Unholy Fire (25 page)

She held out her white-gloved hand and said, “It is always a pleasure to meet a fellow down-easter here in the capital.”

She had a fragile smile and lovely violet eyes.

“Ginevra, I wonder if you would make me a whiskey and soda,” said Hawkinshield. “I don't believe the captain imbibes spirits … perhaps a glass of laudanum would be more to his taste.”

“Nothing for me, thank you,” I said.

Appearing to take no notice of his sarcasm, she walked over to a sideboard against the far wall and poured his drink from an array of bottles that stood in formation on a silver tray.

He waved me into a chair and sat down in the one opposite.

“I would like to retain your services, Kit,” he said, using my family name as if he had known me all my life.

“I already have a job,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” he said, giving me a pained expression. “You work for the great wooly mammoth or mastodon or whatever it is he was called back in Illinois. Personally, I see him as more of a porcupine.… At any rate, he has proved quite nettlesome, which is why I would like to retain you.”

“I'm not interested.”

“Not for a thousand dollars a month? That would seem generous for a twenty-one-year-old captain.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“How about two thousand?” he asked.

“Not for any amount of money.”

“Really … well, I'm not surprised,” he said, with an amused grin.

Ginevra Hale brought his drink across the room.

“I could also be a very good friend to you, you know,” he said next, cocking his leonine head to catch himself in the mirror on the wall behind me. “Loyalty goes both ways with me.”

“It sounds like you should have been born a dog,” I said.

Miss Hale was standing directly behind him. He did not see her smile.

“Since money seems to hold no allure, and you apparently don't need friends, what is your pleasure?” he said.

“Just what is it you do, Congressman,” I asked, “when you're not serving the people?”

“Quite candidly, I am interested in anything that makes a profit,” he said. “Today it is this blessed war. Tomorrow it may be cotton or shipbuilding.”

“You sound like you want the war to go on.”

“I can't deny that it has been good for business,” he said. “However, your Colonel Burdette has
not
been good for business. I need to have a better idea of what he learns and when he learns it. That's why I need you.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said.

“Now as for your opium addiction,” he said next. “I can arrange a lifetime supply of the finest quality … Or how about a promotion? Perhaps you would you like to be a colonel next month … a general if the war goes on for another year.”

I glanced up at Miss Hale. She was looking at me with the sympathy one feels for a helpless victim. What could possibly be her connection to him? I wondered.

“I would wager that your mother would be very excited to see you come home wearing a colonel's uniform,” he went on. “Or perhaps, your sweetheart … oh, that's right … you have no sweetheart. Well, that can be arranged, too.”

“Your constituents must love you,” I said.

“In fact, they do,” he said. “So what is your answer?”

“No,” I repeated.

Glancing out one of the windows into the darkness, I imagined the army preparing for its attack at Fredericksburg, an attack that could end in disaster because of the greed and manipulations of men like Hawkinshield. I thought of the dead he had already left in his wake and the many more who might meet the same fate. As Hawkinshield stood there grinning down at me, I felt the familiar anger rising inside me like an old friend.

“Methinks, you are about to mount your charger, sir knight,” he said, caustically. “That's your problem, you know. You suffer from a permanent case of white knight's disease.”

“I'm no white knight.”

“Then, perhaps, you don't even know it,” he said. “Have you ever read the fable of the white knight rescuing the beautiful damsel in distress?”

I turned around in my chair. The man with the milky eye had his back against the door to the suite. The Asian was standing a few steps behind me.

“Did you ever read about the damsel in distress, Kit?” he repeated.

I ignored the question, staring straight ahead, and waiting for a chance to strike back at him.

“Well, here she is,” he said, with a wave of his hand at Miss Hale. “Aren't you, Ginevra?”

She said nothing in response.

“You know, in just two weeks Ginevra is to marry one of my most distinguished congressional colleagues,” said Hawkinshield. “It will be the society event of the season.”

