Circle of Spies

by Roseanna M. White

  He snorted a laugh. “I guess I would.” More shuffling noises followed, though there was nothing else of interest in there. “Ah. Pen.”

  She let him steal a piece of paper from her stack and kept at her work, pausing now and then to give her hand a rest. The clock in the hall chimed two in the afternoon when she finally set the quill down and stared at the sheet before her.

  How many times in a few short months could one un-wish a truth?

  Leaning over her again, Slade hissed out a breath. “The task is going to be immense for them. Stockpiling all those weapons and supplies in so many places. And am I reading this right? It sounds as though they expect him to be the one to rouse the leaders of the next rebellion. I guess he is in the best position to do so, being so well respected by Union politicians.”

  “I read it the same way.” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a moment to be thankful when no new images swarmed her. “But it sounds as though the other captains have not even begun yet. Why, then, is he so set on getting his cache in place by Easter?” She splayed her hand on the paper, just below those freshly penned words.

  Slade’s silence held for only a moment. “Because that isn’t the only task this castle has been assigned.”

  Very true. They had also the task of kidnapping Lincoln, and try as Devereaux might to stay out of it, he was still a part. If caught, the other Knights could implicate him. He would have to be in a position to escape to safety, from which he could still call those secret leaders to arms, his cache already in place.

  But Easter was only five days away. That meant he would be leaving within days to take it… She pulled forward the maps Slade had set on the corner of the desk. “Western Maryland, it looks like. Perhaps West Virginia. But what is this?” She indicated a few dark spots on the map of the Appalachians, another that seemed to be little more than random lines.

  “Mountainous out there. So perhaps caves?”

  It made more sense than anything else. “When he went to Cumberland in February, he must have been finding his location.”

  Silence greeted that logic, and when she looked up at Slade’s profile again, she found his jaw set, his eyes flinty. She settled her fingers on the hand he had braced on the desk. “You cannot stop them all, my love. You are but one man.”

  “I know.” Heavy words that spoke a vast truth into that simple cliché. “I’ll get a message to Pinkerton, asking for help. But…”

  She waited and then squeezed his hand. “But?”

  Shaking his head, he straightened. “They won’t come. They don’t trust me enough.”

  “We do.” She stood alongside him and kept her fingers clasped in his. “Use us. Walker, Granddad, my brothers. Me, if I can help.” He didn’t need to know their name to know the Culpers were ready.

  Resistance gleamed in his eyes, and she could understand that. He wanted his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years. The ones lost to him through the treachery of the man who shared his blood but not his heart.

  Still. “You cannot do this alone, Slade. You need us.”

  “I need you safe.” He pulled her against him, so decisively that it might have been fierce if not for the fear in his eyes. “That’s what I need.”

  She could understand that too. But that need was surely secondary.

  He would see that when the time came.

  Thirty

  A knock sounded at the front door.

  Slade looked up from the volume of Kierkegaard in his hands. Even with the Danish dictionary he had found, he hadn’t made it through the first sentence. He hadn’t really expected to, but Marietta had bet him his handkerchief for a kiss that she could translate it before he could, so what was a man to do?

  Lose—obviously, what with her unfair advantage. Not that he minded in the least the payment she would demand. But since nothing else he read made any more sense to his preoccupied mind than the Danish, he might as well give it a few hours.

  Another knock reminded him that Norris and Tandy had been given the afternoon off to attend a church service. Slade pushed himself up and strode from the library, opened the door to one of Hughes’s servants from across the street.

  “There you is, Mr. Slade. This just come for you. Boy said it was real impo’tant.”

  “Thanks, Eli.” Slade took the letter and closed the door.

  The ladies’ voices from the main floor drawing room seeped into the hall, Barbara excusing herself to check on Cora, and then Mrs. Hughes’s laborious sigh. “I don’t know, dear,” the woman said. “It is such a very long performance.”

