The Rebel Wife (30 page)

He bent toward her, snarling. “Raised by a Negress. Slaves for companions. What would the likes of
you
know about a real family?”

“I know plenty. Family is all about love and forgiveness. Not power and possessions.” She curled her upper lip at him. “You’re nothing but a pack of vultures making an easy meal off poor folks who can’t fight back.”

“Shut your mouth.” He lifted a hand as if to strike her. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

“Easy, Henry,” Beale warned. “Not here.”

“Where then? Morgan is preparing to leave. He won’t be a problem.”

So, the senator wasn’t part of their wickedness. That made her decision all the easier.

“We’ll take her somewhere more private.”

As Beale picked up her satchel, the latch slipped free and bared the contents. A gasp skated from her throat before she could stop it. The major regarded her for a moment with those hawk-like eyes, then fished inside.

She held her breath.
Please don’t let him
—

He pulled out Jack’s journal.

No. No. No
. If he read those notes, that letter she left with the desk clerk would become her last line of defense. And it might come too late to save any of them.

Though she itched to grab the journal, she stood still as a statue. Reacting would only show him just how important the ledger was. Better to appear unconcerned and hope his interest moved on to something else.

Her effort was wasted. Beale flipped open the journal and began reading. After a few seconds, he looked up, gaze narrowed. “Where did you get this?”

She remained mute beneath his stare, sifting through the options in her head. Lies, truth, or a shade in between? They all sounded risky.
Drat.
Why couldn’t she think as fast on her feet as Jack did?

“Did you steal it?”

“Steal? I don’t steal from folks.”

“Then how did it come to be in your possession? It sure as hell isn’t yours.”

Double drat
. She chose the only sensible option. “I found it.”

“Where?”

“Outside my hotel. I was just walking along, and there it was. Thought it might come in handy.” His lips thinned, and she added an off-hand, “For lighting fires and such. With the paper.”

“Did you read it?”

“Me? Read?” She gave an unladylike sniff and eyeballed Lawrence. “You know I can’t read a lick.”

The toad nodded. “She’s right. Fannie bemoaned her inability to read and write. Said she made the worst lady’s maid she’d ever employed.”

Ain’t that a shame
. For once, her poor reading skills were a cause for rejoicing.

Beale frowned, then burrowed back into the ledger. A few pages later, he snapped the book shut and wagged it under her nose. “If you found this as you claim, how do you explain the notations about you and Corporal Carleton?”

She shrugged, feigning an indifference she was far from feeling. “I have no idea why anyone would want to write about us.”

“How do you know Porter?”

Porter?
How did he know the journal was Jack’s? Her stomach did a nasty summersault. Unless he’d already found Jack out. That would explain why he hadn’t been with the other newspapermen. Her love was in danger - terrible danger.

She shook her head, praying the major couldn’t see the fear and pretense that must surely be showing on her face. “Never heard of anyone named Porter.”

Beale slammed the ledger onto the table, then pushed Lawrence aside and took hold of her arm, his grip steely as the pair of slave manacles she and Lance had once tinkered with. “Don’t play games, Miss Carleton. We want to know what you’re doing with Porter’s journal. Is that why you snuck in here? To help with Porter’s scheme?”

She held his stare, refusing to be cowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If you’re trying to protect him, you’re wasting your breath.”

Alarm shot through her, and she couldn’t stop from stiffening.

Beale smiled. “Ah, so you do know him.”

“He’ll be taken care of,” Lawrence cut in with a sneer. “Along with that murdering brother of yours.”

Will be.
They weren’t dead—yet. “You can’t just kill them. There are laws.”

“Not inside this prison, there aren’t, Missy.”

She ignored Lawrence and gave Beale a pointed look. He was the bigger toad in the puddle. “You could probably get away with killing Lance. But how will you explain Porter’s death? People are sure to miss a well-known newspaperman.”

He shrugged. “Accidents happen all the time. A stray bullet meant for a disorderly prisoner. Sharp objects where they shouldn’t be...”

“A runaway carriage, perhaps?”

He looked confused for a second, then shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re babbling about.”

