Silky tired to mask her anxiety with a light smile. "I'm really not sure ... it's just something Taggart uses in his work."
Delcie shoved her dust rag in her apron pocket. "How could he use somethin' like that?" she demanded, her voice rising in disbelief. "And why did the man hide it like he don't want nobody to find it? Just tell me that."
Silky laid the rather stiff paper on the desk and escorted Delcie into her own room, tears burning at the back of her throat. "Let's just keep quiet about this until I talk to him," she advised Delcie, caressing her shoulder. She scanned Delcie's doubtful face, and in a kind, reassuring tone suggested, "Why don't you go ahead and leave now? I don't think I'm going out this evening, so I won't need you to fix my hair."
The girl threw a ragged shawl over her shoulders and walked to the door, where she paused, "I hopes I didn't do nothin' wrong. I didn't mean to be snoopin'."
Silky offered a smile of encouragement. "No, don't worry. You didn't do anything wrong at all, Now go on home and I'll see you tomorrow."
Silky listened to the sound of Delcie's footsteps gradually disappearing as she closed the door; then, seething with apprehension, she returned to Taggart's room and sat down at his desk. For a few minutes she absorbed the shock of Delcie's discovery; then gradually her hand moved to a little cubbyhole drawer. With a prickle of dread, she pulled out cards and bits of paper, hastily reading them all. As far as she could tell, they were notes Taggart had written himself about Petersburg. Then she rearranged everything just as she'd found it.
Sick with fear, she picked up the paper with the strange writing and returned to her bedroom, then snatched up her reticule and sat down on the settee. She put the paper aside and opened the soft purse, feeling a hard pain in her breast that worked its way upward. Her fingers trembling, she took out all the bills Taggart had given her and studied them, comparing them in her mind to the note the bank had confiscated. Seeing that every bill contained the same barely visible thread as the false bill, she flushed hotly at the insult of her discovery. All the money Taggart had given her was counterfeitnot one or two bills, but all of it!
She picked up the paper, its numbers and words blurring before her, and suddenly realized it was some type of cipher. Drawing in a steadying breath, she tried to calm her nerves and reason things out. The cipher probably wasn't of Confederate origin. Since Confederate intelligence was located in Richmond, Taggart would be able to make reports orally. She studied the cipher, once again remembering the paper Taggart had burned in her cabin. It dawned on her that it wasn't notes on a mission to Maryland he'd destroyed, but a cipher similar to this, so Holt and his men wouldn't come back and discover it.
The counterfeit money and cipher were damning evidence, and coming together like two crushing blows, they couldn't be denied. It was then she recalled what Burton Harrison had said about the Cuban cigar Taggart had given him: I thought only Yankees smoked fine cigars like this now.
"He is a Yankee," she whispered to herself, tears stinging her eyes like liquid fire. He was exactly what she had thought he was the first time she'd laid eyes on him!
She felt as if she were two people at the same timeone watching, observing the situation with detachment, while the other trembled in shock and astonishment.
Shaking with rage, she realized she should have trusted her first impression of Taggart. He was a Yankee and he'd lied to her, over and over again without a thought for her emotions. He'd lied the first day he met her and had never stopped lying. He'd lied to get out of the smokehouse, he'd lied about his business in Charlottesville, and he'd lied about his new assignment. Her heart throbbing with pain, she now understood he hadn't accompanied her to Richmond to see Daniel out of compassion; he'd used her to spy on the Petersburg line!
What a little fool she'd been. He'd taken advantage of her ignorance about the world outside the Blue Ridge to deceive her, and he'd done it not once, but over and over again, becoming bolder each time. How could she ever have believed he was a Confederate agent after Zeb Clingerman had exposed him when the wounded soldiers returned to Bear Wallow? And how could she have discounted the look on his face when she'd caught him burning the chart? Why, even Charlie, child that he was, suspected Taggart wasn't what he claimed, but she'd been so blinded by her love, she wouldn't believe the boy.
