Stuart shut the door. When they’d seated themselves he stood close to Mallory and began asking the same questions he’d asked the others.
No, they didn’t know Judd Fowler. Maybe they’d heard the name but they didn’t know him. They rarely went into town either before or after the war. Henrietta had stayed there only briefly after their house burned. When the war was over Boyce joined her there, then almost immediately they went to Wakefield House.
“Henry was wounded, you see,” Henrietta explained. “He came here first. He didn’t know our house had burned but he had to pass this way to get home and he wasn’t able to go any further. Logan told us he was here. I think we’ve said all this before, haven’t we, Colonel?”
“Where did you stay in town after your house burned, Mrs. O’Connor?”
“It was a boardinghouse. On Washington Street.”
“That’s near the bank, isn’t it? Where Fowler worked.”
Henrietta looked blank. “Why, yes, I suppose so. I mean, there is a bank near the boardinghouse.”
All three O’Connors stared intently at Stuart, who seemed to be waiting. After a long pause Boyce said mildly, “Look here, Colonel Wakefield. I’m sure you know I stayed there too for a while. If you’re trying to imply we had anything to do with Fowler because for a few weeks we lived near the bank where he was employed—well, Fowler certainly wasn’t working there then!”
“He could have come back, at any time.”
“Not if he was a deserter,” Henry said, his voice tight with anger. “He wouldn’t have shown his face in town!”
“What does this Mr. Fowler have to do with these murders?” Henrietta asked, her face pale and set as if she were restraining her own anger. Mallory couldn’t recall ever having seen Henrietta angry.
“Maybe nothing.” Stuart sat down on the piano bench beside Mallory. “And yes, he could have showed his face in town, either at night or in a disguise of some sort in order to meet with someone. Tell me, Mr. O’Connor, about Vicksburg.”
Boyce looked startled. “What do you mean?”
“What did you do at Vicksburg?”
“I fought like everybody else. I starved like everybody else.”
“You lost some prisoners, didn’t you? While you were on guard duty.”
Boyce turned redder than usual. “As a matter of fact, I did, but it could have happened to anyone, Colonel Wakefield. Things were in such chaos. I was sick, we were all sick. At least the men in my unit were. There were several prisoners who escaped. We didn’t go after them—too many places to hide. Steep hills, gullies, thick woods—it was like a jungle—”
Henrietta stood abruptly, her hands clenching on the back of her chair.
“Why must you question us this way? Why must you make my husband and my son remember what happened at Vicksburg? You Yankees killed innocent people, starved innocent people! Including women and children!
“We will never get over it, we will never forget. Our men risked everything to defend the city, and here you are questioning us, testing us—how dare you? You have no conception—you have no idea, Colonel Wakefield, how deeply we despise you!”
Boyce was staring at his wife with his mouth open. Henry said roughly, “Sit down, Ma. You’re not helping matters.”
Stuart had risen at the moment Henrietta did. She was breathing hard and he waited until she moved her hand from the back of the chair and sat down again, stiffly.
He made no reply to her outburst. He didn’t look at Mallory.
“And you,” he said to Henry, “were captured, I believe?”
“Yes,” Henry answered, his eyes small and bright. “For four days, and then I escaped. It was like Pa said—everything was in chaos. It was almost easy to get away. And for the record we didn’t have much of anything to feed our prisoners, but you Yanks didn’t have any excuse to feed us nothing but pig swill!”
“Did you see anything of Judd Fowler while you were behind enemy lines?”
“Of course not! You said he was a deserter!”
“Not until after Vicksburg. That is, we’re not sure exactly when he deserted.”
Mallory felt extremely uncomfortable. Her sympathies were with the O’Connors—she felt exactly as they did about Vicksburg, and the war. She made some small, almost imperceptible movement but Stuart sensed it and half turned toward her. Again he avoided looking at her and turned away.
“I will say this once. I don’t intend to go through the rest of my life trying to explain to you and your people why things happened as they did. General Grant and General Sherman believed in certain tactics. They believed that whatever needed to be done to shorten or end the war should be done. They are not tactics that I would have chosen, so maybe that means I wouldn’t have been a good general.
