“Why, Mrs. Holmes,” Mrs. Surratt purred, “I see you have been at work.” She smiled, and after surreptitiously checking the surface of the loveseat, sat and folded her hands in her lap. She was wearing the dark clothes of a widow, although she was past the requisite time for mourning, I thought. Maybe dark was simply her choice.
“Yes,” I replied. “The furnishings, which are not ours, of course, are terribly worn, but the rooms we occupy are clean, and Mr. Garland keeps us supplied with plenty of coal and wood, so it is delightfully warm.”
Anna had to bite back her tongue as something that would have been rude almost made it past her full, well-shaped lips. She wasn’t an ill mannered girl, but the poor condition of the townhouse was startling to her. Veiling my eyes, I allowed myself to inspect her. Anna had dark hair like her mother, and the thick mass was intricately coiled and twisted to the back of her head. She was wearing a pert little hat that was more for decoration than any utilitarian purpose of which I could think. She glanced across the room and almost gave a start when she saw the enormous form of Kipp lying in the patch of golden sunlight.
“Oh, my,” she said. “He is a large dog, isn’t he?”
Mary gave her a withering look, no doubt having worked for years to teach the girl the value of deferential manners and polite discourse. It would be, no doubt, seen as impertinent to remark upon anything found in the house of a host unless invited to do so.
Kipp, just to show off, took that opportunity to stand and make a big production of stretching and yawning—all teeth exposed—before assuming his position on the floor again. Somehow, he managed to make his bunched-up shoulder muscles ripple in the filtered sunlight for an additional exhibition of his wonderfulness. “Do you think she liked that?” he murmured to me. “I’ve got more if she wants to be impressed.”
I suppressed a laugh with a big hiccup, and covering my mouth I excused myself to race downstairs for my daffodil tea service. It was good to momentarily get away from Kipp, who appeared to want to make me break concentration, and, besides, I was oddly excited to be able to show off the pretty set of patterned daffodil china. As I balanced everything and began the trek back up the narrow staircase, the steps of which groaned and creaked under my feet, I hoped I wouldn’t do a classic Petra clumsy whoops and end up at the bottom of the stairs with the broken pieces of the tea set on the floor, the remains of a tea cup resting gently upon my head like a little porcelain beret.
“Don’t fall,” Kipp called to me. He was needling me for some reason.
“Oh, Mrs. Holmes, what a lovely tea service!” Mary Surratt cried, meaning it, as I set the tray on the pitiful table that acted as a centerpiece of the room. Peter had shoved a little piece of wood beneath one of the legs so the table wouldn’t wobble so badly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Surratt,” I replied. “My brother insisted that we purchase it so that I could be surrounded by a few of the finer things.” I smiled, trying not to show my teeth. Deliberately I patted the pearls at my neck, making it appear to be an unconscious gesture.
“Oh, have mercy!” Kipp groaned, rolling his eyes.
As I served tea to Mary and Anna, Kipp was busy at work, and he and I were exchanging thoughts with the rapid back and forth to which we were accustomed. And as I communicated with the humans in my midst, I simultaneously spoke with Kipp as we traded off impressions. Kipp’s ability to go deeper than the surface was critical, and I was just thankful he was my partner.
“Mary and her son, John, had a huge argument this morning, and the vibrations of that argument still resonate within her.” Kipp took a deep breath. “Mary’s husband, John’s father, made poor financial decisions and also was one of those humans who value alcohol over other things. He died, and Mary feels she has done the best she could to secure safety and security for her family. But John is engaged in things she fears, even though she believes the Confederacy has the right to leave the Union.”
Indeed, her thoughts, feeling the sting of what must have been a loud and unpleasant fight, were easily apparent to me, and I was barely making an effort. It was tempting for me to be lazy with Kipp around to do the heavy lifting. But it was clear she was furious at John for putting himself and the entire family in jeopardy…he was a spy working for the Confederacy, that much she had determined. But he kept many things from her in the event she was questioned. So, while she wanted the South to be successful in its attempt to form a new nation, she didn’t want her son taking risks to make that happen. Mary Surratt would prefer the burden fall upon other loyalists and leave her family untouched.
“I wonder why she supports the Confederacy?” I mused.
“I guess everyone was being forced to take a stand, and she and her husband were Confederate sympathizers and entertained like-minded people at their tavern before she became a widow and moved to Washington,” Kipp replied. “She was born in Maryland, which although Union had a great division amongst its people over the war, and she was educated in Virginia. Beyond just going along with what she grew up being told and what she experienced, I don’t know that I can ferret out a particular causative moment.”
Not wanting him to get mired in the shifting quicksand of human thoughts looking for something that really didn’t matter, since we were dealing with the here and now of Mary Surratt and not what necessarily brought her to this place, I gave him a mental hug and told him to move on.
“Anna feels less strongly and actually has some feelings of resentment that her mother seems so attached to John. For her part, Anna is angry at John and worries his activities will bring emotional pain to her mother.” Kipp turned his head, his amber eyes finding mine. “Jealousy is a powerful human driver, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Kipp. But while there are many human emotions we truly don’t understand, symbionts are not immune to jealousy and must guard against it, just as must humans.” I wasn’t trying to be preachy, just stating my opinion. Kipp wasn’t jealous of anyone or anything, so I had no worries there. If anything, I needed to be more concerned over my own potential fall from grace.
