The Lady and the Officer (35 page)

Elliott followed her into the lavish room. “Are you referring to
worms
, madam?”

“I am, but I'm so pleased to taste fresh berries again that I didn't ask too many questions. Please be seated, sir.”

“Colonel Haywood, what a pleasure. Is Major Penrod with you?” Eugenia asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“I'm afraid not, Miss Duncan. I'm on my way to Fredericksburg on errands, but I allowed myself a short wayside stop.”

She made a noble effort to hide her disappointment. “Joseph has been keeping such long hours. I barely see the man anymore. I can't wait for this dreadful war to be over. I know he wants to propose, but won't until our victory is in sight.”

“If it's the major's desire for his intentions to remain private, then I suggest you not speak on the matter,” Mrs. Duncan said softly to her daughter.

“My lips are sealed, ladies. And I agree with you, Miss Duncan. I long for a cessation of hostilities for more reasons than I can count.” Elliott leaned back as Kathleen set a plate before him. Despite the absence of any type of meat, the food looked delicious.

“Coffee, Colonel?” Mrs. Duncan asked.

“I would love a cup.” Elliott gazed around the room as though counting the occupants. “I see Mrs. Howard has not come downstairs. I hope she hasn't fallen ill.”

“I had a feeling there was method to your madness, Colonel.” Laughing from deep in her belly, Mrs. Duncan passed him the coffee carafe. “Madeline sent word with Kathleen that she hadn't slept well and thus would skip our morning meal. However, I feel her presence is an absolute necessity. She has remained cloistered in her room long enough, always reading or sewing.”

“Attending church with me has been her sole outings since the ball?”

“Yes, other than shopping with our butler yesterday. Eugenia, please ask Madeline to join us. Tell her I request her appearance and mention nothing about our guest.”

The young woman sprang from her chair. “Mama, it would be my pleasure.”

Elliott nodded his gratitude. “I would have thought negative sentiments would have ended by now, but no matter. I have news that should lift her spirits.” He patted the pocket of his frock coat.

“Splendid. And do encourage her to eat. I fear she worries about the servants' meals unnecessarily. I assure you, I make sure Micah and Esther never go hungry.”

Elliott noticed an omission of Kathleen's name as one of Mrs. Duncan's concerns. During the time it took Mrs. Howard to arrive, he finished his plate of grits even though he ate at a snail's pace.

When she walked into the dining room in a frumpy frock and her hair plaited down her back, her expression was incredulous. “Colonel Haywood, what are you doing here on a Thursday?” Her mouth dropped wide enough to reveal a lower row of perfect teeth.

“I'm well aware of the day, madam. Mrs. Duncan graciously invited me to breakfast before my trip south.”

The niece and aunt exchanged a speaking glance. “How thoughtful of her. Welcome,” she added, as an afterthought.

“Sit and eat, Madeline. I'm already finished, and I require Eugenia's opinion in the garden on a botanical matter.”

The young woman peered up from her grits and mashed berries. “Of course, Mama. I'll finish this on the terrace.” She carried her bowl outdoors through the double doors, something cultured people seldom did.

Mrs. Howard filled her cup with coffee. “You have apparently cleared the room, Colonel. I trust that was your objective.”

“It was, because I preferred privacy while showing you this.” He extracted a folded newspaper from his coat and passed it across the table. “Your aunt probably hasn't seen the
Richmond Times Dispatch
yet. I wished you to be made aware first.” He watched her visibly blanch at the mention of the newspaper's name.

“Is it another vindictive editorial from that loathsome reporter?” Her fingers trembled as she brought her cup to her lips.

“No. I will demand that man choose his second if he ever prints such scandalous editorials again. This article is on the newly resurrected society pages of the
Times.
”

“Society news? How can people be concerned with debutant parties
and recent betrothals in the midst of a war?” She clucked her tongue. “The roster of names of those succumbing to illness in the hospital is still a page long. Celebrations seem tasteless.”

“I agree with you, Mrs. Howard, but under the current circumstances I thought a bit of publicity might help your reputation in town.”

Her spoon clattered in the bowl. “What on earth are you talking about?” She grabbed the paper that had remained where he dropped it. Her gaze flickered between him and the several pages of articles she scanned.

Elliott kept his features composed and benign.

When her focus finally locked on the intended target, her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white. “ ‘Miss Henrietta's Around Town Happenings'? It that what you're referring to?”

“It is. Please continue. I love hearing the sound of your voice, even if you're merely reading local gossip.”

At first she didn't oblige him as she scanned the column, her lips moving as she read the fodder. Then with a gasp, she began to read aloud. “Certain couples photographed last month at the luxurious home of General and Mrs. Rhodes continue to be seen around town now that spring has arrived in our beloved city. Last month the renowned photographer Alexei Gardenier from New York provided honored guests with tintype mementos of the lavish affair. Many long-wedded spouses, the recently betrothed, and a few new couples were captured forever at this special moment in history.” She lifted her chin and scowled.

“Go on,” he encouraged. “It gets even better.”

“Miss Eugenia Duncan and Major Joseph Penrod, Miss Justine Emerson and Colonel William Grayson, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Forsythe of Five Forks… ” Her voice trailed off as she skimmed over several unfamiliar names. “At least thirty couples waited in an hour-long queue to be photographed. Mrs. Madeline Howard, formerly of Pennsylvania and now a resident of Richmond, stood proudly with the illustrious commander of the home guard, Colonel Elliott Haywood. This particular columnist hopes to see more of Mrs. Howard at St. Paul's charity functions and St. Patrick's sewing guild. Doesn't everyone deserve a fresh start?”

