is done?’ asked Lomas.

  Belle nodded, ‘The man we want is Xavier Bond.’

  ‘Damn it!’ cursed Lomas. ‘He’s high enough in the government. This is going to cause some consternation in the corridors of power.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here before they catch on it was me that plugged the General.’

  ‘You shot him!’

  ‘Well, what was that derringer for?’

  ‘Protection, not for bloody murder.’

  ‘It was used for protection, Lomas. They had me in a bind in there, I had to do it.’

  ‘Then we have to move fast, I have a service exemption order for me, and a forged pass for each of us with General Winder’s faked signature, we can take the regular Central Virginia mail train out of here tonight.’

  ‘Then lets get a move on before it leaves without us.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was raining in Washington and the gray skies outside only added to the somber mood in Pinkerton’s office.

  ‘Kirby is dead!’ Belle’s face twisted, her beautiful features crumpling. ‘That’s too bad, way too bad,’ she choked, turning away quickly from Pinkerton so he would not see the tears that sprung into her eyes.

  ‘You thought well of the lad I know,’ Pinkerton growled in a low voice, his broad Scots accent more evident as he told them of Kirby’s demise.

  ‘I did,’ Belle answered, stifling a sob. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone.’

  ‘ Goddamn it! And by our own men you say,’ Lomas cursed in disgust.

  ‘It happens in war,’ said Pinkerton sagely. ‘A dear friend but a casualty of the conflict. A sad loss.’

  Hurriedly, Belle brushed aside her tears with the flat of her hand. ‘You have read our report?’ she asked.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Pinkerton, lifting the hand written sheets from his desk. ‘A damning picture. It strikes at the very foundation of our war effort. I shall report the matter to President Lincoln immediately, we must bring this scoundrel to book.’

  ‘Who knows where it will lead,’ added Lomas. ‘A connection like that and so highly placed.’

  Pinkerton sniffed thoughtfully and studied them both closely. ‘That is a very good point, Lomas. I wonder if two might be encouraged to follow down that path?’

  ‘I’d like to,’ Belle said, determination showing on her face. ‘If only for Kirby’s memory.’

  ‘It means we leave Xavier Bond in place so as to give you the possibility to track down his contacts here in the north. I shall see to it that word gets back to the Confederates about Lamb, I’m sure they will want to rid themselves of these bounty jumpers just as much as we do. It’s an insidious self-seeking web these Knights of the Golden Circle have created and it crosses over both sides of the country’s divisions.’

  ‘I’m ready for it,’ agreed Lomas.

  ‘Good,’ said Pinkerton. ‘Then that’s how we’ll leave it. I must brief the President but other than that no one will know that Xavier Bond is a traitorous member of this wretched secret society.’

  ‘We’ll do our best, sir,’ said Lomas.

  ‘I think the two of you should take a break right now. I see you have Kirby’s death on your minds, when you feel able then make your play for Bond.’

  ‘It will be a fitting epitaph for Kirby,’ Belle promised.

  ‘He was a good man,’ Pinkerton agreed.

  ‘He was sight more than that,’ affirmed Lomas.

  ‘Yes,’ said Belle sadly. ‘He was my friend. A very dear friend.’

  Belle was shocked by the depth of her feelings at the news. It left a hollow sensation inside her and she experienced a dark and inexplicable stunned emptiness. Her tears welled up again unbidden as she and Lomas left Pinkerton’s office.

  ‘You okay, Belle?’ Lomas asked softly.

  ‘Not really. I think I need some time alone.’

  ‘Sure,’ Lomas said. ‘I’ll drop you off at your lodgings.’

  ‘No, you go on. I want to walk a while.’

  ‘Okay, honey. Send me word if you need anything.’

  ‘I will, thank you, Lomas.’

  ‘Sad day for us both, Belle. I think I’ll go and raise a glass or two for that old cowboy.’

  Belle nodded and watched him walk away, a tall figure, lean and erect in the plain cream suit he preferred.

  Kirby gone forever, it was something she could not get a handle on. He had always been there for her. A kind of guardian angel she considered. At the thought she raised her eyes heavenwards, into the lowering gray clouds above.

  If you’re watching, Kirby, she thought, God Speed on your journey and bless you.

  Then she ducked her head against the rain squall that began to fall as if in answer to her prayer and walked on, n
ot caring if she got soaked or not.

  About the Author

  Tony Masero is an internationally known Illustrator, who is perhaps best known for his stunning book covers. Of the many series he worked on he is particularly known for the two best selling and long running Western series for George G Gilman's Edge and Steele characters, where he painted most of the covers for the European market. Tony originally trained as a Graphic Designer in London and worked in the design field before taking up Illustration. After a successful career in Illustration he turned to writing and now often uses his earlier skills to create the design and artwork for his own book jackets. During a long career his artwork has fronted many popular books in different genres but his love of Westerns arose out of the research necessary to complete his artwork and in the same way he often creates his novels around some elements of historical fact. Tony has two sons and a daughter and now lives with his wife, Diana in Portugal.

  PICCADILLY PUBLISHING

  To visit our website, click here

  To visit our blog, click here

  Available in the Series:

  BELLE SLAUGHTER #1 – OVER YOUR DEAD BODY

  Nebraska 1860

  War clouds are gathering as civil unrest runs riot in the nation. In the gold rush town of Variable Breaks another war is looming. Belle Slaughter, released by her drink-sodden daddy from a grinding life in a Tennessee rundown shack, is aboard a snake-oil salesman’s travelling show when it blows into town. They walk straight into the flying lead of a crazy gunfight on Main Street but a drifting cowhand is on hand, in the shape of Kirby Langstrom, a man with a mean gun and attitude to match.

  Finding themselves owners of a dead man’s saloon, Belle and her grifter boss are confronted by the envious eyes of Joe Bellows and his other fellow saloonkeepers, all of them vying for the lucrative gold trade in town. It’s the start of a bloody battle that leads Belle and her companion on a vengeful pursuit across a country about to be torn apart by Civil War. They hunt not only a calculating enemy but also ride to preserve the life of a man whose safety could change the face of history.