Everything suddenly became crystal clear. No wonder Taggart had so much moneythe counterfeit bills had been supplied to trim in near endless abundance by the Union. No wonder he didn't have a Southern accent and was as secretive as a cat. No wonder he stayed out all hours of the night and never told her where he went. No wonder he'd never told her he loved herhe didn'tshe was only a convenience for him!
Silky's heart constricted with anguish as she realized that he'd also lied about his reason for visiting Caroline Willmott. He'd just cleverly manipulated her as he had so often, this time using the coincidence of Caroline giving him the check for Chimborazo. All this, after she'd felt so cheap and embarrassed for following him, and so guilty for doubting him.
Then with a flush of shame, she realized that she'd believed all his lies because she wanted to believe them. Why, she'd given him her heart on a platter and even considered them handfasted. How he must have laughed at that idea. How he must have laughed at her passionate declarations when he'd so skillfully made love to her, thinking of her as only a willing body to assuage his lust. Totally humiliated, she drew in a trembling breath, her heart as torn and scarred as a battlefield.
Silky had been so distraught, it was only now that she remembered her careless words to Fouche. In one sense she regretted she'd innocently put Taggart in dire peril, but at the same time it seemed poetic justice, since he'd lied to her from the first day they'd met. Half of her wanted him to be apprehended, while the other feared it as intensely as her own death.
Tears spilling from her eyes, she fell across the settee and sobbed bitterly.
The mantel clock chimed two in the morning and Taggart had not returned to the Spotswood. Silky had been sitting quietly in the darkness since midnight, feeling as if her flesh had turned into cold marble. She'd cried until she couldn't cry anymore, and her temples pounded with a splitting headache. She must face him tonight, she thought, steeling her resolve against the distasteful task. She must face him and try to reclaim the shreds of her dignity, no matter how long she had to wait for his return. Over and over again she'd rehearsed what she would tell him, but she couldn't find words strong enough to express her anger, pain, and deep humiliation.
She could see everything so clearly now. How he must have rejoiced in her gullible, trusting mountain ways! All his sweet talk and all his kisses were only tools he'd used to charm her so he could get his precious informationinformation he'd sent North to be used against Southern soldiers such as her brother. When she'd given in to his charm and warmed his bed as well, he'd enjoyed another windfall that he'd maximized to the fullest.
She tormented herself with these thoughts until she finally heard him enter his room around three o'clock. She'd purposely left the connecting door open and light now pooled into the edge of her own room as he lit a lamp. Her heart jolting, she rose on trembly legs. She knew he was already at his desk, for she heard him opening and closing its drawers.
With a fluttering pulse, she picked up the cipher and walked toward the light. At the threshold of his room, she spied him standing before his desk, his chair shoved out behind him. His eyes wide, he held up the green blotter, stating at the polished wood beneath it.
At the sound of her footsteps, he turned about, a puzzled look darkening his countenance. "Silky. What are you doing up so late?" he asked, dropping the blotter back in place. "Can't you sleep?"
She neared him and as the light washed over her, his eyes flickered with concern. "You've been crying," he stated in a soft tone. "What's happened?"
"I know," she announced in a broken voice, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "I know, and you can't fool me any longer. I know you're nothing bu
t a lying, blue-bellied Yankee spy!"
The change on his face was incredible. For a moment it actually paled.
She let her condemning words sink in then held out the cipher. "I think this is what you're looking for," she stated, her voice quavering with hurt and anger. "Delcie stumbled onto it while she was dusting." Trembling, she walked closer. "There's no need to lie anymore. I tried to change one of those bills you gave me today, and the man at the bank told me it was counterfeit. Now I know all your money is false and counterfeitjust like you!'' At last she'd done it, she thought, deep relief rushing over her. At last she'd confronted him with his deceitful lies!
He regarded her with glittering eyes, then took the cipher and slipped it into his vest. "I knew it was only a matter of time before this would happen," he answered, beginning to regain control of his emotions. "Understand one thing," he
said in a stern voice. "This has nothing to do with uswith the way I feel about you."