Of course he didn’t. Papa’s death was as piddling to him as swatting a fly.

“It doesn’t matter what she’s babbling about.” Lawrence leaned over her, trying to look all scary and mean and not succeeding. “Justice will be served. Justice for
everyone
.”

It was time to play out her hand, before blood played out of her. She spit out a mocking laugh. “Doing away with me won’t solve your problems. It’ll only make them worse.”

Beale’s grip tightened on her arm. “Why is that?”

“I have what you might call
insurance.
A letter to be delivered to Senator Morgan if I don’t return this evening.” She let that sink in before continuing. “I don’t think the good senator will cotton to people embezzling government money.” She rather liked using high-falutin words. But the twin expressions of terror on the two men’s faces were much more enjoyable.

Beale recovered first and eyed her with snake-like coldness. “You’re lying.”

“You want to take that chance? If I were you,” she said. “And thank God I’m not, I’d make sure Corporal Carleton and Jack Porter remain alive and well. Stealing money is one thing, murder quite another altogether.”

Lawrence snorted. “It’s too late for that.”

Too late
.
Wilson
.
The pit. There’ll be two of them
. The loves of her life were about to be executed. She rammed steel into her backbone. Not while she drew a breath.

She bent and clamped her teeth around Beale’s fingers, biting for all she was worth. He howled and released her. She snatched up the journal and sprinted for the door.

“Dammit, get her,” Beale yelled.

Footfalls pounded behind her. She raced through the open doorway and into the bright sunlight, not daring to stop and wait for her vision to adjust. On the other side of the yard, she could just make out a clump of suits—grays and browns. No blues.

She angled toward them, praying her hunch was right. “Senator,” she called out. “Senator Morgan!”

The well-dressed gentleman she’d seen earlier turned to face her. He was still here. Thank God. She waved the journal in the air. “I have something I think you should see.”

****

As the darkness ebbed, pain surged. Hot and red. Stabbing into his skull like a poker. The smell of old sweat, stale urine, and excrement swirled together in a gut-churning stew. Jack groaned and rubbed at his throbbing temple.

“Landed a good one, did they?”

He opened his eye. Enough sunlight dribbled through the cracks in the plank walls to illuminate the man sitting across from him, back against the wall, one knee drawn to his chest. Like all the other the prisoners he’d met, a tattered Reb uniform barely covered his thin frame. His hair and beard were matted with dirt and grime. What looked like blood crusted one corner of his mouth. He’d recently met the blunt end of something hard.

Jack rolled upright. The room spun for a moment, then settled into place.

“You’ve been out of it since I was thrown in here with you,” the soldier said.

He worked his jaw back and forth, making sure the damn thing still functioned. “Ought to be a law against fists like that.”

“Probably Sergeant Wilson.”

“Didn’t catch his name. Big barrel-chested brute.”

“Yep, that’s him.” The Reb’s voice crawled with contempt. “Plenty of prisoners’d like to greet that one with the business end of a shotgun.”

“Sounds like you might be one of them.”

“That’s one mean, toad-eating cuss. Likes to make his ward trot to and from the cookhouse. Ever try to run on weedy legs, toting a hot tin of soup?” He shook his head. “Those who can’t keep up or fall are treated to a boot to the backside.”

“Guess it wouldn’t do any good to complain.”

“Are you kiddin’? Protesting only eggs him on. Better to keep quiet than risk an uglier thrashing.” He reached up and tapped the bridge of his nose. “Ladies back home won’t cotton to a man with a lopsided face and a gaping smile.”

He knew all about the fussiness of ladies. Lucky for him, he found a rare jewel. And he intended to return to her—in one piece. He levered to his feet. Fireworks exploded behind his eye, and the floor shifted beneath him like a pile of sand. He put out a hand to brace against the dizziness and grasped at empty air.

“Give yourself a minute. Jus’ hold still and take a deep breath.”

Open-mouthed, he inhaled, tasting the dust and mold and heaven knew what else. The cell slowly stopped wobbling around him, and he shuffled to the door. With both hands pressed against the rough wood, he gave a push. Damn thing didn’t budge. Pulling didn’t work either. He hadn’t really thought it would, but he had to try.

