“Not that I’m planning to write. I have another story in mind, a refutation of Miss Worcester’s claims that John Wilkes Booth is alive.”
Lucy froze, and for a moment she could not breathe.
Studying her, Mr. Elsie took the newspaper clipping from the top of the pile and held it out to her across the table. When she did not take it, he set it next to her plate, offering her an apologetic shrug for good measure. Involuntarily, her gaze drifted to the headline: J. WILKES BOOTH ALIVE. LOUISE WORCESTER, THE CONFIDANTE OF BOOTH, SAYS HE IS NOT DEAD—A VERY THIN YARN.
The subtitle was correct at any rate, she thought, and although such nonsense did not deserve her attention, she read on.
Chicago. April 21.—The Times publishes a story from Birmingham, Ala., in which Louise Worcester, at one time the confidante of J. Wilkes Booth, the assassin of Abraham Lincoln, is credited with saying that Booth is not dead. She declares that in 1867, two years after Booth’s supposed death, she received a letter without date or signature, but unmistakably in Booth’s handwriting. This letter, she says, is still in existence. As to the probabilities of the man shot by Boston Corbett being Wilkes Booth, she points out that the body was closely guarded and secretly buried without an opportunity having been given for identification by any of those intimately acquainted with him. She believes that the man killed was one of the conspirators and that Booth made good his escape, but that in the excited and clamorous condition of the public mind it was thought best by the authorities, if they knew of the deception, to allow it to pass unchallenged in order to allay the fever of excitement which the assassination aroused.
“How interesting,” Lucy said ironically, fixing Mr. Elsie with a level gaze as she slid the clipping back to his side of the table. “A thirdhand account that even this reporter admits is unlikely to be true. This was not published in the Evening Star.”
“No, our editors have higher standards,” he admitted. “They require verification. And that’s what brings me to you.”
She feigned puzzlement. “My family was acquainted with Mr. Booth in the last year of the war when we all resided at the National Hotel, but I’m afraid I have no idea how you might reach his family. Have you inquired with any of the local theatres? Surely they would be able to put you in touch with his brother Edwin, or perhaps you could interview him when he next comes to perform in the capital.”
She had seen Edwin Booth perform on several occasions since the war ended, though he resembled John enough that seeing him pained her until she could lose herself in the drama and no longer regard him as John’s brother but as the character he portrayed. Edwin Booth was simply the best actor of his generation, perhaps of any generation that had ever been, and to witness his extraordinary gifts, she was willing to endure a few minutes of agony. She was far from the only avid theatergoer who had rejoiced that his retirement from the stage, which he had publicly announced in the aftermath of the assassination, had lasted only six months.
Mr. Elsie smiled ruefully. “Edwin Booth will not speak to me. Nor will his younger brother, Joseph. His eldest brother, Junius, died in 1883, and their mother passed away five years ago.”
“Have you considered writing to his sister Asia, Mrs. John Sleeper Clarke?” Lucy knew she was admitting to more knowledge than she wanted anyone to know she possessed. “I believe she and her family moved to England shortly after the war. She has written quite prolifically on her father and her brother Edwin. If anyone knows the family history, Mrs. Clarke would.”
“Edwin and Joseph are John Wilkes Booth’s only living siblings,” said Mr. Elsie, leafing through his stack of papers again. “Mrs. Clarke died two years ago in Bournemouth, on the southern coast of England, although she was buried in the family plot at Green Mount Cemetery in Baltimore. I hear she extracted a deathbed promise from her husband to ship her remains across the ocean so she could be buried in her native land.” He lowered his voice to a confidential stage whisper. “From what I hear, Mr. Clarke had made her final years so miserable that he truly owed her that much, at least.”
