The Ironclad Alibi

by Michael Kilian

  “Arabella told him to stay away from Estelle—the girl I sent to you today. But even if Arabella was at her worst, that would not provoke murder. Not on Caesar Augustus’s part. He has an anger, as must smolder in all their hearts. But he wouldn’t kill a white woman just because of the severity of her reproach. He’d simply find some other way to see Estelle. I’m sure that’s what he did. He’s clever, you know.”

  She found the fire now insufficient and rose to stir it. “Where did he say he had gone, before he came back to your rooms?”

  “He didn’t. And he won’t say. I don’t know why.”

  “What have you learned about Arabella Mills’s death, Harry? You have been at this for some time.”

  “Too much time—and too little known. I can tell you that Arabella died some substantial time before Caesar Augustus says he found her, and that Mills’s coach was seen outside my hotel twice that day—afternoon, and then evening. I know that she must have used the kitchen door at the rear of the hotel to reach my room, a common thing for women wishing to make discreet, unchaperoned visits to guests of the Exchange.”

  “I am aware of the practice. It is much talked about.”

  “None of the cooks or maids recalled seeing her come in, but a kitchen boy I talked to said he saw three people enter that afternoon—two men and a woman. One of the men was white. He may have been drunk, or sick.”

  “Was the woman Arabella Mills?”

  “He said he could not tell. She wore a hooded cloak.”

  She poured him more brandy without being asked. “Then it could have been her.”

  “Yes, I suppose. But a hack driver told me he saw a woman standing by the Mills’s carriage—a woman with long black hair, who wore no hat.”

  There are few ladies in Richmond who would go about the public streets without hat or bonnet. It would be considered brazen—behavior to be expected of a woman of the streets. Or an actress.

  “Was it Louise Devereux?” she asked. “She is famous for the flagrancy of her bold comportment.”

  “You have a quick mind, Miss Van Lew.”

  “Do you know her?” she asked.

  “Yes. I knew her in Washington. She is the friend of a friend.”

  The pale blue eyes were studying him, with swift result. “You know her better than that, I do believe.”

  “She is having an affair with Palmer Mills,” Harry said.

  “That woman is a Rebel spy, as bad as Rose Greenhow. She is lucky she was deported to the Confederacy. She might have been hanged.”

  “They haven’t hanged a woman yet.”

  Miss Van Lew rubbed her throat. “Let us hope.”

  “Arabella was having an affair with George Broward,” Harry said. “He is a very bad man. From what I know of him, he would not take rejection well. And he has treated women poorly.”

  “With all this talk of lovers and rejection, spies and mysterious arrivals at the Exchange Hotel, do you know what you are telling me, Harrison Raines?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “You are telling me that you are not much closer to finding the truth of this than you were when you began. And now the time is half gone—near to all gone, according to our friend Mr. Leahy.”

  He took a sip of brandy. He wanted to light a cheroot, but would not so offend the house of Miss Van Lew.

  “I fear you are right,” he said, finally.

  “Are you certain this girl Estelle has told you all she can?”

  “All that she can that I need to know. Doubtless she is more familiar with the intimacies of Arabella’s indiscretions than she has let on, but my surmise will suffice on that account. The coachman, Samuel, is quite hostile to me.”

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “Upstairs. In my secret room.”

  “Why there?”

  “It would be the ruination of everything I’ve been able to accomplish if I were to be found harboring a slave that belonged to Arabella and Palmer Mill. If not held liable under the Fugitive Slave Act, I would be pressed to explain our connection. At the very least, it would be the undoing of ‘Crazy Bet.’”

  “You cannot keep her.”

  “I do not intend to. She says you promised her freedom.”

  “I did, and it’s a promise I will keep when I can.”

  “The Underground Railroad down the peninsula to Fortress Monroe is still open, but it’s very dangerous now. This young lady is not very resourceful.”

  “Can you keep her until we have Caesar Augustus safe?”

