MOLLY KNOCKED UPON the back door of the Van Lew estate. She used the servants’ entrance to remain unseen. No one had tailed her from the hotel. Not that she saw. She had taken the offer from the concierge for a carriage. She let the driver drop her off several blocks away, and then pretended to visit a different estate. Once he drove off, she doubled back and made her way to Miss Lizzie.
Mary Jane answered the door. She dragged Molly through the threshold the moment she saw who stood outside. Mary Jane looked both directions around the house before closing the door.
“Molly, what are you doing at the back door, child?”
Mary Jane scolded while she pulled Molly into a light embrace. She worried. Her body language betrayed her feelings.
“I need to see Miss Lizzie.”
“Of course, of course. Whatever has happened? You wouldn’t be here two days in a row if it weren’t important.”
She gripped Molly’s hand and started her upstairs.
“Mr. Webster thinks we are discovered, and that he is soon to be arrested. I need to get more messages North.”
Mary Jane ushered her upstairs and then toward the same sitting room where she always met with Miss Lizzie.
“I’ll be getting Miss Lizzie and then will make up some tea. You look frozen.”
Molly sat near the fire. “Thank you, Mary Jane.”
Mary Jane had scarcely left the room when Elizabeth Van Lew flew through the doorway. She must have heard the commotion.
“Molly!”
Miss Lizzie rushed the length of the carpet, and clutched Molly. Concern wore at her face.
“Is everything all right?”
“No,” Molly said. “Mr. Webster believes we are caught. I was careful, though. No one followed me here.”
Miss Lizzie nodded. The curls of her hair bounced with her head. It always drew Molly’s attention.
“How does he know?”
“He doesn’t, but I trust his instincts. Mr. Pinkerton sent two men to find us. We were supposed to make a trip back to Washington by now. They must have grown worried. And then those men came at the worst time. Captain McCubbin was there.”
“General Winder’s chief detective?”
Molly nodded.
“I do not like that man,” Miss Lizzie continued. “He is always suspicious. He came here once, to talk about the prisons. But I gathered he meant to snoop and see what mischief an old woman might be up to.”
“Well, he took the men to General Winder’s office and then came back for the letter they brought. He suspects them for certain. And Mr. Webster says one of the men is weak and will talk.”
Miss Van Lew pulled back from Molly, deep in thought.
“Well then, as much as I have enjoyed your visits, it seems we must smuggle you out of Richmond.”
Molly shook her head. “No. I need you to get more letters to Mrs. Warne. I need to stay and get Mr. Webster.”
“You must not. They will come for you next!”
“You said it yourself,” Molly pleaded. “Men do not think women could be engaged in this work. I will be safe. If I leave, they will know for certain that Webster is a detective from the North. I will not condemn him to save myself.”
“I have not met your gentleman, but from what you have told me of him, he would rather see you safe than both of you captured. We must get you out of the city now.”
Molly shook her head—more forceful this time. She clenched her jaw.
“I cannot. I will not leave him.”
Miss Lizzie’s face softened. She took Molly’s hands.
“Molly, he knows his role, and the risks. I know you care for him, but I cannot let you put yourself in more danger. I would rather see you safe. You are Annabelle’s child. How will I meet her in the afterlife and explain that I did not courier you to safety when I could have done so? Listen to me. I will work on Mr. Webster’s behalf. I will get him out—perhaps before they come for him.”
At the mention of her mother’s name, she came undone. She turned from Miss Lizzie, covering her face. She fought the sobs, but they came forth. This house had been one of safety for her. But it reminded her of something else—a deep-harbored guilt.
“It’s not just Mr. Webster. I need to get Jeanine out.”
She had told Miss Van Lew about the girl.
“I don’t know how we get her out, Molly. But we can try.”
“I have to. It’s my fault.”
Her voice came out weak between the sobs. Miss Lizzie tried to comfort her, placing an arm around her shoulder.
“I came here to kill Mason Cheeney—for my father. But I couldn’t, even when he was right in front of me. I was too scared. And Pinkerton needs him for other purposes. But I found Jeanine. I can get her safe. I have to do that for Isabelle. I have to.”
Miss Lizzie put an arm around her.
“I don’t know, Molly. Let’s get you safe first, and then Mr. Webster.”
“I have to do this.”
“No, Molly. You don’t. You need to get safe. For me … for your mother.”
“I don’t deserve it. It’s all my fault!” Molly screamed.
She tore away from Miss Lizzie’s clutch. Her sobs deepened. Her mind filled with images of the burning plantation—of hiding with Isabelle in the woods. The men came, galloping on horses into the underbrush, calling for them. Molly and Isabelle ran. Molly was always faster in the thickets and small trails. Isabelle screamed behind her—caught.
“None of this is your fault, Molly.”
Miss Lizzie tried to comfort her. Molly sank to her knees and rocked. She pulled at her hair on the sides of her head, vanquishing the images from her thoughts. They persisted—stubborn ghosts.
“No, it’s my fault. I told him.” Molly’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “I told him. It all happened because of me. It’s my fault.”
“Who, Molly? What did you tell him?”
“Jonathon. Jonathon Cheeney. I told him about the plantation. I told him they were all free. He said he loved me. He said he would ask my father to marry me. And so I told him about everything. They’re all dead because of me.”
Molly’s sobs turned into a wail. She clutched at the carpet in front of her as she rocked upon her knees. Miss Lizzie held her. Mary Jane stood at the door, watching the scene.
“It doesn’t matter what you said, Molly. It’s not your fault.”
Molly tried to break free, but Miss Lizzie held tighter.
“They’d be alive if it wasn’t for me. They’d all be alive.” Molly continued to rock. Her hands were numb. Resting her forehead against the floor was the only thing that fought against her spinning vision.
“We’ll rescue them both. We’ll do it together.”
Miss Lizzie looked over her shoulder. Mary Jane still stood at the door.
“Get the carriage ready.”
Mary Jane didn’t reply. She rushed from the room. Miss Lizzie clutched Molly until Molly let go of her hair and pushed her forehead into the carpet. Miss Lizzie whispered into Molly’s ear. Her cheek fell upon Molly’s neck—warm and comforting.
“You’ll have to help me, Molly. But we’ll get them both out.”