Beloved Enemy Page 12

  Rob lowered his eyes to hide the deep regret he felt grip his heart. “When do you want me to see her?”

  Claypole watched as Montgomery returned to his desk. The man looked as if he had been whipped, taken down a peg or two. Scott chuckled to himself. Then he shunted aside his personal feelings and chewed over the possible reasons for Montgomery’s hangdog look. There had been no raised voices behind the colonel’s door, so Claypole presumed that the New Yorker had not been reprimanded for some military misbehavior.

  There was something in the wind, he knew it. Perhaps it could be used to his benefit.

  He stretched in his chair, then got up and sauntered around the maze of desks and filing cabinets until he reached Montgomery’s area. He noted that both the major’s hands, the good one and the bad, were hidden under the desk. Montgomery stared at his inkwell with a grim look that would make a weak man shiver. Claypole had no qualms about disturbing the major’s dark musings. In fact, he relished the idea of irritating this pompous son of old New York.

  “Seems like the world landed hard on your shoulders, Rob,” he said in a companionable voice. “You look like a man who might be in need of a drink.”

  A muscle jumped along the major’s jawline. He didn’t give him the common courtesy of looking at him. “It’s only past eleven, Claypole,” he rumbled. “Too early in the day.”

  Claypole forced himself to laugh in a pleasant manner. “Never too early for a medicinal tot.”

  Montgomery closed his eyes. “Go away, Claypole.”

  Though the major was often morose, he was never this touchy. His behavior confirmed Claypole’s suspicions; something big was in the wind. He refused to give up in spite of Montgomery’s rebuffs. If he could only lure him to a saloon. A few shots of whiskey might loosen the major’s tongue.

  He leaned over Montgomery so that his voice wouldn’t carry. “If you are in need of a sympathetic ear, I have two for you. Misery is—”

  The major’s glare froze the rest of Claypole’s offer on his lips. “Leave me alone! I am already bound for hell without your help.”

  With a stiff smile pasted on his face, Claypole backed away. He held up his hands, palms out. “No harm intended,” he lied. Then he returned to his own cubbyhole where he watched Montgomery.

  A few minutes later, he saw the major take out some of his personal note paper from a side drawer. He dipped his pen into the ink bottle, then began to write furiously across the page. Claypole nodded to himself. Writing to home again. From the look of things, Claypole guessed that Montgomery had received new orders that were not to his liking.

  The rattling of her bedroom doorknob in the middle of the morning caught Julia unawares. Hettie had already cleaned the room and taken away the nighttime slops. Carolyn was at her French and drawing lessons with Madame DuSault on Wolfe Street. Julia rose when her parents swept into the room. By the set look on her mother’s face and her father’s downcast eyes, Julia instinctively knew that this unexpected visit did not bode well for her. Perhaps they planned to exile her to Strasburg in the Shenandoah Valley to live with Mother’s elderly Aunt Charlotte.

  Julia forced her lips to part in a smile. “Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Papa. This is a surprise,” she added truthfully. Behind her mother’s back, Papa returned a wan smile.

  Mother seated herself on Julia’s chair before she gave her daughter the full brunt of her attention. “I do hope that this past week’s solitude has been instructive, and that you have now learned the virtue of obedience,” she began in a haughty tone.

  Julia refrained from the temptation to point out that she had always been the obedient daughter, and that it was Carolyn who needed discipline. Why stir up another storm? From the expression on her mother’s face, Julia knew that anything she said would be interpreted as disrespectful. She pressed her lips together.

  Mrs. Chandler smoothed out her gray watered-silk skirts, then continued, “I have just received the most delightful letter from your cousin Payton. Despite your skylarking and unbridled behavior, he has graciously agreed to make you his bride—immediately.”

  With a gasp, Julia stumbled backward against the bedpost. She gripped it lest she collapse under the weight of this dire announcement. She glanced at her father, but he would not meet her eyes. Julia masked her inner turmoil with a deceptive calmness.

  “This is hasty news, Mother.”

  Mrs. Chandler gave her daughter a slow, feral smile. “So it is, and not a moment too soon. Marriage will do you a world of good. It will give you the discipline and maturity you so obviously lack. There’ll be no more gadding about town and dragging our family’s name in the dust behind you.”