  “I suppose I will have to. Their freedom is what this war is all about. Freedom for every one of them. It bewilders me that only these Secessionists seem to understand that.”

  “Mr. Lincoln understands that.”

  “That is my constant prayer.”

  “I’d better talk with her.”

  Estelle was asleep on a cot at the far end of the chamber, which was a long, low-ceilinged chamber carved out from beneath the eaves. Harry gently shook her shoulder. “Estelle?”

  She opened her eyes. They were full of apprehension.

  “There’s bad news,” Harry said. “Caesar Augustus has confessed to Mrs. Mills’s murder.”

  Estelle sat up. “I know, Mister Raines. Miz Van Lew done tol’ me.”

  “It becomes very hard now to save him.”

  “I guess it do. So why he done that?”

  “I’m not sure. But we’re not giving up.”

  “I don’t expect you would.”

  “If we succeed …” he paused. “Or if we fail. I’m leaving Richmond soon. I will be taking you with me.”

  “You gonna keep me?”

  “I’m going to free you, as I promised.”

  “Soon?”

  “As soon as I can.”

  “What do I do now?”

  “For the time being, you’ll stay here.” He looked to Miss Van Lew, who nodded.

  She put her hand on his arm. “You goin’ to help Caesar Augustus, too, Mister Raines? You won’t let them kill him for this? He wouldn’t do nothin’ to Miss Arabella.”

  There was a commotion downstairs. Miss Van Lew rose and hurried from the room. Harry bid his goodnight and followed.

  On the main staircase, they encountered Mary Elizabeth Bowser, who was in a state of high excitement and depleted breath. She must have run all the way from the presidential mansion.

  “Miss Van Lew,” she said, her wind returning in snatches. “At dinner tonight, Mister Davis, he said he’s going to let them kill Caesar Augustus in the morning.”

  “He can’t do that!” Harry said. “I was promised a week.”

  “He says he has no choice, now that Caesar Augustus has confessed. He says it’s for the good of the Cause.”

  Chapter 16

  Harry hurried down the stairs and to the front door.

  “Harrison! Not that door!”

  Taking him by the hand, Miss Van Lew led him to a small breakfast room he’d not been in before. There was a many-paned door leading to the garden. She blew out her candle, then faced him. “What will you do?” she asked.

  “I will go directly to the War Department and wait outside for General Lee. He’s an honorable man. He will not permit this.”

  “But he is subordinate to Davis.”

  “President Davis leans heavily on his advice.”

  She considered matters a moment more. “After you meet with General Lee, what then?”

  “I’ll get word to you as soon as I can—good or bad.”

  “And if he refuses you?”

  “Good word, bad word. You will know.”

  “I will be at Libby Prison.”

  “Then I’ll contact you there.”

  “No. Harry, you are not thinking clearly.”

  “Miss Van Lew, I cannot simply wait …”

  “But you must. I’m going to try to meet with Mr. Leahy.” She put a hand to his arm. “There may still be a way.”

  He stood there.

  “I have a
man in our service, a Mr. Lohman,” Miss Van Lew continued. “He is of German birth and has a grocery store and restaurant. He deals in gold, smuggled Union greenbacks, and black market goods.”

  “Has he something to do with Libby Prison?”

  “One of his business associates—a purveyor of pickled pork named Martin Lipscomb. He has the contract for burying the dead federal officers who are brought out of the prison every morning. I think he can be bribed.”

  “The object is to get Caesar Augustus out alive.”

  She released him. “Good luck, Harry.”

  General Lee was residing at the Spotswood Hotel at Eighth and Main Streets and had made a custom of walking to his War Department office. He arrived shortly after sunrise, impeccably dressed, booted, and polished, and without aide or companion. A parade of one. Even in his best clothes, Harry felt shabby in the man’s presence, and Harry had often been accused of being a dandy.

  Lee was not happy to see him, but, as always, was careful to avoid any discourtesy. “Good morning, Mr. Raines,” he said. “You arise early today.”

  “It would be accurate to say I retire late this night, General Lee.”

