She assumed Jack was in the building somewhere. Was Braham? And, if he was, would he be in uniform? There were a few uniformed men, but most were dressed in business attire, including a top hat, fedora, or bowler. Jack and Braham were both tall enough to be seen above the heads of even those wearing stovepipe hats.
A majority of the men in the room carried canes or umbrellas they used for emphasis by either pounding on the floor or poking the air. Nine out of ten had facial hair—short beards, long beards, mustaches, goatees. None were particularly attractive, the beards or the men. And the smell of unwashed bodies saturated the air.
Henly waved one hand toward a vacant bench. “Shall we sit over there?” He ushered her around a group of men who were debating mercy for the vanquished and sectional reconciliation for the nation. The muscles in her stomach gripped. Mercy would fly out the window following the assassination.
Before she sat, she lifted her foot behind her, catching the bottom hoop on her heel, and placed the hoops on the back of the seat. She perched on the edge of the chair, making sure she wasn’t rumpling or sitting on any of the hoops. The little trick saved her from the embarrassment of flying skirts.
“By the way,” he said, crossing his legs, “where were you going when you were unceremoniously booted from your carriage?”
Oh God. What am I going to say?
She and Jack had decided to show up on Braham’s doorstep, hoping they would be welcomed, but they hadn’t discussed how they would explain their relationship. Whatever their story was going to be, it had to be believable. She blew out a breath before answering.
“To my…cousin’s house in Georgetown.”
He pursed his lips a little, and thoughts flickered across his face. “I have several acquaintances living there. What’s your cousin’s name? I might know her.”
She couldn’t mask the associated guilt from telling another lie so she turned her head, coughing. Lying was certainly not her forte. “Major Abraham McCabe,” she said between coughs. “Excuse me. I have a tickle in my throat.”
Henly’s turned the full force of his brown eyes on her and his eyebrows rose. “He’s your cousin?”
She cleared her throat. To keep from telling a third lie she asked, “Do you know him?”
Henly sat back against the column and pulled his bottom lip out into a pucker, obviously thinking. “When was the last time you heard from him?”
She searched the colonel’s face for clues as to the cause of his concern. Had he heard Braham had been captured in Richmond and was believed dead? Or had something more happened to him? A sharp pain grew inside her chest. “It’s been a while, but if you have news, please tell me.”
Henly’s eyes darkened and were edged with concern and something else. “I heard he was captured and died from the wounds he sustained. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
“If he’d been killed, we would have heard.”
“If you’re on his notification list, a telegram would have been sent to your home. Where do you live?”
She stared ahead, wrinkling her brow in concentration, and told the truth. “My home is in Richmond.”
Henly sat ramrod straight, and a muscle twitched along his jaw.
“We left some time ago, though,” she added quickly, hoping he wouldn’t ask how long ago. “We’re Unionists and it was no longer safe to stay there.” Her voice held a distinct quaver.
He leaned in confidentially. “I’m attached to the War Department. I’ll see if I can uncover any information.”
If the colonel worked at the War Department and hadn’t heard Braham had survived Richmond, then either Braham hadn’t yet arrived back in Washington, or the president had sent him out immediately on another mission.
A hand tapped Charlotte’s shoulder, and she jumped.
“What are you doing here?” Jack’s lips were set in a grim line. “Did you leave the trunks on the street?”
She came to her feet quickly. “Colonel Henly absolutely insisted I come inside with him. His aides are guarding them. He took pity on me when I told him about the carriage’s horse going lame and how we were ejected at the corner.”
Jack extended his hand to Henly. “I’m Jack Mallory. Thank you for taking care of my sister.”
“It was an honor, but I’m afraid I shared bad news.”
“It’s about Braham,” Charlotte said. “The colonel heard he was captured and died of his wounds.”
Jack’s jaw went slack and he put his hands to his hips. “We would have received a telegram or letter.”
She cupped her elbows and shuddered. “Not if we aren’t on his notification list.” She felt certain the colonel was referring to Braham’s October injury and capture, and not to a new one, but there was no way to know for sure without talking to him.
“I told Miss Mallory I’m attached to the War Department. If there is any information available concerning his whereabouts, I’ll find out. Have you thought of staying at the townhouse he owns on Lafayette Square instead of Georgetown?”
“I didn’t know he owned a townhouse,” she said, feeling betrayed by another one of Braham’s lies.
Henly glanced from her to Jack. “It would be more convenient to stay there than to travel out to Georgetown, at least until I can investigate his whereabouts.”
“Do you know the address?” Jack asked.
“It’s across from Lafayette Square.”
Jack gave Charlotte a what-do-you-want-to-do look. “I have a carriage waiting outside.”
Charlotte fidgeted with her cloak’s top button. She didn’t know what kind of reception they would receive from Braham’s servants. It would be embarrassing and unexplainable if they weren’t permitted to stay at the townhouse. They needed to sever ties with the nosy colonel immediately.
“Let’s go to the townhouse, at least for tonight,” she said.