  Marietta’s laughter soothed a few of his rough edges. “That is the idea, Mother Hughes. Bach wanted listeners to leave the St. Matthew’s Passion emotionally and physically exhausted. How better to contemplate all Christ did for us on this day?”

  Slade smiled and carried the missive back into the library, not too upset over the thought of Mrs. Hughes not joining them at the church for the performance that afternoon. Granted, she had been far more palatable since the mugging, but he would already be dealing with the Arnaud brothers. That was quite enough for one Good Friday outing.

  Two days from Easter. Something would be happening soon, and that certainty wound his nerves tighter than a spring-loaded coil.

  Slade glanced at the envelope, his pulse hammering when he recognized John Booth’s hand. He broke the seal and pulled out the paper.

  We move tonight. I just discovered the tyrant will be attending Our American Cousin at Ford’s this evening. Such a stroke of fortune—nay, of fate—must not be ignored. Surratt is still not home from Canada and several of the others are unreachable, so we haven’t the men for the original scheme.

  We must swear instead to assassination. Lewis will strike Seward in his home. Port Tobacco the vice president in his hotel room. You the secretary of war. I will handle the tyrant myself.

  Our moment is 10:15—timed according to the loudest moment of the play, when a gun’s report will be muted by laughter. Then follow the escape route without delay.

  Slade crumpled the sheet in his hand. Perhaps he had known all along, as he saw the hatred in the Knights’ eyes, that no one would be content with merely kidnapping Lincoln. Still, he had hoped and prayed.

  For just a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and let the words that had been rattling around in his mind for the past day clang louder in his ears, the ones in the telegram from Pinkerton. You know I believe you, but I am afraid you are on your own. Use your best judgment, but do not invite defeat if the odds are too much against you.

  The odds. He had made a career of calculating them before he left the gambler’s life, had used the lessons learned at the card table time and again as a detective. His gut knew the odds without any input from his head.

  Three men, all with pistols loaded and primed. Three men, all bound for different parts of Washington. And only one of him, forced to decide whose life was the most worth saving. Politically, the answer was obvious. He must, at all costs, protect the president.

  The families of the other targets would disagree.

  Lord, what am I to do? Yetta was right. I can’t stop them all. Not on my own.

  Instead of an answer, another realization hit. He wouldn’t be up against three—he would be up against four. Hughes would have gotten word too. He would even now be coupling his cars full of gold and guns and powder to a train headed into the mountains. He would follow his own plan, one that guaranteed his safety so he could lead the next rebellion.

  One that surely included Marietta by his side.

  “Slade?”

  Had his thoughts summoned her? He blinked, focused on her beautiful, worried frown, and reached for her hand. Pulled her into the room, past his usual chair, and into the alcove. The one where, two and a half months ago, she had collapsed in tears.

  That day she had been oblivious to anything but her inner turmoil. Today, her entire focus was upon his face, upon his disquiet.

  If it was the last tim
e he saw her, he would have the most compelling of pictures to carry with him to his grave. He brushed away that one curl always dangling at her cheek, savored the silk of it on his fingers, and leaned down. He meant only to touch his lips to hers, but it wasn’t enough. Not for forever. Deepening the kiss, he held her tight and prayed she could taste something beyond the goodbye in his embrace.

  When he pulled away, the frantic gleam in her eye said otherwise. She gripped his arms and shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t go.”

  “I have to.” He kissed her once more, just once more, softly if lingering. “So do you. Promise me, kitten. You’ll pack now and get out of Baltimore before he comes home. Go to your family. Make them help you get away.”

  Her rapid blinking didn’t disguise the mist in her eyes. “Slade.”

  “Promise me.”

  Pressing her lips together, she nodded. Her breath came in short, quavering gasps. “I promise.”

  They would deliver her out of Hughes’s reach. He had to believe that. Still, he couldn’t convince his arms to release her so she could obey. He rested his forehead on hers. “Yetta…I love you. I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t help it.”

