Scarlet Leaves

by Sonya Birmingham

  Visibly shaken, Daniel leaned back against the little wicker settee. "I-I can hardly believe it," he stammered brokenly. "What you just told me is wilder than one of them dime novels you used to read!"

  "Yes ... it is," she replied roughly. "It takes a while for it all to sink in."

  Daniel's stunned gaze riveted on her as she related how she'd discovered Taggart's real allegiance and how she'd left him not only because he preferred another woman, but because he was spying on the Confederacy. When she'd finished her story, she sat silently, watching her brother's eyes blaze like emeralds. What a fool he must think she was for being taken in by the Yankee's smooth ways, she decided, her emotions still raw with indignity.

  Daniel searched her face. "Why didn't you tell me this when you said you'd left him?"

  Silky gazed downward, struggling for words. "I-I don't know," she finally managed. Getting a fight grip on her composure, she met her brother's puzzled gaze, wondering why he was looking at her so intently. "But I knew I had to tell you now, before someone else did." She slumped back dejectedly. "I'm sure the scandal is the talk of Richmond."

  They discussed everything until there was no more to say; then she stared wordlessly at sunlight glittering on the James River.

  "Have you talked to Fouche?" Daniel suddenly asked.

  Silky swiveled her head toward him. "No, of course not!"

  "Well, maybe you should," he advised matter-of-factly. "It might be good for you to know the details of Taggart's arrest so you can clear your own name. After all, you were seen with him all over Richmond."

  She considered the idea, totally shocked, for outside of Taggart the last person she wanted to see was Fouche.

  "No, I can't do it," she answered, scarcely believing her brother had brought up the subject. But even then, in her heart of hearts she knew she would.

  The next morning, Silky rose, dressed, and pinned her thick locks atop her head, with little stray cuffs softening her hairline. She still wondered if seeing Fouche was the right thing to do, but for the first time since she'd left the Spotswood, she powdered and rouged her face and glossed her lips with a bit of color. When she'd finished she put on her earrings, realizing she'd soon be forced to pawn them and indirectly accept Taggart's charity whether she wanted to or not.

  On her way down the creaking staircase she heard a noise and, at the bottom of the steps, the fat landlady stepped into the little foyer and glared up at her. "I ain't had no payment for this week yet," the frowsy woman snapped, shaking an accusing finger in her direction. "You better pay up or I'll put you out on the street!" she added, her gaze hard and unforgiving.

  "Yes, I'll take care of that matter soon," Silky promised, and caught a whiff of rancid body odor as she squeezed past the woman.

  "Well, see that you do!" the harridan called after her.

  Silky breathed a sigh of relief once she was on the street. The weather was wonderful: the wind cool and fresh on her face, and the sun warm on her body as it slanted through the trees. Her spirits a bit higher, she walked four blocks to a better section of town, where she could catch a hackney to the provost marshal's office, which was situated all the way across Richmond.

  After placing several of her hoarded coins into the driver's cracked palm, she entered the carriage and leaned back for the ride across the heart of the city. Wagons piled high with mattresses and odds and ends of furniture rattled down the streets, while hollow-eyed pedestrians jostled past each other with grim determination. It seemed an air of confused desperation had settled upon Richmond, and by the time she reached the city's eastern quarter she'd noticed many vacant businesses, broken windows, and

  At last she saw the two-story brick provost marshal's office and, after leaving the hackney, entered the building and asked to be directed to Fouche's office.

  Upon seeing her he rose to his feet, his face alight with surprise. "I'm delighted you've come, chérie," he crooned, handing her into a chair near his littered desk. His expression briefly darkened. "I can guess why you're here, and I'm afraid the answer is no. No one may see Taggart."

  Silky hadn't seen Fouche in weeks, but she noticed he was still dressed in the best of uniforms and wore new boots, glassy with polish. And if she wasn't mistaken, he'd added another ring to his collection. Judging from his sleek, polished appearance, no one would suspect most of the starving South was living on rice, bacon drippings, and dried apples sweetened with sorghum. "I didn't come for permission to see your prisoner," she replied lightly, trying to sound casual as she reined in her nervousness. "I came to talk to you."

