The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (30 page)

“Do you know the address?” Jack asked.

“It’s across from Lafayette Square.”

Jack gave Charlotte a what-do-you-want-to-do look. “I have a carriage waiting outside.”

Charlotte fidgeted with her cloak’s top button. She didn’t know what kind of reception they would receive from Braham’s servants. It would be embarrassing and unexplainable if they weren’t permitted to stay at the townhouse. They needed to sever ties with the nosy colonel immediately.

“Let’s go to the townhouse, at least for tonight,” she said.

Henly snatched his hat off the bench. “I’ll escort you.”

“It’s—” she said with a snap.

“—not necessary,” Jack finished her sentence, smiling. “We wouldn’t wish to impose.”

“You’re new to town, and I insist.” The ruthless edge in his low-pitched voice sent a shiver up her spine. Then he gave her a slow smile that revealed deep grooves on either side of his mouth. The smile did not appease her shivers.

They left by way of the ladies’ entrance on Fourteenth Street, exiting the hotel a short distance from their waiting carriage, trunks, and the colonel’s aides. Henly assisted Charlotte into the conveyance before mounting his horse for the short ride over to the townhouse. A few minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of an Italianate-style residence.

Would the servants allow two people they had never met to stay in Braham’s home? She tried to focus on a cover story to tell the servants instead of the unnerving thump of her heart.

“Colonel, thank you for your assistance. We don’t want to hold you up any longer,” Jack said.

She didn’t dare look at Jack. He would give her the same questioning look she wanted to give him.

“Nonsense,” Henly said. “I’d prefer to see you settled before I leave. And maybe the servants have news of the major’s whereabouts.” He pointed toward the front door. “Shall we go?” Henly’s eyes held the same unblinking chill as when she first met him.

Charlotte gathered her courage. Jack appeared to be his usual suave self, sauntering up the stairs to the sandstone door surround, where he clasped the doorknocker and tapped it several times, giving Henly his book jacket smile.

A butler smartly dressed in day livery opened the door. “May I help you?”

“I’m Jack Mallory and this is my sister Charlotte. We’re Major McCabe’s cousins and have come for a visit. Is he here?”

The man opened the door wider. “Come in, please.” They did, including Henly, and the butler closed the door behind them. “The major said when you arrive, Miss Mallory, you’re to have the house and staff at your disposal.”

On a scale measuring from pissed off to grateful, she found herself somewhere along the center point, and could easily swing in either direction depending on what happened in the next few minutes. “Is the Major in Washington now?”

“He spent several nights here, but he hasn’t returned recently.”

Charlotte untied her bonnet and unbuttoned her jacket. “Would you have someone help with our trunks?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pointed toward a parlor to the right of the entry. “You’ll be comfortable waiting in there while I see to your baggage and your rooms. I’ll have refreshments brought in.”

Charlotte handed the butler her bonnet and coat and entered the parlor with Henly and Jack.

“If McCabe was here, it means he survived Richmond. When I leave, I’ll go over to the War Department. As soon as I have information on his whereabouts, I’ll let you know.”

The words
consult the President
were on Charlotte’s tongue but she reeled them in before she actually said them. She had no doubt at all Lincoln knew exactly where Braham was and probably received daily briefings from him.

“Thank you, Colonel. You saved us a trip to Georgetown,” Jack said. “We don’t want to keep you from your business any longer.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Mr. Mallory, Miss Mallory.”

Jack escorted the colonel to the door. “If I hear anything tonight,” Henly said, “I’ll send word.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Jack said. He opened the door and the colonel stepped out, and then turned back.

“With your permission, I’d like to call on your sister.”

Jack glanced back at Charlotte, who was standing in the hall talking with the butler, but looking in their direction. “You’ll have to take it up with her. She’s never needed my permission before. I doubt she wants it now.”

Henly set his hat on his head, glanced at Charlotte, and with a wry smile said, “I’ll discuss it with her then. Good day, Mr. Mallory.”

Jack watched Henly mount his horse, then closed the door. Turning toward, Charlotte he said, “What do you think of the illustrious colonel?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“That bad?”

She nodded toward the parlor. They entered the room and Jack closed the tall sliding doors.

“We should get in the habit of only talking privately,” she said.

“I agree. There’s too much at stake.”

They sat on the sofa, close, so they could speak in low tones.

“I thought Henly was overly aggressive, and he refused to listen to me, but in the end, he was helpful. I’m not sure what to make of him.” Charlotte picked up a small pillow and hugged it to her chest. “If the butler had said he couldn’t allow guests to stay in the house without Braham’s permission, or even that he’d never heard of us, Henly might have thought we were spies. I hate to think of what could have happened.”

“Why would he have believed such a thing?”

“He asked where we were from. I told him we were Unionists from Richmond. I wasn’t prepared to answer his questions and didn’t want to tell more lies. His eyes told me he was analyzing every word I said. I don’t trust him.”

They sat in tense silence staring at each other for a minute, lost in their own thoughts. Finally Jack said, “Your story should work. But what I want to know is, why was Braham so damn sure you’d come after him when you insisted you didn’t want to come back?”

She threw up her hands. “You probably understand him better than I do. You tell me. You did notice, though, he didn’t make it easy for us. If we hadn’t met the colonel, we would have traveled out to Georgetown and might not have learned Braham had been in town.”

“He probably reported to the President and immediately received a new assignment. At least if he’s out of the city, he can’t shoot Booth,” Jack said.

“Maybe Henly will learn something at the War Department.”