Anger swept through her like a brushfire. "Lordamercy," she exclaimed incredulously, scarcely believing her ears. She paced about with crossed arms, purposefully dragging her gaze over him. "You're the coolest character I ever met. Why, lying is nothing more to you than breathing, isn't it? I trusted you, gave you my heart, and you made me the biggest fool in Virginia." She yearned to slap his handsome face so he would know a tiny bit of the pain she'd received. "Why did you lie to menot a dozen times, but so many times I can't even count them?"
He appraised her with a bold gaze. "If you remember," he remarked dryly, "when you first ambushed me, I had to lie to save my life. If I'd announced I was a Yankee, you would have blown a hole right through me."
"I wish I had," she replied in a strangled voice, biting her lips to keep from crying. "There's something on my mind, something that keeps running through my head." She tried to steady her broken voice. "Why would you want to take up a life of spying, anyway? Why would you want to gain a person's trust and love only to lie to them, to use them and humiliate them? It's a low-down, sneaking business, enough to turn an honest person's stomach, if you ask me. Why in the name of God would you want to take up such a life?"
A hard look glazed his face, and at first he said nothing; then he began to speak slowly and deliberately. "There was a time I felt as you do myself; then the Rebs shot my little brother." His eyes snapped like flames. "He was only sixteen but so swept up in the Union cause he slipped off and lied about his age to enlist. "They didn't shoot him in battle," he added bitterly, "but in Andersonville where he was helpless, without a weapon to protect himself."
Shocked at the revelation, Silky stared at him, wondering what he would say next.
"They shot him and several other soldiers as a reprisal for a Union raid on a little Virginia town," he continued evenly, his voice hoarse with anger. "He never had a chance; he was slain like an animal." A bitter expression claimed his features. "On the day I heard the news I vowed to do everything possible to see that the Union won the war. When I discovered an agent could often be more effective than a whole regiment of men, I volunteered my services to the appropriate authorities."
Silky stared at him, feeling as if she'd been slapped in the face. All this he'd kept from her! He'd never mentioned a brother before. What else hadn't he told her about himself? How full of himself he was to want to punish the whole South because his brother had been killed by a few deranged men. Terrible things happened in war, as he'd told her himself. Hadn't Southern families lost sons and brothers, too? Hadn't families in the poor, beleaguered, starving South suffered more than the North could ever begin to understand?
"Other people have brothers besides you, Yankee! I have a brother who may have been wounded because of information you've sent North. Do you think you can play God, strike out at a whole army, simply because you've been hurt? Lord Almighty, we've all been hurt. Don't you know that? Can't you understand that?"
Silky was so disturbed she paced about the room, trying to calm her racing heart. On the verge of tears, she knew she must change the topic from his brother or lose her composure completely. She turned and, clenching her fists until her nails bit into her palms, she demanded, "Where are you really from, Yankee? I know it isn't Norfolk."
His hot gaze traveled over her. "I'm from Cleveland, Ohio. My father owns a brick factory just as I told you. I actually had an aunt who lived in Norfolk and I visited her many times as a boy and became familiar with the city. Everything I revealed about my childhood is true," he vowed, a restrained ferocity in his eyes. "I told you things I've never mentioned to anyone else before."
Furious, she walked to him. "I'm sure you haveand made them all up, I'll bet," she charged, a dry laugh slipping from her lips. "Why, you've lied about everything we've talked about but the color of your hair. And what's worse, you made me believe those lies!"
Taggart gazed at her milk-white face. Damnation! he thought. He knew this moment would arrive, but not on the same night he'd just wheedled a piece of unbelievable information from a captain in the American Hotel. He'd only returned to the Spotswood to lock away the code chart before rushing to Caroline Willmott's, so she could help him get the message to City Point. Never had time been as precious as it was now, when he was faced with explaining the unexplainable.
He scanned her willowy form, thinking she looked like a stricken child. A blue silk robe clung to her slight body, and even with her tousled hair and flashing eyes, which held a bright, hard gaze, she projected a wild beauty that struck him deeply. Wondering how he could begin to explain everything that had happened since they first met, he tried to take her in his arms. But she backed away, a pulse throbbing at the base of her throat.
