The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (73 page)

Cullen made a notation in his journal. “The earliest train leaves in the morning. Until then, I’d like to study your documents.”

David handed over a six-inch stack of papers. “These are the pertinent pages relative to Jack. There are more than forty-six hundred pages of testimony. We have the entire record with us.”

Cullen stared at the bags on the floor next to David’s chair. “Forty-six hundred pages won’t fit in the bags your carrying.”

“I have the rest in another format and it’s easily accessible,” David said.

“When you read through the transcript, you’ll notice Braham’s name is never mentioned. We don’t know why. We thought he might have been killed before the trial, but since he sent you a telegram, we know he’s alive. But we don’t know what part, if any, he played in the trial.”

“Is my name there?” Cullen asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

Cullen thumbed through some of the pages. “Who represented him?”

David flipped through a few pages then pointed. “A Mr. Patterson. We don’t know anything about him, and he did a lousy job.”

Charlotte frowned. “Quite an understatement.”

“I’ll start reading immediately. Anything else I should know before I begin?” Cullen asked.

Charlotte put her hands on her knees and leaned forward. “We don’t know if I’ve been implicated, too. It’s why I intend to arrive wearing a disguise.”

Cullen picked up the papers and fanned them. “Are you mentioned in any of these pages?”

She shook her head. “I’m worried I might…”

“…be considered guilty by association,” Cullen said.

“That could be what happened to Mary Surratt. Her son, John, had well-known ties to Booth, but the police were unable to find John. So Stanton went after Mary, hoping John would surface to protect his mother. He didn’t.”

Sean reached into his pocket and pulled out the brooch. “Since ye’ don’t have the sapphire, ye’ best keep this. Ye’ may need to make a quick escape.” He returned the stone to Charlotte. “When ye’ find the sapphire, give the ruby to Cullen. He can bring it back when he makes his return to trip to California.”

Charlotte pinned the brooch to the inside of her jacket’s lapel. “Let’s pray we find it, or we might have bigger troubles than changing the outcome of the trial.”

“Don’t worry, lass. Ye’ll find the stone, or the stone will find ye’. It’s not finished with ye’ yet,” Sean said.

Cullen nodded as if he agreed completely. “You can be sure of it.”

80

Washington City, 1865

T
hree days later
Charlotte, Cullen, and David arrived in Washington, dirty and tired. Delays in Cincinnati, Parkersburg, and Baltimore had tacked an additional day onto their two-day journey. While Cullen and David had remained calm throughout, Charlotte had been pissy with conductors, snappy with fellow travelers, and downright rude to anyone who mentioned the conspirators. The food on the train was barely edible, the accommodations were atrocious, and the overcrowded cars had made it impossible for them to discuss Jack’s situation. Thank goodness Sean had insisted they bring a basket of food with them, or she would have starved.

When they disembarked in Washington, she was so thrilled to be off the train with its never-ending clacking, she almost knelt down and kissed the ground. She didn’t, but she did squint against the glaring overcast sky. Ragged clouds streamed in from the south, and the scent of ozone heralded stormy weather ahead. Nothing new.

She wondered why she was irritable and caustic. David even asked what happened to the woman he’d met at MacKlenna Farm. He’d been joking, of course, but there was underlying seriousness in his tone. She was extremely worried, which kept her from sleeping, which made her more crotchety. Fatigue she could handle. Fatigue combined with worry and stress she couldn’t, at least not for long.

How was Jack handling the daily rations of soft bread and salt meat? He had a healthy appetite, but he also worked out daily. He’d lose weight for sure, and without exercise he’d have no outlet for his frustration and fear. She’d seen creepy pictures of the torture hoods the prisoners were forced to wear and imagined Jack suffering from wearing the heavy canvas tied tightly around his head with cotton pads placed over eyes and ears. He could withstand some sensory deprivation, but not seven weeks of it. He could lose touch with reality and start hallucinating.

