Circle of Spies (20 page)

Maybe it was, given those fifty years with Thaddeus Lane.

But still. “He caught…Granddad was…Grandmama! He is eighty years old! He has no business prowling around in the middle of the night with his grandson.” And would she ever give her brother an earful when she next saw him…

But her grandmother laughed, light and free. “He chafes so against being always at a desk that I haven't the heart to remind him of his decades.” She patted Marietta's waist and pulled her closer to the painting. “The risk was small, as risks go. He knew well he could bypass what security Devereaux might post, as he has done often enough before. Though he had not counted on young Mr. Osborne.”

It all swirled too quickly for her to make sense of it. “You know.”

“About the Ring? I have known since the last war, when my uncle was its greatest enemy.”

And now Marietta's would-be betrothed took that role. A thought she wished she could forget. “What did he tell Slade?”

“Slade, is it?” Her grandmother lifted a brow, her blue-green eyes
twinkling. “Not much. He was feeling rather mysterious that night, apparently, and said his name was ‘Mister.' He instructed me in signs not to use names. Though Mr. Osborne will figure it out soon, I imagine. Who we are, if not our roles.”

Marietta had no response to that.

Grandmama apparently didn't need one. She studied her painting again with a smile. “I daresay it's no hardship to see that face at your table every night, hmm?”

That at least teased a laugh from Marietta's throat, which in turn eased the discomfort balled up in her chest. What in the world was Granddad doing, after making it clear Slade should not know about the Culpers? She had helped him overtly, yes, but he would think it nothing but a returned favor. Her grandfather, though…

Well, there was no arguing with him. Especially once a thing was already done.

“I wanted to give you something.” Her grandmother withdrew her arm from Marietta's waist and reached up for the gold necklace clasped, as always, around her neck.

“Grandmama, no.” Marietta stepped back, hands up. She couldn't remember a time the three pearls had not hung around her grandmother's neck. And much as she might treasure the gift, there were others more deserving. “I cannot take the necklace Granddad gave you on your wedding day.”

“Of course you can.” She fumbled with the clasp a moment before undoing it. “It is part of the Culper legacy. And you are the first woman to be involved in it since me. Therefore…” She reached around Marietta and fastened it, a smile upon her face. “Perfect.”

Marietta rested her fingertips on the warm, iridescent spheres. “There is so much to live up to.”

“And if anyone can do it, it is you.” Grandmama rested her hand against Marietta's cheek, her eyes as deep as the Caribbean waters. “You are our miracle, Marietta. Endowed with a gift beyond what any of us could have dreamed possible.”

Strange how small those lofty words made her feel. “I am a selfish fool. I have squandered it, often hated it.” She covered the aging fingers with her own. “So many times I just wished I could forget.”

“I understand that. I know what it is to have images locked forever
in your memory. But the Lord gave you this mind for a purpose, my precious child. Yours is to discover what that might be.”

Marietta let her gaze fall to the multicolored rug as the words tumbled through her mind. Recent events indicated that her purpose lay in undermining the man she had let into her heart. Which seemed such a cruel, painful thing to call one's destiny.

Yet even as she looked on that possibility, memories crowded. All the times her family had tried to steer her away from the Hughes family. All the times her conscience had niggled. All the times she had silenced any voice that did not offer what she wanted.

If that now caused her pain, it was pain she had chosen through disobedience. She never should have given herself the chance to fall in love with Dev. So being forced to accept the truth about him and change it—that was perfect justice.

“Mari.” Her grandmother's voice pulled her back to the present, even as those of Mama and Barbara drew nearer. “Embrace what the Lord has made you.”

She could only nod before the other two women entered and then turn her gaze on the happy, tearful faces.

They would have been a part of each other's lives for years already had Marietta not interfered.

“Stephen would not have wanted you there, though, Barbara. You know it as well as I.” Mama glanced from Barbara to Marietta, who had been sure to whisper to her about the living issue some twenty minutes ago. “Your uncle always provided as best he could, but you needn't remain there from pride. Please. With so many of our men away at war, we women must cling together. Come stay with me. Or with Mari. She has empty rooms aplenty.”

Panic rose fast, like a storm surge in a hurricane. First the old, familiar objections, the ones that slid into her mind without thought, without reason. That she would not be impressed upon, that she had no obligation to take a veritable stranger into her home. That it was not what she wanted.

But then, just like a surge emptying back into the bay, those acidic thoughts were pulled from her heart and replaced with pure fear.

She could not expose Barbara—pure, tenderhearted Barbara—to the Hugheses. They would crush her. They would destroy her. This
young woman was not made for that kind of family, the kind that hated where they should have loved. Too much darkness saturated that home. They would…

And the darkness comprehended it not.

Marietta relaxed as she drew in a long breath and remembered all Barbara had already survived. If she could withstand the mean streets of Mobtown with a smile, if she could withstand the loss of Stephen, of their child, then the Hugheses could do nothing to her.

Perhaps they were darkness. But darkness could never overcome light. And a beacon might be exactly what Marietta needed within her home.

Only a beat having passed beneath the rapid wings of thought, Marietta smiled and stepped forward to take Barbara's other hand. “With me, Barbara, please. We can finally get to know one another.”

Barbara searched her eyes for a long moment, no doubt looking for hidden motives, for some sign that obligation spurred the request. Marietta held her gaze as firmly as her fingers.

Perhaps she still had plenty to hide. But not, for the first time, her heart.

