Jack put his finger to his lips, glancing ahead. “Shhh. The softest cry carries out here.”
Charlotte covered her mouth, realizing her voice could have carried across the field in the morning stillness. She whispered between her fingers. “We don’t know what condition he’s in. He could cause a disturbance by not realizing we are there to help him. He has to know what to expect.”
Gaylord stopped and signaled for them to catch up and follow the tree line to the right. In a low voice, he said, “Heard part of what you said. I agree. We need to get a message to the major.”
She moved to stand beside Gaylord, keeping her voice low, too. “A Confederate doctor could get inside easily.”
Jack came to a halt, pointing a finger at her. “You can get your crazy idea out of your head right now. You’re not going in there.”
She swatted at his finger. “Put your dictatorial brother finger away. I’m no longer your baby sister. I’m almost forty years old and can make my own decisions. If it’s a possibility, we can’t rule it out. I got into a Confederate hospital. I can find a way to get into a prison, too.”
Gaylord came up between the siblings, giving a small, amused sort of snort. “Miss Van Lew will have suggestions. We’ll sort out how to make it happen together.”
For the next hour Gaylord skirted around rebel forces, taking roads and paths through the countryside and bypassing the home guards manning checkpoints. As they neared the city, Gaylord followed the James River to the southeast. Slowly, in the chill of the morning, they made their way through to the woods lining the rushing river, swollen from early spring rain.
Charlotte ducked into a dense stand of trees and changed out of men’s clothing and into a traveling dress. Her preference was not to change, but they didn’t have work papers for another man, and women didn’t need them.
The trio arrived in Richmond, passing by the Tredegar Iron Works. At Cary Street, Gaylord left them with instructions to make their way to Miss Van Lew’s Grace Street residence.
“She might have news of the major,” he said in parting.
“If you hear anything, please send word.” Her fear for Braham was almost strangling. Since he had already been tried, convicted, and sentenced, he could have been hanged by now.
No, impossible. She would know. There would be barbed wire tightening around her heart, a sharp tug in her gut, the intensity would create a cosmic disturbance. Maybe she’d be the only one to feel it, but it wouldn’t diminish the intensity of the disturbance.
He was alive, and she knew it.
He was above all an honorable man, exuberant about living. A man so naturally sexual he intensified her own sexuality. A man both tender and intensely male who made her feel intensely female.
Yes, she would know.
She allowed none of these turbulent thoughts to cause even a ripple in her expression, though. Jack needed to believe she had her usual calm confidence, especially if Doctor Carlton Mallory intended to visit Castle Thunder.
Jack had a keen look on his face as he scanned the cobblestone streets. “We’ve spent most of our lives in this city. It’s as familiar as Mallory Plantation, but this”—he encompassed the scene with a wave of his arm—“is an alien place.”
Charlotte hugged her cape tight around her shoulders and breathed out hard, followed by a long breath in, hoping the chill would calm her.
“There’s an ominous stillness. Do you feel it?”
“Yes.” Jack lifted his chin and sniffed. The expression in his intelligent eyes changed ever so slightly. “I smell it, too.” He sniffed again. “It’s the lingering smell of sulfur from cannon and artillery fire.”
She twitched her nose. “You’re more sensitive to smells than I am, but even I can smell it, hear it, feel the vibrations.”
“Do you want to go by the prison on the way to the Van Lews’ house?”
She nodded.
He pointed with a slight lift of his chin. “Let’s head up Cary Street then, but don’t make it look like we’re casing the joint. If we get locked up, we won’t be any help to your boyfriend.”
She gave Jack a smile as thin as a razor. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
She’d never been able to put anything over on her brother. He knew her too well. But Braham wasn’t her boyfriend. Wannabe lover maybe, but not a boyfriend. No matter how much she might wish for a future with him, they were both in the wrong place and the wrong time.
The tune to a Stevie Wonder’s song surfaced in her mind, and she hummed a few bars while she and Jack walked down Cary Street to Eighteenth. We are ndercover passion on the run… For me and you, my part-time lover.