Lucy ignored that bit of gossip. “The family plot—yes, of course. I read in your own newspaper that Mr. Booth’s remains were interred there after they were returned to his family.” The burial at sea had all been a ruse to discourage relic hunters from robbing the grave and to forestall Confederate sympathizers from turning his burial site into a shrine. Instead his corpse had been put into a gun box and buried on the grounds of the Arsenal Penitentiary. Years later, when the Arsenal was slated to be razed to make way for new construction, his remains—like those of his four conspirators hanged in the prison yard—had been unearthed and turned over to their families. “Surely the Booth family verified that the remains they were given were indeed those of their son and brother.”
“They might have,” he acknowledged, “but as I said, none of his survivors will speak with me. Even if they would, my editors require stronger verification than what they could provide.”
“What do you mean? Who would know better than they?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps the Booth family were given a sealed box and were obliged to accept the authorities’ word that it held John Wilkes’s remains. Perhaps they were able to view the corpse, but after so many years it must have been decayed beyond recognition.”
Lucy suppressed a shudder at the gruesome images his words evoked. “That all may be true, but to be frank, Mr. Elsie, this is no concern of mine. I have never met Edwin or Joseph Booth, and I cannot persuade them to speak with you—nor would I, if I could.”
“Mrs. Chandler, I think you misunderstand me.” Mr. Elsie leaned back in his chair and studied her expectantly. “I’m not seeking confirmation of John Wilkes Booth’s death from his brothers. I’m seeking it from you.”
For a moment she could neither speak nor breathe. “I don’t understand.”
He studied her for a moment, and then he leafed through his pile of papers again and withdrew another clipping. When he set it before her, she refused to give it even the smallest glance. “When the assassin’s corpse was brought to Washington,” he said, “witnesses reported seeing a young woman, heavily veiled, who had been escorted aboard to identify the remains. According to eyewitness accounts, she became distraught and flung herself upon the body, weeping, and had to be pulled away.”
“Perhaps the young woman was his sister,” said Lucy, her voice steady. “I recall hearing that they were very close.”
He shook his head. “Mrs. Clarke was in Philadelphia under house arrest at the time, and she was delivered of twins a few months later. Her delicate condition would have been readily apparent at that time, and none of the witnesses mentioned it.” He regarded her intently, as if waiting for a flicker of emotion to betray her. “Numerous sources claimed that you were engaged to John Wilkes Booth. Your father, with his strong ties to the navy, easily would have been able to get permission to take his heartbroken daughter aboard the Montauk to confirm that her secret fiancé was dead.”
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “‘Secret fiancé’?” She laughed shortly and shook her head. “Oh, Mr. Elsie. You should know better than to believe every salacious rumor that comes your way.” She put her head to one side, feigning intense thought, then started as if struck by inspiration. “Oh! Perhaps the mysterious young woman was Louise Worcester, Mr. Booth’s great confidante, so dear to him that he wrote to her from the afterlife. I suggest you get in touch with her if you decide to pursue this matter, because I cannot help you.”
She rose from her chair, and decorum obliged him to stand as well. “Mrs. Chandler—”
“As I said, I cannot help you.” She stepped away from the table and inclined her head in dismissal. “The butler will show you out. Good day, Mr. Elsie.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him to stew in his own curiosity.
Let history decide what to make of the misguided, vengeful man who had killed a
great and noble president. That was not the man she had known and loved. She had already said all she ever intended to say about the assassin John Wilkes Booth.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Fates and Traitors: A Novel of John Wilkes Booth is a work of fiction inspired by history. Numerous events and people that appear in the historical record have been omitted from this book simply because it would have been impossible to include them all.
I offer my sincere thanks to Maria Massie, Maya Ziv, and Denise Roy for their contributions to Fates and Traitors and their ongoing support of my work. I’m grateful for the generous assistance of my first readers, Marty Chiaverini, Geraldine Neidenbach, and Heather Neidenbach, whose insightful comments and questions always prove invaluable. I also thank Nic Neidenbach, Marlene and Len Chiaverini, and other friends and family for their support and encouragement.
