The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (74 page)

“Are you carrying Glocks?” she asked.

“Aye.”

Cullen cocked his head. “Kit had a fancy automatic rifle. You should have seen her setting her sights on several hundred buffalo. I’d never been so scared. Our lives depended on a weapon I knew nothing about, and she acted like she was at target practice.”

David laughed. “Even as a kid, she had more guts than sense. Nearly got me killed a time or two.”

“We got a wee lassie Kit calls her mini-me. From what you’re saying about Kit’s childhood, mini-me is an apt description.”

David slapped Cullen on the back, laughing. “Hope ye’ survive to see the lass married.”

“It’s Kit who’ll likely not survive. Tell Elliott, will you? He’ll be glad to hear she’s getting back the trouble she gave her father and godfather.”

Charlotte watched the exchange between Cullen and David, awed by the depth of love they had for Kit. Now she understood the glassy-eyed look in Elliott’s eyes every time someone mentioned her name. How blessed, to be so loved by so many people. She only had Jack, and their relationship was threatened. Her throat became painfully tight, and she swallowed back a gallon of tears, which, if allowed out, would swamp the room. Time to get back to business. She cleared her throat.

“You’ve had several days to study the court record. What do you think?”

Cullen eased into the desk chair, retrieved a stack of documents from his leather-bound briefcase, and spread them out on the desk. “I have a list of questions. I’ve also identified the weaknesses in the case against Jack.”

“What does your gut tell you?”

“Exactly what ye’ told me. Seward wants the defendants convicted. A military trial will be an injustice. However, with the current sentiment in Washington and around the country, odds are almost certain even a jury of their peers would convict them all.”

“But at least they’d have a jury and their day in court instead of Seward’s generals with verdicts already in hand. What about the testimony? Did you find anything you can use to help him?” Charlotte asked.

“Several pieces of key testimony against the defendants, and Jack in particular, were obviously manufactured, exploited, or coerced. After reading through the documents ye’ve given me, it’s obvious the defense had no time to prepare. We have time now. We also have the witness list. We’ll be ready.”

Cullen thumbed through several sheets until he found one in particular. “Do ye’ know anything about this?” he addressed Charlotte. “A witness, identifying himself as a cabbie, testified he dropped off a man and woman at Major McCabe’s house, picked up Jack and Booth, and delivered them to the National Hotel. Do you know the identity of the couple?”

Charlotte dropped her feet with a loud thud, mouth agape. She shot to her feet, fists slamming to her hips. “
What a damnable lie
.
Yes,
I know the couple.” She breathed heavily, battling outrage for a bit of emotional control. “Colonel Gordon Henly and Charlotte Mallory.” She rolled back her eyes, shaking her head. “What a lie. It was the last date I had with the asshole colonel. We had been to the theater, then had dinner at the Willard, where I saw Braham for the first time since he had disappeared and driven to Kentucky. Gordon and I had a disagreement. It was more of an argument, really. When we arrived back at Braham’s townhouse in
Gordon’s carriage
,” she said with emphasis, “driven by
his driver
, we met Booth, who had just finished an interview with Jack. And, by the way, I was furious with Jack for inviting that man to Braham’s house.”

“Why was Booth here?” Cullen asked.

“Jack said it was too noisy at the National Hotel, and he wanted to tape the conversation secretly.”

Cullen gave her a puzzled expression.

“With a recording device,” David said. “It’s like a stenographer reading the words aloud. Ye’ don’t have to read them. Ye’ listen.”

“Like an iPod?” Cullen asked. “I listen to music on Kit’s iPod.”

David arched his brow. “After all these years it still works?”

“Kit says the sun charges it.” Cullen waved his hand. “We digress. Continue with your story.”

“When Gordon saw Booth, he fawned all over the man. Then, after Booth left, Gordon and Jack went back to the Willard—in
Gordon’s
carriage again—to find Braham. If the cabbie testifies to delivering Jack and Booth to the National Hotel, he’s lying.”

“What was Gordon’s relationship with Jack?” Cullen asked.

“Gordon hated him. He thought Jack was to blame for my lack of interest in him, and Jack…Well, Jack has a certain effect on women. Gordon didn’t like it at all. He fancies himself a ladies’ man, but he couldn’t compete with Jack.”

“Do ye’ think he would go so far as to implicate Jack in the assassination?”

“Gordon is a drug addict,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “He loathes Jack, and he’s obsessed with me, or was.”

“
Why
didn’t ye’ mention this in yer video statement?” David asked, eyes blazing.

She shrugged with a tight movement, almost a flinch. “It didn’t seem important.”

Cullen made a choked noise. “
Important
? It’s the key that unlocks our defense.”

Excited voices from the hall alerted them only seconds before the door swung open, and Braham stomped into the room, noticing Cullen immediately.

She fixed Braham with a direct look but he hadn’t noticed her yet.

The lines of his face curved in sudden joy. Braham went quickly to the desk and embraced his friend, clapping Cullen several times on the back. “Damn, it’s good to see you.” Then he noticed David and his eyebrows shot up. “What are
you
doing here?” He glanced from Cullen to David, and then back at Cullen.

As if remembering there was another person in the room, he jerked his head in Charlotte’s direction. The red of his scar was clearly visible above his eye. He pressed his lips so tightly together they were barely evident in the depths of his neatly clipped beard. He took a step toward her, and she moved backwards, her heels scraping against the wall. The air seemed sucked from the room. She bit her lower lip, trying to think of what to say, but nothing came to mind as he advanced closer, then closer still, until he stopped within inches of her.

The memory of their last moments together seemed to cross his face, and the hint of a smile, wry yet painful, showed in his glistening eyes. He traced the curve of her lips, and then a pinched look of shock replaced the smile, giving way to slump-shouldered sadness. He pulled her into his arms, and in a voice as soft as his breath on her cheek, he said, “Ah, Charlotte, I’m so sorry.”