He turned back to face me.

“Kit, I bet you're the kind of knight who puts every young woman on a pedestal. Well, let me tell you something about women.… They are not made out of marble. Are you, Ginevra?”

I had no idea what game he was playing, but it was now obvious she was a reluctant partner in it, just as I was.

“Do you think Ginevra is beautiful?”

She was starting to look as uncomfortable as I felt.

“Surely, you can answer that question,” said Hawkinshield, his voice rising. “Is she beautiful? Yes or no?”

I felt the Asian move up behind my chair.

“Well, of course she is,” said Hawkinshield, without waiting for my answer.

Her hands were touching the back of the ornate armchair next to his. I saw her fingers begin to coil around its carved walnut fretwork.

“You'll find that I'm quite good at plumbing the weaknesses in the human soul, Kit … that and fulfilling people's desires,” he added. “I fully expect to discover your own.… Now, let me give you a case in point. During my first term in the House of Representatives, back when I possessed the same noble personality you have now, I partook of that charming Washington society custom called open house. In case you are not familiar with the ritual, there is one day each year when the important denizens of Washington society deign to open their houses to the great unwashed … when the lesser lights are permitted to make a courtesy call on them. It occurs on New Year's Day.”

He paused to give her a seemingly affectionate smile.

“So, hearing about the lovely Miss Hale, I decided to call on her at the home of her father, the august Senator Hale. It was then that the lovely creature now standing before you chose to treat me as if I had just crawled out of the noisome Washington canal.”

He got up from his chair and stepped to her side.

“Didn't you, Ginevra?” he said.

“After the things you said you wanted to do with me …”

“Didn't you, Ginevra?” he said, interrupting her.

“Yes,” she said, turning away.

“Well, Kit, just as I know there is a way to discover your own deepest needs and desires, I set about finding those of Miss Hale.”

He walked slowly around her, his face just inches from her's.

“And I did.… And now, here you are, Kit, with those noble brown eyes … the perfect white knight.”

He reached for the garland of tiny red roses that circled the crown of her hair and tossed it to the floor. Loosening her hair at the back, he pulled it free. The blonde curls fell in waves from the natural part in her hair.

“Ginevra has a weakness for noble brown eyes, don't you?” he said to her then, taking her arm in his hand.

This time she did not reply.

“You know, Kit, everyone has a breaking point,” he said next. “You believe that, don't you?”

From behind her back, he began to unfasten the top button of her dress. I felt my stomach turn over.

“Just to prove to you that everyone has a breaking point, Kit, I want you to see Ginevra as she really is,” he said.

She winced as another button came free.

Stepping away from her, he said, “Go ahead, Ginevra. Show him how beautiful you are.”

She looked up at him one last time, her eyes making a silent plea.

“Captain McKittredge is waiting,” he said, his voice merciless.

With a soft rustling sound, she slowly reached up and pulled the unbuttoned pink overdress above her shoulders and head. Hawkinshield walked over and took it out of her hands.

“Stop,” I said. As I attempted to stand up, the Asian's powerful hands gripped my shoulders and held me in place.

“Oh, not just now,” he said. “You wouldn't want to spoil her pleasure.”

Without pause, she slid the blue silk gown down her chest and stomach, stepping out of it when the top of the dress reached the floor.

“Is that color I see rising in your cheeks, Kit?” he said. “I once read that resisting temptation is the true test of character. Thankfully, I have none.”

“That's enough,” I said, leaping to my feet.

Before I could move, the Asian's left arm circled my chest. His right hand was at my neck holding a long, thin-bladed knife.

“Ah, yes. The white knight disease, as I thought.… I do not think you want to test Aki's reflexes,” said Hawkinshield. “And I don't want any bloodstains on this ancient Persian rug.”

Miss Hale was standing as rigidly straight as a marble sculpture.

