by Nan Ryan
Edna had heard of Suzanna LeGrande’s arrest and imprisonment at the Old Capitol prison. She’d heard that Suzanna was to be put on trial for spying on the Union, and if found guilty, would be put to death.
She felt no sympathy for the woman. None whatsoever. She was angry with herself for not seeing through Suzanna. The conniving little bitch had fooled her, just as she had fooled Mitch. Let her hang for the crime! And the sooner the better, for she deserved it.
Edna Earl Longley was filled with hatred for the duplicitous traitor who had come into her home.
And into Mitch’s heart.
Thirty-Three
She had lost all track of time.
Suzanna wasn’t sure if she had been in the Old Capitol for weeks or months. At times she wasn’t even sure if it was day or night. The endless hours of solitary confinement all ran together, punctuated only by a plate of unappetizing food being shoved into her cell and by brief intervals of fitful slumber.
She had given up on trying to learn if Mitch was alive or dead. She assumed the latter. But she would never know for sure because no one was allowed to visit or write her. When blessed sleep finally came, she often dreamed about Mitch, and in those dreams they were lying in the hammock at the cottage, teasing each other, laughing and kissing. Then the lovely dream would turn into a nightmare and he’d be clutching his side as blood spilled through his fingers, and he cursed her name as he fell.
Suzanna realized it was daytime when the booming voice of the superintendent startled her. “You have a visitor, Miss LeGrande.”
The cell door clanged open and Suzanna blinked at the dapperly dressed man she recognized as none other than Lafayette Baker.
Looking smug, Baker stepped inside and without preamble said, “I understand you’re still misbehaving.”
“How could anyone misbehave in here?” she said with the best brave smile she could muster.
“By your continued refusal to sign a full confession.”
Suzanna lifted her chin pugnaciously. “Confess to what, pray tell?”
“Don’t play games with me, Miss LeGrande,” said Baker. “I haven’t the time. When you were arrested you as much as confessed to spying on the Union, did you not?”
Suzanna rubbed her chin as if thinking it over. “No. No, I don’t recall confessing to anything. You must have me confused with some other poor defenseless woman you snatched out of her home.”
“You’re testing my patience, Miss LeGrande,” said Baker. “I have plenty of proof, so let’s waste no more time.”
“I have plenty of time, so let’s waste no more proof,” she retorted, a biting rejoinder.
The veins in his forehead standing out in bold relief, Baker said, “Damn you, you arrogant Southern traitor. You will sign a full confession along with an oath of allegiance.” He shoved a piece of paper at her.
Suzanna refused to take it. She crossed her arms over her chest and told him firmly, “I am signing nothing, do you hear me? Nothing. Not now, not ever.”
“No? Well, let me assure you that Stanton is going to hear about this!”
“Good!” Suzanna reached out, grabbed the piece of paper from him, tore it into pieces, which she dropped to the cell floor, and wiped her feet on them. “There! Tell Secretary of War Stanton I said it will be a cold day in hell before I sign an oath of allegiance to the Union!”
“That was a big mistake, Miss LeGrande,” said an angry Lafe Baker. “Had you cooperated, I might have been able to help you. As it is, may you waste away in this cell forever.” He paused, looked her straight in the eye and added, “Or until you’re hanged for your crime.”
“Get out,” Suzanna ordered. “I can’t stand the sight of you!”
He smiled and said, as if it were an afterthought, “I’ve a bit of news to share with you, Miss LeGrande.”
Suzanna didn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what it was.
He continued. “The war of the rebellion has come to an end and the Union has been victorious. Yesterday, Robert E. Lee surrendered at Appomattox.”
It was April 10, 1865.
* * *
General Edgar M. Clements, one of Washington’s wealthiest and most powerful men, yanked on the bellpull by his bed to summon his manservant. The distinguished, white-haired, seventy-four-year-old general, revered as the Hero of Montezuma for his bravery in the Mexican War, had returned to Washington only yesterday from a lengthy sojourn in the sunny south of France. He had gone to the Côte d’Azur in the hope that his failing health might improve in a more temperate clime.
