Circle of Spies (10 page)

Mama chatted on about the aid meeting yesterday, about the next one planned, about how sorry Daddy had been to miss her visit. Words, nothing but words.

“Marietta, sweetheart, are you feeling ill? You seem so distracted.”

“I'm sorry, Mama. I suppose I'm still a bit tired.” She dredged up a smile. “How long is Daddy here, do you know?”

“Just until tomorrow. More tea?”

She shook her head and cast her gaze out the window. If her father weren't due back any minute, she would make her excuses and go home. Curl up on her bed and try to forget. If only she could pull a blanket over her mind. Obscure the past for just a moment.

“It's good to see you out of second mourning already.” Her mother sipped and then lowered her cup. A dance of graceful movements. Yet her delicate brows were drawn. “Though I do hope you'll not rush into another marriage. I know you are…fond…of Dev, but—”

“You needn't worry about that. I think I…” Her mother's gaze pierced. Too intent, too interested. Marietta set her saucer upon the table and toyed with the edge of the linen napkin. “I should have listened to you. I never should have had anything to do with Lucien.”

Mama chuckled and selected a piece of cake. As if all was right with the world. As if they hadn't had fifty-seven different arguments about Lucien Hughes before she married him. “You were in love. Reason had no effect on you.”

“No, I wasn't.” She had wanted to believe she was…but then, why hadn't she ever been able to say the words to him? Part of her had known all along she wasn't. “Was it just his money? His looks? Why was I so convinced I had to marry him?”

Her mother scooted her chair closer to Marietta's, concern etching lines into her face. “Has something happened?”

She shrugged. “I never really mourned him, and now…now, when I decided to try, I wonder why I made the decisions I did. Decisions that sealed my future. And now with Dev…”

“You've no obligation to marry him, much as he may wish it.” Her mother's fingers, familiar and warm, brushed away a curl from Marietta's temple. “Do you want to come home? We can have your room ready in minutes. I would love it if you would. We could keep each other company. Worry for your father and uncles together.”

For the first time, that oft-repeated suggestion sounded tempting. If she didn't have to face Dev every day, perhaps her heart would stop twisting. Perhaps the disgust and the echo of desire would stop waging war. She could break free. Start again as someone else, anyone else.

Except she couldn't. She had promised Granddad she would help. And she owed it to him, to Stephen's memory, to her whole family. Who knew what damage had been done through her, the Hugheses using her connections against the Union? All because of her choices.

Now, it seemed, she would pay for them. “Perhaps I will soon.” How long could Mr. Osborne possibly continue his charade? He would find whatever he needed, and he would make his escape. Then she could leave too.

As if distance would change anything. Dev still expected to marry her. And with the house and its secrets at stake, no doubt he wouldn't accept no for an answer. Especially given the fact that months ago she had agreed to his whispered proposal. Perhaps she had drawn away a degree yesterday morning, before she discovered the truth. But it wouldn't have been enough to mean a break. Not if Granddad hadn't put the chisel into that crack and slammed it wider.

“I do hope so. I know you are loath to leave Lucille alone, but Dev can care for her, and she has her servants. She would be fine.”

Did Mother Hughes have any idea in what her sons were involved? Marietta smoothed the napkin flat again and let the images run through her mind. None gave her decisive answers. She had always defended her mother-in-law's loyalties, but really, why would the woman be loyal to anything
but
the society she had been born and raised a part of? All the rest of the Fortiers were fighting for the Confederacy.

“Mari!”

Her father's voice brought her head up and a smile to her lips. She stood and rushed to meet him. “Daddy! I've missed you.”

His arms closed around her as he chuckled. “And I you. How has my little girl been?”

“Well enough.” She pulled back to take his measure. He was thinner than when last she saw him, with new lines around his mouth. But still he was the same Jack Arnaud she had always equated with solidity. “When will this war be over so you can come home?”

Weariness saturated his exhale. “Soon, I think. I hope. Though
we were only putting in for supplies and repairs, and then back out we must go to our place in the blockade. Sorry I missed you yesterday.”

“I would have stayed longer, but we had that aid meeting—”

“I understand.” He clasped her shoulders before planting a resounding kiss on her forehead. “But you will join us for dinner this evening, won't you?”

“Of course.” It would give her an excuse to miss sharing a meal with Dev and Mr. Osborne.

“Good.” He looked past her, to Mama, and his smile shifted as it always did when he saw his wife.

As she had thought Lucien's did for her. Thought Dev's did too. But it wasn't quite the same, was it? Daddy's had something more…and something less. Crucial somethings.

“I need to go see your father for a few minutes, Lenna. Would you care for a walk?” Daddy was the only one to ever call her that. Most everyone else called her Julie, except for Grandmama, who called her Julienne. But when Marietta heard her talking to herself, Daddy's nickname was the name she chose.
Come now, Lenna
, she would say.
Where did you put it?

Evidence of the kind of love they shared. That even in that, they identified.

Mama smiled but made no move to rise. “I shall stay inside where it's warm, but perhaps Marietta would enjoy the exercise.”

“I would indeed.” More, she hoped she might get her grandfather alone for a few minutes, so she could ask him if he knew how long Slade Osborne would be invading her world.

“Well, so long as I have at least
one
beautiful girl to accompany me.” He winked and went over to his wife, no doubt to exchange a kiss or quiet word. Marietta smiled as she stepped out in search of her cape and bonnet.

A few minutes later, she and her father were out in the crisp air, her hand secure in the crook of his elbow. Neither spoke until they reached the corner, at which point he looked down at her with somber eyes.

