After they'd snapped handcuffs on his wrists, he let his gaze move over the embarrassed desk clerk, who stood by the door, his mouth agape in surprise. "S-Sorry, Lieutenant Taggart oror whoever you are," the man spluttered, his eyes wide with astonishment. "I felt bad about using the passkey, but Captain Fouche said he needed to get into the roomhe said you were a Yankee agent."
Fouche, his face twisted in disgust, waved the man away.
A dozen possibilities raced through his head as Taggart battled a sense of crushing regret. If he hadn't been so occupied with his personal problems, if he'd only kept his jacket onhe might have got away. With a pistol he would have had a fighting chance to blast his way through the Rebs and escape into the night. Thank God he'd burned the cipher, he thought with deep relief. And even as the soldiers' fingers bit into his arms he realized that somehow, some way, he would try to escape.
He scanned Fouche, a study in arrogance and pride. The man's eyes blazed and his face glowed with the triumph of his personal victory. Clasping his hands behind his back, the captain paced back and forth in front of Taggart, light glinting over the brass buttons decorating his colorful uniform.
"I'm arresting you," he announced in a rough, excited voice, "and taking you in for questioning." He paused to jab a finger at Taggart. "I believe you are a Federal agent"a smirk played across his dark face"and your attempt to flee only confirms this."
Taggart wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, but remained silent, denying Fouche the response he obviously craved.
The Creole swept a contemptuous gaze over him. "Not a word to say, hey monsieur?" He laughed low in his throat, then tilted his head at the open door, signaling the soldiers to escort Taggart from the room. "Very well, then. We'll see if confinement in Libby Prison will make you more talkative."
Chapter Nineteen
The next afternoon Taggart strode about the third floor of Libby Prison, trying to find some way he might escape. Murky light, speckled with dust motes, poured through the barred windows of the huge chamber, and, all about him, scores of listless men coughed convulsively. The scent of dirt and urine permeated the air, cobwebs hung from the open rafters, and rats scuttled over the planked floor, vying for morsels of food with the hungry prisoners. He could see that the men who'd been confined here for months suffered from infection and malnutrition, but, more importantly, a desperate hopelessness, a sickness of the soul.
Taggart recalled the night before, when Fouche had brought him here and he'd seen the prison looming up like a derelict fortress against the night sky. After the Creole had escorted him to the first-floor office, the prison commandant, Major Turner, registered him in a large book bound in red leather. Moments later his clothing was searched, and he was taken here to begin his incarceration, which would last the rest of the war.
Taggart now watched the prisoners trade small possessions and go about their daily routines, his mind far away from this wretched place. A pang of doubt assailing him, he remembered Silky's angry face the last time he'd seen her. Although a rational part of his mind told him she was so angry she might have reported him to Fouche, his heart simply didn't want to accept it, for the betrayal would be too much to bear.
After a lunch that consisted of a piece of moldy bread and a cup of foul-tasting water, two guards escorted Taggart to Major Turner's office, whose walls were covered with Confederate battle flags. Illuminated by shafts of light streaming through the barred windows, Fouche sat behind the commandant's desk, a smug smile riding his lips. "You may sit down," he intoned coldly, indicating a straight chair in front of the desk. Affecting a casual air, Taggart claimed a seat and stared at Fouche, bracing himself for what he knew would be another interrogation.
The Creole rose and rounded his desk, a lock of jet black hair falling over his forehead. "I want you to tell me about your accomplices," he demanded in a superior tone. "I want namesthe names of everyone who aided you in Richmond."
"You already know what you ask is impossible," Taggart scoffed, somewhat surprised the officer would think he might answer the question.
"We'll see if that is the case," Fouche returned, leveling a hot glare at him. He opened a folder on the desk and began rifling through a mass of tattered, dog-eared documents. "I see here that you have visited Caroline Willmott many times. I have the date and hour of every visit listed in black and white before me."
Surprise flared within Taggart, but he was careful to keep his face void of expression.
