Fates and Traitors (38 page)

“John has gone away,” Mary choked out, pressing the handkerchief to her lips. “Please, Louis, go down to dinner.”

Bolting from her chair, she fled past him and off to her room, where she shut the door behind her and fell back against it, weeping as if her heart had torn in two.

•   •   •

E
ventually Mary took to bed and drifted off to sleep, too exhausted to weep anymore. She thought she was dreaming when she woke with a start to the sound of the front door slamming and the familiar tread of boots on the floorboards. “Junior?” she murmured, sitting up in bed as the man whose footfalls sounded like her son's climbed the stairs two at a time.

She heard another door burst open and slam shut, and then the sound of Junior's voice, muffled through the walls but unmistakably his. Astonished, anxious, overjoyed, she rose from the bed, straining her ears to listen. Junior was upset, that much was obvious, and when another voice rumbled a reply, she recognized the speaker as Louis. The creaking of the floorboards told her that her son paced in agitation, and she clutched her hands to her heart when she made out some of his words—something about his prospects being gone, his hopes blighted. As she stepped into the hallway, she thought she heard him beg Louis to get him a clerkship, but that couldn't be right—and then she heard the front door open again, and in strode Mr. Payne in his fine long gray coat, armed with a pistol and jittery with agitation. He raced past Mary as if he did not see her, took the stairs two at a time, and burst into the room Junior shared with Louis. When the door closed behind him she heard two pairs of boots pacing, three voices murmuring in consternation—although what Junior and Mr. Payne felt free to say in front of Louis, Mary could only imagine. Drawn by the
noise, Anna emerged from the room she shared with Nora and peered down the stairwell at her mother, bewildered, but just as her mouth formed a question, the front door opened again and Mr. Booth entered carrying a whip, his face as pale as bone china, his expression preternaturally calm.

“Good evening, Mrs. Surratt,” he said as he strode past Mary, nodding politely. As he climbed the stairs, he glanced up and spotted Anna. “Miss Surratt.”

While Anna stared at him in wordless disbelief, Mary nodded in reply, but by then he had disappeared into the room with the other men. Anna flew down the stairs to Mary's side, but Mary had only time enough to put her arm around her daughter before the bedchamber door burst open and Mr. Booth, Junior, and Mr. Payne emerged, climbed the stairs to Mr. Payne's room, and shut the door behind them. Junior spared the women a glance over his shoulder as he went, and his stark, grim, frightened expression froze Mary to the marrow.

Taking Anna's hand, Mary led her to the sitting room, where they waited and listened, but the men had remembered caution and their voices never rose above a faint murmur. Thirty minutes passed before the door to Mr. Payne's room opened again. The pounding of boots on the stairs compelled Mary and Anna from their chairs just as Mr. Booth led Junior and Mr. Payne down the hall, past the parlor doorway toward the front door.

Mary hurried over and managed to catch her son's arm just as he was about to leave. “Junior, what happened?”

“Mr. Lincoln's carriage never appeared,” he said, his voice brittle with anger and frustration. “He never went to Campbell Hospital. It was all for nothing.”

He turned to go, but she held fast to his sleeve. “Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

“I'll be back in a few hours,” he promised, kissing her swiftly on the cheek, throwing a look of apology to his sister. And then he was gone again, leaving Mary with her hand on the doorknob, her mind reeling, her heart racing with elation and terror. Junior was unharmed and restored to her sooner than she had ever expected, but the mission had failed utterly. What did that mean for her son, for his companions, for all of them? Why had Junior followed Mr. Booth from the house, and
what would they do now, with all their grand plans lying in ruins at their feet?

Mary and Anna agreed that they could not possibly sleep until Junior was safely home again, and so they sat up in the dining room, drinking tea and gazing out the front windows while the rest of the household slumbered. At last, shortly before eleven o'clock, the door quietly eased open and Junior came in, alone, weary but unharmed.

