The house loomed before them, lights glimmering in the windows of the first and second stories. The darkened third story contained rooms for the house slaves, Tipper now its only occupant. Seeing the house like this, in the friendly covering of dusk, it was easy to imagine it as it had been only a short time ago—and yet such a long time ago.
Stretching majestically across the deep front porch, white Doric columns set in square bases soared gracefully upward to support the gallery of the second floor. When all the lamps were lit the many rooms had radiated warmth and hospitality and a magnificent beauty, like a jewel nestled in the black velvet of night.
Adding to the dreamlike scene were the dark shapes of the willows and ancient live oaks, the dogwoods, magnolias, and pecan trees. She could almost see the gardens as they had once been, blazing with the scarlet, mauve, and lavender of the azaleas, the jasmine and honeysuckle, the dazzling violet beauty of the wisteria, the thick clumps of crepe myrtles, and the walkways built of triangular bricks.
There’d been a statue too, called “The Greek Slave”, brought from Europe by Logan’s father. It was a naked woman in chains, and after their friends and neighbors had recovered from the shock of her nudity, most of them agreed it was a touching and brilliant work of art. The statue had simply disappeared one night, leaving a deep depression in the earth that could still be seen.
Mallory’s gaze went back to the house and lowered to the vast portico. There were horses tied in front and she could see dark figures standing near the door. For a moment she regretted her appearance, with her gown old and frayed and her hair beginning to straggle about her shoulders. Then she thought, They’re just a bunch of bluecoats and I’m not afraid of them, and I don’t care what they think of me!
They would never find the dead man, and even if they did he would no longer be recognizable. At least she didn’t think so. But his uniform! They should have taken it off and burned it—
She and Tipper passed beneath the oak trees and came near the porch. With a quick look at Mallory, Tipper turned and disappeared around the side of the house.
Logan detached himself from the shadows and came down the steps to take her arm and lead her up to the porch.
“This is Miss Holt,” he said calmly.
“Ma’am.” Two Union soldiers nodded at her. One appeared to be in his twenties and wore sky blue trousers beneath the dark blue of his rumpled short jacket. The man who had spoken was probably thirty-five or so with a sweeping moustache and an impeccable uniform, his black leather belt and black boots highly polished. The younger one carried a rifle, and a bayonet was tucked securely into the scabbard at his side. Both wore black-trimmed blue kepis which they failed to remove. But why should they? Yankees were not gentlemen by nature.
She gave the barest nod in response and looked at Logan. “I was taking a walk. Why did you send for me?”
“These men want to speak to everyone who lives here. They’ll be staying here for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been billeted here, ma’am,” the older man said. “There are no more rooms in town. Our superior officer will be here shortly. We’re also investigating the disappearance of a man who was last seen in this vicinity about five months ago.”
“A man?”
“A soldier.”
“Confederate?”
“A Union soldier,” Logan said. He turned aside and said in a low voice, “Mallory, why don’t you go and change while we wait for the other officer? Corinne and Brooke are preparing rooms.”
She moved quickly into the house, passing through the immense, bare foyer. Once it had glowed with rich colors and an old-world charm. The lower walls had been lined with velvet-covered chairs and benches and above them had hung portraits and paintings in elaborate frames. Those were gone, and the only furnishings were a few small tables and a pedestal bearing a great bronze candelabra, one of the few items in the house that Mallory thought ugly.
The hall opened into a music room and library on the left and a huge double parlor on the right. Close to the opposite end of the foyer, the curving staircase seemed to rise unsupported to the second floor.
Beyond and to the left of the staircase stretched the ballroom, all white and gold—even the floor was of polished white maple. Only the vividness of the deep yellow curtains hanging beneath gold cornices and the gold-plated chandeliers and doorknobs had broken the smooth, pristine whiteness of the walls and ceiling.
Now the curtains, chandeliers, and doorknobs were gone. Now it was a silent room with no sounds of music or swishing gowns and scraping boots, and no voices raised in revelry and laughter. On the other side of the staircase, to Mallory’s right, were the dining room and a long passageway leading to the kitchen.
She hurried up the stairs to the hallway with its long rows of bedrooms. She turned right from the staircase toward her own bedroom at the left end of the hall, went inside, and closed the door. After a moment she sat down on the bed.
Someone had lit a lamp and her eyes moved absently over the room. The furnishings were sparse here as well, for the Yankees had made occasional rounds of all the plantation homes and taken whatever struck their fancy. But the huge four-poster beds remained—it would have taken too much effort to remove them. In this room the heavy dresser and armoire made of cedar also remained, along with a large, ornate mirror.