“Your granddad said he paid you a visit yesterday. A rather startling one.”

She sucked in a breath. “He told you?”

“I should think so. I am as much involved in the family trade as he is himself, and as my father.”

Granddad had said as much yesterday morning, but those words had been lost amidst the others. Now they reemerged. Her father, her uncles, who were spread all about the country now, Hez, and even Grandpapa Alain. “It is so difficult to believe we even have such a thing as the Culpers.”

He hummed and led her around the corner, heading for the house Thaddeus Lane had called home for more than fifty years. “I'm sorry we had to involve you. We wanted to avoid it if we could. But given the Hugheses's affiliations…”

Her hand tightened around his arm. “Did you know, Daddy? Before I married him?”

He patted her fingers. “Thad found it out the day of your wedding. A bit late to step in. Especially,” he added, grinning down at her, “given your stubborn refusal to listen to any of our concerns.”

“I'm so sorry. For so much.” So much he didn't even know about.

“As are we. We have been trying these four years to put a stop to the war, and to the so-called ‘fifth column,' without your needing to know. But the times are dire, Mari.”

“I know.” They had been dire for years. And while much of the reality of war had become routine, some parts never did.

Like the casualty report that said
Stephen Arnaud
.

“Still, we'll not ask much of you. Just distract Dev when you can. That ought to suffice. Let this young man poke about wherever he might need to. If you call to mind something that might be useful for him, perhaps leave it where he can find it.”

An exasperated breath eked past her lips. “But he is not one of…of us.”
Us
. “How is it you trust him to handle this?”

“We will make sure he does what he ought with the information. But we must be certain to otherwise stay out of sight. The last thing the Culpers need is the attention of either the KGC or Pinkerton's detectives. We operate successfully because we operate anonymously. Even the president does not know we exist. None has since Washington himself.”

A chill swept up her spine. From the wind or the talk? “What if I hear something or find something? Do I tell Granddad? Mr. Osborne?”

He glanced around the street. Few pedestrians were out, though carriages rumbled by now and then. “Your granddad can advise you on whatever you find. If it is something he feels Osborne should know about, he will direct you on how to get it into his hands. And while we are there today, we will…” He paused, drew in a deep breath, and pulled her closer. “There is a code and vials of invisible ink. If ever you need to get a written message to him, you must use those.”

Codes, invisible ink, spies, secret societies. They belonged in the pages of a Gothic novel, not in her life. “Did Stephen know?”

He made no hesitation as he shook his head. “Nor did Walker until Stephen sent him to your house. Knowing what we did by that time, we thought it wise to educate him. Mari.” He paused, thereby making her pause with him, and looked down into her eyes. “You mustn't seek anything out. You mustn't put yourself in undue danger. We've already lost Stephen.”

“I will be safe.” Even if Dev somehow found out, he wouldn't harm her. She didn't think so, anyway. He wasn't a violent man.

But he would be hurt when she broke things off, not to mention if he found out she was aiding someone against him. Would he feel the same heartbreak that held her immobile on the floor last night? The same suffocating weight of the one you thought you loved proving to be someone else entirely?

Part of her hoped he would. He deserved to hurt, deserved to learn what it felt like to be lied to. Deserved to be told he was the most important thing and then find it wasn't so.

That is the beauty of grace
. Stephen's words, spoken so many long years ago, echoed. He'd been reclining on their parents' couch, his Bible on his lap. Gray trousers, crisp white shirt, his frock coat long abandoned. She could still see the wave of his dark hair, just like Daddy's, the gleam of his warm brown eyes, and ink stains on his left middle finger.
We all deserve punishment, but He gives us instead forgiveness. Redemption
.

She hadn't wanted redemption. She knew too well what it meant. If the Lord redeemed her, He would pay for her, buy her, and she would be His. A slave to Him, bound to do His will above her own. And she had liked her own far better.

Today redemption sounded very different. Today she didn't much
like where her will had taken her. Today she had slaves under her roof when she'd been taught all her life slavery was a vile practice.

Who was she? Yetta, the girl without a lifetime of memories to plague her? Mari, the young lady who could charm any man she set her sights on? Marietta, the rich widow who had too many ghosts rattling around in her head?

I don't want to be any of those anymore, Lord. Maybe…maybe it's time to see who You would make me. Redeem me, Father. Purchase me from this life of which I've made such a mess. Make me someone new.

“I've lost you.” Daddy's smile had a sad note as he led her onward. “To the past?”

“Is there anything
but
the past?” She matched her step to his so she could lean over and, just for a moment, touch her head to his shoulder.

“There is. There is a whole future ahead of us. One that can be as bright as we're willing to make it.”

Or as dark as they let it be.

Six

S
lade stepped on stocking feet into the hallway and paused, listening. From below came distant kitchen noises, and a muted humming sounded from down the hall. He hadn't the time to waste trying to pinpoint it. He had already been trapped here half an hour talking to a reminiscing servant. Satisfied no one was about, he headed down the stairs.

Five days in Baltimore already, and this was the first time he had been left alone in Devereaux Hughes's house. Every other day he had been expected to go to the rail office and play the part of detective out to ensure the security of the rails.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been a fine job. But it was a cover story on top of a cover story, and it had kept him from what he was really here to do.

The evenings had been spent across the street. The elder Mrs. Hughes had made it downstairs for dinner twice now, apparently the first time in months, and a big to-do had been made over her. Slade had barely managed to be polite, knowing as he did that she was the one who had raised her sons to be snakes.