They ran to embrace him, and when he assured them that he was perfectly fine, though exhausted and ravenous, they all but pushed him into a chair and dashed about preparing him a quick supper. He wolfed down bread and cheese and cold ham, and only after he paused to take a deep drink of water did Anna tentatively ask him what had happened on the road to Campbell Hospital.

“We rode out in pairs,” said Junior between bites. “I stayed with two others nearer the city alongside the road to watch for the carriage, while Booth and the rest went on ahead to wait for us at a restaurant near Seventh and Boundary out in the countryside near the hospital.”

Mary nodded, although she did not know the place.

“We were supposed to alert the others as soon as we spotted the carriage, but although we waited and waited, it never showed. About the time we figured the performance was half over and Lincoln would not be coming, we split up and made our separate ways to the restaurant. Because we were so long delayed, Booth had ridden alone back to the city. All of us but Herold were waiting at the restaurant by the time he returned.”

“With what news?” asked Mary.

Junior scowled. “The president had spent the afternoon at a ceremony at the National Hotel, making a speech and presenting a captured battle flag to the governor of Indiana or something of that sort. He had never intended to go Campbell Hospital today, and why Booth's theatre friends were so certain he would, I have no idea.”

Mary and Anna exchanged a look. “Well, all you lost was half a day,” Mary consoled him. “There's no harm done, and perhaps it was good practice for the next time Mr. Lincoln goes to the Soldiers' Home.”

Anna nodded, but Junior set down his fork and fixed his mother with a bleak stare. “No, that's not all we lost. Don't you see? We were
lying in wait for the president for hours, and that in and of itself is a crime, some might say treason, even though we never caught so much as a glimpse of him. I can't even guess how many witnesses saw us together on the road and at the restaurant today. We're all complicit now, and it would do us no good whatsoever to quit. No matter what we do, we'll all be held accountable for anything that might come of Booth's plot in the days to come.”

Anna gasped, and Mary pressed a hand to her heart, dizzy. “Mr. Booth did that on purpose,” she said, disbelieving. “That fellow who threatened to quit—he can't quit now.”

Junior picked up his fork and resumed eating. “Nor can I. You've got to give Booth credit. He has us where he wants us. None of us dares betray him or turn coward now.”

Mary sat in dumbfounded silence, absorbing the revelation. Perhaps Mr. Booth had the conspirators in the palm of his hand, but even if he closed his fist, Junior could yet slip through his fingers. If he quit the conspiracy, he could flee the country, and then, though he might be condemned for the crimes of his former comrades, he would not suffer their punishment.

But Mary and Anna would suffer, for they would surely never see him again.

“I'll have to do the same to Weichmann,” Junior said reluctantly. “He's seen too much, living here with us. Booth and I will have to create evidence placing him in the center of our plans, as insurance against any inclination he might have to betray us.”

“But Louis is your friend,” protested Anna. “You were boys together.”

“We're not boys anymore, and he's a Yankee.”

“Your brother is right, Anna,” said Mary. “I don't think Louis will betray us, but we need to have some leverage over him, just in case.”

“Don't worry about Weichmann, sister,” said Junior. “He'll be all right, as long as he doesn't turn against me, and I don't think he will. Even so, I'd be a fool not to take precautions.”

Anna nodded, eyes downcast. “Where is Mr. Payne?” she asked. “You left together, but returned alone.”

“He said he was going on to Baltimore.”

“And what of Mr. Herold?” Mary asked.

Junior swallowed, hard, and reached for his water glass. “You mean he didn't return here?”

“I don't think so,” said Mary. “We didn't hear him come in, at least.”

Junior blanched. “I'll check his room.”

“No, I'll go.” Anna rose. “You finish your supper.”

She darted away and returned moments later to report that Mr. Herold had not answered her knock upon his door.

“He's likely still waiting for us on the road to Surrattsville,” Junior said, pushing his plate away. “He'll figure it out eventually and come back here.”

“With a carriage full of weapons and tools,” said Mary, dismayed.

Junior shook his head and muttered that he hoped the man would have better sense than that, but he was clearly unsettled, and he stood by the window looking out upon the street while Mary and Anna cleared away his dishes and tidied the dining room and kitchen. Herold had still not returned by the time exhaustion compelled them upstairs to bed.

