Circle of Spies (41 page)

And they both had the gall to enjoy her discomposure. She had no choice but to straighten her spine, lift her chin, and sweep past them. “Insufferable jackanapes, the both of you.”

Their laughter followed her to the carriage house.

Twenty-Six

D
evereaux stepped off the train in Washington City with thunder in his veins. Six days had gone by since the attack on Marietta, and he had nothing to show for it. The imbeciles that passed for police officers in Baltimore had done absolutely nothing, and his own inquiries had led to dead ends.

Granted, it had relieved a certain amount of stress to knock a few ruffians stupid in the process of getting names from them. But none of them had given him any helpful information.

And Marietta, blast her, had barely spoken to him. Even Mother had noticed it and asked him if they had quarreled.

He would not lose her. It was bad enough, the news they kept hearing of the war in the South, of the state of General Lee's troops, of the continued failures of the KGC. He couldn't lose her too.

He had only a cryptic note in his pocket to lead his feet through the streets of Washington, but he needed no more. He told himself to enjoy the warming weather, the perfect sunshine, the promise of a meeting with his brothers.

Somehow, seeing Surratt and one of his cohorts going ahead of him into the Herndon Hotel only set his teeth on edge.

Surratt caught sight of Devereaux in the hotel lobby and held up to await him. “Where is Osborne?”

Devereaux strode by. If he paused, he might just hit the man. Why did he think he had the right to question him? “Attending other business. Where is Booth?”

“New York. He said he told Osborne.”

He let a grunt suffice for an answer and headed for the stairs. Osborne had, in fact, said something about it, but Devereaux had been trying to organize a shipment of gold bars and had been distracted.

But the gold was now in place, hidden away in the back of the rail yard. Not far from the crates of rifles and ammunition. His part was coming together nicely. He had only to smuggle another shipment or two into Baltimore, and then he could take the entire lot by rail to the mountains. A month at the most—a fortnight, he hoped. Then, assuming the attacker were found and taken care of, his world would settle again until the time came for the next revolt.

Assuming this other business didn't foul everything up. He let Surratt knock on the correct door and cast a gaze over at the other man. The so-called doctor—nothing but a cover story, that, to excuse his frequent visits to the room—gave him a strained smile.

Devereaux wasn't inspired. Striding through the door the moment the occupant, “Wood,” opened it, he turned to face the other Knights with a frown. “I don't intend to stay. I just want to make sure you have your plans well in hand. This will be your last chance, gentlemen.”

“We know that.” Surratt shifted from foot to foot. “We won't fail. We have our list of those we will seize, and we will snatch them all at once.”

Wood studied Devereaux with obvious concern. “I apologize, sir, but we are not acquainted. Who are you?”

Of all the…he glared at Surratt, who cleared his throat. “This is our captain, Mr.—”

“No names.” If they weren't telling him theirs, they certainly weren't getting his. “Have you men enough for this?”

“With Booth and Osborne, yes.”

“Good. Now, funds. Who will be securing them?”

Surratt lifted a hand. “I have a trip to Canada planned. With our permission from the Confederacy in hand, the agent in Montreal ought to be willing to disburse.”

“Excellent.” Devereaux pulled out his watch. He still had business
to attend in Baltimore, and no desire for it to cut into his evening. “Just remember to use one of the ciphers when communicating by wire, and trust no one outside your own circle.”

He looked at them again, these men supposedly as dedicated to the Knights as he himself was. Whether or not they would have the gumption to carry out the tasks with prison or death as a consequence was yet to be seen for some of them. “Be careful. If you get even a strange feeling from someone, keep your distance and seal your lips.”

Surratt drew in a long breath. “You can be sure of it, sir.”

“Good. My orders from Richmond keep me busy, but if you need my input, do get word to me.” He didn't wait for Surratt or one of the others to ask what kept him busy but merely gave them a nod and left the room. The day would certainly come when all the Knights would learn of the existence of the caches, when they would be instructed in how to follow the signs to them.

But not yet. Not until the goods were safely stored and the map to them established. Until then, only a select few of three hundred thousand brothers could know. This, above all, they must guard against the spies.

Perhaps there was little they could do about the present war at this point, but that made protecting their future hopes all the more vital. Devereaux took his private car back to Baltimore, but the ride did little for his mood. Because the closer he got to home, the more he thought of Marietta. And the more he thought of Marietta…

Denial achieved nothing. She was slipping through his fingers.

Fingers which tightened into a fist as he climbed into his waiting carriage at Camden Station and ordered his driver home. Never would he have thought that her family's religious fervor would grip her. Yes, she had always idolized that do-good brother of hers, especially after Gettysburg. But Devereaux well remembered how ill they had often gotten along when Stephen was alive, how they had argued.

His fingers curled tighter. It was his own fault. He should have known, after her many refusals before, that he would pay for his seduction. That making her his would suffocate her in guilt. But he had hoped that once she had spent a night in his arms, she would forget the morals that had been more rote than belief and be happy as his mistress until they could marry.

A miscalculation. Four years of patience possibly ruined—but he hadn't lost yet. She wanted to embrace her parents' morality? Fine. Let
it
tell her she must marry him to be an honest woman again.