Henly snatched his hat off the bench. “I’ll escort you.”
“It’s—” she said with a snap.
“—not necessary,” Jack finished her sentence, smiling. “We wouldn’t wish to impose.”
“You’re new to town, and I insist.” The ruthless edge in his low-pitched voice sent a shiver up her spine. Then he gave her a slow smile that revealed deep grooves on either side of his mouth. The smile did not appease her shivers.
They left by way of the ladies’ entrance on Fourteenth Street, exiting the hotel a short distance from their waiting carriage, trunks, and the colonel’s aides. Henly assisted Charlotte into the conveyance before mounting his horse for the short ride over to the townhouse. A few minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of an Italianate-style residence.
Would the servants allow two people they had never met to stay in Braham’s home? She tried to focus on a cover story to tell the servants instead of the unnerving thump of her heart.
“Colonel, thank you for your assistance. We don’t want to hold you up any longer,” Jack said.
She didn’t dare look at Jack. He would give her the same questioning look she wanted to give him.
“Nonsense,” Henly said. “I’d prefer to see you settled before I leave. And maybe the servants have news of the major’s whereabouts.” He pointed toward the front door. “Shall we go?” Henly’s eyes held the same unblinking chill as when she first met him.
Charlotte gathered her courage. Jack appeared to be his usual suave self, sauntering up the stairs to the sandstone door surround, where he clasped the door knocker and tapped it several times, giving Henly his book jacket smile.
A butler smartly dressed in day livery opened the door. “May I help you?”
“I’m Jack Mallory and this is my sister, Charlotte. We’re Major McCabe’s cousins and have come for a visit. Is he here?”
The man opened the door wider. “Come in, please.” They did, including Henly, and the butler closed the door behind them. “The major said when you arrive, Miss Mallory, you’re to have the house and staff at your disposal.”
On a
scale measuring from pissed off to grateful, she found herself somewhere along the center point, and could easily swing in either direction depending on what happened in the next few minutes. “Is the major in Washington now?”
“He spent several nights here, but he hasn’t returned recently.”
Charlotte untied her bonnet and unbuttoned her jacket. “Would you have someone help with our trunks?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pointed toward a parlor to the right of the entry. “You’ll be comfortable waiting in there while I see to your baggage and your rooms. I’ll have refreshments brought in.”
Charlotte handed the butler her bonnet and coat and entered the parlor with Henly and Jack.
“If McCabe was here, it means he survived Richmond. When I leave, I’ll go over to the War Department. As soon as I have information on his whereabouts, I’ll let you know.”
The words consult the president were on Charlotte’s tongue but she reeled them in before she said them. She had no doubt at all Lincoln knew exactly where Braham was and probably received daily briefings from him.
“Thank you, Colonel. You saved us a trip to Georgetown,” Jack said. “We don’t want to keep you from your business any longer.”
“It’s been my pleasure, Mr. Mallory, Miss Mallory.”
Jack escorted the colonel to the door. “If I hear anything tonight,” Henly said, “I’ll send word.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Jack said. He opened the door and the colonel stepped out, and then turned back.
“With your permission, I’d like to call on your sister.”
Jack glanced back at Charlotte, who was standing in the hall talking with the butler, but looking in their direction. “You’ll have to take it up with her. She’s never needed my permission before. I doubt she wants it now.”
Henly set his hat on his head, glanced at Charlotte, and with a wry smile said, “I’ll discuss it with her, then. Good day, Mr. Mallory.”
Jack watched Henly mount his horse, then closed the door. Turning toward Charlotte, he said, “What do you think of the illustrious colonel?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“That bad?”
She nodded toward the parlor. They entered the room and Jack closed the tall sliding doors.
“We should get in the habit of only talking privately,” she said.
“I agree. There’s too much at stake.”
They sat on the sofa, close, so they could speak in low tones.
“I thought Henly was overly aggressive, and he refused to listen to me, but in the end, he was helpful. I’m not sure what to make of him.” Charlotte picked up a small pillow and hugged it to her chest. “If the butler had said he couldn’t allow guests to stay in the house without Braham’s permission, or even that he’d never heard of us, Henly might have thought we were spies. I hate to think of what could have happened.”
“Why would he have believed such a thing?”
“He asked where we were from. I told him we were Unionists from Richmond. I wasn’t prepared to answer his questions and didn’t want to tell more lies. His eyes told me he was analyzing every word I said. I don’t trust him.”
They sat in tense silence staring at each other for a minute, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Jack said, “Your story should work. But what I want to know is why was Braham so damn sure you’d come after him when you insisted you didn’t want to come back?”
She threw up her hands. “You probably understand him better than I do. You tell me. You did notice, though, he didn’t make it easy for us. If we hadn’t met the colonel, we would have traveled out to Georgetown and might not have learned Braham had been in town.”
“He probably reported to the president and immediately received a new assignment. At least if he’s out of the city, he can’t shoot Booth,” Jack said.
“Maybe Henly will learn something at the War Department.”