When Mary came down to the kitchen the next morning, she smelled coffee and discovered Junior dressed for the road and making a hasty breakfast. “Herold never came home last night,” he said, a thick slice of toast in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “Atzerodt and I are going out to look for him.”

Before nightfall, Junior returned through the ground-floor entrance, smelling of horses and sweat, with Mr. Herold trailing after him. Mary immediately bustled about fetching them food and drink, and after Mr. Herold wearily dragged himself off to wash up, Junior explained that he and Mr. Atzerodt had found Mr. Herold in southern Maryland making his way back to Washington, wondering what had become of the other six men and hoping to run into them along the way. When they had failed to appear the previous night, he had taken a room at an inn, and before setting out that morning, he had tried to persuade the innkeeper to store the weapons for him until he could return, but the man refused.

“I didn't want to bring the guns back to Washington in case the Yankee guards stopped us on the bridge,” said Junior, “so I suggested that we leave them with Lloyd at the tavern. He's loyal to the Cause, and I thought he would be agreeable.”

“And you know all the best hiding places there,” said Mary.

He grinned wickedly. “Better than you do, I'll bet.” His grin faded as swiftly as it had appeared. “When we arrived in Surrattsville, who should we run into but Atzerodt's brother, who just happens to be a detective for the state provost marshal, passing through on the hunt for Yankee deserters.”

“Oh, dear me,” exclaimed Mary. “Did he see the rifles?”

“Thankfully, no. We had left them in the carriage, wanting to talk to Lloyd before bringing them into the tavern. Atzerodt could hardly ignore his own brother, so they sat down and had a drink together, while Herold and I had one at the bar. Eventually the detective left, and Lloyd agreed to let us hide the weapons and other things in the tavern, but it was obvious he wasn't happy about it.”

“If everything is well concealed and he keeps his mouth shut, he has nothing to worry about,” said Mary, a trifle sharply.

Heaving a weary sigh, Junior rose from the table. “Everything will be safe and secure until we need it, which I think will be soon. And now, if you'll excuse me, I want to wash up and rest before supper. Booth is performing at Ford's tonight, and he got tickets for me, Weichmann, Herold, Atzerodt, and Holohan.”

“You're going to the theatre?” exclaimed Mary. “After all that's happened, Mr. Booth is going to perform?”

“
Especially
after all that's happened, we have to carry on as always. We can't raise suspicions now.” On his way to the staircase, Junior paused to kiss her cheek. “That goes for you and Anna too. This must be an ordinary day, like yesterday was and tomorrow will be.”

•   •   •

F
or Mary, carrying on as always meant that she was obliged to resolve certain unpleasant financial and legal matters that had plagued the family too long. A former neighbor from Prince George's County who had purchased land from Mary's father more than two decades before had never paid the entire amount owed. As for creditors, there were too many bills and not enough money to go around. Mary knew she had no choice but to write to her debtor and creditors, travel to Surrattsville to meet with them, and settle the fraught matters once and for all.

She needed Junior to drive her, but his duties in service to the Confederacy delayed her trip. Miss Sarah Slater was en route to
Washington from New York, and on the morning of March 25, Junior was to pick her up at the train station and take her to Surrattsville, where Mr. Howell would meet them and escort Miss Slater to Richmond. Mary eagerly agreed to travel with the clandestine party, pleased to think that her maternal presence could help deceive any Yankee guards they might encounter along the way.

The carriage sped them southeast from the capital, leaving behind the public squares thick with soldiers' tents and the makeshift hospitals that gave the city the appearance of one vast military encampment for the pale green hills, budding trees, and freshly tilled fields of the countryside. Mary expected Miss Slater to say nothing of her errand, so she was surprised and flattered when the beautiful young secret agent confided that she had come from Montreal and carried letters from General Edwin Lee, a cousin of General Robert E. Lee, to Confederate Secretary of State Judah Benjamin in Richmond. “Do you know what the letters say?” asked Mary, intrigued.