But it hadn’t worked, and after almost a year of loneliness the homesick general had sailed for America, realizing that his days were numbered. He wanted to die peacefully in his comfortable Washington home.
Jules entered the bedchamber carrying a breakfast tray upon which lay a folded copy of the morning paper, the Washington Ledger.
Jules poured the general’s coffee and reminded his elderly employer that his old friend Edna Earl Longley was expecting him for a welcome-home lunch at her residence at one o’clock sharp. Edgar Clements nodded and reached for his wire-rimmed spectacles. Jules quietly left the room as the general put on the glasses and unfolded the newspaper.
And blinked in astonishment.
There on the front page was an artist’s rendering of a young woman identified as Suzanna LeGrande, juxtaposed with a tintype of Mary E. Surratt, the Confederate sympathizer who’d been strung up for her part in Lincoln’s assassination.
The headline read: Second Woman in History to Hang for Spying!
General Clements devoured the entire article, which stated that the beautiful young Virginian, Miss Suzanna LeGrande, had been charged and convicted of spying on the Union. The punishment for her crime was to be death, just as it was in the case of Mary E. Surratt, who had been hanged on July 7. Suzanna LeGrande was to be hanged at straight-up noon on the eleventh day of August, 1865.
Today was the seventh of August.
His appetite gone, Edgar Clements lowered the paper and set the breakfast tray aside. He was shaken to the core by what he had read. Little Suzanna LeGrande a convicted Confederate spy? She was to be hanged?
God in heaven!
General Clements had not seen Suzanna LeGrande in years, not since she was a carrot-topped little girl. He didn’t know the young lady she had become and had never met the convicted traitor to the Union—the Union that he had served loyally as a young, patriotic officer and still loved dearly as a sickly old man.
But Edgar Clements had known Suzanna’s paternal grandfather well and had been beholden to the late Timothy D. LeGrande since the long-ago days when they were together at the Virginia Military Institute.
The general again rang for his manservant.
“Sir?” said Jules, appearing almost instantly.
“Get out my dress uniform.”
“But, General, it’s early and—”
“And lay on my ribbons and medals.”
“General, you’re not expected at Miss Longley’s until one this afternoon.”
“I’m not going to Miss Longley’s. Send a messenger to tell her I’ve had to cancel.” Edgar Clements had already tossed back the covers and gotten out bed. “My uniform, Jules.”
“Now, now, General Clements,” Jules gently scolded, “you haven’t even touched your breakfast.”
“Get my clothes, man, before it’s too late!”
Thirty-Four
Suzanna, thin and wan from the long months in prison, sat on the dirty mattress in her cell, resolutely awaiting the hour of her execution. She had endured a long trial, been convicted of spying on the Union and been sentenced to death by hanging.
But she had not been told when the execution was to take place. So each time the superintendent approached her cell, she tensed, supposing the hour had come.
Head bowed now, eyes closed, she jumped, startled, when the superintendent abruptly unlocked the cell door.
“You have a visitor, Mi
ss LeGrande,” the man said gruffly.
Expecting to see the self-righteous Lafayette Baker, since no one else was allowed to visit her, Suzanna didn’t immediately recognize the white-haired, well-dressed old gentleman who stepped in front of the scowling superintendent. She blinked in the changing light when the distinguished-looking patrician walked into the cell and extended his hand.
Puzzled, Suzanna automatically took the offered hand and rose to her feet. The elderly man looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
He smiled kindly at her and explained. “My dear, I’m Edgar Clements. The name probably won’t mean anything to you, since you were just a child when last I saw you. A pretty little girl with blazing copper curls, dimples and a bright smile.” He saw the light beginning to dawn in Suzanna’s blue eyes. “You sat upon my knee and called me Uncle Edgar.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I do remember you,” she said, delighted to see a friendly face after all the lonely days and nights spent in solitary confinement. “You were a friend of my grandfather’s and…and…Oh, Uncle Edgar, they are going to kill me.”