A crooked smile played over Fouche's lips. "Perhaps you were not aware that while others were singing her praises as a beneficent saint, I posted men to watch her house." He impatiently drummed his fingers on the blotter. "I have been surveying the lady for months, and I believe with all my heart that she is betraying the Confederacy."
His diamonds glittering, he crossed his arms. "Your association with her makes me doubt her that much more." Stroking his chin, he walked to Taggart's side. "What brings you and the lovely Caroline together? Why are you such good friends?"
"We're both members of the Chimborazo Benevolent Committee," Taggart snapped, firing his spirit for the battle ahead.
Fouche threw him a condemning frown. "A convenient cover, indeedbut one I do not believe," he stated, his voice heavily laden with sarcasm. His gaze glimmered with speculation. "If you cooperate in this matter, your stay here will be considerably more pleasant."
It rankled Taggart that Fouche thought he would implicate Caroline to save his own skin. At the same time, he knew the wily officer would keep hammering at him, asking him questions about Caroline and, in the end, bring her to the provost marshal's office for questioning. Women agents had been arrested on both sides, and if Fouche decided to arrest Caroline, no one could save her, not even Dr. Cooke. The taint of spying on her own kind would so contaminate her, the good citizens of Richmond would forget her charitable activities and clamor for her execution.
Making a quick decision, he looked into Fouche's piercing eyes. "Surely as a man of the world, you can understand. Must I put the situation into words?"
Fouche eyed him coolly. "Are you trying to make me believe you and Miss Willmott are lovers?"
"Will you leave me no room to protect the lady's reputation?" Taggart asked sharply. He dragged his gaze over Fouche. "Yes," he finally answered with a sigh, "if you must knowwe are."
"Many believe she has harbored Union sympathies for years," the Creole prodded, his face glowing with vengeance. "Is this correct?"
Taggart shrugged negligently. "I don't know her mind on that subject. I went to her mansion because I enjoyed her company." He hid his true emotions behind a bland smile. "We didn't talk of the war."
Fouche sat down behind the desk and scratched out a paragraph on a clean sheet of paper. He put an ordinance book behind the statement and brought it to Taggart, along with a pen. "Read this," he ordered bluntly.
Taggart saw the paragraph claiming that he and Caroline had been loversthat their relationship was purely physical and, to the best of his knowledge, she had not conspired against the Confederacy.
Fouche focused narrowed eyes on him. "Will you swear this is correct? Will you sign the statement?"
Realizing it was better that she be thought a loose woman than forfeit her life, he wordlessly signed the paper, then handed both it and the pen back to Fouche.
The Creole strode back to the desk and sat down. "Along with me, most of Richmond knows the lovely Miss Shanahan is not your cousin, but your cher amie," he commented, slipping the document into the folder. He laughed lightly. "Oh, that all men had such cousins." His gaze raked Taggart mockingly. "Surely you won't mind if I relate your feelings concerning Miss Willmott to Silky so she may find another protector."
Taggart rose to his feet, wanting to snap Fouche's aristocratic neck. He'd only taken a step forward when the soldiers grabbed his arms, holding him back. "You won't be able to find her," he answered, seething with a growing rage he could barely contain. "She's left Richmond."
"You're wrong, you insufferable fop!"
Fouche's eyes dazzled with anger. "Didn't you know we are very close?" he asked, obviously savoring the moment. "How do you think I confirmed my suspicions that you were a Union agent? The lady told me you were visiting Petersburg early in March. I ordered a man to begin following you immediately."
Fouche's words cut into Taggart's heart like thorns, and he felt the sharp stab of betrayal. But all this he hid from his inquisitor and stood stoically, waiting for what might happen next.
The Creole's delighted expression said he'd found a tender nerve he might work upon. "You have great discipline, monsieur. I admire that in a man. But I assure you, before our talks are over I will break you down."
He signaled the soldiers to take him away. "Put the prisoner in the special security cell at the end of the corridor," he commanded, planting his booted feet well apart. "We shall give him the best Libby has to offer." He studied Taggart. "I think we have made some progress already. My last revelation should give you something to think about for several days."