“Henly will be back whether he hears news of Braham or not. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”
“I couldn’t take my eyes off him, either, but it wasn’t because I was interested. He reminded me of the cops who hide close to the lane in front of the mansion waiting for me to break the law so they can pull me over and slap a citation in my hand.”
“Then stay away from him. Since he intends to call on you tomorrow, should I tell him to leave you alone?”
“No, don’t do it yet. I’ll see him tomorrow. His connections might open a door to one of the hospitals so I can work while I’m here. I’ll put up with him, at least for now.”
“You might enjoy having male attention. Someone to take you to parties and the theater.”
“I don’t want male attention, and you can take me to the theater.”
He tapped her cheek. “You don’t? Then how do you explain the pinkish tinge on your face?”
She slapped his hand away. “If you think I could be interested in a controlling jerk like the colonel, you don’t know me at all.”
“Tsk, tsk. I know you better than you know yourself. Thoughts of the colonel didn’t make you blush. Nope, you blushed because you pictured a soldier with steady green eyes and a knee-melting smile.”
She threw a small decorative sofa pillow at him. “You are working on a romance novel, aren’t you? Trying your lines out on me. What’s your pseudonym? I know you have one. You are such a jerk.”
Jack laughed and tossed the pillow back at her. “And you’re such a liar. You’ve all but drooled over Braham since he came out of surgery and you saw the man beneath the blood and grime.”
“And how do you know?”
Jack’s eyes twinkled. “I have my sources, and a good reporter never reveals his sources.”
She looked at her brother, those deep blue eyes, the straight line of his nose, the mouth so quick to curve up in amusement. He was a combination of both their parents, and she loved him, but he sure did piss her off sometimes. It wasn’t because Jack went looking for trouble; it was because trouble had a way of finding him. He’d never done anything illegal, but he had been beaten up a couple of times, which had scared the crap out of her. He never appreciated the true danger in his situations because he was always thinking about the story.
“Sources? I wouldn’t call former bedmates reliable sources. Thanks to Ken’s introductions, you’ve dated most of the nurses from Richmond to Winchester, so any one of them would have told you whatever you wanted to hear. They would even violate HIPAA to get back into your bed.”
He pressed his hands against his chest and managed to look crestfallen. “I can’t believe how mean you are to me.”
There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.
The butler entered. “Your trunks have been taken upstairs and luncheon is served in the dining room.”
“What’s your name, please?” Charlotte asked. “You’ve been most helpful.”
“Edward, ma’am. Major McCabe was very specific. This is your home, and we are to serve your needs as long as you wish to stay.”
“Would you mind serving us at the round table in front of the window?” she said pointing behind her. “I’d like to enjoy the view while I eat.”
“Certainly.” Edward left the room, closing the door behind him.
“I guess Braham wants to make up for stealing my car,” Charlotte said, finally taking a minute to study the ornate room, which was painted and papered in vivid greens and reds. He had exquisite and expensive taste.
“He didn’t steal it, he borrowed it,” Jack said.
She ran her hand along the top of a walnut table next to the sofa from the Rococo Revival period. “What?”
“Your car. He didn’t steal it.”
She went over to the front window, pushed aside a swathe of lace curtain with the back of her hand, and looked out at the White House. “He didn’t even have a driver’s license. What would have happened if he’d been stopped? We’d have been in a world of hurt. I wish he’d been honest with us.”
“He
didn’t intentionally deceive us.”
She let the curtain drop back into place, still clutching a corner of the lace. “He deceived me from the very beginning. It never occurred to me he would find time travel acceptable. If I had known, I could have saved myself a lot of anguish. Now he’s run off and we don’t know where.”
“If we find Booth, we’ll find Braham. And I’ll get a helluva story along the way.”
34
Washington—December 1864
Charlotte joined Jack for breakfast in the dining room shortly before seven the next morning. They had eaten lunch and dinner in the parlor and retired early, so she had yet to tour the house. Her bedroom, complete with a feather bed, was elegantly furnished. She had slept well and woke up refreshed.
She found Jack sitting at the end of a long-carved mahogany table with his journal and a sharpened pencil at his side. She paused in the doorway, taking in the complete dining room, not wanting to miss any of the sophisticated details. She imagined Braham selecting every piece of furniture for both style and function. He was a man of many talents—educated and wealthy—and she’d only gotten a glimpse of his multilayered personality.
The ten chairs surrounding the long table had scroll arms, lion paw feet, and blue silk dragonfly upholstery. She ran her hand across the smooth fabric. “Sweet.”
A clear crystal chandelier with silver finish accents hung above the table. Below it, Jack lounged at one of two place settings. Growing up she had been well schooled in china and silver patterns, but the azure china with its embossed bead edge was not a pattern she recognized. The Grecian pattern flatware by Gorham, she did. “Impressive.”
“I hope you remember the finer details of this room. I’m only writing down what I see as important, like how many guests can fit at this table,” Jack said, chuckling.
“Without looking down, tell me the color of your china plate,” she said.
The Sapphire Brooch Page 22