'Blast it, Colonel, you must have some information. Is he still in the city? If not, where is he? Will you force me to pose my questions to Mr. Stanton and tell him you refused to help?'
Instantly, Baker grew cooperative, though Dills wished he hadn't when the bearded man said, 'I have it on good authority that Dayton was in Richmond about a month ago.'
'Richmond! Why?'
'I don't know. I was only told that he was seen.'
'Is it possible he defected to the other side?'
Baker shrugged. 'Possible. He was pretty angry when I let him go. He was also, in my opinion, unbalanced. I frankly wish I'd never taken him on. I know your reputation, Mr. Dills. I know you have a lot of friends in this government. But I don't know why you're so interested in Dayton. What's the connection?'
By then Dills had decided he would get no help here and must go higher. 'I'm not obliged to answer your questions, Colonel Baker. Good morning.'
On Independence Day, a Monday, Dills did go higher, setting out in his carriage for the War Department. While it was technically a holiday, and the Thirty-eighth Congress was rushing to adjourn, many government offices stayed open because of the pressures of war and politics. Things were not going well on any front. The resignation of Treasury Secretary Chase, first submitted to the President last winter, had finally been accepted. Chase, presumed to have been encouraged by the same anonymous radicals who had helped draft the Pomeroy Circular, which called for Lincoln's defeat, was stepping down to become a presidential candidate, so rumor said. Literally overnight, his departure created widespread fear that the government was bankrupt.
Telegraph dispatches from the Shenandoah Valley told of increased guerrilla action — torn-up railroad tracks, burned bridges — and of the steady retreat of Union forces toward Harpers Ferry. No one in the North had quite recovered from the news of the enormous number of casualties in the spring campaign. To this was added the May humiliation at New Market, when Sigel was once again whipped, this time by a rebel force that included two hundred and forty-seven boys — youthful cadets from VMI, the military school where Jackson had taught.
Reaching his destination, Dills alighted on the avenue and wove his way through a large crowd of dusky contrabands, whom he carefully avoided touching in any way. The contrabands loitered on the walks at the edge of President's Park, hungry faces and envious eyes turned toward the picnic in progress on the grounds. Swings hung from the shade trees, and food and drink covered great trestle tables set up between the War Department and the Executive Mansion. With the consent and encouragement of the government, the picnic was being held to raise money for a new District of Columbia school for Negro children. The guests, numbering several hundred already, consisted mostly of well-dressed civilians from the town's colored community. Here and there Dills saw white faces, which disgusted him even more than the cause itself.
Dills had an appointment with Stanton's flunky, Stanley Hazard. Though a mediocrity, Hazard was rich and had somehow acquired a circle of influential friends. Dills supposed he had done it the customary way, by buying them. What made Hazard unusual was his ability to stay balanced at the fulcrum of the wild teeterboard of party politics. He chummed with the politicians who wanted to defeat Lincoln at the polls yet worked for a man considered to be the President's staunchest supporter and friend. Stanley Hazard's survival was doubly remarkable in view of the stories one heard about him, particularly that he was usually drunk by half past nine every morning. When he was extremely busy, no later than ten.
On tiny feet, the tiny lawyer climbed to Stanley's office. In one corner stood a brass tripod holding burning cubes of heavy incense. To mask the odor of spirits?
The incense did nothing to mask the fuzzy expression on Stanley's face as he gestured Dills to a chair. Glancing out the window, Dills allowed himself one pleasantry. 'I must say, passing through that mob, I wondered whether I was in the District or the palace gardens of Haiti.'
Stanley laughed. 'What about a West African village? Did you happen to notice what the darkies are serving down there? I'm guessing it's barbecued effigy of Bob Lee.'
Dills pursed his lips, for him the equivalent of hysterical laughter. 'I know you're busy, Mr. Hazard, so let me come to the point. Do you recall a man you interviewed for a post with Colonel Baker? A man named Ezra Dayton?'
Stanley sat up straighter. 'I do indeed. You recommended him, but he was discharged. Highly unsatisfactory —'
'I deeply regret that. I had no way of anticipating it. What brings me here is the need to learn anything I can about Dayton's whereabouts, for reasons I wish I could divulge to you but cannot.'
'Privileged communication with a client?'
'Something like that, yes. In return for assistance from your department, I'm prepared to make a generous contribution to the political candidate of your choice. On the Republican side, I would hope.'
'Naturally,' Stanley said, not even raising a brow to question the probity of the offer. 'Let's see whether we have anything.' He summoned an assistant, who was gone for ten minutes, leaving the two men to uneasy conversation punctuated by long silences.
The clerk returned, whispered in Stanley's ear, departed. Stanley sighed.
'Absolutely nothing, I'm afraid. I'm very sorry. I trust the outcome won't affect your pledge, since I accepted your offer in good faith.' Dills glimpsed the threat behind the fulsome smile. He reeled when Stanley added, 'A thousand would be most generous.'
'A thousand! I was thinking of much —' Hastily, Dills swallowed. How could such a puffy, pale creature carry an aura of power? But he did. 'Certainly. I'll send my draft in the morning.'
Stanley wrote and blotted a slip of paper. 'Payable to that account.'
'Very good. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hazard.' About to close the door from the anteroom side, he observed Stanley bent over a lower drawer of his desk, as if hunting something. Stanley glanced up, scowled, and Dills quickly closed the door.
Bent was gone — and the information had cost him a thousand dollars. Beyond that, unless he could think of some other avenue where he might search for Starkwether's boy, the handsome stipend would disappear. He was in a foul mood as he left the building and crossed the park toward his waiting carriage.
Children at the picnic scampered round and round him, dark leaves whirling. He ran them off with a shout and wave of his cane. Though still angry, he was also bemused by the performance of the nimble Mr. Hazard. Dills had definitely smelled whiskey behind the incense. What a miraculous balancing act.
Ah, but there were many such balancing acts in Washington. It was, as experience had taught him, a city of carnival performers wearing the costumes of patriots.
In Lehigh Station, the cemetery workers dug new graves, arriving freight trains discharged new coffins, arriving cars delivered one or two of the newly injured or permanently maimed. About town there could also be seen the occasional able-bodied male who shouldn't be at home just now. Brett had been a resident long enough to recognize such men.
She chose not to attend the local July fourth celebration — there was little patriotic fervor these days — and instead spent nine hours with Scipio Brown's children, teaching ciphering. It was a time of stifling weather, sinking morale, sudden alarms. Jubal Early's army had encircled Washington and cut rail and telegraph lines to Baltimore. Jubal Early's army had reached Silver Spring, within sight of Union fortifications along Rock Creek. Jubal Early's army had almost pocketed Washington before being driven away toward Pennsylvania. And how far into the state might the rebs come this time?
It was a season of steadily mounting mistrust and hatred of Lincoln. Did he dare do what he said he might — call for another half-million volunteers to feed Grant's red machine before the month was out? It was a season of war-weariness and cynicism. Lute Fessenden's cousin had built up a handsome trade as a substitute broker. Conscription substitutes simply couldn't be found unless one dealt with him; he had cornered all those available in the valley by promising them higher rewards than anyone else. He charged eight hundred to one thousand dollars per substitute, depending on the applicant. The potential draftees raged. But they paid.
All this was a real but somehow immaterial backdrop to the central fact of Brett's life. With the help of Charles Main, Billy had escaped from Libby Prison, dashed through enemy country, and reached the Union lines during the titanic battle at Spotsylvania. A bullet had given him a light leg wound, but his letters said he was completely recovered and back on duty at Petersburg.
The joyous turnabout filled her days with cheer. To a lesser extent, so did the visits of Scipio Brown, who
