A Conspiracy to Murder, 1865

by T. L. B. Wood

  “What do you mean, Kipp?”

  “When Peter said those words, I immediately realized that I take pride in being special and didn’t want give that up.” His ears drooped. “I felt ashamed of myself.”

  I sat quietly, not sure how to respond in such a way to allow him the growth space he needed as well as be a good friend. After a deep breath, I made an attempt. “Kipp, you are one of the most humble symbionts I know, if not the most humble. Most symbionts and humans, too, for that matter, like to have some recognition for a good quality they possess. It could be something minor or something big.” I gave him a moment to process my words. “If you pretended not to notice your unique qualities, then that would be a lie and false humility.”

  He edged a little closer and put his muzzle on my knee. His eyes closed as I stroked his head and gently tugged at his large ears.

  “I’m not able to do some of things you can do, Kipp, and that’s a fact. But you can’t do some things that are inherent gifts given to me. It is the same way with humans. Not everyone can be a rocket scientist. Some don’t possess the intellect, while others come from backgrounds where they’ve been deprived of education or haven’t had the nurturing needed to believe in themselves.” I sighed. “It’s okay and honest to realize you have some acceleration in your skillset as long as you don’t think you are better than the rest of us.”

  “I don’t think that at all, Petra!” he exclaimed, his eyes opening wide. “Peter is amazing on this trip, taking command of the dialog and moving the process along. He’s showing maturity and self confidence that’s very encouraging for his future as a traveling symbiont. Elani did almost all of the planning and led us to a flawless landing.” He swallowed hard. “And you’re wonderful.”

  I laughed softly. “I’m not particularly wonderful, but I’m really happy that you believe I am, since it feeds my ego and makes me feel good.”

  Kipp’s tail began to wag, brushing a semi-circle of clean on the floor.

  “Are we good?” I asked.

  “Always,” he replied.

  We reluctantly rejoined the others in the parlor. I liked the fact it was a sunny room, and we would benefit to some degree from the natural heating as the rays broke through the dirty panes, which needed a good cleaning, to rest upon the floor. And the sunlight was refreshing after the darkness of the bedroom.

  Mr. Garland, having been persuaded by Peter that despite the condition of the townhouse, it was perfect for our needs, said he would send a couple of his household staff over to clean the kitchen and parlor levels as well as have coal and wood delivered. He also promised some fresh linens for the beds, which was not necessary but considerate. As he rushed off to see to those things, we were left alone.

  “Peter, you did a great job,” Elani said, clearly proud of her partner.

  I was in agreement with both Kipp and Elani: the young symbiont had grown since our General time-shift. He really loved this sort of life, maybe even more than I had when much younger. Peter’s face flushed with pleasure over the praise.

  “See, Kipp,” I said privately. “Peter enjoys being told good things about himself. We all do.”

  Symbionts possess an adaptive quality since time-shifts can put us in positions of being greatly deprived for extended periods of time. When our bodies are put under significant stress, our metabolism slows and nutritional requirements lessen. But it was a fact we did require nourishment, and I wasn’t keen on us trying to prepare food in the kitchen, although I knew how to cook on an 1860 era stove—which was no crockpot—and the effort required would challenge my inherent laziness. I’d noted the kitchen stove used wood, while the parlor heater relied upon coal. At least, thanks to the operational water pump in the kitchen, we wouldn’t have to journey forth to obtain water. We gathered around a large round table in the area just outside of the kitchen. It was planning time to get set for the next few months. I decided to relax and let the youngsters do the work. Maybe this team time-shifting was no so bad after all, I mused as I observed the energy of youth at play.

  “I think our first need is to procure a regular food source,” Peter began.

  “And how!” Kipp exclaimed. “I’m already hungry.”

  Peter cleared his throat, and drummed his fingers on the table. Lifting his dark brows, he stared at Kipp for a moment before resuming. “I think we will go to a market and obtain some canned goods, maybe some dried meat for the lupines, but that we also engage a local establishment to deliver us regular meals. We happen to be close to several hotels that probably serve meals to guests as well as visitors. So, I will try to arrange a catering agreement.”