“It’s good they came, however, because just by following their thoughts and examining their memories, I think I can identify John Surratt easily. He has become familiar to me through them.” Kipp laid his head down, resting his chin on his forepaws. Even though his eyes closed and his body was still, his mind was alert, unclouded with worry, and following all the transactions, both spoken and unspoken.
“Do you have any pastimes that you enjoy?” Mary was truly curious about me, that much was evident. She seemed to sense my oddness in world where the role of women was predictable.
“I like to read, and I’ve been known to do a little needlepoint,” I replied with a self-conscious laugh.
She smiled, nodding. “I will send over a lovely piece I’d begun but will never finish. Perhaps you’ll enjoy having it to work on during these dreary winter days.”
“Needlepoint!” Kipp exclaimed. “What in the world is that?” As I formed a picture in my mind, he almost snorted a laugh. “You! Ha, ha!”
Ignoring Kipp was becoming a challenge. With great effort, I redirected my attention to Mary Surratt. “How very thoughtful, Mrs. Surratt. I will enjoy having something with which to occupy myself. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, are they not?” Following her thoughts, I recognized her concern over her failing eyesight, which was the reason she had been unable to finish the piece. So the historical references about her poor vision had a factual basis, after all.
It was clear Anna was bored and ready to move on. No, she was not in any way rude, but she kept shifting positions and staring out the front window. She was young, and listening to us prattle on about teacups and needlepoint was pretty dull. Mary, no doubt, deciphered her daughter’s body language and began wrapping up the visit.
“May I beg one favor of you?” I asked, as the three of us stood. When Mary nodded her head, I said, “Do you know of a local woman who takes in laundry and such?”
“My
house girl—Maureen—well, her mother does laundry and other services for many people on this street. I’ll be delighted to ask Maureen to stop by on her way home and let you make the needed inquiries.” Mary Surratt smiled, pleased with her ability to help me.
As the front door shut behind them, I returned to the parlor window, which overlooked the street, and watched them walk back to their townhouse, their hats bobbing along amongst the people who were in transit. Kipp thumped his tail, clearly trying to make up after his, uh, needling me about the needlepoint.
“I forget, Petra, how old you are,” he began before stuttering to a stop. “No, wait, that came out wrong. I meant to say that with your age, you have experienced a lot of things that the rest of us haven’t.”
Somehow, that clarifying remark didn’t help my feelings, and I waved my hands in his face, picked up the tea service, and carefully navigated the narrow stairs, Kipp following closely. We’d just made it to the ground level kitchen when Peter and Elani burst through the doorway, fortunately making it inside before the rain arrived as if dropped by a bucket. Peter shrugged off his coat and threw his hat on the table, while Elani shook off the few raindrops that had found their way to her dense coat. The cold air from outside had chased them inside, fighting with the warmth of the stove for supremacy. The kettle was still hot, so after motioning Peter to take a seat, I started on another pot of tea.
“You guys will never believe who we saw at Pumphrey’s stable,” Peter began, his eyes almost bugging out of his head with excitement. “We were making arrangements for a carriage, when in walked Lewis Powell! We immediately recognized him from the pictures taken while he was being held prior to his execution.” He paused for a second. “Of course, we made ourselves inconspicuous, and I acted like I was examining a horse, so he paid us no attention.”
“Considering the brutality of what he does to William Seward, it felt odd standing close to him, listening to him exchange pleasantries with the stable hand,” Elani said. “Powell had to have a vicious nature based upon his later actions.”
I was hoping the two of them did more than just register amazement and a moment later was ashamed of my thoughts, which had given them no credit for thinking proactively. Peter’s face had a glow, and I’d seen that before when he was feeling pretty good about himself. Once upon a time, I’d seen that glow on my face, too.
“We both concentrated on his thoughts and will be able to identify him when he makes his way to Surratt’s boarding house.” Peter nodded and the glow intensified. He was waiting for something.
“Great work,” Kipp said, wagging his tail. “We have a good start on being able to piece together some of these fragments when the people start to converge.” He stared hard at me, wondering why I was not being more supportive of the young duo. “We have met John Wilkes Booth, Mary Surratt, Anna Surratt, Lewis Powell, and I think I have a handle on John Surratt.”
“Don’t forget Tad Lincoln,” I added, feeling cantankerous for no particular reason.
Kipp stared at me again. Sighing, I smiled at Peter. “Some of the best moments in our line of work are just coincidence, and it does really help our ongoing effort that you could mark Powell.” I avoided saying “good job” since I felt no need to hand out treat biscuits every time Peter did what was expected of him.
“What the heck is wrong with you?” Kipp asked me privately. With effort he suppressed a soft growl as he stared at me.
“I’m old, remember, and with that comes the privilege of being irritable, grumpy and just plain old cantankerous,” I replied airily. “I’ve decided to take a page from Fitzhugh’s playbook,” I added, just to put a period on the point I was making.