  Her laugh came quick but faded quicker. She pressed a hand to his cheek. “I know the feeling. I didn’t mean to love you either. But I do, so much.”

  Why couldn’t that mean forever instead of farewell? “If I live through this, I’ll find you. I wish I could promise more than that.”

  At least he could be sure she would never forget him. Not her.

  Her fingers traced over his face. “Don’t talk like that. Tomorrow all this will be behind us and…” A shiver coursed through her. “And then you’ll need to know I made a mistake. With Dev, before you arrived.”

  For half a second, it pierced. He had hoped, wanted, prayed he’d been wrong in his first assumptions…but he knew well she wasn’t the same person she’d been before he arrived. Knew because his own past always cast a shadow. If anyone knew the value of the Lord’s forgiveness, it was him. He locked his gaze with hers. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She looked away, her cat eyes clouded. “I daresay you’ll look at it differently when you don’t have all these other worries.”

  “No, I won’t. I’ve made my share of mistakes on that front too.”

  She didn’t meet his gaze again. “It is different for a man. We both know it.”

  “Not in the eyes of God, and not in the eyes of love.” He pressed his lips to hers—one more time, that was all—and then pulled away. “I promise you. All that matters to me is that you love me. Now go. Pack.”

  “Mari!” Barbara’s voice filtered their way from a distance.

  Slade pulled away and pulled her out of the alcove. “You’d better take Barbara with you.”

  Her fingers went tight around his. “Promise me you won’t try to stop them all alone. Promise me.”

  The hesitation lasted only a second. He couldn’t, could he? He would fail at it all if he tried. He needed friends, needed family. Needed a plan, and he needed one fast.

  He felt a warmth against his chest, odd and yet…right. Right where the book of prayers rested. “I’ll go to your granddad.” If anyone knew who he could trust, it was surely Thaddeus Lane.

  “Mari!”

  She glanced toward the hall and Barbara’s nearing voice, her face filled with worry. “Go. I will follow as soon as I can get us packed.”

  He stole one more kiss—the last one—and sped for the door.

  Marietta stepped into the hall after Slade and jumped as the door closed behind him. It sounded too final. Too hopeless, that slam of wood on wood.

  “Mari!” Barbara ran down the hall, her skirts billowing behind her and her cheeks flushed. “The babe is coming at last. I need your help.”

  Marietta felt the blood leave her face, rush to her middle, and twist into nausea. Little experience as she had with it, she knew childbirth was a bloody business. But this was Cora—she must do what she could.

  How, though? She had promised to leave within minutes. To take Barbara with her…impossible if Cora’s babe were coming now.

  Oh Lord, why all at once? Please, show me what to do.

  “Marietta Hughes.” Her mother-in-law stalked her way, fury snapping. “Dallying with a hired man? I thought you better bred than that.”

  Her throat tightened. Mother Hughes must have glimpsed that last kiss.

  But Marietta had only to appease her for a few minutes before making her escape. “It isn’t what you think.” It was so, so much more than any dalliance. “He was merely saying goodbye.”

  “Where could he possibly be going that he—” Mother Hughes cut herself off, the accusation fading. She knew. She had to know. Why else would her expression veer toward indulgent? Smoothing down her skirt, she cleared her throat. “I will overlook it this time. But if I see any more such behavior, you can be sure I will report it to my son.”

  “Do what you must.” Marietta raised her chin and stormed past her toward Barbara. “Is your satchel in your room?”

  Glancing once toward Mother Hughes, Barbara nodded and hurried beside her toward the stairs. “I know you will not want to be present during the birth itself, but if you could lend a hand with Elsie until Walker returns with his mother…”

  She dared no response while they climbed the staircase. Only once they were in the sanctuary of Barbara’s suite of rooms, the door latched behind her, did she even take a deep breath.

  Her friend turned to regard her with somber eyes. “Is something wrong? Slade has so rarely left us lately, and I would not have thought him careless enough to kiss you before an open door.”