  He smiled broadly. "Oh, well. That's a horse of a different color." Briefly glancing at the door, he slapped his hands and a young soldier appeared, offering a starched military salute. "Bring a pot of coffee and some cakes," he ordered, "and be quick about it."

  Fouche sat on the corner of his desk and gazed at Silky with smug amusement, looking, she thought, like a cat watching a mouse. "What shall we talk about, chérie? Is there an upcoming ball I may escort you to? Perhaps you need a bolt of contraband silk for a new gown."

  "No. Nothing as pleasant as that," she began tentatively, idly arranging her skirt as she searched for a way to open the delicate subject. She looked up and took a deep breath. "When I heard you'd captured the Yankee, I assumed he told you that"she moistened her lips, searching for the right phrase"that ... I was no longer staying at the Spotswood."

  He offered her a patronizing smile. "Noactually he told me you'd left town, but I correctly assumed he was lying."

  Fear fluttered through Silky, for she knew it would be difficult to pry any information from the officer that he didn't want to give. "Since I wasn't there when he was arrested," she stumbled on, her voice breaking under the strain, "I've only received secondhand news about the affair. I was wondering if you could give me more details?"

  Fouche rose and went to his chair. "If your heart is set on discussing this depressing subject," he said tiredly, "then we shall, but only briefly." He sat down, holding her gaze. "First let me say that your name is clear in the affair. Taggart has not implicated you, and it is my opinion that he duped you along with the rest of Richmond."

  A hot blush captured Silky's cheeks. "When did you first suspect him?"

  Fouche pursed his lips. "I first met him at the American Hotel during a poker game. He was very evasive about his past, and my instincts told me I should start digging into the matter."

  Silky's pulse raced. Undoubtedly Fouche had been eager to court her so he could pump her for information on Taggart, she thought, recalling his pressing questions. It was then she understood she hadn't come here to clear her own name, but to find out if her admission about Petersburg had been the reason for Taggart's arrest. "Did you start investigating him after ... after that day in the park?" she asked, her keen interest absorbing some of her nervousness.

  "Yes," he continued in oily tones. "One of my agents followed him to Petersburg and talked with the soldiers he'd quizzed, finding out what he was about." He tilted his brows in amusement. "You made quite an impression in your lovely red ensemble. Many of the soldiers remembered seeing you with Taggart last January on an extended buggy ride around the trenches."

  Silky's heart thudded with the realization that it was her inability to keep a secret that had been responsible for Taggart's arrest.

  Fouche steepled his fingers, his rings glittering. "Taggart was wise to claim he was attached to a regiment in the western theater," he remarked thoughtfully. "We rarely see those officers in Richmond, so there was no one I could speak with to check his story. Then one day I managed to get a letter through to his supposed regiment commander, and his reply told me the Yankee's name wasn't on their roster. After considerable work I found he wasn't on the roster of any Confederate regiment."

  Fouche leaned back and spread his hands. "Voilà , it was as simple as that."

  The young soldier entered and placed a tray on his commander's desk. As the lad poured coffee, Silky trie
d to collect her nerves, realizing how clever the Creole really was.

  After the soldier had left the room, Fouche handed her a cup of the dark liquid and served her a little cake. "Taggart's frequent visits to Caroline Willmott also made me suspicious of him," he added, a brittle tone entering his voice.

  Silky bristled inwardly at the mention of the woman's name. She tried to compose her features, but was sure she'd failed.

  "I've felt that Caroline Willmott was a Federal agent for some time and had her house watched. Soon after meeting her, Taggart became a frequent visitor."

  Silky stiffened at the news that Caroline might also be a Yankee sympathizer. At the same time it provided a scrap of hope that the pair's relationship pivoted around politics instead of romance.

  "I can see by your reaction that you're surprised," the officer remarked with wicked satisfaction.