“See the arrogance in that face,” he said, with a bloodless smile. “Ten generations of fine breeding put it there. It took just one Hawkinshield to wipe it off.”

As I watched, tears began streaming down her cheeks. One by one, they slowly dropped from her chin to her bodice. With trembling hands she loosened her petticoats and let them fall to the floor. Her eyes were now glassy and unfocused, her cheeks red with humiliation.

As I strained to break free from the Asian's powerful arms, I felt the blade of his knife puncture my neck. The man with the milky eye joined him behind me, pinioning my wrists.

“Well, go ahead, Kit,” said Hawkinshield. “You can have her if you want. And if Ginevra isn't your type, I would be happy to offer you one of the birds of paradise. My gentleman's club appeals to the most refined tastes … whatever they are.”

“You'll have to kill me first,” I said, still writhing to get free.

“Oh … that's very dramatic, Kit, but I don't think it will be necessary. Just remember … everyone has their breaking point, even you.”

Hawkinshield motioned with his right hand to the Asian. Keeping the knife to my throat, he and the other man propelled me to the door of the suite. The big man opened it wide, and they shoved me out into the hallway. As the door closed behind me, I turned and saw Ginevra Hale for the last time, her blonde head still held high above the cream shoulders, her beautiful clothes scattered on the floor.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

Unable to sleep after returning to my room at Mrs. Warden's, I sat down and drafted an account of the evening's events for Val and Sam. Knowing that Billy would soon be arriving in Falmouth with the shipping manifests, I focused the report on my subsequent encounter with Laird Hawkinshield and his admission of complicity in the gun carriage affair. I did not mention Ginevra Hale or what he had made her do.

It was very hard to put words to paper. My mind kept returning to that last image of her, and I couldn't stop berating myself for leaving her there. As I had stood in that hotel hallway, it had been all I could do not to break down the door, regardless of the consequences. But I had also remembered Hawkinshield ridiculing me as a white knight and wondered if he was not fully expecting me to charge back into the suite. When I had put my ear to the door, I couldn't hear anything, no sounds of a struggle, no cries. It occurred to me that she could also have been acting for my benefit. The alternative was that she had somehow become ensnared in one of his many webs and was paying a terrible price for it. If so, it was not the first time he had bent her to his will. That did not lessen my feelings of guilt.

Dawn was still an hour away when I completed my account. I took it over to the dispatch office and added the envelope to other important mail that was slated to go down to the army on the next packet boat.

On my way back to Mrs. Warden's, I recalled Hawkinshield's words about his gentleman's club, as well as his offer of one of the “birds of paradise” In our last meeting at his bedside, Val had suggested that there might well be a connection between the murder of the prostitute and our corruption investigation. What if the dead girl had been one of his birds of paradise? Perhaps both investigations were leading to the same place.

It was shortly after five when I got back to Mrs. Warden's. She was already up by then and about to remove a batch of breakfast pastries from the brick oven. The fragrant aroma drew me straight into the kitchen, and she poured me a large mug of freshly roasted coffee. With little urging, I ate an apple fritter, still warm from the oven, which she had just dusted with confectioner's sugar.

By eight o'clock I was standing outside the office of the man Val had told me was responsible for monitoring the health standards of Washington's whorehouses. A paper nameplate read:
LIEUTENANT TIMOTHY MAHONEY, REGULATION.
Someone had handwritten the words, “King Bung” at the bottom of it.

There was no response when I knocked on the door, and I assumed that he had not yet arrived for work. An aged clerk came through the open door of the next office down the hall and peered toward me.

“Oh, he's in there,” he said, with a curious smile.

I began knocking harder, stopping only when some low, guttural, snarling sounds came from behind the door. A minute passed without further sign of activity, so I began pounding again, this time making the door literally shake in its frame. By then a whole group of clerks had come out of their offices to witness the spectacle.

“Away you rampallian troglodytes,” came a loud choleric voice, followed by a long stream of profanities.