27

SPIES AND ASHES

May 31, 1864

Richmond, Virginia

Moisture hung thick in the air, soaking the fabric of Adelaide’s dress and coating her skin in a fine layer of mist. It was unbearably hot for May, making the weather all the more intolerable. She panted, out of breath despite having traveled the road between the grove and the market twice before. The low bun she had corralled her hair into was already expanding, a few loose curls sticking to her temples.

Adelaide took a breath, almost choking on the acrid air. Charcoal and tar hung in the atmosphere so thick she could taste the burn of it on her tongue. Memories of the fire flickered in her head, calling her back to the last time she’d forced such air into her lungs.

“What is that smell?” Teo coughed, his eyes watering.

Ash drifted on the lazy breeze, no more cooling than a warm breath. “They’re burning bodies.”

Leaving the fields behind, they entered the market, an outright ghost town compared to the last few times they had passed through it. Barrels of tar sat on every corner. They licked flames and heat into the sky as each attempted to wick away the foul odor that plagued the streets of Richmond. A handful of patrons wandered the stalls half-heartedly as they dabbed their brows with handkerchiefs or held them over their mouths. Only a few vendors had set up for the day, but luckily, one was selling what Adelaide was looking for.

“I’d like these items please, sir,” Adelaide pointed out a fountain pen, inkwell and a small piece of parchment to the merchant.

He tallied up the price and she handed over the money while he wrapped the goods in paper and tied them with twine. “Good day, miss.” He bowed his head.

Adelaide thanked the man and wished him the same, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way her hands trembled as she took the package. She gripped the wrapping and tried to steady herself as she let the possibilities of the next few hours wash over her.

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. In the time since her parents died, she’d run the gamut of emotions, seeming to feel everything and nothing all at once. In newspaper clippings and the ruins of her childhood home, Adelaide had been looking for answers since the last ember from the fire cooled, but never once had she thought Pauline may be the one to provide them. It shouldn’t be possible for a girl from the French Revolution to be in Civil War Richmond, let alone Adelaide’s house or Holyrood Palace. But then again, Adelaide had spent the past few months walking streets and times that were not her own.

She checked to see if she was being followed before ducking into the alley Mikaelson had pushed her into on their last trip. When she was sure no one was watching, she slipped into the abandoned shop. Adelaide paused at the threshold and ran her fingers over the bullet lodged in the door frame. She swallowed, aware of the danger they were in, and while it wasn’t the Red Rose Society holding a time limit over their heads, the clock was still ticking.

Inside, the shop was much the same. Wallpaper had begun to peel, revealing discolored beams of wood beneath. The chair she’d jammed the door with lay in splintered pieces on the floor. Kolt stood near the opposite door, gazing through the dusty windows as Teo leaned against the adjacent wall, directly in front of the hidden panel. Their eyes connected, a blush rising to her cheeks as she recalled the feel of his hands on her and the press of his lips against her own. He seemed to know what she was thinking as the corner of his mouth raised ever so slightly. Adelaide averted her gaze and approached the worn counter. She placed the bundle on top and began removing its contents.

“Why are we writing a letter to Elizabeth when we can just go knock on her door?” Teo said. Having made his way to the counter, he now stood behind her, his gaze cast over her shoulder to the items in her hands.

“Because,” Adelaide said, removing the stopper from the ink vial and dipping the pen in its center, “we don’t know if she’s there, and even if she is, she’s being watched. A few months ago on this timeline, she initiated a prison break from Libby Prison. She won’t be charged because no one is able to provide proof, but their suspicions are enough. They aren’t going to let her pull a stunt like that again any time soon. It’s too dangerous for us to go to her house.”

Adelaide finished up the letter and set the pen aside. Removing her dagger, she poised the needle-like blade carefully above the parchment. She still had one thing left to do before she sealed it.

If anyone opened the letter, they would find a piece of friendly correspondence, inquiring about Elizabeth’s well-being and her mother’s health. But when Elizabeth looked closer, as she was sure to do with every letter that passed through her fingers, she’d find the smallest of punctures in the parchment below the letters that spelled out the real message. Adelaide picked up the pen once more and scrawled Annalise at the bottom of the letter before folding it up and tying it tightly with the twine from the package.

They exited the storefront and headed back out into the market. A young newsboy stood on the outskirts and fanned himself with a fistful of periodicals. He perked up a bit as she approached.

“How much for the rest of the papers?” Adelaide asked.

He blinked slowly. “You want ’em all, miss?”

She nodded. “I’ll pay you double the cost if you deliver this letter to Elizabeth Van Lew for me. Do you know who she is?”

He eyed her, his eyes widening as he took in the money in her hand. “Aye, miss. I can find her.”

Adelaide handed the boy the letter and the coins. “Tell Elizabeth she can find us at the Ballard Hotel.”

