The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (29 page)

“Good point. Go. Hurry. The sooner we get to Georgetown, the sooner we can find Braham.”

He pulled down on his right cuff, then his left, straightened his jacket, and finally adjusted his hat, fidgeting. She’d seen him do much the same before an interview. “Stay put,” he said, “and don’t talk to strangers.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Jack strode toward the Willard’s main entrance with shoulders squared, as confident as someone who belonged in this era. Nothing about his general appearance, hair or clothing, looked out of place…except he was clean and didn’t stink.

Did she look out of place? She might be dressed authentically, but she saw herself as a plastic checker piece on an ivory chessboard. Wearing a costume and playing a role at reenactments was fun, but in the nineteenth century it rattled her. Her layer of disguise could be easily dismantled with a yank here or there. Although she had held it together under extreme conditions last time, could she maintain her disguise over the course of several weeks?

This trip she didn’t intend to let herself be dragged off and dumped into another life-threatening situation. If she could find a small hospital willing to allow her to work, she’d be able to help with the war effort.

Her abilities had already won acceptance in the surgical world heavily dominated by male doctors, although it had been a long, hard-fought battle. And it was a battle she would have to fight again if she intended to practice medicine now. The hospitals needed doctors, but they would refuse to believe she had the necessary skills. Being a woman, she would need references, and she doubted the President would give her one. She doubted Braham, if and when they found him, would help her, either. He would want her gone, not entrenched in one of Washington’s hospitals.

Glancing up and down the street, she saw hundreds of soldiers within a few blocks of where she sat. If he were among them, wearing a uniform, would she recognize him? How would he react to her presence? Would he be glad to see her? Probably not. Had he even thought she would come after him? She didn’t know him well, but she knew him well enough, and he would be expecting her.

Three soldiers on horseback rode closer and reined in right in front of her. The man in the center wore an officer’s double-breasted coat with one gold eagle on his shoulder boards. He dismounted, grimacing, then with a stiff leg stepped up on the sidewalk and out of a street which was little more than a channel of liquid mud.

“What sort of rogue would abandon a beautiful woman on the sidewalk?” Although his voice was amiable, his cognac-colored eyes were fixed on her with an unblinking chill.

She took a step backwards and glanced around, searching for Jack.

The man politely doffed his slouch hat, which bore the cavalry’s crossed-sabers insignia. Wavy brown hair fell across his forehead. “Colonel Henly. At your service, ma’am. Where may I escort you?” He shoved fingers through his hair before resettling his hat.

“My brother has gone to rent a carriage and will be right back. But I appreciate your offer.” She shivered slightly from the cold and from his chilling visual appraisal.

The colonel set his lips in a grim line and glanced up and down the street. “It’s too cold for you to wait here. While my aides guard your luggage, I’ll escort you inside the Willard where it’s warm. You will wait for your brother there. Come along.” He took her hand and threaded it around his proffered elbow.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave without him.” Being less than subtle, she reclaimed her arm, yanking it from the colonel’s clutches. She quickly scanned the crowd. Jack was a good head taller than most men, including the obnoxious colonel, and she would spot him immediately. But he wasn’t around to be spotted.

The colonel turned to his aides. “Guard these trunks, When the lady’s brother returns, send him inside the hotel.”

The aides dismounted and took up positions on either side of her luggage.

Unease gave her another reason to shiver. She rooted her feet to the planked sidewalk. What if they searched her luggage? Twenty-first century antibiotics and pain medications, as well as her Confederate uniform, were packed in the bottom.

“Come, before you freeze.” The colonel had her hand tucked in the crook of his arm and was towing her off in the direction of the hotel, despite her protests.

“I’m sure you have other matters more important than seeing to my comfort.” She could continue to resist him, stall to give Jack more time, but was it wise? He was a colonel, and she needed friends with connections.

“Protecting you from freezing is the most important task of my day. My men will notify your brother the moment he returns.”