  A shadow of disapproval came and went over the man’s face, but he said nothing. If he wished to think Harry had been on a long carouse, Harry would not discourage him. It was preferable to his divining Harry’s actual whereabouts that night.

  “Have you come to see me, Mr. Raines?”

  “I have, sir, on the most solemn purpose. My Negro has confessed to the murder of Arabella Mills.”

  “Well, then. I suppose that concludes the matter.” He turned to mount the entrance stairs. “I am sorry for your sake. A good day to you, sir.”

  “No, General. I’ve come to ask that the government be held to its promise to me. I do not think the man is telling the truth, and I fear I will need the rest of the week to prove it, the full week that was granted me.”

  “Do you have reason to believe that the government will renege on its word?”

  Harry was groggy, but not so careless as to let slip that the Confederate president might have a domestic spy to worry about.

  “Not to believe, sir, but to fear the possibility.”

  “However, if your man has admitted to this crime, what is the point of going on with this?”

  “A point of honor, sir.”

  A sudden gust of wind caused the general to shiver slightly. He shook it off and resumed his ascent of the stairs.

  “I had hoped you had come to talk about your place in the Army. I have discussed this with your father.”

  “That is why I have come, sir. But I would remind you that, in return for my promise to enter the service of my country, I was promised a week in which to rescue my manservant from an unjust fate.”

  “Let us continue this in my office,” Lee said.

  Lee’s young major was already at work. It mystified Harry how he got into the building, as no one had passed him. Perhaps he had spent the night there. The young man stood and gave a Lee a salute and a warm “Good morning, sir,” took note of Harry with a cursory nod, and then resumed his labors.

  Entering his own office, Lee paused before a map spread out upon a side table, studying it a full minute before finally and formally taking his seat.

  “I have discussed your situation with your father, Mr. Raines. He disapproves of your conduct in the matter of Mrs. Mills, but if you wish to join his regiment, he is amenable to it. But it cannot be as aide de camp or, I am reluctant to say, as any kind of officer.”

  “He insists I serve as a private?” Harry’s brother was a captain.

  Lee nodded. “I can of course secure you a commission elsewhere in the Army. Your horsemanship and knowledge of horses would be of great value. But not in your father’s regiment. I must respect his wishes.”

  Harry pondered the window view a moment, then reminded himself how valuable was the general’s time.

  “Sir, my interest lies elsewhere. I would like to join the Navy.”

  Lee’s eyes widened slightly with otherwise restrained surprise.

  “The Navy has no need of horsemen, sir. It already has a sufficiency of officers, but a scarcity of ships. Your usefulness would be limited. I would be reluctant to recommend you to Navy Secretary Mallory.”

  “General,” said Harry, exaggerating. “I’ve sailed small boats on the York and James for most of my life. Let me go to Norfolk and offer my services there. Surely there is something I can do.”

  “And if you’re required to serve as an ordinary seaman?”

  “If that’s required, sir, I’ll do it.”

  Lee sighed. “Very well. I’ll commend you to the officer commanding.” He reached for pen and paper. “Then we’ll be done with this. I do not think this will please your father, Mr. Raines.”

  “My concern, sir, is that it please my country.”

  The general gave a nod and completed his swift writing task, handing Harry the finished note.

  “There you are, Mr. Raines. Now if you’ll excuse me …”

  “And the fate of my slave?”

  “That is not for me to decide.”

  “It’s certainly a matter for the president to decide. If you would intercede …”

  “Your father is his friend, and His Excellency has made no such effort.”

  “General Lee, sir,” said Harry, rising. “Two men and a woman were seen entering the Exchange through the rear door at the time the Mills’s carriage was parked outside. Two men, sir. It may well be that my Caesar Augustus was one of them, but if so, his testimony is necessary as concerns the other.”

  Harry had heard people describe Lee as cold and strict, but knew he had a warm side as well, having seen him play with small children. He also had a fierce temper. It never betrayed his patrician comportment, but made itself visible nevertheless. It was beginning to then.