“There it is—Castle Thunder,” Jack said, pointing to three old red brick tobacco warehouses. The buildings faced the James River, each one with dozens of barred windows open to the elements. A wooden fence encircled a small prison yard, and guards lined the tops of the walls.
A cool breeze had sprung up and was blowing the folds of her skirts around her legs. Dread of what they might find raised the hackles on the back of her neck. “I wish I knew which building he was in.”
“Probably the one with deserters and political prisoners.”
“Not much help unless there’s a sign over the door. Whichever one it is, we’ve got to get him out.”
He nodded cautiously. “Come on. Let’s keep going.”
They moved quickly through the shadowy street, peering in all directions and listening to groans coming from the prison’s open windows. The rancid smell, a sickening combination of disease, sweat, and other bodily fluids, coated her nostrils and clung there, magnified by her own fear. She chewed her lower lip as she tried to think of ways to get him out quickly and safely. They didn’t have many. In fact, they only had one.
“Major Carlton Mallory is going to visit the prison tomorrow.”
Jack’s face assumed the Mallory look; a characteristic calm masking the rapid and furious thinking going on behind it. After a moment, his eyes bored into hers, dark and penetrating. “The prisoners incarcerated there are some of the most desperate men in the Confederacy. There’s not a chance in hell I’m going to let you go inside that suffering, stinking pit.”
Jack placed his hand on her back, heavy even through her riding cape. He guided her forward with a bit of pressure to keep moving. “The guards at the door are watching. Keep going.” He guided her up Twenty-Third Street toward Main.
“There won’t be any wagons or ambulances available to evacuate the non-ambulatory prisoners. It would make sense for a doctor to go in there to evaluate the prisoners and get an accurate count of how many would need to be left behind. That wouldn’t be dangerous.”
He glanced sideways, tongue probing a back tooth as he thought. “I might have a plan, but it requires someone to get inside—someone other than you.”
“I wouldn’t want you in there either, Jack, but disguised as a Confederate doctor—”
He shook his head. “We’ll work something else out. The place is a vast sinkhole of inhumanity.”
“I wonder if any of those men will ever find their way back from the abyss of brutality.”
Jack shot a glance over his shoulder toward the prison. “Abyss of brutality? Hmm. Nice word choices.”
She thought about it, rubbing absently at her cheek. “It’s not original. I read it somewhere. Epitome of inhumanity is a good line, too.” They continued to the corner in silence and headed down another block toward Franklin Street. “I’ve been reenacting Civil War battles for the last twenty years, but walking past those warehouses, smelling the blistering stench, and hearing those anguished moans makes me realize what I’ve been doing is—”
Jack finished her sentence. “Honoring those who fought.”
She glanced up at him with a lifted brow. “Those words aren’t exactly the ones I would use.”
“Don’t belittle what you’ve been doing.” He lowered his voice to a
familiar pitch, trying to appear unruffled, but he marked every word with subtle inflection, a vocal cue to those who knew him well. “Every survivor will suffer for the rest of his life. Thank God it’s almost over.”
They reached Grace Street and climbed the short distance up Church Hill to the Van Lew mansion. The horizon to the east appeared gold-plated as a brilliant sun inched its way up through the orange hues of dawn. The sumptuous fragrance of showy pink magnolia blossoms floated on the breeze. Grand homes lined both sides of this street. Charlotte stopped and stared, appreciating their beauty all the more after the degradation they’d witnessed. In the twenty-first century, half-million-dollar row homes were crammed together in their places. Though still a beautiful street, it didn’t have the charm and elegance the street possessed in the nineteenth century.
“One of my reference books mentioned that during the evacuation—” Jack said, but Charlotte interrupted him.
“What? I’m sorry,” she said. “I was distracted. What were you saying?”
He frowned back with a look of puzzlement. “Pay attention. Stop woolgathering. I thought you wanted to hear my plan.”