“No, they’re not,” he stated emphatically. He took a seat on the thin mattress and patted a spot beside him. “Sit down, child and listen carefully. I am here to save you from the gallows.”
Suzanna sat down beside the old man, folded her hands in her lap and shook her head. “Sir, I don’t think it can be done.”
“You’re wrong. You’ll see.”
Wanting to believe him, she asked, “But…but why? And how?”
“Let’s start with why. Your grandfather, Timothy LeGrande, was as fine a man as ever drew a breath, and I have owed him a debt of gratitude for more than fifty years. Now, finally, I have been presented with the opportunity to repay him for a sacrifice he made on my behalf.”
Suzanna said, “What sacrifice? What did Grandfather do for you?”
“It happened a long time ago. Timothy and I were cadets at the Virginia Military Institute and the best of friends.” Clements paused and shook his head, remembering. “As youths we were lively and reckless, real hell-raisers. One warm May evening we went to a tavern against military regulations. We were both drunk when we left the tavern, I more than he. I insisted, against Tim’s wishes, on driving the carriage.” Clements fell silent then.
“Yes, go on,” Suzanna prompted.
“I should have listened to Tim, but I didn’t. On the way back to the barracks, I ran over and killed a young woman. I panicked and fled the scene of the accident, leaving Tim to take full blame, which he did. He never betrayed me, never revealed what actually happened that night, despite his being cashiered out of the prestigious military academy.” Clements exhaled heavily. “I have never forgotten Tim’s sacrifice. He’s long since dead, rest his soul, so I can’t do anything for him. But I can and will help you.”
“I’m grateful, but I’m afraid there’s little you can do for me.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, General Clements said, “I have just come from a meeting with the secretary of war, Edwin Stanton. I requested that leniency be granted to the woman I plan to marry.”
Taken aback, Suzanna was momentarily speechless. She stared at him, her lips parted, brow furrowed.
Edgar Clements continued. “I called in some favors, and Stanton has reluctantly agreed to set you free, but only if I take full responsibility for you.”
“I can’t ask that of you, sir.”
“Yes, you can. This is my opportunity to repay the debt of honor I owe your late grandfather. I’ve already alerted a justice of the peace and told him to be standing by.” Again Suzanna gave him a questioning look, but he pressed on. “Suzanna, you’re alone, with no family and no money, am I right?”
“Yes, sir, you are.”
He nodded. “I’m alone, too. As you may or may not know, I never married, never had children. I’m a very rich old man, Suzanna, and I haven’t long to live. This bargain would benefit us both. Accept my proposal and we will be married before the sun sets today.”
“What do you get out of this bargain?”
“Simply this. You agree to take care of me in my failing health, and I will restore your lost fortune.
When I depart this earth—which will be quite soon—all that is mine will be yours. You will be a beautiful, wealthy young widow and can live a life of splendid ease. Go where you want to go, do just as you please.”
A sensitive man, Edgar Clements caught the flicker of concern on Suzanna’s gaunt face and hastily assured her, “Nothing will be expected of you other than looking after a sickly old man for a short time.”
* * *
While the youthful bride luxuriated in the first hot bath she’d had in months, in an upstairs suite at the general’s mansion, the aging bridegroom was closeted downstairs in his study with his attorney.
The summer sun had set by the time the newlyweds arrived at the mansion, after a short civil ceremony performed by the justice of the peace. A wedding supper was being prepared by the general’s able staff, and the pair were to dine by candlelight later in the evening.