  Silky took a sip of coffee, realizing he was playing ragof-war with her emotions, and anticipating with dread what he might say next.

  Fouche rattled his cup into a saucer, then moved to her side, his strong French cologne nauseating her a bit. When, ever so gently, he placed his hand on her arm, she felt strangely violated by his soft touch. "I recently questioned Taggart about his frequent visits to her mansion, and he insists they were making love, not conspiring against the Confederacy."

  Silky shuddered with humiliation at the brutally effective words, and she wondered how much longer she could keep sitting there, pretending everything was all right.

  The officer returned to his desk, and from its drawer produced a signed document. He approached and handed it to her. "I know you were very fond of him, but here is a sworn document he signed avowing to the fact they were lovers."

  Silky looked at the signature that blurred before her eyes. Just what I expected, she thought bitterly, despair overwhelming her once again. Taggart had openly confessed to making love with Caroline. Of course, she knew Fouche was advancing his own cause, but now the facts were out in the openin a sworn statement, no lessand she could no longer salve her feelings with the hope she'd clung to so tenaciously.

  Fouche regarded her solicitously. "Are you all right, chérie? You look quite ill."

  Silky sat emotionally naked before him, only her fiery pride holding hack her tears. How skillfully he'd led her into this trap! Surely he knew how much the statement had devastated her, but his expression said he didn't care. "I'm fine," she answered brightly, silently vowing she'd never let him glimpse her pain and embarrassment.

  She tossed the document aside as if it were nothing, then took a taste of her cake, her throat so tight she could scarcely swallow. "These cakes are very good," she added, pasting a smile on her trembling lips. "I haven't had anything sweet in weeks."

  Fouche sighed deeply, as over a problem of great magnitude. "Yes. The lack of luxuries in the South is quite appalling, is it not?" Then he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "But there are ways of obtaining these luxuries." He ran his warm gaze over her, making her blush at the message she read in his eyes. "Stay with me, chérie. Let me protect you from the harsher side of life. My family has great wealth. I swear you'll lack for nothing."

  Silky felt a prick of surprise. After wheedling information from her and assaulting her with words calculated to break her heart, could he now be proposing marriage? She detected something perverse in his nature that set her nerves on edge, and as his hand slid over her arm once again, her skin crawled beneath its warmth.

  Her pulse fluttering, she put her coffee on the tray and rose to go. "I-I'm too confused to consider anything more today," she stammered, her mind seething with questions and fears. She put a hand to her temple. "In fact, I feel a headache coming on, and think I should go."

  Fouche bowed his head in acquiescence. "I understand," he commented softly, "but please come again." He kissed her hand, then looked up, his eyes brimming with passion. "If there is anything you need, you have only to ask." He raised a questioning brow. ''Shall I have a soldier drive you back to your dwelling?"

  "No, I'm fine," she replied, and made up a quick excuse so he wouldn't know where she was staying. "I want to walk a while before I hail a hackney. The fresh air will help my headache." She made her way to the door and left the building without even a look back in farewell.

  Once outside, she blinked tears from her eyes. What a ninny she'd been to think that Taggart might have been faithful to her. She should have trusted her inner feelings instead of listening to Delcie's advice. She walked briskly for a few blocks, looking back to see if Fouche had sent someone to follow her, then hailed a passing hackney. She got in and slammed the door behind her. Would she wear her heart on her sleeve the rest of her life? she berated hersell angrily grasping the swinging hand strap. Yes, Fouche might have been lying to her, but there was a good chance that he wasn't.

  Still, some elusive emotion nagged at her mind and urged her to delve into the matter further. Then, with a bolt of insight, she realized the one person who might tell her the truth about the affair was Caroline Willmott. But just thinking of the lovely aristocrat and the fine mansion in which she lived made her confidence sink to a low ebb.

  It would take a heap of courage to confront Caroline Willmott, Silky thought, clenching the hand strap until her knuckles were white. Did she have that kind of courage?

