Circle of Spies (13 page)

“Will you teach her signs?” She asked it matter-of-factly, as if that were the obvious and immediate answer.

Something inside unknotted. “I would, but I don't remember much. Your granddad said he could get me a book on that version they came up with at the school in Connecticut. But…”

She grinned. It was the first he had seen her grin in so many years, he nearly stumbled backward. “You and a book? Walker Payne, are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes?”

“I know.” He smiled too. He couldn't help it. “Makes me wish I hadn't always asked Stephen to summarize them. I'm afraid I'll mess it up. And Cora, she can't…”

Marietta went still. Just watching them, him and Elsie, watching and waiting. As though she didn't know exactly what he was getting at. Then she swallowed. “What are you asking?”

He repositioned Elsie in his arms. “I need your help, Yetta, in making a life for my little girl. Cora didn't want to ask you, but I don't know another way. It would take me hours to learn what you could in a second.” He paused, watching her face. Looking for signs of capitulation, of softening, of some warm feeling. All he could see was the same pretty mask she'd been wearing since she caught him saddling up one
of her daddy's horses six years before, ready to take off and never look back. “Please.”

She stood like a statue so long he feared she'd turned into one. She would refuse. Make her excuses. Claim, reasonably, that with all Mr. Lane had just pushed upon her, she didn't have the wherewithal to handle anything else. Especially an “else” that wasn't her problem, wasn't her responsibility, had nothing to do with her.

Then she turned her gaze toward Elsie, smiled that sun-bright smile of hers, and made a few quick motions. Pointed at the girl, waved a hand in front of her face. “You're a beautiful girl, Elsie. We're going to make this your name.” She curled her fingertips down, thumb in. “This is an
E
.
E
for Elsie.” Then she went around her face again, in the sign he now remembered meant
beautiful
. “Elsie.” She pointed at the girl, repeated the sign, and said her name again.

Elsie hooked a finger in her mouth and smiled around it.

Walker's throat felt so dry, he wondered if he'd ever be able to swallow again. “You'll help?”

“I already have the book. I only flipped through the first few pages to see how similar it was to my family's signs, but I'll get it out. We can…we'll have to find a time when you and Cora can both join me. It will hardly do any good if you don't all know it.”

Somehow he didn't think Cora would be too fond of that plan. But it was for their girl. She would put her dislike aside for Elsie. “I doubt evenings would work, then. You usually have…company. Maybe afternoons?”

“Maybe. Probably. I—”

A throat cleared, cutting her off. They both spun to the door. For a second he was sure it would be Hughes, but the silhouette that stood against the sunshine wasn't built quite right. He was too rangy, and stood with too much patience. Must be the newcomer.

Walker didn't know if that was better or worse.

Slade let his eyes adjust to the dim light, not sure how to interpret
what he knew he'd see. He'd recognized Marietta's voice. And it wasn't, he supposed, odd to find her in her own stable. Maybe she liked to ride. Maybe she was making changes to the way things were run. Maybe that was why she was setting up a daily tryst with a servant.

Maybe.

But when another blink helped his vision focus, his gut twitched. The man standing in the empty stall had features that bespoke Negro blood. His skin, however, was no darker than Slade's after a few weeks out of doors in the summer, his eyes a strange blue-gray.

And the little girl in his arms was as blond as…well, as the elder Mrs. Hughes.

Some story waited here, he had no doubt. The only question was whether it had any bearing on his business. For now, he saw no reason to pry. Especially since a Negro woman bustled in from the rear door, full of energy and exclamation.

“Lands, but it's cold out there today! I—” She halted when she looked up from her shawl, her gaze darting from the lady to him. “Mari.”

Marietta's smile looked tight. “Morning, Freeda.”

The man cleared his throat. “Mama.” When the child in his arms wriggled and clapped, he held her out to the woman.

She gathered the little one close, smiling. “There's my precious. Grammy has a treat for you.” When she moved her gaze to Marietta, her expression remained indulgent. “You might want one too. Gingersnaps. Your mama and I just pulled them from the oven. That's why I'm late.”

Slade blinked again and let the pieces slide into place. He'd done a bit of asking about the Arnauds, so it only took a moment to place this woman as Freeda Payne, a free black who had been working for Julie Lane Arnaud since…always. As her aging parents still did for Thaddeus Lane. Her father, Henry Payne, was apparently one of the most renowned pilots Baltimore had ever seen.

Gossip had mentioned that she'd never married despite having a son, but it had failed to inform him that the son in question worked here. He'd be free because she was. This man before him might be an ally-in-waiting. Or he might be something else entirely.

The mistress of the house chuckled but made no other response about the cookies. She instead turned to Slade. “Did you need assistance, Mr. Osborne?”

How cool she sounded. All polite inquiry, not so much as a residual gleam of unease in her eyes over being interrupted with her stable hand. Maybe that meant it had been innocent.

Maybe.

He pulled out as much of a smile as he figured the situation warranted, which was about half. “I was hoping I might borrow a mount. Hughes said he doesn't have riding stock, but you do.”

“Hmm. Walker can help you with that.” She sashayed his way while Freeda bustled toward the opposite door with the girl.