As Taggart was escorted from the office, he realized the prison's main entrance was not too far ahead and, making a quick decision, he scrambled toward it. Moments later, one of the guards yelled and slammed the stock of his rifle against his head, knocking him to the floor. His head splitting with pain, he rolled to his back just as Fouche emerged from the office, a pistol in hand. "Watch him well, you fools, or he will escape!" he ordered with blazing eyes.
Taggart gazed up at the Creole's animalistic face. What a cold, twisted piece of humanity he really was, he thought, realizing his dandified airs were quite deceiving. No doubt, after first suspecting him, the officer had played the gallant lover to wheedle information from Silky and she had succumbed to his charms.
"Get up," Fouche ordered, waving the pistol at him. "Get up before I kill you now!"
With three weapons trained on him, Taggart could only crawl to his feet and rise. Within a few moments he'd been shoved in the security cell, which had one window that looked out to the prison exercise yard while the other was fixed into the door. The heavy panel slammed shut, a key turned in the lock, and the guards strode away, leaving Taggart to his own devices.
As the sound of the men's ringing footsteps faded away he considered Silky's betrayal, the fact paining him like a twisting knife in his back. Why had she given Fouche the news about Petersburg after he'd repeatedly told her to keep it a secret? What had possessed her to do such a thing at a time when she still thought he was a Confederate officer?
He clenched the bars of the window overlooking the exercise yard and yanked them to test their strength. It was a difficult question for which he presently had no answer. But he told himself he would know the truth the day he saw Silky's faceif that day ever came.
Sharp raps on Silky's door caused her to turn about with a start. Her heart pumping, she hoped it wasn't the slovenly landlady, who was always hounding her for payment. On the other side of the door, she heard Delcie calling her name and, with a rush of relief she let her in, noticing she was in a state of agitation.
"Oh, missy, I have some news to tell you," Delcie exclaimed, so excited she could scarcely speak. She closed the door and leaned against it. "Let me get my breath," she pleaded, placing a hand over her heaving bosom. "I's been runnin' nearly all the way over here."
Silky clasped her trembling arm and led her to the bed, where they both sat down. "You're shaking like a leaf," she murmured, afraid someone had tried to hurt her. What's wrong?" She held her quaking hand and noted that it was icy cold. "Calm down and tell me."
Delcie's eyes glinted with fear. "Missy, Lieutenant Taggart done got hisself arrested as a Yankee spy!"
Silky's heart lurched crazily. She heard the words, but rejected them so violently they scarcely registered. She searched the girl's panic-stricken face. "How did you find out about this?" she whispered, shocked that Taggart had stayed in Richmond instead of leaving as she'd expected.
"I went to the Spotswood today to start working for Miz Wilson," Delcie gasped, still trying to catch her breath. "All the cooks and dishwashers was talkin' about it, askin' me if I hadn't worked for Lieutenant Taggart. They asked me what he was like, and if I knowed he was a spy. They asked me if he was good to me, and"
"Slow down, slow down," Silky ordered, clutching the girl's shoulders. "Tell me just what happened. Who arrested him?"
"Why, that Captain Fouche who was always hangin' around like a starved dog, beggin' to take you on buggy rides. He came bustin' into the Spotswood late one night with a bunch of soldiers and made the desk clerk open the room.''
Lord above, Silky thought, panic rioting within her. Why hadn't she acted on her gut instinct and warned Taggart about Fouche? A hot sickness swept through her when she realized it was because she'd been so angry and confused. Because she'd hesitated, trying to sort out her feelings, he was now in danger of losing his life.
"You knowed Lieutenant Taggart was a spy, didn't you?" Delcie asked frantically. "That's why you jumped up and ran off. Somethin' about that paper told you, didn't it?"
"Yes ... it did," Silky nodded, retreating into her own thoughts. Her mind churning, she realized that although Taggart's arrest might not be reported in the newspaper, shocking gossip such as this would spread like wildfire and they would both be the talk of the city. All of Richmond society would know about the scandal, including Burton Harrison and Jefferson Davis himself.
