The Velvet Shadow (35 page)

“Mr. Franklin!” Charity tore herself away from a small knot of servants and sprinted to intersect Flanna’s path. “What in the world is wrong with you? You look as mad as a wet tomcat!”

“He’s sending us away.” Her temper flaring, Flanna stopped in the road and crossed her arms. “Alden Haynes wants me to go to Port Royal as a nurse and beg the commander there to send us to Charleston.”

Charity’s lips puckered into a rosette, then unpuckered enough to ask, “But—isn’t that what you wanted to do?”

Flanna bit down on her lip, irritated at the confused current moving through her. “Of course it is. I want to go home.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“It’s—” Flanna hesitated, her thoughts whirling as her new identity collided with the life she’d known before. “It’s not the leaving that pains me. It’s that he’s acting so smug about it. And he keeps insisting that he’s doing it all for Roger’s sake!”

Charity shot her a penetrating look. “Miss Flanna,” she said, lowering her voice, “your trouble is that your head’s in one place and your heart’s in another. You’re gonna have to decide which one you’re gonna follow to get yourself out of this mess.”

As Flanna stared at her in astonishment, Charity lifted her head and walked back to the boisterous circle of servants. Flanna’s anger deflated as she watched her go, and ruefully she accepted the terrible truth. Charity was right.

The shadows under the wagons were already cold and blue when Roger burst into the circle around the officers campfire. “Alden! I received your message! What’s happened?”

Alden stood and put out his hand. “Come with me, brother. Let’s talk in my tent.”

Roger followed Alden into his tent, then folded into the empty chair before Alden’s small desk. “What is the dire emergency?” he asked, lines of concentration deepening along his brows and under his eyes. “Has something happened to Mother?”

Alden stood motionless behind the desk. “Mother’s fine. The news concerns Flanna.”

“Is she all right? Has there been an accident?”

“She’s here, Roger. In camp.”

Roger’s expression of concern vanished, wiped away by astonishment. “Flanna’s here?” He grinned and gave Alden a look of jaunty superiority. “What a clever girl! That’s marvelous! How’d she ever get permission to visit me?”

Alden moved to the tin coffeepot and poured two cups. “Take this,” he said, handing one of the mugs to Roger. “Drink up. You may
find the story a little difficult to believe.”

“Forget the story. Where is she? I’m dying to see her!” Roger crossed his legs and lifted a brow. “Won’t the other fellows be jealous when I bring her ’round?”

Alden sank into his chair, then ran his finger over the rim of his coffee cup as he searched for words. He’d been dreading this moment for weeks. “I don’t think you’ll want to show her around…yet.” He set the cup on his desk and stared at it, avoiding Roger’s eyes. “She never went to New York, you see. She’s been with our regiment since we left Boston.”

Roger’s jaw dropped. “The devil you say!”

Alden’s mouth twisted in bitter amusement. “I was surprised too. Apparently she enlisted the week before we left. She is a private in Company M, and every man there knows her as Franklin O’Connor—a young Irishman with a talent for the medical arts.”

Roger clamped his jaw tight and stared at the ground.

“I wouldn’t have known her myself,” Alden went on, choosing his words with care, “but after Ball’s Bluff I heard about a plucky private who insisted upon treating the hothead who had pointed a pistol at Dr. Gulick. When I went to check out the report, I saw this private opera ting…and then I knew.”

“You found Flanna at Ball’s Bluff.” Roger stared at Alden with absolutely no expression on his face. “And you did not tell me?”

“I wanted to tell you. I confronted her, and she confessed that she’d done it all in order to go south and to reach Charleston. Charity is with her, so she’s not alone.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Roger’s mouth twisted as he slammed his hand onto the desk. “By all that’s holy, Alden, why didn’t you say something?”

“How could I tell you?” Alden fired back, his tone loaded with rebuke. “I knew you’d react like this! I knew you’d be angry, and at the time there was nothing I could do but bring Flanna back with us. If I exposed her, I’d not only be ridding our regiment of the best doctor we’ve ever had, but I’d be subjecting her to a trial—possibly even prison.”