She might have laughed if she’d been in the mood for irony. After waiting with bated breath for two days to hear his plan, her mind took a break for a very few seconds to appreciate the scenery, so naturally he chose this particular time for his big reveal. She lifted one eyebrow at him. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
He glanced at her with a wry half smile. “Are you sure?”
She replied with a small grunt of amusement.
“Okay, here’s the gist of it. During the evacuation, there was a confrontation with the crowd, and three of Miss Van Lew’s cohorts slipped away undetected.”
“Then Braham needs to be with them. Wait a second.” She snapped her fingers repeatedly as she attempted to draw something from memory. “There are no horses, wagons, or trains in Richmond at the present, right? So, there’s no way to carry wounded prisoners. If a prisoner can’t walk, he won’t be evacuated. Doctor Mallory has to get inside the prison to get a message to Braham to get in line with the Van Lew people and slip away with them.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
She snorted.
Jack dug a knuckle hard between his brows, as if he were trying to press a headache into submission. “We’ll find another way.”
She was fired up, suddenly feeling quite herself, although there was a faint echo of constant, underlying fear. “I want to do this.”
“What we want,” he began in a voice inflexible as a stone, “isn’t always good for us.”
“Good God, Jack, stop acting like a parent and be my partner in this.”
“When you were in high school and college, I was your only parent. It’s hard to break old habits, especially when it concerns your well-being.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Let’s wait and see if Miss Van Lew has any better suggestions.”
Their walk up the street took them alongside the Van Lews’ three-story white residence. The house took up an entire city block and sat at the top of the elegant Church Hill neighborhood. From the side street they could see the rear of the house, an imposing two-story Doric piazza overlooking elaborate gardens. Magnolia trees, hedges of privet, and box bushes wreathed the house and fell gently in a series of terraces down the hill toward the river.
“It’s gorgeous,” Charlotte said. “Old black and white pictures don’t do it justice. Why in the world did they have to tear it down?”
A wistful, reflective smile crossed his face. “The city condemned the building in 1911. Folks thought it was haunted.”
“Now I’ve seen all this,” she said with a sweep of her arm, “I realize how much of historical Richmond will be lost to the future.”
Jack pointed to St. John’s Episcopal Church on the corner across the street from the mansion. “The church hasn’t changed much.”
“It’s such a waste the Van Lew mansion didn’t survive as well. Maybe we can find a way to save it.”
He gave her a narrow-eyed disapproving glance. “Are you suggesting we change history?”
She gave him the faintest of shrugs. “What harm would it do?”
“What harm? Seriously? If you make a small change for Van Lew—”
“I know,” she said, flapping her hand. “If we do it once, we’ll do it again for the next person who needs a different outcome.”
“Exactly.” Jack opened the whitewashed wrought iron gate leading to the mansion’s front door. They ascended the left curve of the double staircase, up to the dwarf portico facing Grace Street. “Are you ready?”
She patted down and smoothed the front of her riding dress, then tucked loose curls back under her hat, wanting to be presentable when she met one of Richmond’s most famous nineteenth-century personalities. “Historical people are challenging, because you might slip up and tell them something they shouldn’t know.”
Jack lifted the door knocker and struck the ornate plate fitted to the door twice. “I have the same problem with the Booth article. I keep interjecting the future.”
Charlotte glanced into the side windows. “Someone’s coming.” She patted her buttons to be sure all were tightly secured, then tugged on the hem of her jacket. “When will you finish it?”
“Be still. You’re a fidgety butt.”
A servant dressed in splendid livery answered the door.
Jack leaned slightly toward Charlotte and whispered, “To answer your question, I don’t know if I will.”
The servant inquired politely, “How may I help you?”
“We’d like to see Miss Van Lew on a business matter,” Jack said.
They were invited into a massive entryway furnished as elegantly as any grand home in twenty-first century Richmond. A massive cut-glass chandelier hovered over the marble floor. Set in motion by the breeze coming through the door, the crystal teardrops tinkled faintly. Oil paintings lined the walls, stretching back into the heart of the house.