The newspaper slipped from Mrs. Howard's fingers. “I can't believe
she printed such nonsense. I can count the homes that receive me on one hand! Why would this… ” she hunted for the byline, “Henrietta Wyatt invent such a story? I don't believe I've ever met the woman.”

“You haven't, and to answer your question—money.” Elliott leaned forward in his chair. “Just about anything and everyone can be purchased in Richmond these days.”

“You
paid
her to print a complete fabrication? Why would you do such a thing, Colonel Haywood?”

“I hope it wasn't a total fabrication. You danced with me half a dozen times and made polite social conversation for the entire time we waited for Mr. Gardenier.” Elliott contorted his face to feign confusion. “Is it the ‘illustrious' description you object to? I swear I had nothing to do with her grandiose adjectives.”

She exhaled in exasperation. “No, Colonel. You know very well that what I object to is her insinuation we are courting. Tell me why you paid for this… news.”

“Because I'm fond of you, Mrs. Howard, whether you like it or not. I don't like you hiding in your room except on Sundays. Even in church, you scurry up the aisle like a mouse and then remain as meek as one. I wish to remove the last vestige of suspicion so you can resume a normal life.”

“I don't scurry.” She crossed her arms. “I have never
scurried
in my life.”

“I stand corrected.” He nodded his acquiescence. “But I also had a hidden motive for paying someone to spread rumors about us.”

“And what would that be?”

“I hope to make the rumors come true. That can't possibly surprise you.”

Madeline pushed up from the table. “From the beginning of our acquaintance, I've been honest with you, Colonel, regarding my affections.”

“Yes, but all that was before the rude turn of events in February. Life is short, Mrs. Howard. Battles will resume within a week or two. I would like to go forth with your smile branded in my memory.” He spoke with a calmness he didn't feel.

“I can't control the images in your head, but I don't plan to remarry or ever let my heart become vulnerable again. Good day to you, sir.”
Madeline stalked out the French doors into the garden without offering him as much as a backward glance.

L
ATE
M
AY
1864

Madeline paced the upstairs hallway like a madwoman. She could neither read nor sew, nor perform any other normal activity that had filled her days of late. She'd heard nothing from Colonel Haywood since that uncomfortable breakfast in the Duncan dining room. He hadn't been happy with her answer, but what did he expect? She couldn't in good faith pledge a fidelity or affection she didn't feel. She had a limit to the number of lies she was willing to tell.

Her life had become a ruse, a sham in which she cloaked activities that didn't feel very Christian to her. She'd heard nothing from James since their parting in February. The colonel had begged her to be practical. Where did practically or even reality lie? For several weeks they had heard gunfire in the distance, but lately the shots sounded frightfully close to their refuge on Forsythia Lane. The war had come to Richmond, bringing a nervous tension to Aunt Clarisa and Eugenia that Madeline had never witnessed before.

Uncle John had ordered the women to remain indoors for the past week—no more sewing guild, afternoon social calls, or even working in the new vegetable garden. Except for church on Sundays when the world remained blissfully quiet, her uncle was the only one to leave the house. Diligently, Uncle John trudged toward the war department soon after sunrise and didn't return home until dark. He insisted Micah not endanger the horse and carriage with the Yankee cavalry just beyond the James River.

“I refuse to surrender my favorite gelding to that devil Sheridan,” he blustered in a fit of temper. “And that carriage belonged to my father.”

But General Philip Sheridan wasn't a devil to Madeline, nor was he the enemy. In her heart she considered the potential restorer of the American states a hero. Here in her uncle and aunt's home, Micah and Esther had
been freed from slavery long ago. They received compensation for their work, albeit a small sum. But elsewhere in the capital of the Confederacy, household servants were still in bondage, including many on Forsythia Lane. Several of Aunt Clarisa's friends refused to give up personal maids as though it were their birthright to be waited on by people of color. Madeline despised their arrogance, selfishness, and lack of compassion for their fellow man. These same women raised their voices in hymns of praise Sunday mornings and yet found nothing wrong with the institution of slavery. Madeline had had enough of their double standards.

She decided to stop her pacing in order to seek out Esther. Perhaps chores would keep her better occupied. Walking down the front staircase, Madeline froze at the sound of an angry voice. She lowered herself to the polished step and strained to hear the conversation taking place in the parlor.

“John, I won't permit you to pack a bag and dash off without telling me what's going on. Something dreadful must have happened if you're home at midday. How could you possibly take a journey with the Yankees practically at our back door?” Aunt Clarisa's cultured, musical voice had grown shrill. “I will throw myself prostrate at your feet and block your path if need be.”

“Dear me, please don't become overly dramatic like our daughter, Clarisa. I don't think my sanity could take it.” Uncle John tried to sound amused but failed.

“I'm quite serious. As your wife I have a right to know what is happening!”

“Sit down, my dear, and stop pacing. I have but little time.” He spoke so softly his words became incomprehensible.

Praying no one would witness her shameful eavesdropping, Madeline crept to the doorway and plastered herself against the wall.