Thirteen

D
evereaux spread out the pages on his brother's desk, side by side until they covered the entire expanse upside down. The muscle in his jaw ticked, he clenched his teeth so tightly.

The telegram weighed heavy in his pocket. Defeat was certain. President Davis had authorized their worst-case-scenario plan.

And Devereaux had been charged with two vital tasks: rallying the men for the second rising sometime in the murky future, and burying a portion of the South's hope. Gold. Rations. Weapons. Gunpowder. Medical supplies.

First, the physical. He braced himself on the edge of the desk and scowled at the papers. Though the fronts were covered in type, the backs hid the real information: a faint outline on each that would look like nothing but a mistaken mark of a pencil if taken individually. But together, they showed Maryland. The Southern state held by force in the Union, where those loyal to their roots couldn't breathe a word of it lest they be seized. Maryland, with its thriving city of Baltimore and its western territories still largely wild.

Maryland—his domain. His to use as a hiding place for the stockpiled goods. All these years they had known it was a possibility, and so they had been readying the codes to guide future Knights to the caches.
To hide them, he would utilize architecture by engraving symbols into stone and referencing landmarks. Structures unlikely to change in the next few years.

He glanced briefly into the empty space where Pennsylvania, Virginia, Delaware, and the so-dubbed
West
Virginia lay. If necessary, he could venture into those areas. He might need to do so to plant the symbols. But for the treasure itself…

His eyes fell again on that narrow strip of western Maryland. The mountains would provide the perfect hiding places. There were still enough uncivilized places that they could get in and out without drawing attention, places where only the rails went. Whole valleys still untouched, protected by the natural barriers of the Appalachians.

A better hiding place he could not have designed.

Best of all, he knew the area well. Railroad business took him frequently to Cumberland, a town that had sprung up primarily to accommodate the passage west.

Noise from the hall caught his attention. Jess, if the tone of grumbling could be trusted, and her heavy tread. His gaze went to the clock, now free of dust. Much as he appreciated that Marietta accepted his presence enough to want the space clean for him, he still despised the thought of others, especially the slaves, treading so close to plans so vital. Lucien had trusted them, at least enough to carry the Knights' secrets on under their noses.

The fool.

Devereaux shuffled his papers together and toed shut the drawer from which they had come. He was not usually away from the rail offices so early in the day, and he had no desire to fend off questions from the stupid, over-inquisitive slave of his mother's. He crept to the paneling beside the curio cabinet, reached to the hidden latch behind the massive piece of furniture, and pressed. The click signaled the release of the lock, allowing him to open the panel like a door.

An icy draft radiated up the hidden stairwell. He grabbed a lantern from the cabinet, struck a match to light it, and stepped into the cold.

Fifteen steep steps later, golden light touched all corners of a small room. It didn't hold much at first glance. An old table, a single chair, a few crates. Nothing upon the dirt walls shored up with wooden beams, nothing to attract attention.

Which was the point. If anyone ever stumbled upon this chamber, with any luck they would think it naught but an abandoned cellar connected to the oldest part of the house. Hence why first Lucien and now Devereaux used it to store the most vital and sensitive of the Copperhead documents.

He spread his papers out again on the table and set the lamp near them, pausing afterward to grab the wool coat shoved into one of the boxes. Warm enough then, he fished out a more complete map to put alongside the sketch and turned back to his perusal.

Caves—he needed caves. They were in short supply on the eastern side of the state, but in Allegany and Washington counties it was a different story. Years ago, he and Lucien and Father had explored the areas around which their rails were being run, and they had wandered through the countryside.

More than wandered, a few times. His gaze fell on the detailed map, the mountains between Hagerstown and Cumberland. That was where they had been when he and Lucien had ventured far into a cave and then stumbled across a vast cavern buried deep in the hills. He had been but a boy, no more than ten or eleven, but such a cavern could not be forgotten.

A cavern big enough to hold all the gold he had stockpiled. All the gunpowder barrels. Weapons, even cannons. It was big enough to hide anything that would fit through its mouth. And yet no one knew about it—the locals claimed they had no caves.

Pulling out paper and pencil from the box, he sat on the uncomfortable chair and got down to business. First a list of all the items he would be responsible for storing, most of which had not been sent to him yet. But as they arrived he would load them into his private train cars, ready for a trip into the mountains…

First, though, he must take a trip himself, and better sooner than later. A week from now, perhaps, after a few important meetings. A fortnight at the outside.

And while he collected the goods, Booth and Surratt and Osborne and whoever else they brought in could be taking care of the King Abe nonsense. He would do well to separate himself from that, if President Davis expected him to remain in good standing with both North and South to effect the next uprising.

He pulled out his pocket watch. Another hour until those gentlemen were scheduled to join him in the more accessible part of the basement lair. That would give him plenty of time to complete his lists and update the membership based on the latest casualty reports.

A creak from above jarred him half an hour later, and Devereaux straightened on his chair. Perhaps Marietta had returned from wherever she had gone—likely her grandmother's house, given that it was Tuesday. The thought was incentive enough to put his work and coat away and climb the steep stairs again. If he could steal a few minutes alone with her, perhaps he could charm her into his arms.

Distance didn't suit him at all. Not when she was forever a few feet away, looking so dashed alluring. The mere sight of her heated his blood. And if he thought of her kisses…

Devereaux replaced the lantern, eased around the desk and to the door that opened into the garden. Warm sunshine touched his face when he stepped outside, a welcome reprieve from the icy cellar. He headed for the carriage house to see if she had returned.