They were shown into a spacious front drawing room. Large open windows were covered with lace curtains blowing gently in a breeze carrying the fragrances of roses and jasmine. Charlotte paced along the room’s perimeter, taking in every detail of the furniture, porcelain vases, and an exquisite classical sofa upholstered in a burgundy…something…with matching silk tufts. She ran her hand over the fabric. Harrateen, probably.
Several comfortable wing chairs were scatted about, some with books lying open on their seats. She flipped one of the books over to read the title. Jane Eyre. Amused, she returned the book to its original position on the chair. This room was comfortable, luxurious, and well used by the family.
Jack gave her a slightly reproachful look. “You’re bugging me. Sit down and relax.”
Before she could retort, a small, birdlike woman entered the room in a rustle of silk. Charlotte recognized Elizabeth Van Lew from the history books. Dark ringlets dangled around her face and softened her sharp nose, thin lips, and aquiline jaw.
“I’m Miss Van Lew. How may I help you?”
“I’m Charlotte Mallory, and this is my brother, Jack. We have a confidential matter to discuss with you.”
Miss Van Lew waved her hand in a graceful, genteel gesture. “And it shall remain confidential. Please, have a seat.”
Charlotte settled onto a settee. Jack remained standing, slouching elegantly, broad shoulders wedged against the mantel. Miss Van Lew took a seat next to Charlotte, arranging her skirts.
“Our friend Major McCabe,” Charlotte began, “was rounded up a few days ago and incarcerated in Castle Thunder. I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now, although you may know him by a different name. We left Washington immediately to help facilitate his escape.”
Miss Van Lew smiled faintly and shrugged. “An acquaintance sent word I might hear from you, but I’m not sure why you’ve come to me,” she said with a hint of concern.
Jack stroked the bronze statue of a lion perche
d on top of one of the columns lining the sides of the hearth. Their hostess’s eyes followed his fingers while they familiarized themselves with the figure.
“We know the role you play in the Richmond underground and that you send coded messages to Grant,” Charlotte said. “We also know you keep the cipher in the back of your watch.”
Miss Van Lew’s eyes widened and her hand shook noticeably.
“We don’t have time to prove our allegiance to the Union or to earn your confidence,” Jack said. “We’re on your side. You have nothing to fear from us. We are most assuredly not here to betray you. A lengthy investigation would prove our loyalty, but we need your help immediately. Major McCabe’s associate Mr. Gaylord assured us you would do what you could.”
“The confederacy is doomed,” Charlotte said. “They’ll evacuate the city tomorrow, and Union troops will arrive on Monday.”
Miss Van Lew’s eyes were open and alert. She searched Charlotte’s face, then Jack’s. “How do you know this?”
“The same way we know about the crack in this creature’s head,” Jack said, patting the lion’s head. “We also know it’s been used as a depository for messages, and it regularly gobbles up Confederate secrets.”
Their hostess’s face lost all color.
More gently, Charlotte tried to reassure her by saying, “Your secrets are safe whether you help us or not.”
“The longer the major remains in prison,” Jack said, “the more likely his captors will discover who he is and hang him. He’s an agent for President Lincoln. He was captured last fall, and Charlotte rescued him from Chimborazo.”
“Why was he in Chimborazo?” Miss Van Lew asked.
“He was captured close to the hospital and shot during a scuffle. He was sent there because the Rebels needed him to survive so they could interrogate him. Thanks to my sister, they never got the chance.”
“From what Gaylord told us, Miss Van Lew,” Charlotte added, “Braham’s been back in Richmond for the last few months posing as a professor of philosophy wearing a disguise. I’m not sure I’d even recognize him.”
“Please, since we are destined to become much better acquainted, call me Elizabeth. And I would recognize the major,” she said on a hastily exhaled breath. “I’ve been to several of his lectures and hosted a dinner on his behalf. He’s brilliant, and very entertaining. He’s using the name Carlton Jackson.”
The Sapphire Brooch Page 31