Her feet tingled from the cold. She truly did not want to stand outside much longer. The two men guarding her luggage stood at attention, appearing to take their task seriously. She didn’t think they would have time to pick the locks and dig through her belongings before Jack returned. The colonel was pushy, but there wasn’t a logical reason for her to remain out in the cold while soldiers guarded her bags. She took another look around for Jack. Then, reluctantly, she accepted the colonel assistance.

“What is your brother’s name?” he asked.

“Jack Mallory,” she said.

After giving his aides instructions, the colonel led her toward the corner. “How did you come to be stranded, Miss Mallory?” He glanced at her, waiting expectantly.

Cold prickled at the back of her neck. What in the world was she going to say?

Think quickly. Think smart.

“The carriage…we were in had a lame horse… and the driver put us out.” She had been in the nineteenth century only five minutes and had already told her first lie. How many more would she tell? Jack’s advice was to keep it simple and as close to the truth as possible. Hers didn’t have any semblance of truth, but it was simple enough.

A look of astonishment on his face quickly changed to disbelief then displeasure. “The driver should be whipped.”

“It’s wartime. We have learned to adjust to unusual situations.” She kept her voice light, not wanting to be overly dramatic.

They headed toward the hotel’s entrance at an unhurried pace. She had the impression Henly wasn’t walking slowly for her comfort. He had probably been recently wounded.

“It’s almost eleven o’clock,” he said. “The politicians should have finished their breakfast and hastened to the public rooms to mingle. It will be quite crowded.”

They reached the main entrance and proceeded through a spacious corridor toward the hotel rotunda. Before reaching the rotunda, though, the colonel stopped at a news, books, and cigar stand. The banner over the merchandise proclaimed the cigars were
the best the market affords
.

“Would you mind waiting a moment?” he asked.

She shook her head, eyeing the books and folded newspapers. Above the headline was the date—December 8, 1864. Perfect. Booth should be in Washington, living at the National Hotel and romancing Lucy Lambert Hale. If Jack visited the hotel, he could find Booth, and possibly Braham as well.

A lanky, immaculately dressed man joined Henly at the counter. “Morning Colonel.”

“Morning, Senator Sherman. I just read a report indicating your brother is halfway to Savannah. Does he plan to make the city a Christmas gift to the President?”

The Senator gave a nasal laugh. “A gift Mr. Lincoln would gladly accept.”

Henly paid the clerk for a handful of cigars and tucked them into his coat pocket. “Pray Hardee realizes the futility of defending the city and surrenders before thousands more die and the city is burned to the ground.”

Another man approached and asked to have a moment with the Senator. Henly excused himself and escorted Charlotte back out into the corridor.

“It’s a bold move for General Sherman to operate so far within enemy territory without supply lines,” she said. “It hasn’t been tried before in the annals of war, has it?”

He arched his brow and frowned back at her in puzzlement.

“I heard someone refer to his march,” she continued, “as a scorched earth campaign, designed to bring a quicker resolution to the war.”

“You’re not only beautiful but quite knowledgeable.”

She shrugged, deliberately nonchalant. “Washington has dozens of daily newspapers. Many of them find their way out beyond the city limits. I read everything I can find.”

The rotunda looked different from the one in the twenty-first century hotel. Instead of comparing the two, she blocked the hotel of the future out of her mind, and turned her entire attention to the features in the current one.

The vaulted ceiling was elaborately frescoed and supported by pillars. At the base of each pillar was a circular walnut-seating bench with cabriole legs and velvet cushions. Most were filled with overweight men smoking cigars. Other men clustered in small groups, buzzing with animated conversation. Certain words rose above the din: Lincoln, Sherman, Richmond, Lee, Grant, and the recent election. She craned her neck, searching for both Jack and Braham.

She assumed Jack was in the building somewhere. Was Braham? And, if he was, would he be in uniform? There were a few uniformed men, but most were dressed in business attire, including a top hat, fedora, or bowler. Jack and Braham were both tall enough to be seen above the heads of even those wearing stovepipe hats.

A majority of the men in the room carried canes or umbrellas they used for emphasis by either pounding on the floor or poking the air. Nine out of ten had facial hair—short beards, long beards, mustaches, goatees. None were particularly attractive, the beards or the men. And the smell of unwashed bodies saturated the air.

