The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (40 page)

Jack had been inundated with invitations to balls and dinner parties, and for the last two weeks, events celebrating Lincoln’s second inauguration had crammed his calendar. He often invited her to accompany him, but to Washington society, she was an eccentric old maid who preferred the company of wounded soldiers to participating in the glitter of the city’s elite.

She had tried to beg off this particular evening’s fete, which was being held two days after the inauguration, but Jack had insisted she attend and had promised to remain by her side to thwart unwanted attention. She believed it was the other way around and he was using her, but she agreed to go, hoping to speak to the President.

Four thousand revelers, drinking and dancing quadrilles and waltzes, had squeezed into the room on the top floor of the Patent Office Building. By the time the buffet—with its advertised bill of fare of oysters, roast beef, turkey, ham, venison, lobster salad, and an endless display of cakes and tarts—was served at midnight, the party-goers would be well into the cups.

Charlotte was people-watching when Jack nudged her. One corner of his mouth curled up in a cynical smile. “Don’t look now, but guess who’s sauntering across the room in our direction?”

“Please don’t tell me it’s Gordon.”

While there was a short list of people in Washington she and Jack tried to avoid, there was only one person who rankled them enough to get her panties and his boxer briefs in a wad.

She turned, snapping open her fan, closing it, and snapping it open again, covering the lower half of her face. She could continue to let her fan speak its own language, but Gordon was perversely persistent and obviously didn’t care if she wanted nothing to do with him. His absence in her life had been a huge relief. It had taken days for the scratches to heal and disappear, and she would never forget Braham’s flaring nostrils and balled fists when he saw the marks on her chest.

A young woman with delicate features and gossamer-soft blonde hair glided across the floor beside him. Her left hand lay limply on his raised right palm. Because Gordon didn’t consider Charlotte or Jack part of Washington’s prominent and “must know” officials or entrepreneurs, his approach struck her as unusual. If he was seeking them out in public, it had to mean there was an ulterior motive hidden beneath his faux friendly exterior.

“Good evening, Mr. Mallory, Doctor Mallory.”

“Good evening, Colonel.” She gave a small shudder, moving a barely discernable step closer to Jack, a step farther from Gordon.

“May I present Miss Cochran, daughter of Walter Cochran, the president of Washington Bank? I believe you met the Cochrans earlier this year.”

Yes, she had met them at a dinner party she had attended with Gordon in late January. If he thought she cared about what he did or whom he did it with, he must be having delusions.

Miss Cochran curtsied, bobbing the flowers in her headband. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of Jack, who looked very much like his book jacket photograph tonight—two-day stubble, manscaped to look un-manscaped, white shirt, and black suit.

Never one to pass up an opportunity to engage an admirer, he took her extended gloved hand, bent in a courtly manner, and brushed an air kiss over the backs of her fingers.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Cochran.” A smile stole across Jack’s face and settled in. If Gordon had thought he would score points with Miss Cochran by introducing them, Jack’s magnetic, no-holds-barred, and undeniably sexy smile had flipped the game to his advantage—game, set, and match.

Charlotte covered the lower half of her face, hiding her smile, and glared over its cream-colored lacework.

“I hope you’ll allow me to add my name to your dance card.” Jack’s voice curled around the young lady, soft and warm as the dozens of wall candle sconces complementing the gas light chandeliers.

Miss Cochran giggled and, smiling sweetly, extended an elegant sterling silver fan card with attached pencil. “You may have a waltz, Mr. Mallory.”

“You have no waltzes left to promise, my dear.” Gordon’s cold eyes flung shards of animosity in Jack’s direction. The tone of his voice made it perfectly clear he would delight in cramming Jack’s teeth down his throat. Charlotte missed neither the look nor the tone, and neither did Miss Cochran, who pursed pouty lips. Her long lashes dropped over amber eyes.

Gordon pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow and set it solidly against him. She couldn’t escape his grip without jerking her hand free and causing a scene. “Come. I see Congressman Vallandigham.” As he led her away, Gordon sneered over his shoulder at Charlotte, then leveled Jack with a malevolent glare.

Charlotte snapped open her fan and began waving it rapidly in front of her heated face. “Whew. If you weren’t already on Gordon’s undesirable list, you are now. Watch out.” She snapped the fan closed and left it to dangle by the ribbon attached to her wrist.

“He resents me for not exerting control over you. If I had pressed his case, his name would be on your dance card tonight, not Miss Cochran’s.”

“He’s delusional and dangerous,” Charlotte said.

Jack dropped back into a boxing stance and tucked in his elbows. “He can bring it on…” He then placed his left hand at his check, his right hand under his chin, and shadow boxed, throwing a quick jab. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” Then he did a shuffle on the balls of his feet.

Charlotte rolled her eyes, groaning. “Please don’t antagonize him more than you have already. With no more than a smile and a few words you made him appear sexually inferior. He won’t forget the insult.”

“I hope he doesn’t. But enough of him. The President and first lady have arrived. Let’s go say hello.” Jack threw a final double jab combination before taking her arm and escorting her to the receiving line. “Float like a butterfly…”

As they were standing in line to greet the Lincolns, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She turned slowly, casually glancing through the crowd until she saw Gordon standing on the edge of the dance floor, alone, staring at her like a predator salivating over a toothsome morsel. Small beads of sweat popped out on her brow. She shook her head, taking a long breath and settling her shoulders. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.

“What’s wrong, sis?”

“Gordon is standing by the dance floor alone. Looks like he’s been dumped.”

“Good. Maybe we saved the girl a few bruises, or worse.”