  Mother, with her love of drama, had blown the episode of the ball all out of proportion. But the situation could have been a lot worse, if Major Montgomery had not been a gentleman.

  “Payton says that he will obtain a pass from the provost marshal in Richmond, so that he may come through the lines to get you. He expects to arrive in Alexandria in a few days. I have already contacted the sexton at St. Paul’s. You and Payton will be married there two weeks from Saturday.” Opening her fan, her mother waved it back and forth as she elaborated her plans.

  “Since it is wartime, as well as the bald fact of your infamous conduct, the service will be small. Family only. Carolyn will stand up for you and I am sure that Payton will produce another witness, if necessary. Afterward, a small wedding breakfast here. We do not have the where-withal of the Winsteads. Then you and Payton will return to Richmond on the afternoon train.” She frowned to herself. “Of course, you will have to make several station changes. I hear that some of the rail lines are torn up. You may have to spend your wedding night in Fredericksburg.”

  Julia gulped for air. The whirlwind of Clara’s plans made her head spin. “Mother, you have given me no time. How can I possibly marry a man that I have not seen in years? What if I dislike him? We will need some time to get to know one another again.”

  Mrs. Chandler continued to fan herself as if she had not heard a word. “You can wear your blue taffeta morning dress. It suits your coloring quite nicely. And I suppose you will have to wear Grandmother Lightfoot’s pearls. Family tradition and all that, but I want them back before you leave this house. No sense in losing them on the train, is there?”

  Julia swallowed down the scream that hovered in her throat. Her cherished vision of teaching classrooms full of eager children dissolved. “Papa?” she implored her father.

  He gave her a sweet, sad look before he shook his head. “Your mother is right, my child. In these unsettled times, we are fortunate to find you a proper husband—a man who is willing to overlook your lapse in behavior.”

  Julia’s distress veered sharply to anger. “Of course Payton is willing to overlook anything that I might have done, since he knows that I will be inheriting my legacy soon. It’s my money he’s after, not me. He was always greedy when he was a boy. Once I caught him searching through Carolyn’s little purse for spare change.”

  “Hold your tongue, Julia!” Two bright red spots appeared in Mrs. Chandler’s cheeks. “How dare you utter such filth! My aunt would turn in her very grave if she heard you accuse her grandson of thievery. Payton is a fine gentleman, well set up with a large plantation, livestock, servants and fine furnishings. He has no need for any more money, though of course, we are giving him something to take you, now that you have soiled your reputation—and ours!”

  She shook out her handkerchief and began to wail loudly into it, though Julia suspected that her mother’s eyes were bone-dry.

  Leaning her head against the cool wood of the bedpost, she felt exactly like a rabbit caught in a narrowing mesh trap. “I had no idea you hated me so much, Mother,” she murmured under her breath.

  “Hate you!” her mother caterwauled. “When all I have ever done is work hard for your benefit? Good schooling, pretty clothes, music lessons! Oh, Jonah,” she beseeched her husband. “What a serpent we have nurtured in
our bosoms! Such ingratitude! I am awash with sorrow. Oh, dear! Oh, my heart!” Gripping her chest, she held out her hand to her husband. “I do fear that I am having palpitations. Take me to my bed.”

  Julia’s father helped his wife to her feet, muttering his usual soothing nonsense. Hettie, who had been listening in the hall, took Mrs. Chandler’s arm. Feeling strangely unmoved, Julia watched in silence as Hettie helped her mother down the hall. Then she said, “Papa, I am truly sorry, but I cannot marry Payton Norwood. I want to teach in a school.”

  Her father didn’t look surprised by this admission, merely sad. “I don’t know what to say to you, Julia. Your mother is set on this match. For the sake of her health, I cannot overrule her. Perhaps your reluctance is unfounded. Payton may have grown up into a good man. Do not judge him until you have seen him again. As for teaching school, I am afraid that is impossible. You were reared for the life of a plantation mistress. You must forget that idea, Julia. It will only make you unhappy.”

  Then he left, without allowing her one more word of protest.