“You should have told me!”

“I couldn’t trust you!” Alden frowned in exasperation. “Good heavens, Roger, you are a good leader, but you often speak without thinking! And I couldn’t risk exposing Flanna until I found an answer to her predicament. Do you know what they’d have done with her at Ball’s Bluff if I had told the colonel that I’d found a Confederate woman in the ranks? We were destroyed, and she would have been the most convenient scapegoat. They might have accused her of being a spy—they might have
executed
her!”

A cold, congested expression settled on Roger’s face; his hands began to rub at the knees of his trousers.

“I’ve just spoken to her,” Alden went on, hoping that his words were reaching some still-receptive part of Roger’s brain. “And she’s willing to give up her disguise and leave the army. We will say nothing of what happened or how she came to be here. Soon I’ll speak to the colonel about a talented and devoted nurse, Miss Flanna O’Connor, and recommend that she be transported to Port Royal.” A reluctant grin tugged at his mouth. “Knowing Flanna as I do, I imagine she’ll convince the fort commander that his best interests lie in arranging a flag of truce so she can go home to Charleston as soon as possible.”

His smile faded when he looked up; Roger’s implacable expression was unnerving. “Don’t you see? This is for the best. After the war, you can go to Charleston and make your peace with her. She’ll spend this uncertain time in the bosom of her family—where she wants to be. If you love her, surely you want her to be happy!”

Roger’s face was a marble effigy of contempt. “You should have told me,” he repeated. “You are my brother, and she is the woman I plan to marry. You should have come to me immediately so I could force her to return to Boston.”

Alden sighed and drummed his fingers on the desk. Lately he’d heard reports of Lincoln’s frustration with General McClellan’s stubborn refusal to move forward, but McClellan could not possibly be as stubborn as Roger Winfield Haynes.

“Perhaps I should have told you,” he admitted, “but that is over
and done. Why don’t you concentrate now on Flanna’s happiness?”

“I
am
thinking of her happiness!” Sudden anger lit Roger’s eyes. “The foolish girl should have married me in Boston. She’d be safe with Mother, not living here in the mud and dust—” His eyes suddenly blazed into Alden’s with an extraordinary expression of alarm. “You say she’s been living with
men?
I swan, Alden! Men, sleeping around my sweet Flanna!”

“Your sweet Flanna has managed very well. You need not fear for her virtue or her reputation, for no one knows who she really is.” Alden hesitated to voice his next thoughts, but a mocking voice inside insisted upon an answer. “Roger, do you truly love her?”

Roger’s blue eyes glared into his, shooting sparks in all directions. “Love her? I adore her!” He stood, stiff dignity marking every line of his face. “How can you ask such a question? I intend to honor her, to respect her, to keep her in comfort and ease, to show her the world and let the world revere her as I do—”

“Yes, of course,” Alden interrupted, “but what of her dreams? She is far more than a pretty porcelain doll, you know.”

He paused as he heard the soft puff of footsteps outside, and a moment later a civilian’s figure appeared in the tent opening. The man wore a dapper dark suit, and a pair of spectacles bridged his round face. “Major Haynes? I am Thomas Beckman. The guard told me I would find you here.”

“Yes, Mr. Beckman, come in. I’ve been expecting you.” Alden stood and welcomed the man with a handshake. “Mr. Beckman, this is my brother, Captain Roger Haynes of Company K. Roger, Mr. Beckman is a tailor and dressmaker.”

Offering the merchant a distracted nod, Roger shook his hand.

Alden looked at Roger as he sat on the edge of his desk. “Mr. Beckman is here on behalf of our friend, Miss O’Connor. You will recall that the lady needs some traveling clothes.”

Roger drew his lips into a tight smile. “Yes, of course. Very good.”

“I brought some samples,” Mr. Beckman said, opening a book of fabric swatches. “I have several gowns already made, they adjust to
fit with ties and laces. But you did not specify what sort of apparel the lady will be needing.” He lowered his chin and peered out across the top of his glasses. “Perhaps the lady is nearby? She could choose her own—”

“No,” Alden interrupted. Crossing one arm over his chest, he lifted a finger to his lips and smiled. “The lady is indisposed at the moment and unable to receive visitors. She has every confidence in me.”