Slade forced his gaze from his hostess and fastened it on the man, who regarded him as though he were a predator on the prowl. “I would appreciate it.”

Walker nodded but made no move to fetch a horse. Slade knew when he was being assessed. He held his ground as he held the man's gaze…at least until Marietta's skirt swished within a few inches of him. He figured then it was only natural to take her in. Perhaps most men would have moved out of her way, but she could get by. The doors were wide. “You're looking well this morning, Mrs. Hughes.”

He suspected she'd practiced that smile in the mirror to find the perfect balance of saucy and demure. “Thank you, Mr. Osborne. I put another book beside your chair in the library.” She swept her lashes down and then back up. Artistic flirtation that barely covered challenge. “Surely if you enjoy Wesley, you will equally enjoy Jonathan Edwards.”

The other half of the smile threatened to stake its claim on his lips. “One of my father's favorites. Especially ‘Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.' Care to recite it for me?”

“Don't think I couldn't.” She swept past him before he could tell whether she smiled as she said it.

His smirk faded when he faced forward again and slammed into a warning glare from Walker.

The man strode past Slade and yanked a saddle from its shelf on the wall. “Don't.”

“Pardon?”

“Don't look at her like that.”

Interesting. Slade trailed behind him as he fumed down the center aisle. “Like what?”

“You know very well like what. Like every other man, like the Hughes brothers. You don't wanna be like them.”

Slade's gait hitched but then evened out. “What does it matter to you?”

Walker slung the saddle over a stall door and shot Slade another glare. “I promised her brother I would look after her. Keep her out of trouble.”

The snort of cynical laughter escaped before Slade could bottle it. “You haven't done the best job of that, have you?”

He regretted the jab when Walker spun on him, not stopping until they were toe to toe. No doubt with his fingers curled into a fist, though Slade wasn't about to look down to see. He just waited. One tick, two.

Walker snarled. “You ever try talking sense into a woman like her?”

“Yep. Never worked.”

Just like that, amusement took the place of anger, and Walker backed off with a soft laugh. “Then you know. Ain't no keeping her out of trouble. Best I can do is make sure she survives it.”

Something about the way he said it indicated he understood the danger that was synonymous with Hughes. And if Walker hated it as much as Slade did, maybe he could be trusted. He cast a glance over his shoulder, sent a prayer winging heavenward.
Do I dare, Lord God? And how much?

Peace filtered in through the crevices of the wall inside him, slow and seeping like a midnight fog. Cooling the embers of frustration. He let it soothe as he drew in a breath. “I'm not like them.”

Walker opened the stall and rubbed the horse's nose. “You're trying not to be, anyway. I can appreciate that. But you wear your past like an ill-fitting coat, mister.”

He didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered. “You ever try to change who you are?”

“Sure did.” Peace rang in the words. And a far sight more of it than Slade could boast.

“How did you manage it?”

Walker chuckled and went about saddling the mare. “It helped that my best friend was all but a saint.”

“Stephen Arnaud?” He seemed to run into the man's name everywhere he turned.

“That's right. You got someone like that?”

His father's face filled his vision. So many years he had run from
him, from the expectation he thought came with his affection. He hadn't realized how exactly he fulfilled the story of the prodigal son until he'd woken up in a gutter one morning and realized what he'd become. Until he tossed his old ways aside and came home. Until his father embraced him.

Until he saw the resentment burning in Ross's eyes when he did.

He cleared the memory from his throat. “Yeah. I have someone like that. Just nowhere nearby.”

“Hmm.” Walker put the saddle on over the blanket and reached under the horse for the billet strap. “I guess it's a good thing the Lord ain't just where that somebody is, then.”

“Guess so.” What a strange conversation to be having in Marietta Hughes's stable. With Devereaux Hughes even now inside with his mother, knowing well the KGC castle was all but under his feet. “Guess so.”

Walker cinched tight the loop. “Do what you gotta do and get outta here. You need help with something, come to me. But keep away from Marietta, and don't let Devereaux catch you looking at her like she's a lamb to your wolf.”

Slade's every muscle turned to stone. It was one thing to wonder if he could trust, could share a morsel here and there, and quite another to have some random man in his enemy's stable all but shout that he knew Slade's business.

And Marietta Hughes was no lamb.

He said nothing.

Walker finished his task and handed him the reins. Met and held his gaze. “Are we clear?”

Slade took the straps of leather. That made four men now who had warned him away from her. For different reasons, but the same point.

She was trouble. A smart man would never so much as glance at her out of turn.

He jerked a nod and led the horse out of her stall. And he wished he were a little smarter than he knew himself to be.

Eight

D
evereaux read the invitation through twice. Nothing out of the ordinary, a small dinner party among old friends. He knew what he found interesting—that it had been addressed to Mrs. Lucien Hughes and Mr. Devereaux Hughes, together.

But he wasn't entirely certain what had garnered Marietta's attention. He looked up as he handed it back. “Why would you not accept, darling?”

Marietta stiffened, as she did every time he used an endearment in the presence of anyone but Mother. She darted a glance to the other end of the room, but Osborne still sat with a book of sermons and a scowl, as he had most evenings for the week he had been with them. Why he read the things if they bothered him so, Devereaux couldn't say.