“Believe me, Grant took no pleasure in the siege of Vicksburg. He made certain concessions during the surrender and tried to make it as easy on General Pemberton’s army as he could. These are things I’m sure you already know.”
The O’Connors stared at him bleakly. Mallory looked at a smirking little cupid on top of the piano.
“And I’ve heard enough about the men who looted your homes and your property. It shows a lack of discipline that falls on the commanding officers, and most officers would not have allowed this to take place. Many of them probably didn’t know it.
“For that, I apologize. It shouldn’t have happened, but don’t blame the entire Union army for the actions of a few.”
“More than a few,” Henry said, looking as if he wanted to spit. “The officers were in on it too. What was taken was valuable, not just from us—but it happened all over the South. And they burned our house, and Mallory’s! Just a tactic of war, Colonel?”
“Yes.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “If your superior officer had ordered you to set fire to Mallory’s house, would you have done it?”
A silence fell. Mallory felt Stuart’s eyes on her, but when she lifted her own he’d turned his gaze back to the O’Connors.
“I would have done everything I could possibly do to avoid it. But as your father said earlier, a soldier follows orders.”
“Did you hear that, Mallory?” Henry sneered. “Did you hear what he said about explaining things to our people? He’s not one of us anymore. He’s a traitor and a d—”
“Whatever he is,” Boyce said tiredly, “he’s in control, and you and your ma are wasting your breath. The Yankees are here to stay. We don’t like it but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
It was Henrietta who broke the brief silence. “Colonel Wakefield, I—I regret my—my little speech. I am not myself. You mustn’t think badly of us—of any of us. This has all been very trying.”
“The fact remains, Mrs. O’Connor, that everyone in this house is under suspicion. That will be all.”
Without even glancing at each other the three stood and left the room, leaving the door open behind them. Stuart moved away from Mallory, stopped, and gave her a long look.
It was a deep, enigmatic look…one she could never interpret. She’d thought she knew him, but she didn’t know this man. Something in him had shifted and changed. He’d withdrawn to some place where she couldn’t follow.
Or am I the one who has changed?
“Well,” he said at last, “what did you think?”
“About…what?”
“Aside from their opinion of me, what did you think of their answers?”
“I don’t know. It seems you know more about them than I do.”
“I did some investigating, naturally, before I came. There wasn’t time to do much. I felt an urgency to come here so I arranged it as soon as I could.”
Mallory rose from the piano bench. “Why?”
“Mallory, I’m sorry. They made me realize something that I was a fool not to have seen before. This war will never be over, will it? I tried to convince myself that…well, never mind. You’ve made very clear how you feel about it. It’s written all over your face.”
She made herself ask, “What exactly are you sorry about, Stuart?”
“I don’t know…exactly.” He went to the door and waited for her.
“Stuart—”
“Stay close to Medora. I’m going outside to speak with Captain Bell.”
Feeling rebuffed, Mallory lifted her chin and walked past him into the parlor. She was immediately aware of the tension in the room and heard Corinne say, in a strong, clear voice, “It is very strange that you should come here on the very night of meurtre.”
Medora raised her head with a jerk to peer steadily at Corinne, and then lowered it, her chin practically on her chest with her eyes peering sharply upward.
“What are you saying, madam? Surely you don’t believe that I had anything to do with these murders?”
Corinne shrugged eloquently. “Only that it is strange. A…coincidence.”
“If you think I came here on a whimsy to stick a knife into two people I never saw before in my life, I fear for your sanity, madam. I am here to look after my niece.”
“Your niece? Or the property she owns?”
Medora’s voice became lyrical, ranging up and down on almost musical notes. “My dear Mrs. Wakefield, I have no need for any additional property. Mr. Huger may attest to that!”
“As to him, he behaves more like a butler than a banker!”
Medora, to Mallory’s amazement, began to sputter wordlessly. Sitting at Medora’s feet Ladybird tucked in her tail and retreated under the sofa.