When he climbed from the carriage outside his house, the swish of her lavender skirt caught his eye as she sashayed around the corner of the family home. Osborne, keeping pace beside her, looked up, met Devereaux's gaze from across the street, and nodded a greeting. He must have said something to Marietta, because she then looked up too, at him without meeting his gaze.

No doubt she thought he'd stride directly across the street to her as he always did, dismiss Osborne, and lead her on a walk himself.

Maybe that was part of the problem. He had done nothing but pursue her for years, devoting far too much attention to each look he could gain, each stray brush of a touch, each veiled word. Naturally, she thought she could string him along, knowing he would be waiting when she had worked through her foul humor.

Well, she was about to learn that she wasn't the one setting the terms anymore. Let her, for once, miss him. With a move of his head to tell Osborne he needed to speak with him, he turned and strode into his own house.

Slade had battled off the tension for an hour now. He had bitten his tongue when Barbara left for the hospital, had forced a smile when Marietta insisted she wanted to enjoy the warmth of the day in her small backyard. He had done his best to remain pleasant while she and Elsie and Walker's mother visited in the garden.

But something in the air made him edgy. It was too heavy. Too hot for the last week of March. And the clouds slicking their way across the horizon were too blasted dark for his peace of mind.

“Would you please stop scowling?” Marietta's fingers barely brushed his arm, but it was enough. Enough to pull Slade's gaze from the flash of lightning over the harbor to her smiling face.

By thunder, the tug got worse every day. Much worse in the last
few since Hughes had kept his distance. Though he hadn't said a word about it, Slade knew well what he was trying to do—make her miss him. And he sure wasn't going to tell the man her smile grew more brilliant with his absence.

As for how Slade was going to leave her side when all this was over…

He didn't bother summoning up a smile of his own. She knew by now he wasn't one to force them. “I don't like the looks of those clouds.”

“Hmm.” She turned toward the Chesapeake, standing a bit too close. Not so much that she couldn't cover it up quick enough if someone came along, but enough that he was all too aware of how easy it would be to weave his fingers through hers. To lean over and feather a few kisses over the garish green bruises. That single red curl brushed her shoulder as she surveyed the horizon. “I daresay we are in for a storm.”

Worry flickered through her gaze, which made the tension wracking Slade redouble. That greenish cast to the clouds was too similar to the one he'd noted in Chicago five years ago.

The wind, having grown from breezy to steady through the day, loosed a gust strong enough to send Marietta back a step. “I hope Walker and Barbara make it home before it hits.”

Another jagged flash of lightning shot down from the heavens. Slade anchored his bowler against the next blast of wind. “If not, they will wait it out at the hospital. We, however, should get inside.”

She spun in the opposite direction. “Where are Elsie and Freeda?” Even as she asked, she must have spotted them just inside the stable door, where the girl played with a few stray pieces of hay. “Freeda! You had best hurry home.”

The woman looked up from her granddaughter with surprise, her gaze tracking to the black horizon. “Gracious, when did those move in? I had best indeed. I'll just run Elsie into the house to Cora—”

“I'll take her.” Her hands trembled as she stretched them toward the girl. “You go. You know how nervous my mother gets in storms, and she'll be watching for you.”

Freeda leaned over to kiss Elsie's cheek, and Marietta's too while she was at it. “Thank you, dear.” She rushed back into the open, her gaze snapping to Slade's. As she went by, she murmured, “Julie isn't the only one who gets anxious. You keep Mari distracted, hear?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He watched her bustle away for another moment and then turned his attention back to Marietta. Afraid of storms? Part of him wanted to smile. He wouldn't have expected so mundane a fear from her. But then, the thunder that ripped through the heavens didn't sound terribly mundane.

She jumped, held Elsie close, and hurried for the house. Slade followed, but not fast enough. The first fat drops of rain hissed down around him. He hoped the torrent he could see in the distance would hold off long enough for Freeda to get home.

Inside, Marietta tossed her bonnet aside and then rubbed a hand over the girl's back, probably for her own comfort. Elsie looked as happy as could be. “I imagine Cora is helping Tandy at this time of day. I'll just…oh.” She turned into the hall toward the kitchen but came to an abrupt halt. “Mother Hughes, excuse me.”

Slade stepped near enough to be able to see Mrs. Hughes's face. In his two and a half months here, he had never once seen Elsie inside the house, and he wasn't sure if that was by Cora and Walker's choice or a command of the mistress.

Given the blank look upon the older woman's face, the decision belonged to the Paynes. She gave a vague smile. “I was just giving instructions on dessert. Who is this, Mari?”

Marietta cleared her throat. “Cora and Walker's daughter. I thought it prudent to send Freeda home ahead of the storm, so I was bringing her in to her mother.”

Though Elsie had buried her face in Marietta's shoulder, Mrs. Hughes couldn't possibly miss the fair locks only a shade off from her own. That no doubt explained the surprise that flashed through her eyes in time to the lightning out the window. “Oh.” Her hand fluttered up to her lace collar. “I didn't…why, I suppose I forgot that Walker is a mulatto. A quadroon, even, isn't he?” She reached out as if to touch the golden locks but then pulled back and shook her head. “I always find it so disconcerting when they look like us.”

Slade's breath fisted, grateful neither Walker nor Cora were here to hear the horror in her tone.