  That deep breath shook on its way out. “Can Cora be moved?”

  Barbara went still. “I wouldn’t recommend it, but I suppose if it were enough of an emergency—”

  “We need to leave here before Dev comes. Now. We haven’t any time to lose.”

  Most people would have asked questions. Barbara just measured her quietly for a moment before the familiar shine of peace settled in her eyes. She nodded. “It will take me a few minutes to gather all we’ll need.”

  God had been smiling on her the day He compelled her to this woman’s door. “Thank you. I will meet you at the carriage house.”

  Footsteps sounded, loud and heavy and fast—a man’s, and he was in a hurry. Please Lord, let it be Walker, home and coming to hurry Barbara along.

  But she knew the sound of Walker’s utilitarian work boots, and these struck her as far more like the softer-soled congress boots a gentleman would wear. Slade, perhaps, returned for some reason?

  The pounding at the door behind her head suggested otherwise. She reached for the key in the lock but too late. It turned under her hand and the door was pushed open with enough force to knock her backward.

  Dev took only one step in. He curled his hand around her arm, his smile far too normal for all she knew must be going through his head. His gaze took in Barbara and the medical satchel in her hands, and then it settled on Marietta’s face. “Mother said you came up here. I need to speak with you, darling.”

  She prayed her smile looked every bit as easy, despite the thundering of her pulse. “Of course, Dev. I’ll be just a moment. I’ll find you in my drawing room.” A few minutes, that was all she needed to escape.

  “No. It’s urgent.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he glanced at Barbara again. “Is it not her day to be at the hospital?”

  Barbara shifted her satchel from one hand to the other. “I was needed here. Cora—”

  “Too bad.” His lips twitched, as if ready to snarl, and he spun Marietta into the hall. When he twisted the key in the lock and slammed shut the door, Barbara trapped inside, Marietta couldn’t contain the squeak of outrage.

  “What are you doing? You cannot lock my guest in—”

  “I can.” He jerked her down the hall, slipping the key into his pocket. “Had she been where she was supposed to be, it would not have been nece
ssary.”

  Was there a second key in the room? Or the window—she could open a window and hail Walker whenever he came home. That might not be soon enough to save Marietta, but it would guarantee Barbara would be all right and there to help Cora. “I fail to see why it is necessary now. Whatever is so urgent that—”

  “For once in your life, Mari, do what you’re told.”

  He increased their pace, and she could scarcely find air enough to breathe. Why had she let Mother Hughes retie her corset this morning in Cora’s stead? The woman seemed bent on tight-lacing.

  Dev tugged her around the corner and to the stairs leading to the third floor, where only the family bed chambers were. She dug in her heels. “Where are we going?”

  She got the feeling his pause would cost her. That shadow in his eyes looked alive and ready to devour her. “Immediately? To your room so you can pack a few things. We are taking a little trip.”

  The maps flashed. The rails leading to Harper’s Ferry and then westward to Cumberland. The caves, that dot marked as an inn. So far away. So many places for him to hide, both the stockpile and himself. And her?

  Marietta shook her head. “I cannot travel with you, you know that. We are not yet wed—”

  “A predicament I tried to remedy last week, if you recall.” He pulled her closer, his hand a steel band on her arm, his eyes flashing danger. “Let me make this very clear, darling. Choose me. Choose me above whatever else might tie you here—your family, your friends, your dashed new faith—or those things will pay. I will sever every bond holding you back until you are solely, wholly mine. Do you understand?”

  Her throat closed off, and her fingers tangled in the muted gray silk of her dress. His eyes churned with a shadowy passion—one she knew too well. One she had been seeing since the nineteenth of December 1860. How had she ever been so foolish as to call it love? Love could have no part in such darkness.

  But then, perhaps one couldn’t see that truth until one abided in the Light.

  She had no choice but to nod and let him pull her up the steps. A plan was called for, but she needed time to devise how to get away without him hurting the people she loved.