Charlotte would have said more, but they had reached the front of the line. Lincoln looked dapper in his black suit and white gloves, and Mrs. Lincoln was quite elegant with jasmine and violets woven in her hair and a white satin off-the-shoulder gown.

“Good evening.” The President’s hand trembled slightly when it clasped hers. His soft brown eyes, full of speculation, remained on her face. “Doctor Mallory. I’ve heard stories about you lately.”

“All good, I hope.”

He gave a small grunt, and then his brow crinkled in amused approval. “You’ve developed a fine reputation since you’ve been in Washington.” Then, in a voice so soft she had to lean forward to hear him, he said, “I hope you’ll call on me soon. I’d like to hear how your
father
removed a dying man from Chimborazo.”

An icy finger touched her spine at the emphasis he placed on
father
. She wasn’t sure if he knew she had impersonated her ancestor or not, but it could get very complicated if he did. “I understand the miracle was accomplished with smoke and mirrors, Mr. President.”

His laughter echoed throughout the room.

49

Washington City, March 28, 1865

C
harlotte finished changing
the dressing for the final soldier in her thirty-two patient ward, put her supplies in the cupboard, and checked her inventory. The steward who performed the tasks of pharmacist, clerk, and general manager of the ward had already restocked the cabinet with medicines and dressings. Unless the hospital had an influx of wounded overnight, her ward was adequately prepared for the next day’s needs.

The very day the surgeon-in-charge had given her responsibility for the ward, she had initiated the cleanliness standard now copied throughout the hospital. Patients were given wound care and baths daily, clean dressings were always used, sheets were changed when soiled, and floors were cleaned every shift if possible. Sick patients were no longer housed with the wounded, and caregivers washed their hands between patients. As a result, the hospital’s infection rate had dropped significantly. She was still considered an oddity, but her skills had won over the majority of her critics.

A nurse entered the ward carrying an armload of clean linens. “Is your brother late tonight, Doctor Mallory?”

Charlotte tossed her apron into the dirty linens basket and rolled down her sleeves. “If Jack’s busy writing a post, he often forgets the time. When his stomach starts growling, he’ll remember it’s time to pick me up.” She considered walking home, but she had promised him she would never travel on foot without an escort. Society expected such a concession of a single woman. Jack, however, demanded it because of the implied threats from Gordon. Although if he hadn’t recited a litany of horrific crimes against women, she probably wouldn’t have bought into his demands.

The hospital’s front door burst open, startling her. She drew herself up and squared her shoulders before cautiously peeking around the ward door to see who had barged in so energetically. It was Jack.

The chilly wind had turned his cheeks ruddy and his hair appealingly windblown. When he spotted her, his eyes remained unblinking on her face. “I’m late. Sorry.”

She reached for his arm. “Something’s wrong. What is it?’

He leaned closer and murmured. “Wait until we get outside.”

Several convalescing soldiers had been playing chess or cards at tables set against the wall. They had all stopped playing to concentrate on Jack. Many held game pieces in their hands, as if their pause buttons had been clicked.

“It’s time for supper. I’m hungry,” Jack explained to the men with a shrug. They turned back to their games, clucking with disappointment like a yard full of nosy old hens.

She swung a cape around her shoulders and fastened the clasp. “Hope you’re not expecting me to cook.”

Jack waited until they were far enough down to the street, past the hospital grounds, before saying, “I heard a group of sympathizers has been arrested in Richmond and incarcerated in Castle Thunder.”

“The invasion of Richmond is only a few days away. I’m sure they’ll be all right,” she said.

“Braham was arrested with them.”

She dug her fingers into Jack’s wrist. The stiff white edge of his shirt cuff crackled beneath her fingers. “
Not again
.”

He put his hand over hers, loosened her grip, and held her hand, squeezing gently. “I’m going to Richmond tonight to see what I can do.”

“
No
. It’s too dangerous,” she said, her voice trembling.

“They evacuate—” Jack paused while a group of soldiers marched briskly around them and crossed the street, dodging several wagons. He waited until the street was clear before escorting Charlotte to the opposite corner. “As I was about to say, the prisoners will be evacuated before the Union troops arrive. If Braham is to be rescued, it has to happen before the prisoners are removed from Richmond.”

She hurried out of earshot of other pedestrians crossing the street. “There’s a network in place with people who can help. They’ve helped him before. Surely they don’t need you.”

“They needed you to get him out last time.” The line between Jack’s brows deepened again. “I thought you cared about him.”

She snorted, and the white mist of her breath purled around her head like cigar smoke. “I do care about him, but he needs a new occupation. He’s a lousy spy.”

“Come on, let’s get inside.”

They continued to the townhouse in silence. When they reached it Jack said, “If prison officials discover who they have in custody, they’ll hang him. Braham’s already been convicted and sentenced. If I can get to Richmond, I’ll find a way to get him out, or I’ll bribe people to stall the execution long enough for the war to end.”

She stomped up the steps to the front door. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, but you have no idea what it’s like to have bullets flying over your head.”

He put his arm around her and snugged her to his side. “I’m not going into battle.”

She pushed away from him. “Lee’s last offensive will be in two days, at Fort Stedman.”

“Which is at Petersburg, south of Richmond. I won’t be near the fighting.”

She reached for the door. “You’re absolutely right. Because you’ll be here in Washington. You’re not at home where you can jump in a car and drive down the highway.”

“You traveled to Richmond a few months ago without a car. If you can do it…”

She shot him an irritated glance. “Let’s get some things straight. I had a pass from the President, and he arranged transport for me on Grant’s steamer. Those aren’t available to you.”

“I found the pass from the President.” His voice held a little bit of steel.