Mallory waited until her legs no longer felt weak, then rose and went to the armoire. Her few gowns were at least three years old but she selected a clean one and laid it across the bed.
She poured water into the china basin on the dresser from its matching pitcher and washed her face and arms, changed into the fresh lilac colored gown, and took her hair out of its pins. She brushed it and tied a matching ribbon around the crown of her head.
Then she stood looking into the mirror and wondered if she would be able to stop her face from revealing everything when she was questioned about the missing soldier.
She knew she didn’t have the striking beauty of Logan’s sister, Brooke, but it was a face of subtle strength and charm. There were deep indentations in her cheeks when she smiled and she knew from experience that men found them irresistible. A light sprinkling of freckles over her nose usually only showed when she was angry. As a child, the servants had tried to make her stay out of the sun with little success.
I have nothing to hide, she told herself, and practiced a smile in the mirror.
It seemed to have grown very quiet in the house. Everyone must be waiting for her in the parlor. She wished those men hadn’t been billeted here but there was nothing anyone could do about it. She only hoped they wouldn’t admire what was left of the furniture!
Why, everything in the house would soon belong to her! She’d forgotten that—she’d all but forgotten her talk with Logan this afternoon. She would be the mistress of Wakefield House and Corinne would no longer be able to order her about like a servant.
As Mallory started down the stairs she could hear the sound of voices in the parlor. Opposite the staircase Tipper was in the dining room setting glasses on a tray. Mallory walked across the wide hall and entered the front parlor.
Everyone was there, as she had supposed. The two Union soldiers stood in front of the black marble fireplace speaking quietly to a third, who must be their superior officer. His hat lay on a table, and as he listened to his men he slowly removed his leather gauntlets.
The officer was tall with straight, broad shoulders beneath his frock coat, which was the same dark blue as his trousers. She paused in the doorway, struck by something familiar about him.
His dark head began to turn, and she looked into the face of Stuart Wakefield.
Stuart gave a slight bow and said, “Miss Holt.”
“You’ve met before?” Logan said quickly, his dark brows lifting with surprise.
Her early training came to her rescue—she could almost hear the pleasant voice of Miss McKay, her teacher at the school for young ladies: “Poised at all times, my dears, even under strain—shoulders back, place your hand at your midsection, just so—”
Mallory walked stiffly into the room. Brooke said to her brother, “Don’t you remember that year Mallory and I went to Philadelphia? Of course they’ve met!”
“Hello, Mr. Wakefield.” Mallory’s voice was low but controlled. She resisted the impulse to hold out her hand, nor did he extend his. He was the enemy.
“Lieutenant Colonel Wakefield,” Logan said lightly. He opened a box and began passing out cigars to the men in the room. Stuart declined and waited courteously until Mallory had taken a seat on one of the long sofas before resuming the discussion with his aides.
She stared down at her hands folded in her lap, then couldn’t stop herself from looking up again. He was looking at her, but then he turned away. One of the soldiers left the room while the other took a sheaf of papers and a pencil from inside his jacket.
She gradually became aware of the others in the room. Brooke, beautiful with her black hair, slanting black brows and large sapphire eyes, sat with her skirts spread about her on a settee in front of the floor-length window. She always looked as though she were posing for a portrait.
Logan’s stepmother, Corinne, was standing nearby, her hand on the pale green draperies as though for support. She was French, dark, and petite. She now looked as though she smelled something thoroughly disagreeable.
Across from Brooke sat Logan’s aunt and uncle on his mother’s side, Boyce and Henrietta O’Connor, and their son, Henry. The O’Connors had also lost their home and Henry had returned from the war soon after Logan. He was white and gaunt, still recovering from a leg wound.
All the men but Logan had stuck the cigars in their pockets. Logan lit his with slow deliberation. He took it out of his mouth and said coolly, as though there had been no pause, “In fact, we may as well say ‘Colonel,’ may we not? Regimental commander in the colonel’s absence. You’ve done well, Colonel Wakefield. I only made it to captain.”
Stuart’s gaze went to his cousin. “Call me what you like, but Stuart will do.”
“Well, a captain commands a company, isn’t that right?” Brooke widened her eyes. “My Lawrence was a captain too. Don’t belittle yourself, Logan.”
“Tell me, Stuart, what is your official purpose for coming here?”
Stuart reached inside his coat and withdrew a sheet of paper, handing it to Logan. “An independent expedition, I suppose you could say. Here’s a copy of my orders.”