  Chapter Twenty

  Silky stared at Caroline Willmott's door, simmering with nervousness. A huge brass knocker, depicting a lion's head, decorated the door, and she wondered if the animal's snarling mouth represented the welcome she would receive inside. She'd changed her mind thirty times about seeing Caroline, but finally decided she must make the visit, if only to satisfy her raging curiosity.

  Her fingers trembled as she reached for the knocker; then she dropped her hand, her courage suddenly failing her. Angry with her own foolishness, she pulled in a long, steadying breath. "Lordamercy, I can't stand here all morning like a scared goat," she muttered, finally slamming the knocker down hard several times.

  All at once the door flew open, making her gasp in surprise. A neatly dressed butler peered from the shadowy foyer, his dark eyes roaming over her. "Yes, miss?" he drawled patiently.

  "I'm here to see Miss Willmott," Silky stammered, her throat so dry she could scarcely speak. "I mean, may I see Miss Willmott?"

  "And who might you be?" he inquired, a frown tightening his inquisitive features.

  "M-Miss Shanahan."

  With a look of surprise, the old man nodded. After casting her a discreet glance, he ushered her into a cool foyer filled with treasures, then led her into a library, carpeted with thick rugs and furnished with graceful mahogany furniture. "Miss Caroline will be down directly," the butler assured her, bowing his gray head once more before leaving the room.

  Silky surveyed the book-filled walls and lavish furnishings: the French chests, carved writing tables, soft, velvetcovered chairs and sofas. The chamber had an immaculate, well-cared-for look and smelled of fragrant flowers. No wonder Taggart was drawn to Caroline, she thought with a flash of embarrassment. He'd been raised in a mansion, in a wonderful place like this, and was used to the finer things in life.

  Here he could feel at home and be with a real lady who'd also been born and raised in gentility; here he could talk about places Silky had never been, and places she'd never seen, and people she could never hope to meet. And here he could relax in gorgeous surroundings, she thought with a twinge of jealousy, wondering if the pair had shared a kiss before the marble fireplace.

  Noticing a sparkling chandelier overhead, she tilted her head backward and walked in a circle, thinking it was even more beautiful than the ones at the Spotswood.

  "Do you like it, my dear? Papa had it shipped from Italy after one of our trips abroad."

  With a start, Silky looked at Caroline, who'd just walked into the room, dressed beautifully in a low-cut gown of pale green silk trimmed in creamy lace. With her dark hair sleeked back and tumbling over her shoulders, she
looked like spring itself. A smile softened her face as she extended a slender hand at a grouping of furniture near a sunny bay window. "Please have a seat. I'm happy you've come."

  Silky, battling her nervousness, claimed a seat on a redstriped settee with a thick velvet cushion. How foolish she must have looked staring upward at the chandelier, like a little hillbilly who'd never been out of the backwoods.

  For a moment the pair sat in awkward silence, Silky trying to put her thoughts into words; then Caroline spoke up, gently saying, "I can guess why you've come, my dearto ask me about Major Taggart."

  Silky tried to collect her scattered composure. "Yes ... that's right," she answered, stunned that Taggart was really a major.

  Caroline lifted her finely arched brows. "I've heard that he's been arrested"a frown gathered on her face"and I suspect Captain Fouche will be here shortly to also take me in for questioning."

  Silky just stared at her, astounded she would be so candid with her comments. At the same time she was surprised to find herself warming to the woman, relaxing in her charming presence.

  Caroline's dark eyes swept over her kindly. "In case you've heard something else, I must be truthful with youMajor Taggart and I have been working together for the Union cause."

  Shock rippled through Silky that this elegant lady would utter such words in her presence. She stiffened at the thought that this woman had worked for the downfall of her beloved Confederacy. And to think of her sleek head bent low by Taggart's as they examined some map pained her so it almost took her breath away. Still, she had to admire her courage, for her manner was so cool she might be talking about attending a ball, not committing an offense punishable by death. In effect, by making the confession, this lovely creature had just put her life in Silky's hands. "W-why are you telling me such things?" she murmured, highly uncomfortable in being privy to the explosive secret.