Was Stanton a sadist, devising such an instrument of cruelty? Was it his purpose? To induce mental and physical suffering? Or was it to keep the conspirators incommunicado? What in God’s name could they say to each other which would make any difference in the outcome of the trial? The men were outcasts, beyond the pale of human sympathy, but one of them
was
innocent.

No wonder she couldn’t sleep.

While Cullen went to hire a carriage to take them to Braham’s townhouse, she and David sat on a bench and looked out over the city.

“I’ve been all around the world. Seen the worst parts of it, but this,” he gestured with his arm to emphasize his point, “is not an undeveloped country. It’s not contaminated by twenty-first-century noise and pollution.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what it resembles. A movie set, maybe.”

Charlotte gripped the edge of the bench and fell into a slow, comforting rock. “I thought so, too, until I saw the suffering. When men are bleeding all around you, it quickly becomes very real.”

“Ye’ jumped into a situation most people would run away from.”

She stopped rocking, and her knuckles turned white from gripping the bench, but she couldn’t loosen her grip. “I’ve been critical of Civil War surgeons for years. Now I know firsthand they did the best they could with limited resources. In modern warfare you normally don’t have hundreds of injuries to deal with at the same time. In this war, the surgeons saved the ones they could and later wept over the ones they couldn’t.”

David placed his warm, strong hand over hers and lightly squeezed. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. He’d lost buddies in Afghanistan, and from what she’d read on the back jacket of his book, he’d almost lost his life saving the wounded while under heavy fire.

“There’s Cullen.” David patted her hand, stood, and hefted the bags onto his shoulders. “Come on, Charley. The clock’s ticking.”

She spotted Cullen about twenty yards away, chatting with the driver of a barouche. “I don’t think the carriage has a meter like our taxis.”

She glanced up and met David’s eyes. He didn’t need aviators to hide what he was thinking or seeing. His beautiful, hooded brown eyes did it naturally. Impossibly full lips tipped up into a smile, and he flipped the brim of her top hat, exposing her face to the sun.

“Glad to see ye’ retained a bit of yer humor. I think it’s the beard ye’re wearing making ye’ short-tempered.”

“Let’s hope I can take it off when we get to Braham’s.”

The city was once again in high spirits. National colors bedecked the buildings, replacing emblems of mourning. Passengers on the train had mentioned the muster out of a million men had begun at the end of April, and thousands of soldiers were pouring into the city. Camps were miles long and wide on every slope and ridge. Charlotte sat tense in her seat, observing the restless and impatient people bumping each other as they traversed the sidewalks.

“Are ye’ okay?” David asked.

“This is my third trip here. The first time I was scared to death. The second time, I was excited, anticipating a romantic getaway with Braham. This time I’m scared again, but not for myself.”

“We’ll get him out. I promise.”

Charlotte gave his arm a pat and a squeeze. “Promises are easy to make. They’re impossible to keep.”

“Not all of them are, Charley.”

Cullen stopped whistling a Bach tune she recognized, but didn’t know the name of the piece. “David’s right. I’ve got some ideas, but I have to talk with Braham first. Keep your eyes on the prize, lass.”

“
Paul and Silas, bound in jail. Had no money for to go their bail. Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on
,” Charlotte said. “It’s an American civil rights song. I guess Kit taught it to you.”

A distant stare turned Cullen’s face into an expression of pensive admiration. “Music stopped for her one day, and she swore she’d never again play the guitar or sing. It wasn’t easy, but she found her way through the darkness, and music is alive in her heart today. The days ahead will get darker, but you’ll hear the music again, too.”

The carriage stopped in front of Braham’s townhouse and Cullen alighted first.

“Let’s not tell Braham’s butler who I am until we find out if I’m under suspicion. We don’t know what happened when the police arrested Jack. Edward might have given him up. And we have to find the sapphire brooch. If we don’t, Braham will have to take Jack to the future and then come back for David and me.”