Logan put the cigar back in his mouth, took the paper, and after a glance handed it back to Stuart. Tipper came in with a tray of short glasses filled with whiskey. Again Stuart declined, as did the soldiers, but the other men took them without hesitation.
As soon as Tipper left the room Stuart began speaking in a quiet but firm voice. No one stirred or made a sound. His eyes touched Mallory and moved away.
“I’m not unaware of your feelings, and I regret that you seem to regard me as your enemy. I’m sure we all did what we thought right during this time of…trouble.
“This is Sergeant Munford. The other man is Captain Bell. As I’m sure they explained to you, there are no more rooms available and we were sent here. In fact, I asked to come here. I wanted to see how all of you had fared.”
He glanced at his cousin, who was smoking with narrowed eyes. “Believe it or not, I’m more than pleased to see that you are well, Logan, and that your house still stands.”
Corinne said hotly, “It still stands, monsieur, but we have been robbed!” She flung out a hand. “Do you see the bare walls, where once there were paintings and mirrors? A portrait of my poor husband and his two children—priceless! Half the furniture is gone! Treasures brought from France, from Italy! They even took the naked Greek Slave—”
The young sergeant, who had been staring at Brooke, tore his eyes away from her and looked disconcertedly at Corinne.
“Now, Corinne,” Logan said, “my cousin doesn’t need to be told these things. He is not blind.”
“Again, I regret these circumstances. I assure you that my men will take nothing that does not belong to them. If we hadn’t come here others would have, due to the shortage of housing in the city. And as long as you are all here together, I would like to ask a few questions.”
Mallory’s hands tightened in her lap. She was trying not to stare at him, trying not to compare him with Logan. Both men were tall and both had a certain well-bred and authoritative air—but it was Stuart she had thought about for the last four years. It was Stuart who had danced with her and kissed her hand, setting her pulses throbbing as had never happened with Logan.
But her thoughts of Stuart had been accompanied by a sense of hopelessness, by sadness and regret, because he was a Yankee. The Yankees had taken everything from her—including her younger brother, Westley, who had died at Gettysburg.
Stuart stuck his hands in his pockets and his dark head lifted. “We’re looking for a man who deserted from the Union army. He was last seen by a detachment of soldiers on Wakefield property about five months ago. The soldiers didn’t know that he was a deserter at the time, but from the description of the man we’re certain that’s who he was.”
Logan released a puff of smoke and shrugged. “Why so much interest in a deserter? There must be hundreds of them.”
“He killed a Union officer who was posing as a southern businessman. This spy was authorized to buy several hundred bales of cotton from the Confederacy which he was to claim he would ship to England. This was in order to ingratiate himself with the Confederates where he would be in a position to obtain military information. The deserter, Fowler, was a Union soldier himself but that didn’t stop him from killing the officer and stealing the money.
“That would have been after the battle of Vicksburg, and sometime after that Fowler deserted the army, but kept wearing the uniform. He had to hide out, of course, but it may have helped him get around—as long as he wasn’t stopped and questioned.”
Logan looked thoughtful. “Several hundred bales. I don’t know what the price of cotton was at that time or what he expected to pay for it. The officer could have been carrying forty or fifty thousand dollars.”
A terrific clatter came from the foyer. Tipper must have been standing in the hall, listening, and dropped her tray.
Fifty thousand dollars! What they could have done with that much money…
It must have been on the horse. Mallory wondered if Deke had found it before or after he rode away. She wouldn’t have expected such a thing of Deke, but it would have been a huge temptation. She might have ridden away with the money herself!
Stuart had apparently noticed the commotion in the foyer but he nodded at Logan’s comment. “Something like that. The price would have depended on the quality and various other things, as you well know. Naturally we would like to find that money and the man who stole it. Medium height, thin, dark hair mixed with gray and a long beard. Did any of you see him?”
Silence and blank expressions were his answer. Brooke fluttered and traced over a patch in her gown with her finger. Corinne sank down abruptly next to her. Henry sat scowling at Stuart while his parents stared at the floor. The soldier, whose apparent task was to write down their responses, still seemed to find it difficult to keep his eyes off of Brooke.
At last Logan said lazily, “What makes you think any of us might know where he is?”
“Because,” Stuart said, “he never left here.”
Logan sat up straight, grinding out his cigar in a clay dish on the table beside him. “What do you mean? How can you possibly know that?”
“There were soldiers camped all around here. Fowler was never seen again after that day.”
“See here! Anything could have happened to him,” Boyce said. He was a large man with a red face, a balding head, and spectacles. His wife was blonde and pale and touched his hand nervously.
