Love and War

24

Several days later in the mansion on I Street, Isabel took tea in a room she had claimed for herself during their first inspection of the house. For one hour, starting at four, she forbade anyone to disturb her while she sipped and read the newspapers.

It was a daily ritual, and one she considered vital to success in this labyrinthine city. A quick study, Isabel already knew certain fundamentals of survival. It was better to be devious than forthright. Never reveal one's true opinion; the wrong person might hear it. A sensitivity to shifting power balances was also important. Stanley was about as sensitive as a wheel of cheese; so his wife, a step removed from the daily activities of the government, relied on newspapers. One could learn only so much at balls, receptions, and salons — or from Stanley.

Today she discovered the reprinted text of the President's Independence Day message to Congress. It was largely a reiteration of the causes of the war. Lincoln put all the blame on the South, naturally, and stated again that the Confederacy hadn't really needed to take Fort Sumter for any strategic reason. Hotheads had created a false issue of patriotic pride, and as a consequence, the South was rashly testing whether a constitutional republic, or a democracy — a government of the people, by the same people — can, or cannot, maintain its territorial, integrity against its own foes.

Isabel loathed the apelike Westerner, but never more so than when she read his declaration that he was seeking the legal means for making this contest a short, and a decisive one.

Legal, when he had just asked Scott to suspend habeas corpus in certain military districts between Washington and New York? The man's pronouncements were twaddle. He was already behaving like an emperor.

Two sections of the message did please her. Although Lincoln hoped for a short war, he had asked Congress to place four hundred thousand men at his disposal. Isabel saw eight hundred thousand Jefferson boots.

Further, the President didn't spare the military academies:

It is worthy of note that in this, the government's hour of trial, large numbers of those in the army and navy who have been favored as officers have resigned and proved false to the hand which had pampered them.

Splendid. When her egotistical brother-in-law arrived, perhaps she could make capital of the rising anti-West Point sentiment. News that George would be coming to town had been waiting when she and Stanley returned from New England. She had also learned that he had called at the mansion, a sham courtesy resulting from Cameron's insistence that Stanley write a conciliatory note welcoming the brother who had once knocked him down. The whole incident infuriated her.

George remained a West Point loyalist, but many influential people wanted the institution abolished. Most with that goal belonged to a new clique that was forming: an alliance of senators, congressmen, and cabinet officers from the extreme pro-abolition wing of the Republican party. Kate Chase's father belonged, it was said; so did the clubfooted old wreck from Isabel's home state, Congressman Thad Stevens. How she would use this information to hurt George was still nebulous. But use it she would.

Isabel had been watching the new radical clique slowly coalesce. She already knew certain facts, one of the most important being that the foxy Mr. Cameron carried no weight with the group.

The radicals favored an aggressive war and harsh terms when it was won. Lincoln held different views on the war and on slavery. He didn't want all the Negroes freed to rampage and rape and rob white men of jobs. Neither did Isabel. But that wouldn't prevent her from cultivating the wives of the radicals if doing so offered some advantage.

At dinner that evening, she brought up Lincoln's message. 'He is saying exactly the same thing we've heard from certain congressmen. West Point trained traitors at public expense and should be closed. That sentiment might be useful against your brother.'

Stanley's unusual good cheer infuriated her — he had been grinning ever since he got home — and so did his obtuse, 'Why should I want to hurt George now?'

'Have you forgotten all of his insults? And those of his wife?'

'No, of course not, but —'

'Suppose he comes here and starts asserting himself in that pushy way of his?'

'What if he does? Ordnance reports to the War Department. I outrank him. And I'm close to Simon, don't forget.'

Did the fool believe that was a safe spot? Before she could snap at him, he continued, 'Enough about George. I received two pieces of good news in today's mail. Those attorneys we hired in Lynn — absolute charlatans, but they reached and paid off the right people. The property transfer will be pushed through quickly. I heard from Pennyford, too. He'll have the factory ready for double-shift operation within the month — and no problem about help. There are two or three applicants for every job. We can hire children even more cheaply.'

'How wonderful,' she sneered. 'We have everything we need. Except a contract.'

He shot his hand into his pocket. 'We have that, too.'

Isabel was seldom speechless, but she was now. Stanley handed her the ribbon-bound document as if he had captured it in battle. 'How — very fine.' She said it weakly because she didn't mean it; he had obtained the contract on his own. Was this city or his job somehow changing him into what he had never been before? A real man? The mere possibility was profoundly upsetting.

25

Serbakovsky was dead.

In the first week of July, fellow officers laid him in a coffin of raw yellow pine. Two bearded men in heavily braided uniforms appeared with a wagon and civilian driver. The Russians, who spoke only rudimentary English, carried safe-conduct papers signed by Union as well as Confederate authorities. The ease with which they had traveled from Washington in response to a courier message confirmed something Charles had heard repeatedly: going through the lines in either direction was not hard.

The blithe prince, who had missed death on so many battle­fields, had been killed by a child's disease. It was killing soldiers in epidemic numbers. Victims got up too soon, thinking themselves over the measles, and relapsed into fatal fevers. The surgeons seemed helpless.

The wagon creaked away into the hot dusk, and Ambrose and Charles went to the sutler's to get drunk. After four rounds, Ambrose insisted on buying copies of The Richmond Songster, one of many such compilations being sold throughout the army. Charles put the songbook in his pocket and noticed a black smear on his thumbs. Damp ink. Everything was speed and opportunism these days.

A harsh surprise awaited them in their tent. Toby had disappeared, taking his master's best boots and many personal effects. Furious, Ambrose went straight to legion headquarters, while Charles, on a hunch, rode to the Tiger encampment not far away.

Sure enough, the prince's pavilion was gone, and so were his servants.

'Bet you my pay for the year that Toby and that pair left together,' he said to Ambrose later.

'Absolutely! The Belgies can pretend Toby's their nigra and sneak him right across the Potomac into Old Abe's lap. The colonel granted me permission to leave and try to recover my property. But he said I needed your permission, too.' His look said Charles had better not withhold it.

Charles sank down on his bed, unbuttoning his shirt. The death, the thefts, the waiting — all of it depressed him. He didn't believe Toby could be found — wasn't even sure the recovery attempt should be made — but he wanted a change of scene.

'Hell, I'll go with you if I can.'

'By God, Charlie, you're a real white man.'