Now, as he sat across his heavy mahogany desk from his attorney, the seventy-four-year-old Edgar Clements, the hero of Montezuma, instructed the astonished lawyer to draw up a new will and testament leaving everything he had to his twenty-four-year-old bride, Suzanna LeGrande Clements.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Edgar,” said the skeptical Will Bonner. “The girl’s a traitor, responsible for the deaths of brave Federal sailors. Who knows what she might do to you once you’ve named her your sole beneficiary?”
The old general chuckled. “You suppose she might murder me in my bed?” he asked in mock alarm.
“I’m quite serious, sir. The young woman is obviously a coldhearted Jezebel who used her charms to—”
“That’s enough, Will. You’re talking about my wife, so you’ll kindly watch your tongue. As I instructed, she is to fall heir to everything I own, do you understand?”
“Yes, but…”
“You heard me. Draw up the papers and I’ll have Jules witness my signature.”
“As you wish.”
* * *
Grateful for the old man’s kindness and relieved that she would not be hanged, Suzanna vowed to take good care of the sickly old gentleman for as long as he should live, be it five, ten or twenty years. She would do nothing to undermine or embarrass him. She would keep her end of the bargain and he would not be sorry that he had saved her life.
After a sumptuous meal served in the formal dining room shortly after nine o’clock that evening, Edgar Clements rose, came around the table and pulled out Suzanna’s chair. She stood up, smiled at him and took his offered arm.
He escorted her out into the wide center hallway, paused at the base of the curving staircase and said, “There’s a library filled with books in case you’d like to read. In the music room is a golden harp and a finely tuned piano, should you feel like enjoying a bit of music. There’s a decanter of cognac and a big box of Belgian chocolates in the study.” He patted her hand, and said, “Entertain yourself in any way you choose. You may stay up all night or go to bed immediately. This is your home now. It’s up to you. Do anything you please, child.” He paused, then told her, “As for me, I am quite tired. It’s been an eventful day, so I’ll say good-night now.”
“Thank you so much for everything,” she said.
He smiled. “You’re very welcome, my dear. Is there anything else I can do for you before I retire?”
Suzanna started to speak, but hesitated.
“What is it?” he asked.
She couldn’t help herself. She had to know. She was desperate to know, had spent agonizing months wondering. Now, at last, she could find out. She said, “Do you know whether or not Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley was killed in the—”
“No, Suzanna. Admiral Longley survived the Rapidan River ambush.” Clements saw the look of relief that came into her expressive eyes. In a soft, soothing
voice, he added, “As I understand it, he was badly wounded, spent months in a hospital He was finally released in April, around the time the war ended. Anything else?”
“No,” she said, “that’s all.”
“Then good night, my dear.”
“Good night, sir.”
Suzanna stood and calmly watched Edgar Clements slowly climb the stairs. But her heart was hammering with happiness. Mitch was alive! He was alive and here in the city. This very minute the man she loved was probably sleeping peacefully at his mansion.
Thirty-Five
Mitch was awake, wide-awake.
It was the same every night. He couldn’t sleep. He would lie there, tossing and turning restlessly, well into the wee hours of the morning. One reason for his insomnia was the fact that he was in constant pain from the slow-healing wounds that had nearly cost him his life.
But it was pain of another kind that often robbed Mitch of his sleep.
On this hot, muggy August night, as the tall cased clock in the foyer chimed eleven, Mitch was in the ground floor library. He had made his slow way downstairs on his own, with the aid of a cane, a torturous endeavor that had left him weak and clammy with perspiration.
Restless, edgy, he had come to the library to choose a book, hoping to be distracted, entertained. But when he sat down and tried to read, he found the text could not hold his interest.
He laid the book aside, struggled up out of his chair and headed for the bar. He took a crystal snifter from the shelf behind it and reached for a decanter of cognac. He poured himself a drink, swirled the brandy around the bottom of the glass, then turned it up and drank it in one swallow.
He poured himself another.
By the time he’d finished the third drink, he set the empty snifter on the polished bar, grabbed up his cane, turned and hobbled out of the library.