“Henly will be back whether he hears news of Braham or not. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, either, but it wasn’t because I was interested. He reminded me of the cops who hide close to the lane in front of the mansion waiting for me to break the law so they can pull me over and slap a citation in my hand.”

“Then stay away from him. Since he intends to call on you tomorrow, should I tell him to leave you alone?”

“No, don’t do it yet. I’ll see him tomorrow. His connections might open a door to one of the hospitals so I can work while I’m here. I’ll put up with him, at least for now.”

“You might enjoy having male attention. Someone to take you to parties and the theatre.”

“I don’t want male attention, and
you
can take me to the theatre.”

He tapped her cheek. “You don’t? Then how do you explain the pinkish tinge on your face?”

She slapped his hand away. “If you think I could be interested in a controlling jerk like the colonel, you don’t know me at all.”

“Tsk, tsk. I know you better than you know yourself. Thoughts of the colonel didn’t make you blush. Nope, you blushed because you pictured a soldier with steady green eyes and a knee-melting smile.”

She threw a small decorative sofa pillow at him. “You
are
working on a romance novel, aren’t you? Trying your lines out on me. What’s your pseudonym? I know you have one. You are
such
a jerk.”

Jack laughed and tossed the pillow back at her. “And you’re such a liar. You’ve all but drooled over Braham since he came out of surgery and you saw the man beneath the blood and grime.”

“And how do you know?”

Jack’s eyes twinkled. “I have my sources, and a good reporter never reveals his sources.”

She looked at her brother, those deep blue of his eyes, the straight line of his nose, the mouth so quick to curve up in amusement. He was a combination of both of their parents, and she loved him, but he sure did piss her off sometimes. It wasn’t because Jack went looking for trouble; it was because trouble had a way of finding him. He’d never done anything illegal, but he had been beaten up a couple of times, which had scared the crap out of her. He never appreciated the true danger in his situations because he was always thinking about the story.

“Sources? I wouldn’t call former bedmates reliable sources. Thanks to Ken’s introductions, you’ve dated most of the nurses from Richmond to Winchester, so any one of them would have told you whatever you wanted to hear. They would even violate HIPAA to get back into your bed.”

He pressed his hands against his chest, and managed to look crestfallen. “I can’t believe how mean you are to me.”

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.

The butler entered. “Your trunks have been taken upstairs and luncheon is served in the dining room.”

“What’s your name, please?” Charlotte asked. “You’ve been most helpful.”

“Edward, ma’am. Major McCabe was very specific. This is your home, and we are to serve your needs as long as you wish to stay.”

“Would you mind serving us at the round table in front of the window?” she said pointing behind her. “I’d like to enjoy the view while I eat.”

“Certainly.” Edward left the room, closing the door behind him.

“I guess Braham wants to make up for stealing my car,” Charlotte said, finally taking a minute to study the ornate room, which was painted and papered in vivid greens and reds. He had exquisite and expensive taste.

“He didn’t steal it, he borrowed it,” Jack said.

She ran her hand along the top of a walnut table next to the sofa from the Rococo Revival period. “What?”

“Your car. He didn’t steal it.”

She went over to the front window, pushed aside a swathe of lace curtain with the back of her hand, and looked out at the White House. “He didn’t even have a driver’s license. What would have happened if he’d been stopped? We’d have been in a world of hurt. I wish he’d been honest with us.”

“He didn’t intentionally deceive us.”

She let the curtain drop back into place, still clutching a corner of the lace. “He deceived me from the very beginning. It never occurred to me he would find time travel acceptable. If I had known, I could have saved myself a lot of anguish. Now he’s run off and we don’t know where.”

“If we find Booth, we’ll find Braham. And I’ll get a helluva of a story along the way.”

34

Washington—December, 1864

C
harlotte joined Jack
for breakfast in the dining room shortly before seven the next morning. They had eaten lunch and dinner in the parlor and retired early, so she had yet to tour the house. Her bedroom, complete with a feather bed, was elegantly furnished. She had slept well and woke up refreshed.

She found Jack sitting at the end of a long carved mahogany table with his journal and a sharpened pencil at his side. She paused in the doorway, taking in the complete dining room, not wanting to miss any of the sophisticated details. She imagined Braham selecting every piece of furniture for both style and function. He was a man of many talents—educated and wealthy—and she’d only gotten a glimpse of his multi-layered personality.

The ten chairs surrounding the long table had scroll arms, lion paw feet, and blue silk dragonfly upholstery. She ran her hand across the smooth fabric. “Sweet.”

A clear crystal chandelier with silver finish accents hung above the table. Below it, Jack lounged at one of two place settings. Growing up she had been well schooled in china and silver patterns, but the azure china with its embossed bead edge was not a pattern she recognized. The Grecian pattern flatware by Gorham, she did. “Impressive.”

“I hope you remember the finer details of this room. I’m only writing down what I see as important, like how many guests can fit at this table,” Jack said, chuckling.

“Without looking down, tell me the color of your china plate,” she said.

His eyebrows scrunched as he thought. “Green?”

She shook her head. “You’re right. You won’t remember. How about the paintings?”

He gave her an I-gotcha-there smile. “I may not notice china patterns and seat cushions, but I do notice paintings. The one behind me with the four boats is a Birch. My agent has a copy hanging over the receptionist’s desk. The other three,” he said, waving his finger around, “show the same technique in the clearly-painted waves, so I assume they’re also by Birch.”

She poured a cup of coffee from a silver pot on the sideboard. “A townhouse in Lafayette Park—across from the White House—and Birch originals. I’m—”

“Impressed?”

“And surprised. Aren’t you?”

“Not really. He’s well-traveled, educated, and wealthy.”