The other man gave a long stretch and relaxed back into the dirt. “You’re wasting your time, friend.”

He shook his head. “Can’t...can’t just...” Methodically he moved around the perimeter, digging in his fingers wherever he found a crack wide enough between the planks. Foot planted against the wall he jiggled and pulled.

“Like I said, you’re wasting time and energy,” his cellmate drawled. “’Course, we got plenty of time. There’s no escaping from the Hellmira pit.”

“Fitting name for it.” With no windows and the door shut tighter than a virgin’s thighs, the six-by-six, woodshed of a cell sweltered like Satan’s caldron.

“Might as well make yourself comfortable. You aren’t going anywhere until they come for you.”

His ears rang with a high-pitched buzz. It was a whole different kettle of fish
being
a prisoner rather than observing them. The loss of freedom. The knowing that someone has complete control over you—to hurt or slaughter as they saw fit.

Beale had been waiting at the main gate to escort him to Senator Morgan. They never made it to the congressman. A trip between two buildings had resulted in a cracked skull and a search of his person for the stolen requisition.

From what conversation he could piece together through the pained fog in his head, Beale had discovered the document missing from his desk and put two and two together. He had no doubt the major or one of his henchmen would come to finish what they’d started. For now, as his cellmate had so succinctly put it, there wasn’t anything he could do but wait.

“You’re that newspaperman, aren’t you? From yesterday. You were questioning some of the prisoners.”

He lowered himself onto the lumpy dirt and extended a hand. “Yes, that was me. Jackson Porter, with
The New York Herald
.”

Something furry darted across the floor and disappeared into a corner. The Reb banged a fist against the wall, sending dust drizzling down from the ceiling. “Damn varmints.” He gave the wall another whack. “Hate those filthy things. Creeping around, gnawing on your fingers and toes while you’re sleeping. Some fellas eat ’em. Not me. I’d rather starve.”

A spasm swept through him. Waking from nightmares with the tremors was bad enough. He couldn’t imagine waking to something chewing on his flesh.

The Reb scooted closer, hand outstretched. “Sorry ’bout that. Corporal Lance Carleton, twenty-forth Virginia.”

Gripes, either
The Man
upstairs had a sense of humor, or this was intentional. His gut screamed it was the latter. He grasped Carleton’s hand in a firm handshake. “Good to meet you, Corporal.”

“So, what’d you do to earn a stint in this hell-hole?”

“Guess I poked at a hornet’s nest.”

“Not a healthy thing to do.”

“No, but it had to be done.” Had to be done for the two things he treasured most in life.

“For your newspaper job?”

“That’s one reason.” He brushed at the dirt soiling his trousers. Thank God the Provost knew nothing about Kitty’s involvement. She’d go mad as a March hare if they confined her in a crypt like this.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in them pants if you keep going at ’em like that.”

He stilled his brushing. Observant little cuss, this one.

“Only one thing can worry at a man like that,” Carleton added. “Sweetheart or a wife?”

Shrewd, too. “Wife, if I manage to get out of this rat-hole and into a chapel.”

“Good luck with that.” Lance stretched out his bent leg, then grimaced and rubbed his knee.

“New injury or old?”

“Old. Mini-ball skipped off it at Gettysburg. Ain’t never had anything hurt so bad.” His scowl flipped into a grin. “But then having a bevy of pretty nurses to look after me in the Fredericksburg hospital helped.”

Thoughts surfaced of Kitty holding his hand in the steamer cabin, helping to push back the nightmares. “Nothing like a beautiful lady to take your mind off your troubles.”

“Your gal waiting for you back home?”

Don’t I wish
. “No. She came with me to Elmira. Well, more like I came with her. No force on earth could stop her from finding her brother. Her tenacity is one of the things I love most about her.” Time to let the corporal in on his secret. “That and her flaming red hair. Got a temper to match it, too.”

Green eyes narrowed. “What the hell? You aren’t talking about my Lou are ya?”