“We’ll work out logistics later, but I agree we should keep your identity secret until we know your status. Although I don’t believe Edward would betray his employer’s friend,” Cullen said.

Charlotte threw the strap of her carpetbag over her shoulder and stepped down to the sidewalk. “He might if the police threatened him, as they did most of the witnesses.”

David glanced up and down the street, then turned slowly, looking at the park and the White House in the distance. “Great location. Let’s go inside. We’re not going to learn anything standing out here.”

Above the rumble of heavy wagons on the hard-packed dirt came the sounds of spring, barks and yelps of dogs from a neighbor’s yard, and birds singing in full voice from the elm tree in front of the townhouse. The second-floor windows facing the street were located in the two rooms she and Jack had used. His was close to the tree. Hers looked out over the front door.

Cullen led the way to the front door, but stopped before knocking and said to Charlotte and David, “Since I’m expected, I’ll introduce you as business associates from Kentucky.”

Edward opened the door quickly after Cullen’s knock. A sour expression turned to one of pleasure when he recognized Cullen. “Welcome, Mr. Montgomery. Come in. Colonel McCabe will be glad to see you.”

“Afternoon Edward.” Cullen turned toward Charlotte and David. “These are my associates Charley Duffy and David MacBain. Braham doesn’t know I invited them, but he’ll be glad for the help, I’m sure.”

“Did you say
colonel
?” she asked.

“The major was promoted to colonel for his assistance during the attack against Secretary Seward,” Edward said.

A strange ripple, like pebbles thrown into a pond, went through Charlotte, and her heart seemed to sigh. She hoped being rewarded for his service would go a long way toward restoring Braham’s perceived loss of honor.

“They should have made him a general,” Cullen said. “Where is he, by the way?”

Edward lowered his head, shaking it. “At the Old Arsenal Penitentiary, trying to visit Mr. Jack. He wasn’t involved in Mr. Lincoln’s death. I know it for sure.” Edward sighed, woefully. “I wish Miss Charlotte was here, but the colonel, he said he didn’t expect her to come back, and we had to take care of Mr. Jack. Lordy, if only she was here…”

She dug her fingers into her wig, ready to rip it off and reveal herself. “Edward—”

David placed his hand firmly on her back, a warning gesture, and she shut her mouth.

“We’d like to work in Braham’s office while he’s gone.” David’s hand remained pressed against her. “Could ye’ lead us there?”

“Yes, sir. Leave your bags here. I’ll take them upstairs and see to your rooms.”

Once inside Braham’s office with the door closed, David turned toward her, arms crossed over his chest, eyes hot and glaring. “We had a discussion on the street about keeping yer identity secret. Thirty seconds later, yer ready to come clean. Ye’ can’t, Charley. Ye’ll compromise the mission.” He pressed his hand hard on her shoulder, forcing her into a chair. “Sit and remember this is about Jack,
not ye’
.”

Cullen slipped off his jacket and hung it on the back of the desk chair. “If the police come looking for you, they’ll pilfer through our research, which would be devastating for Jack.”

“Okay, you got my attention.” So did a wave of nausea. She put her feet up on the desk and rested her head against the wall.

“Ye’ look like the blood drained from yer face. Are ye’ sick?” David asked.

She nodded. “I think I caught something on the train.”

“Ye’ sure ye’re not pregnant,” David said.

“I told you I failed the test.”

“Ye’ get false positives and negatives with those, don’t ye’?” David said.

“Rarely. But I don’t have any pregnancy symptoms.”

“Nausea is a symptom. Kit’s had it with every bairn.”

Charlotte glared, jaw clenching. “So is travel, bad food, and no sleep.
I’m not pregnant
and don’t either of you mention the possibility again.”

The men busied themselves rearranging Braham’s desk to make room to work. David unbuttoned his jacket and hung it on a coat hook on the back of the door. He rolled his neck, settling the leather of the shoulder holster more comfortably. There was something odd about his pistols.