He exhaled a deep breath, realizing her fiery pride would keep them apart. "Listen to what I have to tell you," he commanded, forcing back his own emotions and organizing his thoughts. "Yes, I lied to you! But I lied to protect you as well as to get my way. As God is my witness, I tried to leave you behind, to put you out of my heart and my mind," he went on harshly, wanting to break the fever-pitch tension between them. "I wanted to leave you in the mountains where you would be safe, but you followed after me in the blizzard. We shouldn't have made love. It shouldn't have happened, but it did, and with all the pain it may have caused, I'm happy that it did."
She stood silently, her green eyes blazing with suspicion and anger. He moved closer again, his speech fueled by a fierce need to express his tangled feelings. "When you asked me to escort you to Richmond, I refused, but you kept on until I agreed because I knew you'd come, and I knew you'd be taken advantage of and hurt."
All the color drained from her face. "And you didn't take advantage of me?" she asked coolly, her voice almost a whisper. "You didn't use me for your own purposes? What had you planned for the future? Were you going to lie to me for the rest of the war or the rest of our lives?" Her eyes were glassy with anger. "No, don't answer that. I suppose as soon as I'd served your purposes, you were going to scoot across that Mason-Dixon line and leave me behind with no explanation at all."
"This war is almost over," he said sharply, frustrated that her emotions made it impossible to deal with her. "The Confederacy is without funds and supplies and it can't last more than a few weeks at the most. Our lives can start again after the war. Don't you see that?" he lashed out, trying to play to her reason. "I must leave tonight, but I'll return and we'll work things out." Once again he tried to put his arms about her, but she twisted away, hair flying over her face.
Pushing back her disheveled locks, Silky gazed at Taggart. Something in his expression challenged her fighting spirit. "Do you expect me to believe that, you Yankee buzzard?" she asked. "Don't you think I know where you're going? You're going to see Caroline Willmott, aren't you'? You lied about her just like you lied about everything else. Tell me that's not where you're going!"
Taggart's lips tightened and he made no reply.
She trembled under his overpowering gaze, and her heart thudded so hard she thought it might jump
from her bosom. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she held them back, not wanting him to see her cry, not wanting to give him that satisfaction.
Memories of all the times he'd lied fueled her with such anger she was nearly crazed and, her carefully guarded composure finally slipping, she picked up a china figurine and threw it at his head, missing it by only inches. The bric-abrac crashed into the wall and smashed into smithereens. She gazed at his stony face through a sheen of tears. "Get out, you lying Yankee! Get out and never come back. I never want to lay eyes on you again. I hope you're caught and hung from the highest tree in Richmond!"
She watched him gather up his things and silently turn to go. Seconds later, he slammed the door behind him, and she sat down at his desk, trembling, desperately tired and weak. She pounded her fist on the blotter. "I hate that lying Yankee," she cried, her throat swelling with pent-up tears. "I hate him!"
Devastated, she suddenly realized she'd neglected to mention Fouche to Taggart. Had the trauma of the moment caused her to hold her tongue or had she purposefully withheld the information, hoping he would be captured? Painfully confused, but unable to deny she still harbored tender feelings for the Yankee she hated so much, she put her head on her crossed arms and cried deeply.
Taggart leaned back against the carriage seat as the vehicle traveled toward Church Hill, his mind filled with anguished thoughts. He'd dreaded this day since he'd first planned to deceive her, but the shocked, wounded look on her face had been worse than he'd expected. Lord, how could he make her believe he still harbored feelings for her after all his lies, especially when he hadn't sorted out the emotions in his own mind?
Dammit to hell, he thought miserably. What he would give to relive the last hour, to forestall their wretched argument. Why had he been so blunt, so harsh? he wondered bitterly, seeing her flashing eyes in his mind's eye. As difficult as it might be, he realized that somehow he must give her an explanation as to why he'd been forced to deceive her again and again.
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