  “As long as I have food,” Kipp said, clearly trying to annoy Peter much like the playful antics of a nagging brother. “I’d hate to have to start hunting the alleyways. Peoples’ dogs and cats might start disappearing,” he threatened, narrowing his amber eyes. Of course, he was kidding and wouldn’t take out any domesticated pets, but in truth he was a skilled hunter by nature.

  Elani shook her head, rolling her eyes. She knew, as did I, that the best way to deal with a rambunctious Kipp was to ignore him.

  “And Petra, you and I can look at our clothing and see what additional needs we will have. I realize Karl supplied more than the usual, but we will be here for a few months, after all.” Peter was way ahead of me, thankfully.

  “I thought of asking Mary Surratt if she knows of a woman locally who takes in laundry and such,” I remarked, feeling the need to try and offer some contribution.

  “Good idea,” Peter said, his face brightening. “I still can’t believe our good fortune in snagging a place so close by.” It was a fact, plain and simple, that successful time-shifting combined skill, knowledge, ability with just plain old good luck at times.

  We separated at that point, taking time to unpack our meager belongings and put the items away in our adjoining rooms, which shared a common wall. Peter let me choose, but since the bedrooms were equally horrible, I didn’t see where there was a great decision to be made. I also used the time to remove two of the three skirts I was wearing and felt so liberated that I managed a clumsy pirouette across the floor of the parlor. It was only a short time later that a couple of workers from Mr. Garland’s employ showed up to complete a cleaning of the habitable spaces. It seemed to be the opportunity for us to take care of the food issue. I almost hated to go outside but reassured myself that with the rising of the sun coupled with the disappearance of sleet, it would be more tolerable. I was pleasantly surprised to find the day progressing to a surprising level of mildness, considering the harsh beginning we’d experienced earlier.

  Hugging the side of the street to avoid horses, carts, wagons, and such, we picked up 6th Street and walked south several blocks, arriving at the National Hotel. The five-story white building was enormous, stretching along 6th Street; the entrance was on Pennsylvania Avenue. I turned to see the unfinished dome of the capitol in the distance silhouetted against the blue sky.

  “Even though I know we’re here, it seems unreal, doesn’t it?” Peter smiled at me. The knot of his tie was slightly askew, so I reached up to straighten it, patting his chest with satisfaction. Peter, in turn, did me the favor of adjusting my hat, which always seemed to be drifting to an odd angle on my head.

  “Yes, that never changes,” I replied.

  We stopped outside the front entrance, deliberating, and after a moment, Peter went inside to see if he could negotiate a catering arrangement. I moved slightly away from the doorway, so as not to impede traffic, Elani and Kipp flanking me. Suddenly, Elani took a deep, shuddering breath, and her thoughts of surprised recognition flooded my mind. Glancing up, I made direct eye contact with John Wilkes Booth, who was exiting the hotel, which was his home base while in Washington. He was as handsome as the descriptions, immediately recognizable from the photographs which followed his infamy. He was not overly tall, of slender build, with black hair and piercing dark eyes that seemed as black as his hair. A smile pulled
at the corners of his mouth as he registered my bold stare, and he removed his hat in a courteous, sweeping, and graceful gesture. I bet he’d practiced that maneuver to perfection while standing in front of a mirror, studying his reflection from different angles. He wore a black frock coat, black trousers, and highly polished, gleaming brown boots that came to his knees.

  “What magnificent dogs!” he exclaimed, glancing briefly at Elani and Kipp before returning his gaze to my face. John Wilkes Booth was widely known to be a flirtatious admirer of the opposite sex and had countless affairs in the various cities he visited as part of his acting career. He viewed women as conquests, part of his right as a well-known figure. Instinctively, Kipp pushed closer against my leg, and he barely managed to suppress a growl.