“I assure you,” Mr. Huger said hastily, “I am a loyal employee of the Atherton and Chalmers Bank, with offices in Liverpool, Charleston, and Savannah. But of course I do see myself as a servant. Mrs. Sedgwick knows I am devoted to her service. That is the nature of my business.”
Medora found her tongue. “This is the most preposterous—”
Logan, who was sitting in a corner with Brooke, rose abruptly.
“Corinne, I’ll take you to your room. You’re very tired. You too, Brooke.” He looked down at Mallory. “Will you come?”
Mallory shook her head. “I’ll go up with my aunt.”
“Corinne is upset, Mrs. Sedgwick,” Logan said quietly. “Please accept my apology.”
Unrepentant, Corinne marched in front of Logan and Brooke as they left the room.
Medora seemed to give herself a shake. “That woman is unhinged, mark my words.”
Again drawn to one of the long windows, Mallory approached it and pulled back the curtain. Though the darkness was becoming a light gray, clouds were shrouding the moon and stars and slowing the arrival of dawn.
She could see no further than the pond, and it was banded with deep shadows from the columned porch. A light mist rose eerily from it.
“No,” she said absently, “Corinne is just excitable, Aunt Medora, and we’re all tired.”
“I suggest we go and lie down,” Medora said, rising with a decided lack of her usual sprightly air. “Come out from under there, Ladybird!
“Mallory, you must rest for an hour or two. It will soon be daylight and perhaps all of this will be resolved.”
Ladybird’s nose and bright eyes appeared and she emerged from under the sofa, her short tail still drooping. Mallory turned away from the window, obscurely troubled.
What was Stuart thinking? Was he going to withdraw his offer of marriage? And how would she feel if he did? Her head felt as though it were stuffed with cotton, with no room, no pathway for her thoughts.
Medora was right—she had to get at least a little sleep. She went with her aunt and Ladybird up the stairs to her bedroom, followed by Mr. Huger who then turned and went into his own room across the hall.
“I shall simply lie on the bed in my clothes,” Medora said, giving a huge yawn. She put Ladybird on the floor and the dog immediately scooted under the bed.
Medora went to the far side of the great bed and stretched out her long, black-clad form, her hands clasped together at her waist. In a moment she was snoring softly.
Mallory picked up one of the pillows that had fallen to the floor and tucked it beneath her head, feeling stiff and uncomfortable in her clothes. She pulled up the quilt but grew too warm and pushed it off again.
She didn’t think she would sleep but she must have, for suddenly she realized that Ladybird had gone to sit in front of the bedroom door and was growling softly. The dog trotted over to the area beside the door and began sniffing along the wall.
Mallory sat up. The light in the room was still gray and dim so not much time had gone by, but something had changed. There was something wrong, different, and she couldn’t think what it was. Medora still snored beside her.
Was there someone in the room? Had she locked the door? Mallory’s mind was so foggy that she couldn’t remember, and she doubted her equally exhausted aunt had thought of it.
She rose quietly from the bed and looked around the room. Seeing nothing amiss she tiptoed to the door and saw that it wasn’t locked.
As her hand touched the key a sound exploded along the hall, sending her rushing backward to half collapse against the bed.
Medora lurched up, her hair coming out of its bun and seeming to stand on end.
“What’s that?”
Ladybird began a frenzy of barking.
“Stop that, Ladybird! No, Mallory, don’t open the door!”
Mallory paused, her hand on the doorknob. Almost at once the door flew open, causing her to move awkwardly backward, and Mr. Huger plunged into the room. His eyes went wildly from her to Medora.
“Are you ladies quite all right?”
“Yes, quite all right, Mr. Huger. What was that sound?”
“A gunshot, madam. Unmistakably.”
“But where did it come from?”
Excited voices filled the hallway. Mallory pushed past Mr. Huger and saw the O’Connors and Brooke and then heard footsteps leaping up the stairs. It was Sergeant Munford, his rifle held out before him.
Another door opened and Corinne came into the hall, her bombazine dress twisted and her hair in disarray. Below, the front door slammed shut and someone else came bounding up the stairs.
Stuart’s sweeping gaze seemed to take in everyone at once, rested for a moment on Mallory, and then went to Sergeant Munford. “What happened?”