  In the waning light of a January afternoon, Rob loitered on the corner of King and North Royal Streets near Alexandria’s Market Square. He pulled his woolen scarf tighter around his neck while he scanned the crowd of late shoppers, hoping that the Chandlers’ maidservant was among them. His perfidious note to Julia burned inside the pocket of his greatcoat.

  Before leaving Washington at midday, Rob had visited Mr. Chandlee’s card and stationery shop inside the elegant Willard Hotel with the idea of buying a peace offering for Julia. He had chosen a gilt-edged book of Shakespeare’s sonnets for her when his conscience reprimanded him. How could he betray her trust again with a pretty present, while he used her friendship for a coldhearted purpose? At their meeting in her garden, he should keep himself as aloof as possible, and pray that Mosby’s men captured him quickly. The less time he spent in Julia’s seductive company, the better it would be for both of them.

  Rob stamped his feet to encourage his sluggish blood to warm his near-frozen toes. Yesterday’s Washington Evening Star reported that this winter was an unusually cold one. And he intended to spend most of it inside the dank walls of Libby Prison! He must truly be fortune’s fool.

  “My, my, my,” squealed a high-pitched feminine voice behind him. “Look, Mama! I do believe that we have stumbled upon the handsomest officer in the entire Federal Army. Good afternoon, Major Montgomery.”

  Puzzled, Rob turned to confront two well-dressed ladies swathed in colorful velvet cloaks, fur hats and muffs. It took him a few moments before he recognized the hostess of the New Year’s Ball and her daughter. Then he touched the brim of his hat with his good hand.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Winstead, Miss Winstead. It’s a bitter day to be out and about,” he remarked, casting a furtive glance over their shoulders in search of Hettie Perkins.

  Mrs. Winstead tittered. “So it is, Major, but we had a few errands to run.”

  Giving Rob an especially warm smile, Melinda moved close to him. “What Mama means is that we have been so cooped up in the house ever since the party, we simply had to get outside and breathe. I just couldn’t stand those old walls a minute longer, no matter how cold the weather is. Alexandria is so boring in the wintertime—unless there are some interesting people who come to call—like yourself.”

  Before he could react, she looped her arm through his good one and snuggled closer against him. Rob masked his impatience. “No doubt many of your friends are also equally bored with the cold and the snow. I am sure that they hope that you and your mother will pay them a call.”

  Mrs. Winstead tittered again, though she looked a little colder than before. Melinda tightened her hold on Rob. “The very thing!” she cooed. “Why don’t you accompany us home, Major Montgomery, and we shall enjoy a dish of tea and sweet cakes while we laugh at Old Man Winter?”

  Rob experienced a sharp sinking feeling. He had no desire to postpone his distasteful mission any longer than necessary. With a quick twist, he freed his arm from Melinda’s grasp.

  “Thank you for your kind invitation, Miss Winstead, but I fear I am in Alexandria on official business. I was looking for the Chandler family cook, a Miss Hettie Perkins?”

  “Dear me,” said Mrs. Winstead, huddling deeper into her cloak. “I expect she would be home by now. Just as we should be home by now,” she added, giving her daughter a meaningful lift of her brow.

  “Yes, Mama,” Melinda replied, though she made no move to depart. “We’ll leave in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. But first, we must convince this gentleman that he would feel much better to stretch out his feet in front of our fire. No point standing out in the middle of a public thoroughfare looking for a nobody, Major. You’ll catch your death of cold before you see her,” Melinda added. “Besides, meeting Hettie won’t do you a parcel of good whatsoever. If it’s Julia Chandler you want, you’re too late.” Her charm descended into gleeful spite.

  A stab of fear twisted in Rob’s gut. “I beg your pardon, Miss Winstead? Has Miss Julia left town?”

  Melinda laughed without warmth. “Not yet. But just this morning, a little bird told us that Julia is to be married very soon. Fancy that!”

  Behind his back, Rob clenched his good hand into a hard fist. So Julia’s cousin, the toad, was hopping up to Alexandria to claim his princess. This unpleasant turn of events had happened faster than Rob had expected. “She is engaged?”