“Look at us!” Corinne snapped. Her French accent always grew more pronounced when she was excited. “We barely have enough to eat! You Yankees took all of our animals, except for an ancient cow or two. We have a few chickens, we have the few vegetables we managed to grow. Do you not think, monsieur, that we would be better off if we had that much money?”
“Mrs. Wakefield, I am making no accusations. I would simply like to know if any of you saw him.” Stuart looked at his cousin. “Logan?”
“No, and if I had I would have thought nothing of it! I wouldn’t even remember it. He may have been crossing the property but he didn’t come around here.
“Stuart, you’ve been riding around here before. You know all the back roads, the bayous, the swamps. He could have sneaked out by any of those ways. You can’t possibly be sure he never left!”
“And you, Mr. O’Connor? Did you see him?”
Boyce shook his head. “We weren’t here then. Henry wasn’t either. He came here after he was paroled and we came afterward.”
“And I wouldn’t tell you even if I had seen him,” Henry said in a flat voice. “I wouldn’t help you find that money if my life dep—”
His mother made an almost frantic motion. “Henry! Please don’t!”
Stuart’s attention went smoothly to his other cousin. “And you, Brooke?”
Brooke continued to fidget, her blue eyes wide. “No. I don’t think so. He doesn’t sound very memorable but I’m sure he didn’t come to the house.”
“And you needn’t ask me, Colonel Wakefield.” Corinne pronounced his title col-o-nel. “I agree with Henry. Why should we help you?”
“Because there is a reward for Fowler’s capture. Ten thousand dollars.”
“Do you suppose we have bashed him over the head and secreted him away somewhere?” Corinne asked.
Stuart’s eyes turned to Mallory.
“And you, Miss Holt? Did you see this man?”
Slowly she raised her head and met his gaze. His eyes were veiled as though he were deliberately creating a barrier between them. It was that distance in his manner that helped her to say, “I stand with Henry and Corinne, Colonel Wakefield. I wouldn’t tell you even if I had seen him.”
A moment ticked by on the grandfather clock opposite the mantel.
“I see. I would like to speak to your servant. Is there anyone else who lives here?”
“No.”
Stuart stepped outside the door and called for Tipper. The young woman preceded him into the room, diffident and awkward. Mallory’s hands clenched at her sides.
“I’m looking for a man,” Stuart said, and described the unremarkable attributes of Mr. Fowler.
Tipper had obviously regained her self-control and said calmly, “No, sir. I ain’t seen nobody like that. But I might not remember if I had.”
The colonel seemed to accept a temporary defeat. His gaze went around the room. “I have reason to believe the man is hiding out in this vicinity. As I mentioned, there is a substantial reward for his capture. The same holds true for the stolen money—if it should be found somewhere and if you choose to turn it in for honesty’s sake. I realize that fifty thousand is more than ten, but it would be difficult for you to explain the money even if you used only a little at a time. It’s in federal bills.”
“What you mean,” Logan said thoughtfully, “is that the reward would be in federal bills and the authorities would know why we had it. But if we used federal bills to pay for things without it being known as reward money, or as money we’d received for selling something or working, it would be suspicious and they’d be on us like ducks on a June bug.”
Stuart smiled. “Thank you, Logan. To put it in a very southern way, that’s what I mean.”
The officer who had left the room came to the door. Mallory wondered what he’d been doing, and then it struck her—he’d been searching the house!
The same thought must have occurred to Logan. “I hope you’re satisfied, Stuart! We have nothing to hide.”
“I’ll have my men search the grounds tomorrow,” Stuart said shortly. “I must ask that none of you leave this house tonight or tomorrow until our search is completed. And now if someone will show us to our rooms…”
Corinne stepped forward. “Brooke, show the captain to his room, and Henrietta—the sergeant. Mallory, you show Colonel Wakefield to his room and then all three of you come and help me with supper.” She glanced coldly at Stuart. “There will not be much of it.”
“My men haven’t eaten since this morning,” Stuart said. “We meant to come earlier but were delayed. Please prepare all that you have available for a decent meal. I’ll have a wagonload of supplies brought here tomorrow.”
Corinne looked startled. “Well…that does make a difference.”
The three other women picked up the candles flaring on the tables and led the way up the curving staircase, the soldiers tromping behind them. At the top Brooke turned to Mallory and pointed. “The largest one for Stuart.”
It happened to be directly across the hall from Mallory’s room. Her heart in her throat, she entered the room. One lamp was already lit and she busied herself lighting another on the table beside the large, canopied bed.
She heard Stuart come in behind her, and turned to face him.