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied. I found it was a little surprising that I felt distinctly nervous, an unusual state for me. The realization that I was just inches away from a notorious killer was unsettling, and this is an admission from a symbiont who pursued Jack the Ripper up and down the crowded and fog-filled streets of London. “Elani and Kipp are wonderful companions.”

  John Wilkes Booth must have felt emboldened by my friendly reply because he stepped closer and leaned in to ruffle the fur on Elani’s broad, silver head. “I’m John Wilkes Booth,” he added, hoping I’d heard of him, wanting me to stroke his massive ego.

  “Are you the actor?” I asked, widening my eyes. I was forced to engage with him, although I would have greatly preferred that a meeting not take place this early in our trip. The thought nagged me that this encounter could lead to awkwardness later on during our stay.

  “Why, yes, the very same. And you are…?” he asked, smiling.

  “Mrs. Petra Holmes,” I replied.

  He blinked for a second, not sure how to proceed before landing squarely on his feet. “And is Mr. Holmes accompanying you?” Booth pretended to look up and down the sidewalk before his black eyes returned to my face.

  “Mr. Booth, I am a widow,” I replied. “My brother is inside the hotel and should rejoin me in a moment.”

  He made a fake sad face but was privately happy that I was unmarried. In actuality, he had his hands currently full with a woman he was courting, but he was always interested in who else might be available.

  Kipp was canvassing the man’s thoughts, his eyes half closed in contemplation. But on the other hand, something had happened that disturbed Elani; I was not accessing her actual thoughts but felt currents, much like electricity, running through her. We’d have something to discuss when I could manage to shoo JWB along on his merry way.

  “I simply can’t leave you alone here and will wait with you until your brother returns,” Booth declared. “There are certain individuals whose coarseness is intolerable in the presence of ladies,” he added for good measure, almost rocking back on his heels.

  I am no slouch at telepathy, although I’m no Kipp, and knew that Booth did nothing out of goodness’ sake. He was a calculating man, that much was immediately clear, and he was trying to score points with another human being. His personality toolkit included all the machinations available to sociopaths, and at that moment he was, indeed, charming. I could see why people fell under his spell and the degree to which he could manipulate others. Booth had an innate charisma that served him well in his acting trade. At some point in our exchange, he’d reached out to gently take my hand, and I noticed his were small, almost feminine in appearance, smooth as would be the case in a man who didn’t know physical labor. He wore a gold ring on one finger that winked at me as the metal was caught in the sunlight.

  Despite our immediate good fortune in finding a townhouse near Mary Surratt’s home, this meeting was ill-timed and could lead to difficulties later on when Booth began to visit that dwelling. Yes, Peter and I could try and conceal our appearances from Booth through disguises, but the lupines would make us stand out, no matter what we might do. I wanted to sigh and roll my eyes, wishing desperately Booth would let go of his false chivalry and move on, but he wouldn’t, so I was stuck making idle chit chat with the man.

  “Petra, it’s good,” Kipp nudged me with his shoulder. “I’m getting to know what makes him tick and will be able to recognize him easily from a distance.”

  However, Elani still seemed ruffled and unsettled, moving her paws about, shifting her weight against the cold street surface.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her, while simultaneously deflecting another Booth question about my personal affairs.

  “Later,” she replied, her eyes clouded and disturbed.

  “Hello?” Peter arrived and was trying not to look too startled to see Booth nestled cozily at my side. I made the introductions and allowed the two of them to do what society and convention called for.

  “Well, now that I see your escort has returned, I will be on my way,” Booth intoned, his lips pulling back in a smile, perfect teeth revealed. “I hope, perhaps, you can catch one of my performances while you are in Washington,” he said his eyes on my face. “And of course, you also, Mr. Keaton,” he added hastily. With the grace of a performer, he replaced his dark hat on his head, managing to achieve the perfect tilt so that it dramatically swept over his forehead. I almost giggled as I thought of Carly Simon singing “You’re So Vain”.

  We watched him move amongst the crowd, his agile, graceful body disappearing in less than a minute. I turned to Elani again, concerned. She’d managed to close herself off and seemed unusually distant from us.