  “General,” Harry continued. “This affair is not being decided as a matter of honor or justice. It’s the rule of the Plug Uglies. Ruffians and bullies have taken over the law of the city. You can’t …”

  Lee raised his hand to stop the flow of words. “Where can I find you, Mr. Raines?”

  “Sir?” Harry had hoped to wait in the general’s outer office.

  “I will do what I can for you. Where can I send word to you?”

  Hesitating a moment, Harry gave the address of his boardinghouse.

  “Wait there. I will send word to you. Whichever way it goes, Mr. Raines, I would be obliged if you would then lay this unpleasant matter behind us. We all have more worthy uses for our time.”

  There was a finality to his words that made them seem carved in marble.

  “Yes. Thank you, sir. I am obliged to you.”

  As soon as he was back in his room, Harry realized his mistake. Instead of waiting here, isolated from any message save the good general’s, he should have gone to some saloon near Libby Prison. The bar at the Exchange would have sufficed. Here he could do nothing. The general’s promise to send word was as good as a manacle around his ankle.

  He paced the floor a few minutes, then sat, turning his chair to the window. As soon as he got word from Lee, he would fly to the prison and seek another interview with Caesar Augustus. One way or another, he’d make the man explain himself. Perhaps he could secure Boston Leahy’s assistance. Miss Van Lew would be seeking it, possibly at this very moment.

  He dozed. The sound of someone pounding on his door stirred him abruptly to consciousness. He had not expected someone so gentlemanly as Lee to send so rude a messenger.

  Opening the door, he found no messenger, but a face all too familiar, though the military uniform was not.

  “George Broward,” Harry said, dumbfounded.

  The officer pushed past him into the room, then stood formally. He was wearing large gauntlets and removed them, holding them under one arm.

  “I was looking for you,” Harry said.

  “Well, now I’m found. This is not a social c
all, Raines.”

  “Neither was mine. I wished to ask you some questions, about Arabella Mills.”

  “Were I you, sir, I would not utter that good woman’s name again. Not in Richmond. You have lost that privilege. Raines, you are being called out.”

  “What?” Harry said.

  “A duel, Raines. Tomorrow, at sunrise.”

  “Are you mad, George? This is 1862. Dueling was outlawed in the District of Columbia more than twenty years ago. It’s against military regulations. It’s ridiculous. It’s passe.”

  “This is not the goddamned District of Columbia. This is Virginia.” Broward paused to look disgustedly at Harry’s rumpled civilian suit. “And you, sir, have no worry about military regulations. You are supposed to be a member of the Virginia chivalry, Raines. I find you unworthy of that honor, but you have no choice but to abide by its custom.”

  “Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing to you.”

  Broward sniffed, as though the air in the room was repellent. “You have sullied my name in public rooms up and down Main Street, sir, suggesting an improper liaison between me and Mrs. Mills. I’ve grounds to call you out a dozen times. You are a cad and a bounder, sir.”

  Harry threw up his hands, then took whiskey and glasses from a shelf and set them down on his table. “Here,” he said. “Refresh yourself. Come back to your senses.”

  Broward, his sword clanking as he leaned, filled the glass and knocked it back in three swallows, wiping his lips with the back of his hand afterwards.

  “It’s not me who’s calling you out, Raines. It’s Mills.”

  “Mills?”

  Harry imagined the naval officer still abed, in the mysterious little house on the grounds of the Tredegar Ironworks.

  “He has asked me to serve as his second, which I gladly do. He demands satisfaction for the insults you have showered upon his wife’s good name and his own. And for obstructing the justice due her foul murderer.”

  Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, shaking his head. “I spoke with Mills not long ago. He seemed in no way inclined to this nonsense.”

  Broward poured himself another drink. “This is Virginia, Harry. It ain’t nonsense.”

  Reminding himself of his more important concerns, Harry looked at his watch. It was nearly noon. “When did you say this charade is to take place?” Harry asked.