I am indebted to the Wisconsin Historical Society and their librarians and staff for maintaining the excellent archives on the University of Wisconsin campus in Madison that I rely upon for my research. The most significant sources for this book were:
Terry Alford, Fortune’s Fool: The Life of John Wilkes Booth (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015).
Stephen M. Archer, Junius Brutus Booth: Theatrical Prometheus (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press, 1992).
Arthur W. Bloom, Edwin Booth: A Biography and Performance History (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 2013).
John Wilkes Booth, “Right or Wrong, God Judge Me”: The Writings of John Wilkes Booth, ed. John Rhodehamel and Louise Taper (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1997).
Asia Booth Clarke, Booth Memorials: Passages, Incidents and Anecdotes in the Life of Junius Brutus Booth (the Elder) by His Daughter (New York: Henry L. Hinton, 1870).
———. The Elder and the Younger Booth (Boston: J. R. Osgood, 1882).
———. John Wilkes Booth: A Sister’s Memoir, ed. Terry Alford (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1996).
———. Personal Recollections of the Elder Booth (London: privately published, 1902).
———. The Unlocked Book: A Memoir of John Wilkes Booth (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1938).
Ernest B. Furgurson, Freedom Rising: Washington in the Civil War (New York: Knopf, 2004).
Edwina Booth Grossman, Edwin Booth: Recollections by His Daughter, Edwina Booth Grossman, and Letters to Her and to His Friends (New York: The Century Company, 1894).
Michael W. Kauffman, American Brutus: John Wilkes Booth and the Lincoln Conspiracies (New York: Random House, 2004).
Kate Clifford Larson, The Assassin’s Accomplice: Mary Surratt and the Plot to Kill Abraham Lincoln (New York: Basic Books, 2008).
Virginia Lomax, The Old Capitol and Its Inmates: By a Lady, Who Enjoyed the Hospitalities of the Government for a “Season” (New York: E. J. Hale & Son, 1867).
Arthur F. Loux, John Wilkes Booth: Day by Day (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 2014).
Richmond Morcom, “They All Loved Lucy,” American Heritage 21, no. 6, October 1970.
Richard H. Sewell, John P. Hale and the Politics of Abolition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1965).
Gene Smith, American Gothic: The Story of America’s Legendary Theatrical Family—Junius, Edwin, and John Wilkes Booth (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992).
Elizabeth Steger Trindal, Mary Surratt: An American Tragedy (Gretna, LA: Pelican Publishing, Inc., 1996).
Nora Titone, My Thoughts Be Bloody: The Bitter Rivalry That Led to the Assassination of Abraham Lincoln (New York: Free Press, 2010).
Louis J. Weichmann, A True History of the Assassination of Abraham Lincoln and the Conspiracy of 1865, ed. Floyd E. Risvold (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1975).
I also consulted several excellent online resources while researching and writing Fates and Traitors, including the archives of digitized historic newspapers at the Library of Congress (http://chroniclingamerica.loc .gov) and GenealogyBank.com; Dave Taylor’s excellent blog, BoothieBarn: Discovering the Conspiracy (http://boothiebarn.com); and websites for the Surratt House Museum (http://www.surrattmuseum.org), the Ford’s Theatre National Historic Site (http://www.nps.gov/foth/index.htm), and the Junius B. Booth Society (http://juniusbrutusbooth.org and https://www.facebook.com/SpiritsofTudorHall).
Most of all, I thank my husband, Martin Chiaverini, and our sons, Nicholas and Michael, for their enduring love and tireless support. I couldn’t have written this book without you, and I love you beyond measure.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JENNIFER CHIAVERINI is the New York Times bestselling author of Mrs. Lincoln’s Dressmaker, The Spymistress, Mrs. Lincoln’s Rival, Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule, and Christmas Bells, as well as the Elm Creek Quilts series. A graduate of the University of Notre Dame and the University of Chicago, she lives in Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband and two sons.
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