Henly waved one hand toward a vacant bench. “Shall we sit over there?” He ushered her around a group of men who were debating mercy for the vanquished and sectional reconciliation for the nation. The muscles in her stomach gripped. Mercy would fly out the window following the assassination.

Before she sat, she lifted her foot behind her, catching the bottom hoop on her heel, and placed the hoops on the back of the seat. She perched on the edge of the chair, making sure she wasn’t rumpling or sitting on any of the hoops. The little trick saved her from the embarrassment of flying skirts.

“By the way,” he said, crossing his legs, “where were you going when you were unceremoniously booted from your carriage?”

Oh, God. What am I going to say?

She and Jack had decided to show up on Braham’s doorstep, hoping they would be welcomed, but they hadn’t discussed how they would explain their relationship. Whatever their story was going to be, it had to be believable. She blew out a breath before answering.

“To my…cousin’s house in Georgetown.”

He pursed his lips a little, and thoughts flickered across his face. “I have several acquaintances living there. What’s your cousin’s name? I might know her.”

She couldn’t mask the associated guilt from telling another lie so she turned her head, coughing. Lying was certainly not her forte. “Major Abraham McCabe,” she said between coughs. “Excuse me. I have a tickle in my throat.”

Henly’s turned the full force of his brown eyes on her and his eyebrows rose. “He’s your cousin?”

She cleared her throat. To keep from telling a third lie she asked, “Do you know him?”

Henly sat back against the column and pulled his bottom lip out into a pucker, obviously thinking. “When was the last time you heard from him?”

She searched the colonel’s face for clues as to the cause of his concern. Had he heard Braham had been captured in Richmond and was believed dead? Or had something more happened to him? A sharp pain grew inside her chest. “It’s been a while, but if you have news, please tell me.”

Henly’s eyes darkened and were edged with concern and something else. “I heard he was captured and died from the wounds he sustained. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”

“If he’d been killed, we would have heard.”

“If you’re on his notification list, a telegram would have been sent to your home. Where do you live?”

She stared ahead, wrinkling her brow in concentration, and told the truth. “My home is in Richmond.”

Henly sat ramrod straight, and a muscle twitched along his jaw.

“We left some time ago, though,” she added quickly, hoping he wouldn’t ask how long ago. “We’re Unionists and it was no longer safe to stay there.” Her voice held a distinct quaver.

He leaned in confidentially. “I’m attached to the War Department. I’ll see if I can uncover any information.”

If the colonel worked at the War Department and hadn’t heard Braham had survived Richmond, then either Braham hadn’t yet arrived back in Washington, or the President had sent him out immediately on another mission.

A hand tapped Charlotte’s shoulder, and she jumped.

“What are you doing here?” Jack’s lips were set in a grim line. “Did you leave the trunks on the street?”

She came to her feet quickly. “Colonel Henly absolutely insisted I come inside with him. His aides are guarding them. He took pity on me when I told him about the carriage’s horse going lame and how we were ejected at the corner.”

Jack extended his hand to Henly. “I’m Jack Mallory. Thank you for taking care of my sister.”

“It was an honor, but I’m afraid I shared bad news.”

“It’s about Braham,” Charlotte said. “The colonel heard he was captured and died of his wounds.”

Jack’s jaw went slack and he put his hands to his hips. “We would have received a telegram or letter.”

She cupped her elbows and shuddered. “Not if we aren’t on his notification list.” She felt certain the colonel was referring to Braham’s October injury and capture, and not to a new one, but there was no way to know for sure without talking to him.

“I told Miss Mallory I’m attached to the War Department. If there is any information available concerning his whereabouts, I’ll find out. Have you thought of staying at the townhouse he owns on Lafayette Square instead of Georgetown?”

“I didn’t know he owned a townhouse,” she said, feeling betrayed by another one of Braham’s lies.

Henly glanced from her to Jack. “It would be more convenient to stay there than to travel out to Georgetown, at least until I can investigate his whereabouts.”