  Melinda gave him a smug look. “I highly doubt that she knew it herself—until very recently. Obviously her family was quite mortified by her brazen appearance at my party. Such a blot on their good name! Why, everyone in Alexandria was talking about Julia’s shameful conduct. The only man that would have her after that trick appears to be her second cousin. I expect the Chandlers will pay that poor boy a pretty penny to take her off their hands.”

  Listening to Melinda’s gloating voice, Rob’s anger grew into a scalding fury. “Exactly what do you mean by that? I found Miss Chandler to be a most refined young lady, unlike many others I have recently met.”

  His thinly-veiled insult rolled off Melinda like water from a duck’s back. “Rubbish!” she purred. “Julia Chandler was never a prize catch, even before the war started. She’s always spent more time with her nose stuck in a book than attending to important things, like learning good manners. At every party we attended, she couldn’t wait to show off her book-learning, so that no one else could get a word in edgewise. With her hair pulled back and those spectacles on her nose, it’s no wonder that all the boys didn’t pay her any mind, except poor Frank Shaffer. I have no idea what he saw in her, but it doesn’t matter now. Frank died before he could propose. Since her reputation is in shreds, Julia is very fortunate to get an offer—even if it is her cousin.”

  Rob glared at Melinda and her cold-faced mother. “Any man who marries Miss Julia Chandler would find himself most fortunate.”

  Melinda curled her lip, but before she could make a retort, her mother tugged her sleeve. “The wind is picking up, my dear. I do declare that my feet have turned into ice. We must be going now, Major Montgomery. So nice to have seen you again. Do come calling on us when you are not on official business.”

  Melinda looked mad enough to spit nails. She managed to throw Rob a final barb before her mother dragged her up King Street. “Forget Julia Chandler, Major. I am sure she has forgotten all about you, especially now that she is practically a married woman. Heaven help her poor cousin!”

  As his anger simmered down to a dull ache in his heart, Rob felt a chill more numbing than the wind blowing off the river. He knew that Julia would be unhappy in a forced marriage with a cousin merely to save her family’s face. It was criminal to toss away such a fine woman as Julia for some misguided notion of honor—the same sort of fanatical notion that had pushed this blood-soaked war into its fourth senseless year. Southerners were all crazy, he concluded.

  The pale sun sank down to the lavender horizon. One by one, the vendors
in Market Square closed up their shops and trundled away their carts. The pedestrians thinned as people hurried home to their warm hearths and hot suppers. The street lamplighter began his rounds of the city. Rob found himself alone with his thoughts. A soldier wearing the armband of the provost marshal stopped and saluted him.

  “Evening, Major,” he drawled in a Midwestern accent that bespoke of flatlands filled with cornstalks. “Are you lost, sir?”

  Rob returned his salute. “Now that you ask, I believe that I am,” he replied with a grim note in his voice. “Can you direct me to the nearest place where a man might get a drink and something to eat?”

  Grinning, the guard pointed behind Rob to a red-brick building across North Royal Street. “There’s the City Hotel, sir. I reckon you’ll find what you want there.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Unless you are in the mind for a bit of fun with your meal? Mrs. Shaw’s Firehouse is down near the wharves on Quay Street.”

  Rob shook his head. “I’ve had my fill of feckless women for the day, Corporal. Good night.” He stepped off the curbstone before the beardless youth could suggest another one of Alexandria’s bawdy houses.

  The City Hotel offered Rob the hospitality he sought—companionable noise, air heady with cigar smoke, a drop of good whiskey at a larcenous price and a surprisingly good oyster stew for a fair price. He ate his meal in silence, oblivious to the hubbub common to a saloon in a soldier-filled town on a cold winter’s night. Only Melinda’s words, “Julia will be married,” repeated themselves over and over in his fevered brain. Nursing his second tot of whiskey, he stared into the red-orange flames in the huge fireplace. The din around him receded as the voices inside his head grew louder.

  Why should Julia’s impending nuptials trouble him? He certainly had no intention of marrying her, nor anyone else for that matter. He never planned to see her again until his duty demanded it. Despite her delightful conversation and great beauty, Julia was a Confederate at heart, he reminded himself.