We talked again, but it wasn’t until later that night, as Kipp and I had retired to our narrow bed in the tiny bedroom. I’d blown out the flame from the oil lamp, and the acrid smell of the smoke and the lingering odor from the oil floated in the air, filling the small room. Kipp snuggled closer than usual, partially due to the size of the bed and also because he seemed to think I needed something from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked again.
I wanted to avoid his question and desperately wanted to go to sleep. But I knew he would stay in my brain, burrowing like a tick until I talked with him.
“I just don’t want to run around after Peter and Elani telling them what a great job they are doing all the time,” I answered, the words sounding churlish and unkind even as I spoke them. But there was no way to sugar coat things, since Kipp was in my head and knew the honesty of my thoughts. There was no way to lie to him. That is either a downside of being a telepath or an advantage, depending upon the day of the week.
He fell quiet, his muzzle stretched across my chest. Idly, my fingers found his neck, and I began to massage the thick muscles, which seemed a little tense. Had I caused him to worry? Outside, a loud roll of thunder rumbled, and I heard the rain intensify. If this carried on through tomorrow, it would be a good day to camp out, monitor the Surratt’s from across the street, and do little to nothing. Maybe drink a couple of pots of hot tea? I wish we could have brought the Monopoly or Clue set with us. The days could prove to be long, and close confinement could worry away at one’s otherwise good intentions.
“But that’s not really what’s bothering you, is it?” Kipp asked, his words soft in my mind. He was being unusually tentative.
“What could it be?”
“You worry, on some level, that you will become irrelevant,” he finally said, stumbling over his words. “Here you are, with a young team who have barely traveled, and they are mastering things at a quicker pace than you did when you were their age. What will be left for you to teach?” He obviously reflected back to our discussion about jealousy. “You aren’t jealous and are proud of them, but you wonder what it means to you as an older symbiont…and no, you’re not old, Petra, so I was just kidding about the needlepoint thing. But you are older than Peter and have been questioning how much longer you want to travel for some time.” He pushed his chin harder against my chest. “It probably gets irritating to have him running around, all excited, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
I admit it was startling to have it laid out in just that matter-of-fact manner, and the truth stung. But it was true, and when I examined myself at that moment, what I found wasn’t pretty. I felt my lips turn down as I considered that I was being selfish, a quality I didn’t appreciate in others, and even less so in myself.
“I don’t think you are selfish,” Kipp said hurriedly. “I think you are struggling with your job as a mentor, wondering what more will there be for you to share once Peter and Elani have learned what there is to learn.” He paused. “Actually, I’ve had similar thoughts.”
“Really?” I asked, turning my face towards his in the darkness. His breath was warm on my flesh, and I felt the hair curling along my cheek stir.
“Yes, and I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. Elani has a novel skill that will make her unique and needing me to do my deep, mental dives may become obsolete.” Kipp sighed. “I know I’m not old, but sometimes I feel it, compared to her.” Actually, if one considered that he was born in prehistoric times, he was older than any living symbiont, but that fact seemed an irrelevant technicality.
I hugged him tightly. “Our challenge, my friend, is to figure out how to evolve as our young team eclipses us with their energy, drive, and, yes, even skill level with many things. Although, Kipp, no symbiont will ever match or exceed your skills, and that’s a fact.”
He bowed his head modestly. “That remains to be seen,” he replied cryptically.
“Can I sleep now?” I asked.
“Yup,” he replied.
A crack of thunder sounded outside, causing the glass base of the oil lamp to tremble upon the tabletop. It was good Mr. Garland had made emergency repairs to the roof, since I had no desire to wake up in a puddle of water from rain that had managed to cascade down from the upper levels. Yes, tomorrow would be a good day
to huddle and monitor activity.
Nineteen
Peter made one purchase during our shopping spree, and I’d not paid attention to the wrapped package until we gathered in the parlor the next day. The rain was coming down outside in opaque sheets of gray, intermittently obscuring our view of Mary Surratt’s home, which loomed darkly like an abandoned hulk across the way. And while we didn’t venture outside, the four of us kept our radar tuned for any action, but it appeared the Surratt household was as reluctant to venture forth as were we. The thoughts of the occupants were quiescent, still as a pool of calm water. On the well-used table in the weathered parlor set a chess set, Peter’s surprise acquisition.
“What’s this?” Elani asked, walking over to touch the white rook with her nose, nostrils flaring.
“I knew we didn’t have any other games with us, so I thought it would be a good time for the lupines to learn chess. Petra, you know how to play, don’t you?” Peter’s face had that worried expression he sometimes wore when he wasn’t certain of an answer as he waited for my response.
“Yes, although I’m barely adequate.” I responded.
“I’m pretty good,” Peter said modestly, although I suspected he was better than that. “I thought we could teach Kipp and Elani and let them play with us moving the pieces and collaborating.”
Kipp looked at me. “If you are barely adequate, and Peter is pretty good, do I get to choose my partner?” He was clearly being a stinker.
A Conspiracy to Murder, 1865 Page 19