His tears fell silently upon her cheeks.

81

Washington City, 1865

C
harlotte left the
men and retired to her bedroom to compose herself, change out of her miserable Ace bandages and facial hair and clean up a bit. When she returned, only a little refreshed, but more comfortable without the beard and wig, she heard voices behind the closed doors leading into the parlor. She put her ear to the door but couldn’t distinguish voices or words. She doubted anyone other than Braham, Cullen, and David were in the room, so she knocked and opened the door at the same time. The men made a move to stand, but she made a stopping motion with her hand.

“Don’t get up on my account,” she said.

Braham stood anyway and came up to her. “I hope, since you’re my guest, you’ll at least allow me to fix you a drink.”

She fingered the hair above his scar and pushed strands out of the way so she could see the injury. “It’s healing well. How’s your shoulder?”

“I had a surgeon at the hospital where you worked remove the stitches. He asked me if you’d sewed me up. Said he recognized your handiwork.”

“Really?” She smiled, pleased by the compliment.

Braham poured a glass of whiskey and handed it to her. “They thought well of you.”

She took a restorative gulp, sighing blissfully as the amber-colored liquid trickled down the back of her throat, extending tendrils of warmth and comfort into her chest. “What have I missed?”

Braham waited until she settled into a corner of the sofa before taking a seat across from her. “We’ve been talking about Cullen’s lad, Thomas. We knew you’d want to be part of the discussion concerning Jack, so we’ve been waiting for you.”

Braham wasn’t being truthful. There was no look of subterfuge, no averting of his eyes, but she could feel a heaviness in the air. They’d been discussing her. Maybe she was overly sensitive right now, but she didn’t think she was completely off her game.

“I’ve asked Stanton what evidence the commission has against Jack, but he’s refused to tell me. I believe whatever he has is circumstantial. If Jack had sold at least one article to the newspaper, it would support his claim of being a writer. But he didn’t. Do you know why?”

“He never told me,” she said, “but it probably has something to do with his writing style. His undergraduate degree is in journalism, but he writes differently than reporters do now.”

The muscles tightened around Braham’s eyes as if he were confused. “He told me he studied pre-law, not journalism. I asked specifically why he studied pre-law before going to law school.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re mistaken. It was journalism. In fact, he had a part-time job working for the Richmond-Times Dispatch.”

Braham leaned forward in his seat, both hands gripping his glass. “He said his mother arranged a position with a Richmond law firm. He worked in the file room and ran errands while in college.”

A sinking, twisting knot wrapped around her throat. “My mother didn’t have any friends who were lawyers.” She said it slowly, enunciating each one, as if he was a child who couldn’t hear or comprehend.

“Charlotte,” David said in a warning tone, and her head shot up. “This is what Elliott was talking about when he said ye’d have different memories.”

Braham glanced at her and repeated David’s statement as a question. “Why would you have different memories?”

“Elliott believes it’s because of Jack’s execution—” David said.

Braham came up out of his chair. “
His what?
”

Cullen shoved a piece of paper into Braham’s hand. “Read this. It’s a copy of his death warrant.”

Braham read out loud, his face crumpling like the paper in his shaking hand: “
Finding
. Of the specification, Guilty.
Sentence.
And the commission does therefore sentence the said Jack Mallory to be hung by the neck until he be dead, at such time and place as the President of the United States shall direct, two-thirds of the members of the commission concurring therein.” Braham grabbed the edge of his chair, swaying slightly, his face ashen. “How in
God’s
name is this possible?”

Faintly startled by his tone of voice, she said, “It won’t happen now, but it did happen. Let me ask you this. We found a letter Jack wrote to me, asking me to claim his body and bury him in the cemetery near the homeplace by the river he loved. Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Braham stared, fixing her with his brilliant green eyes, full of turbulent thoughts she couldn’t read. “You don’t?”

She shook her head.

He turned slowly red and seemed to swell. He opened his mouth in a futile search for words. After a long moment he asked, “You don’t have any memory of growing up at the plantation?”

“Why would I? I didn’t grow up there. We lived in Richmond a few blocks from Virginia Commonwealth University, where our parents taught history and philosophy.”

“Ah, lass, you did grow up there.” His voice was scarcely louder than the beating of her own heart. “Your parents weren’t teachers. They were United States Senators. So were your grandsires, back six generations. The Mallory name is the most prestigious name in the Commonwealth, and you’re an heiress.”

She flapped her hand, dismissing him. “Impossible. Where did you hear this wild story?”

“I’ve been to your mansion. Stayed there while I recovered after Chimborazo. I’ve seen the family portraits. I’ve read the history of the plantation from the mid-sixteen-hundreds to the deaths of your parents.”

Silence filled the room until his words, short and brutal and impossible, echoed off the walls. Her brother was in prison for conspiring to kill the President, and the life she had known didn’t exist, according to Braham. As soon as they exonerated Jack, they would return to a life she knew nothing about, but if they lost the case and lost Jack, she’d return to the life she knew without him. Could anything be more screwed up? Although Elliott had warned her that could happen, she hadn’t truly understood the significance.

David came over to her with the whiskey decanter and refilled her glass. “Drink, Charley. Ye’ said it didn’t matter if yer histories might be different. What mattered was freeing Jack. We’ll save the plantation, too, if we can.”

“I’ll send my man to Richmond to warn Doctor Mallory. If he knows there’s a plot to burn the house, he can be prepared. When does it happen? Do you know?” Braham asked.

“Soon, I think,” she said. Then she realized what he intended to do. “But don’t you need Gaylord to help with the investigation here?”