They followed Gemma Wentworth into a sparsely furnished living room, where Clint expected to see her husband, Colonel Wentworth.
“Where’s your husband?” Clint asked.
“You don’t need him,” she said. She was wearing a man’s shirt, trousers and boots, a far cry from the dress she wore in Springfield.
“What are you talking about,” Clint said. “You know why I’m here. We need to negotiate—”
“You negotiate with me, Clint.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“You?”
“I’m in charge,” she said. “Are you surprised?”
“Well, yes.”
Roper certainly was.
“When did this happen?” Clint asked.
“I’ve been in charge all along,” she said. “Even back in Springfield.”
Now Clint was surprised.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t tell you then. But everything that we … everything that happened was … needed.”
Clint looked at Roper, who was staring at the woman.
“Where’s the money?” she asked.
“Where’s the President?”
“You mean Lincoln’s body?” she asked. “He’s certainly not the President anymore.”
“He’ll always be the President to me.”
“Well, that’s your problem,” she said. “The fact is, he’s a cold, long dead corpse.”
“Worth a hundred thousand dollars.”
“That,” she said, “was my husband’s idea. I think he’s worth more.”
“We didn’t bring more,” Clint said.
“Oh, I know that,” she said. “No, no, we’ll stick to the original bargain. Just tell us where the money is.”
“Show us the casket, first.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but that doesn’t work for me.”
“Then we’re at an impasse,” he said.
“No,” she said, “we can work something out. Are you hungry?”
“I am,” Roper admitted.
“Yes,” Clint said, “we’re hungry.”
“Simon,” she said to the black man, “lay out some food for our friends.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We’ll talk—negotiate—over some food,” she told Clint. “Edward, you will join us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what about the Colonel?”
“Don’t worry about my husband,” she said. “He’ll be around. Just have a seat here and wait. I will go and change so we can eat.”
“Ma’am?” Gately said.
“You wait with them Captain,” she said. “The Corporal can leave, unless you think you need him. But he will not be eating with us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She left the room, presumably to go to her bedroom and change clothes. Clint wondered where Samuel Wentworth was.
Clint and Roper both sat down on the sofa.
“Have a seat, Captain,” Clint said. “Like the lady said, we’ll just wait to eat.”
“Do you think you need your Corporal?” Roper asked. “To keep you safe?”
Gately face grew red.
“Corporal, you can go,” he said.
“But, sir.”
“I’ll call you when I need you,” Gately said. “Wait outside with the rest of the men.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Corporal left and Gately sat in an armchair that had seen better days.
After a little bit of time had gone by with no one speaking, Clint broke the silence.
“What’s going on, Captain?” Clint asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Where’s the Colonel?”
“The Colonel has been having some … problems for a long time,” the young Captain said. “That is why Mr. Wentworth stepped up to take over.”
“Really?” Roper asked. “Aren’t you second-in-command, Captain?”
“I am second-in-command here,” Gately said, “of this division. She is in command of—”
“Captain?”
The black man Simon had entered the room.
“Yes?”
“Lunch is served.”
“Keep it hot until Mrs. Wentworth returns.”
“Yes, sir.”
Simon went back into the kitchen.
“Where is he, Captain?” Clint asked. “Where’s the Colonel?”
“It won’t be necessary to answer that, Captain,” Gemma said, reappearing. She was wearing a long, high-necked dress. “It’s time to eat.”