“I just got here, sir. There was a gunshot. Everyone seems to be accounted for except Mr. Wakefield.”
“Logan!” Brooke started toward his unopened bedroom door.
Stuart moved quickly to stop her, placing his hand on her arm. “Wait, Brooke. All of you get away from the door.” His pistol was already in his hand. He gestured toward the sergeant, who went to stand just behind him. Stuart placed his other hand on the doorknob.
“Logan,” he called, “are you in there? Answer if you can hear me.”
There was silence in the hallway and in the closed room beyond.
Stuart swung the door open, standing clear of it for a moment, then stepped into the room. The sergeant went in after him.
Mallory’s hand went to her throat. Not again… Not Logan…
She heard Stuart tell the officer to light a lamp. There were footsteps and sounds of a quick search of the room. Then Stuart came and stood in the doorway.
“He’s been shot but he’s alive. Who has medical training?”
Medora took an imperious step forward. “I did some nursing in the war.”
“I must see him,” Brooke said, her voice a husky whisper. “Is he going to be all right?”
Stuart gestured to Medora, who went into the bedroom followed by Brooke. Everyone else remained uncertainly where they were until Mallory moved to stand beside the door so she could see what was happening. The rest of them crowded around her.
Stuart and Sergeant Munford were lifting Logan from the floor onto the bed. Medora had already pulled back the bedcovers and was sliding a quilt underneath Logan’s shoulder, which was covered in blood. His face was drawn and pale beneath the lamp and his eyes were closed.
“I need scissors,” Medora said.
“Henrietta,” Brooke whispered, her face as pale as her brother’s, “please get some scissors.”
Henrietta left the group huddled at the door. She returned a moment later to hand a pair of scissors to Stuart, who passed them to Medora.
Beginning at the sleeve she skillfully sheared upward and across the top half of his shirt until she had it peeled back from his left shoulder. Both she and Stuart bent over him, with Medora probing the wound with her fingers.
“I’m not certain but I think the bullet went clear through,” she said. “No artery involved. Too high for the lung. Let’s get the bleeding stopped and wrap it.”
“Is he going to be all right?” Mallory asked, echoing Brooke’s words.
“Yes, I think so, but he needs a doctor.”
Stuart straightened. “Mr. Huger, will you go, if they give you directions? Can you ride a horse?”
“Quite well, if you have a very large one, sir.”
“The Yankees took all our horses except one,” Henrietta said in a flat, dreary voice, “and it’s not much of a horse.”
“Take Captain Bell’s. It’s in one of the barns. I don’t believe you are in any danger, Mr. Huger, but if you’d rather not go just tell me. You certainly are under no obligation to do this.”
Although he didn’t say so it was perfectly obvious that Stuart didn’t trust anyone else to leave the house.
“Of course I shall go, sir.”
“Have Captain Bell write you a pass. You may run into some Union soldiers on the way to Natchez. And bring the sheriff with you. The doctor will know where to find him. Brooke, is Dr. Stroud still on Franklin Street?”
It was Boyce who answered. “He was killed in the war but his son has taken over his practice. Come with me, Mr. Huger, and I’ll tell you how to get there.”
The two men disappeared. Stuart stepped aside and spoke quietly to the sergeant, who then followed Boyce and Mr. Huger. Henry, with his gaze moving sharply all around, turned and went back into the hall. Seeming convinced that Logan would survive, Corinne also left them to return to her room.
Mallory and Henrietta moved further into Logan’s room. Mallory felt like crying. It was awful to see Logan lying there, pale and bleeding, when such a short time ago he’d been perfectly well—angry, but vibrantly, handsomely angry.
Stuart returned to stand beside the bed. The lamp threw its light upward onto his dark-stubbled face and it was tired and strained, with fine lines showing around his eyes.
“Logan, can you hear me?”
Logan’s eyes fluttered and opened. Brooke gave a soft cry and went to stand close to the bed. His words were as shocking as the sound of the gunshot.
He said, in a voice stronger than one would have expected: “Why did you shoot me, Stuart?”