Roger gave Alden a quick, denying glance. “In me, you mean.” He bowed slightly to Mr. Beckman. “Miss O’Connor is my fiancée. I believe I know her tastes better than any man alive.”

“Very well.” Mr. Beckman turned several pages of a catalog, pointing to several workday fabrics. “The ladies do seem to like these plaids for traveling. The material is sturdy and holds up well even in damp weather.”

“That looks very nice.” Alden pointed to a green plaid. The color would complement Flanna’s eyes, and it matched a perky bonnet she’d worn in Boston.

“Plaid!” Roger’s voice brimmed with disbelief. “You’d dress my betrothed in common plaid?” He turned to the merchant and grimaced in good humor. “My brother is a soldier, sir. He knows nothing of the feminine nature or fashion. Please, show me your finer fabrics.”

“Of course, sir.” A wide smile gathered up the wrinkles by the merchant’s full mouth as he turned to swatches of satin and velvet. “I can see that you are a man of exacting taste, and these are our finest materials. These dresses are tailored by hand, of course, but the extra expense is a small price to pay for quality.”

“This is more like it.” Roger stared thoughtfully at the fabrics for a moment, then ran his fingertips over a rich red velvet. “That would be wonderful for my Flanna. She has red hair, you see, lustrous lengths of it. A gown of this material would make her shine like a fair ruby in a setting of pure gold.”

Alden rubbed his temple, not daring to mention that Flanna’s lustrous lengths were long gone.

“Very good, sir.” Mr. Beckman snapped the book shut. “Any particular
style? A ball gown, perhaps?”

“She needs traveling dresses,” Alden interrupted, his voice flat. “I doubt she’ll be attending any balls in the midst of the war.”

Mr. Beckman laughed. “Oh, but the Washington social season is in full swing! The ladies are so patriotic, they struggle to outdo each other. We’ve sold more red, white, and blue gowns and bonnets in the past month than in the last ten years.”

“Make her a dress of the red velvet.” Roger hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Spare no expense, but you’d better do as my brother suggests and make it fit for traveling. Oh, and outfit the gown with”—he waved his hand—“whatever she needs.”

“Ah.” Mr. Beckman’s brow lifted in understanding. “She will need a full set of…inexpressibles?”

“Exactly.” Roger ignored Alden’s glare. “Imagine that you are providing for a lady who needs everything. She is a medium-sized woman, about”—he held his hand out to his shoulder—“this tall. And slender.”

“Sounds like the size of my Marianna.”

“You’d better make her two dresses,” Alden said. His wages had been sitting at the bottom of his bag for months, waiting to be spent. “Make the second one out of the green plaid.”

The merchant nodded. “Very well, gentleman, I’ll have the garments for you in two days.”

“Tomorrow, please,” Alden said, shaking the man’s hand in farewell. “I’ll reward you generously for a speedy delivery.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you very much.” The merchant smiled again, then backed out of the tent, clutching his catalog to his side.

Roger ran his hand absently through his hair, then dropped his hand to his belt and turned to Alden. “One thing perplexes me, brother. I can almost understand why you feared for Flanna’s safety and didn’t tell me that she was here.” His eyes flared, hot with resentment. “But since when have you become so concerned about her welfare that you’d part with your hard-earned wages?”

Alden shrugged and moved to the security of his desk. “She will be my sister, won’t she? Since I don’t smoke or drink, there’s little else
for me to spend my wages on.”

“I can take care of her.” Roger pressed his hands to the desk, then leaned toward Alden until their eyes were only inches apart. “She’s my betrothed.”

Alden crossed his arms and calmly met his brother’s gaze. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“See that you don’t.” Roger straightened and tugged down the hem of his coat. “And since you don’t think I can hold my tongue or cool my ardor, heaven forbid that I should spoil her little game. I believe I’ll refrain from visiting her until she’s decently dressed and ready to resume her rightful role.”