Silky clutched Delcie's arm. "Did you find out where Taggart is?" she inquired, fearing the answer she was about to hear.
Delcie's gaze clung to hers. "I sure did. They carried him to Libby Prison. That be a bad place, missy."
Silky shuddered inwardly at the news. Fouche seemed so cold and unnatural at times, almost as if his emotions were deadened to the feelings of others. Gnawing the inside of her lip, she tried to analyze all she'd heard.
Delcie took her hand and stroked it gently. "Lieutenant Taggart may be a Yankee, missy, but that man be crazy in love with you. I knows he is. He talked to me one daychased me down, tryin' to give me money for you."
"You took money from him?"
The girl scowled. "You knows I got better sense than that!" she replied in a disgusted tone. "I knows you don't want none of his money, so I throwed it back at him." She began stroking Silky's hand again. "But that shows he be thinkin' on you. That he wanted to find you and take care of you."
Silky rose, clutching the back of her neck with one hand.
"He may have been looking for me," she responded dryly, "but not because he cares about meit's because I know too much about him."
Delcie stood, her face set in angry lines. "Now why you be talkin' like that, makin' it sound like he be some kind of bad man?" she asked, her voice full of reproach.
Silky turned her head, trying to ignore Delcie's words, but even as she did a pair of sapphire blue eyes materialized in the recesses of her mind, and all the feelings Taggart had ever evoked moved softly through her heart.
Not letting up, Delcie squeezed her hands. "You's got to get him out of that place," she pleaded. "They'll hang him for sure in there!"
Silky walked to the window, guilt stealing through her. In one sense it was her fault that Taggart was in prison; then she reminded herself he was the one who had provoked his arrest when he'd first set out to deceive her. Even if she could forgive him, what good was a one-sided love that constantly ripped her heart apart?
She turned and looked Delcie square in the eyes. "Don't you understand? He lied to melied so many times that I can't even count the lies," she explained, tightly crossing her arms. "And you know he's been carrying on with Caroline Willmott for months now. The last night we were together, I asked him if he was going there and h
e didn't deny it. That's what hurts me the most."
Delcie laughed, then walked to Silky and lightly held her shoulders. "There ain't nobody that ain't lied sometimes," she rasped, her fingers moving in caressing circles. "And if you thinks he'd rather sleep with that old woman instead of you, you done lost ever' grain of sense you ever had. You's just got to forgive him for those lies and what you thinks he might have been doin' with Miss Caroline. This war done made everybody a little bit crazy."
Silky considered her friend's words. She realized she must still have feelings for Taggart, or the news of his capture wouldn't have affected her so strongly. But were those feelings strong enough to permit her to forgive his lies and unfaithfulness? Part of her heart wanted to do just that, but her common sense told her that such forgiveness would take the soul of a saint, something she didn't possess.
Delcie's eyes sparked fire. "Missy, if you deserts your man now in the hour of his need," she said evenly, "you'll regret it the rest of your born days. I just knows you will."
Silky fought against the girl's prediction, mixed feelings surging through her. She'd given Taggart her honest love, her very heart and soul. She'd committed to him unconditionally, and he'd returned her love with treachery and unfaithfulness. She couldn't feel more betrayed... . Still, there was something that pulled at her heart.
That afternoon Silky gazed at Daniel, thinking he looked as if she'd slapped him in the face. "Taggart's a Yankee agent?" he said softly, firing her a sharp glance of disbelief. "Why, that's the most damn fool thing I ever heard," he whispered, his face going paper-white with astonishment.
They were sitting on one of the hospital's screened sun porches, where she'd taken him for privacy, and she clutched his arm to emphasize her point. "But it's true," she answered, feeling herself blush with embarrassment at what her brother must be thinking. She bolstered her courage, knowing she must tell him the worst before he heard it from someone else. "Not only that, but Captain Fouche has arrested Taggart and locked him away in Libby Prison."
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