  “Let’s go back to the townhouse,” I suggested. “We need to talk and debrief.”

  Sixteen

  The appearance of the interior of the townhouse, by the time we arrived back on H Street, was greatly improved. The dustcovers had been removed, the floors were swept, and the meager pieces of furniture cluttering the wide board flooring had been polished so that the scratched, marred surfaces shone where the sunlight fell upon the wood in splashes of golden warmth. The room smelled of beeswax and lemon, the latter of which overpowered the previous staleness that hung suspended like a fog. Our original plans to visit a dry goods store were postponed because I felt a good debriefing was more important. Something had happened to shake the normally imperturbable Elani, and I needed to investigate.

  “I arranged, with the management at the National, a catered hot meal daily,” Peter began. “It’s a little costly, but unless one of us wants to cook all the time, it is the best I can figure. One of their busboys will bring it around noon time.”

  “Don’t look at me to be the chef,” I replied, satisfied with the arrangement and not concerned with the money. “We will still go to a dry goods store and get some items we can use to supplement or prepare here,” I added, soothing his worry. He’d done fine, and we could always change the arrangement with the National at any time. It was important to get the essentials, such as food, lodging and clothing, taken care of up front so that one’s mind would be clear for the work of telepathy and sleuthing.

  “I’m interested in everyone’s impressions of John Wilkes Booth,” I began. We were in the front parlor of the townhouse; I was perched on the edge of a worn loveseat that had seen better days. There was a broken spring or something else equally annoying digging into my backside; I shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable. “Peter?”

  “He struck me, from my brief impression, as aggressively projecting the image he wants people to see. All humans do that to some degree but even more so in him.” Peter was sitting across from me in a chair that didn’t look any more comfortable than my loveseat, and his spine was crammed against a high, unyielding, wooden back. He’d turned the chair to benefit from the warmth of the stove, which the workers had thoughtfully ignited before they left. “He is calculating, vain, preening, and I got an impression of an underlying lack of true self confidence.”

  I’d removed my hat, glad to be free of it, placing it on a side table. Glancing up, I noticed, with satisfaction, that the parlor’s front windows had also been cleaned. From outside cam
e the loud voices of some people in the midst of a dispute. It was easy, without discipline, to become distracted by so many human minds, but the ability to tune unneeded thoughts out was one of our necessary skills.

  “Yes, I felt the same,” I remarked. “His surface thoughts were consumed with wanting to be seen as a chivalrous man to me, thinking I was a woman he wanted to impress.” I turned to Kipp. It was obvious to me Elani was not ready to talk.

  “He is interesting, not too difficult to unpack, and what I found was unpleasant,” Kipp began. “Booth has a great amount of built-up anger and resentment, much of it focused on his family. His father and brother eclipse him in their fame, and he has convinced himself that he is the superior actor who has yet to be recognized adequately by the public.” Kipp sighed deeply. “I suppose that is preferable to his realizing he might be the second-rate actor in the family.” He was comfortably placed just close enough to the stove to be warmed but far enough away to not get overly hot. He glanced at me and wagged his tail, needing a smile from me, which I gave. “Then, there is the part of him that, with his anger, has become twisted. He is consumed with hatred of people who have dark skin. Booth thinks he is superior to them for reasons that are unclear.” Kipp looked up at me, confused. “I don’t understand that problem with humans, since all people are, well, people.”

  “Kipp, humanity, as far back as can be traced, is full of tribalism and separations between humans due to issues with culture, race, religious beliefs and other markers. We don’t have those types of issues amongst symbionts,” I remarked, “so it is difficult for us to comprehend.”

  Kipp managed a lupine shrug of his massive shoulders. “He feels people with dark skin are less human, and his agitation is almost uncontrollable at this point. He manages to mask it with his courtly behavior to most people and only reveals his true feelings to a small, safe circle of like-minded associates.” Kipp paused a moment before asking, “Do you think his basic feelings of insecurity and competitiveness within his family have fueled his need to think he is superior to another group of humans?”