Love and War

'Does that mean he's in Richmond?'

'I assume so. Whatever he's doing, I'm sure it's more important than interviewing lunatics and reading the fine print in contracts.'

With a touch of regret, she said, 'Your guilt's getting the best of you again.'

He folded the paper. 'Yes, it is. Daily.'

Homer stepped into the dining room, pausing beside the open-fronted cabinet that contained Ashton's fine blue jasperware. Water Witch had brought the set from Britain on her penultimate voyage.

Huntoon took off his spectacles. 'Mr. Main? Which one? Orry?'

As always, it was Ashton to whom the elderly Negro addressed the reply. 'No. The other one.'

'Cooper? Why, James, I had no idea he was in Richmond.'

Thunder boomed in the northwest; bluish light glittered throughout the downstairs. It was June, muggy, the town astir with rumors of an impending invasion of the North by General Lee.

'He is here, he is very definitely here,' said a thick voice from the shadows outside the dining room. Into the doorway stepped a frightening figure — Cooper, right enough, but aged since Ashton had last seen him. Horribly aged and gray. His cheeks had a waxy pallor, and his whiskey stench rolled over the table like a wave, submerging the aroma of the bowl of fresh flowers in the center. 'He's here and anxious to see how his dear sister and her husband are enjoying their newfound wealth.'

'Cooper dear —' Ashton began, sensing danger, trying to turn it aside with a treacly smile. Cooper refused to let her say more.

'Very fine house you have. Splendid furnishings. Treasury salaries must be larger than those in the Navy Department. Must be enormous.'

Trembling, Huntoon clutched the arms of his chair. With a laconic hand, Cooper reached toward the open shelves. Ashton's fist clenched when he plucked out one of the delicately shaded blue plates.

'Lovely stuff, this. Surely you didn't buy it locally. Did it come in on a blockade-runner? In place of guns and ammunition for the army, perhaps —?'

He threw the plate down with great force. Splinters of the white Greek figure embossed in the center rebounded into the light. One struck the back of Huntoon's hand. He muttered a protest no one heard.

Ashton said, 'Brother dear, I am at a loss to explain your visit or your churlish behavior. Furthermore, while you're as disagreeable as you ever were, I am astounded to hear what sounds like patriotic maundering. You used to scorn James when he gave speeches in support of secession or states' rights. But here you are, sounding like the hottest partisan of Mr. Davis.'

She forced a smile, hoping to hide the fear inside. She didn't know this man. She was in the presence of a lunatic whose intentions she could not guess. Without reacting, she saw Homer edging toward Cooper behind his right shoulder. Good.

Ashton placed her elbows on the table and cushioned her chin on her hands. Her smile became a sneer. 'When did this remarkable transformation to patriot occur, may I ask?'

'It occurred,' Cooper said above the muttering storm, 'shortly after my son drowned.'

Ashton's control melted into astonishment. 'Judah — drowned? Oh, Cooper, how perfectly —'

'We were aboard Water Witch. Nearing Wilmington. The moon was out, the Union blockading squadron present in force. I pleaded with Captain Ballantyne not to risk the run, but he insisted. The owners had issued orders. Maximum risk for maximum earnings.'

Ashton's hand fell forward. Her skin felt as if it were frozen.

'You know the rest, Ashton. My son was sacrificed to your intense devotion to the cause —'

'Stop him, Homer,' she screamed as Cooper moved. Huntoon started to rise from his chair. Cooper struck the side of his head and knocked his glasses off.

Homer seized Cooper from behind and yelled for help. Using an elbow, Cooper punched him in the stomach, breaking his hold, shouting over a thunderclap, 'The cause of profit. Your own fucking, filthy greed.' He laid hands on the display cabinet and pulled.

The delicate blue plates and cups and saucers and bowls began to slide. Ashton screamed again as the Wedgwood pieces dropped, Greek heads exploding, Greek arms and legs breaking. Lightning shimmered. The cabinet fell onto the dining table, where its weight proved too much. The table legs gave way at Huntoon's end. He shrieked as broken jasperware and candle holders and the flower bowl rushed toward him.

The flowers spilled onto his waistcoat. The water soaked his trousers as he kicked and pushed, sliding the chair away, out of danger, while two housemen joined Homer and wrestled the cursing, ranting Cooper to the front door. There they flung him into the rain.

Ashton heard the door slam and said the first thing that came to mind. 'What if he tells what he knows?'

'What if he does?' Huntoon snarled. He picked blossoms from his wet crotch. 'There was no law against what we did. And we're out of the trade now.'

'Did you see how white his hair's gotten? I think he's gone mad.'

'He's certainly dangerous,' Huntoon said. 'We must buy pistols tomorrow in case — in case —'

He couldn't finish the sentence. Ashton surveyed the Wedgwood all over the floor. One cup had survived unbroken. She wanted to weep with rage. Lightning flashed, thunder shook the wet windows, and her mouth set.

'Yes, pistols,' she agreed. 'For each of us.'

81

At seven that same night, Thursday, in the first week of June, Bent reported to Colonel Baker's office as ordered. Baker wasn't there. Another detective said he had gone to Old Capitol Prison to conduct one of his interrogations of an unfriendly journalist who was under detention. 'He'll go from there to his hour of pistol practice. He wouldn't let a day pass without that.'

Bent settled down to wait, soothing his nerves with one of several apples bought from a street vendor. After two bites, he looked again at a small silver badge pinned to the reverse of his lapel. Baker had awarded the badge, which bore the embossed words national detective bureau, after Bent's return from Richmond. His success there had earned him the token of official acceptance into Baker's organization. The colonel had been especially pleased by the return of the money paid to the albino. Bent stated that he had rendered the spy harmless because he was no longer useful, but he was vague about details and didn't specifically say he had killed him. Baker asked no questions.

Despite the acceptance that the badge signified, Bent had been feeling bad for the past few days. He had caught the moods of the town — apprehension, despondency. Hooker's fighting spirit had proved as substantial as the contents of a glass of water. And while Lee had lost a mighty ally when Jackson fell, he had won not only a splendid victory at Chancellorsville but an ominous supremacy over the minds of many Northerners in and out of the army. There were now daily rumors and alarms out of Virginia. Lee was moving again, but in which direction, no one knew.

Bent was masticating his third apple when Baker reined up outside a window overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. An orderly took Baker's horse, an unruly bay stallion the colonel had nick­named Slasher. Humming cheerily, Baker strode into the office. He handed Bent a crudely printed broadside. 'You may find a chuckle or two in that, Dayton.' Fancy type on the front announced that this was the menu for the Hotel de Vicksburg. When he opened the piece, he understood the joke. The broadside contained the menu of a city under siege.

Soup: mule tail

Roast: saddle of mule, à l'armée

Entrees: mule head, stuffed à la Reb;

mule beef, jerked à la Yankie