He pocketed both and slipped out of sight.

“How do we know he’ll actually deliver it?” Kolt asked, watching the boy disappear around the corner.

She watched him too, knowing the direction he headed was opposite of Chapel Hill. “We don’t,”

The Ballard Hotel sat on the intersection of Franklin and Fourteenth. It consisted of two buildings, one each in Greek and Italian style that somehow managed to both complement and juxtapose one another. A covered, cast-iron bridge, forged from the same metal that in recent years had made travel and shipment by steam engine possible, connected the two. As one of the most prestigious hotels in Richmond, the Ballard had played host to the likes of Dickens and Poe. Artists and politicians still graced its halls, but in the years since the war began, spies on both sides had found themselves guests at the hotel or visitors to the shops housed on the main floor.

Though it was day, fog and ash covered Richmond in a veil of dark that blurred the edges of the city like an old photograph. Their boots sounded on the bridge as they crossed from one side to the other. Hoping to spot Elizabeth, Adelaide cast her gaze through the arched windows to the street below. She knew it had been a risk using the boy to run the letter. It was a longshot asking Elizabeth for information on Pauline, but if the girl was anywhere in Richmond, Elizabeth would know about it.

They followed the bellhop to a room on the third floor. Adelaide unlocked the door, greeted inside by plum-colored wallpaper and plush carpet. A plated mirror reflected the single bed across from it, and a wooden writing desk sat beside the only window. Teo crossed the room and dropped onto the bed. Pulling out his lighter, he lit the taper on the nightstand. Snapping it shut, he proceeded to flick it open and closed in a steady rhythm like the ticking of a clock.

Kolt offered Adelaide the chair at the desk, but she shook her head, content to let her feet wander so her mind wouldn’t. He sat, turning the chair to face her as she paced at the foot of the bed. “What did you write to Elizabeth? In the coded message, I mean?”

Teo sat up straighter against the headboard, his eyes curious.

“I told her we started working as spies for Allan Pinkerton, a detective and spy for the Union. I said we’d been tracking a potential Confederate spy by the name of Pauline Léon and that we lost track of her around the Richmond area. Wanted to inquire if Elizabeth had heard anything about her.”

“Do you think she’ll come?” Teo asked, still fidgeting with his lighter. “We haven’t exactly had the best luck when it comes to Van Lew.”

Adelaide bit her lip, eyes narrowed. “I can’t be sure, but I think she will. It’s a big enough risk to the Union that she might feel it’s worth pursuing.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” Kolt ran his hands over the starch fabric of his pants. “What do we know about Pauline anyway?”

“Not much,” Adelaide caught sight of herself in the mirror. She pulled her hair loose and began working it back into a bun at the base of her neck. Teo’s eyes met hers in the reflection as each of their thoughts turned to their time in Paris. “She founded the Society of Revolutionary Republican Women with Claire Lacombe during the French Revolution, but after that, I’m not sure. History lost track of her.”

Kolt leaned back in his chair, mulling over her words. “Can we trust her?”

A knock sounded at the door. All three of their heads whipped to the sound. Teo eased off the bed and padded softly to the door. “Who is it?”

“Well, it’s not the maid.”

Teo looked to Adelaide.

She nodded, confirming she, too, recognized Elizabeth’s voice. “Let her in.”

Teo opened the door, and Elizabeth entered in a flurry of dark skirts. She nodded a greeting to Adelaide before stopping short as she spotted Kolt. “Who is this?”

“This is Will.” Adelaide said, gesturing to Kolt and hoping his presence didn’t prevent Elizabeth from telling them what she’d discovered. “He’s been helping us track Pauline.”

Kolt inclined his head. “Ms. Van Lew.”

Elizabeth lingered on him a moment more before returning the recognition and turning back to Adelaide. “Are you sure the Pauline you are looking for is near Richmond?”

“Yes,” Adelaide dared to hope Elizabeth brought good news. “We’re certain she’s in the city or the surrounding area.”

Elizabeth frowned, her eyes darkening. “I’ve heard rumors of a young woman. She’s been reported at several Union camps as a nurse, has even taken care of men at the bloodiest battles this war has shown so far, but when the bullets stop, she disappears. No one knows her name, but our soldiers have come to call her Pauline of the Potomac.”

Words from the decoded message she’d seen on Jefferson Davis’ desk flashed in Adelaide’s mind. The target is a nurse. What if the message wasn’t referring to her but to Pauline? But even so, why would Rathbone be looking for Pauline? “It has to be her.” Adelaide wondered what it all meant. “Do you know where she is now?”

“She’s tending soldiers at a Union encampment outside Mechanicsville, about twelve miles from here. I’ve already arranged for my stablehand to meet you in front of the post office with some horses. I must be going before my tails get suspicious. The rest is up to you.”