A Conspiracy to Murder, 1865

by T. L. B. Wood

  “That’s good, Elani,” Kipp said, giving her a muzzle fist bump. “I think the more you practice, the better you’ll get.” Elani almost danced on tiptoes with the complement.

  “The bad thing is that Booth saw us,” I said. “But he wasn’t suspicious, although I’d have preferred to not have been spotted.” We waited for a break in the traffic before turning for home. The overlapping clouds had reassembled overhead, appearing as if they were ready to burst with rain, and I had a cup of hot tea and a chess game on my mind.

  Twenty-Two

  “How is your tea, Mrs. Holmes?” Mary Surratt allowed a polite smile to cross her normally grave countenance. Having been impressed by my pretty tea service, she dusted off her best set in a subtle ladies’ competition. As she leaned forward to pour my second cup, I murmured compliments over the loveliness of the patterned teapot as well as the shape of the delicate cups as the delicate fragrance of jasmine tea wafted through the air. Mary’s face flushed with pleasure at my words. She was probably what would have been thought of as a handsome woman, since her features were too strong and not soft enough to be conventionally pretty. There was little to no spontaneity in her as she managed an admirable control over her thoughts as well as her mannerisms. I could see how others might be suspicious of her due to her deliberate nature.

  Kipp and I were hopeful we might inadvertently gather more information about the looming conspiracy and still were basking in the flush of triumph at having stalked John Wilkes Booth to his lair the previous afternoon. No, it didn’t directly involve Mary Surratt, but we certainly didn’t hear any thoughts from her son, John, that might have implicated her. Anna sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes darting occasionally towards Kipp, who pretended to be sleeping.

  “Why does she keep staring at me?” he grumbled. “I know she doesn’t like dogs, but I’m not a dog, and all I’m doing is being quiet, minding my own business.”

  “Kipp,” I said, meaning it as a warning. Was he trying to break my concentration, I wondered?

  “I mean, I could really raise a ruckus if I wanted to.”

  “Kipp,” I said again.

  “Okay,” he replied with a big dog-sounding sigh.

  Mary Surratt’s thoughts were bruised, almost painfully sensitive, since she and her son, John, had another rather serious altercation that morning. Anna, who was protective of her mother, looked at her frequently, worried over the dark stains beneath Mary’s eyes. Her nights of late had been sleepless and marred by disturbing dreams.

  “And how are you and your brother settling in?” Mary asked. Peter and Elani had headed out to the Soldiers’ Home for another grueling session with Tad. Prior to their departure, Peter had remarked that it was understandable why Tad had run off past tutors with such ruthless efficiency. He was, in modern-day parlance, a piece of work.

  “Quite well,” I replied, smiling. “We are so grateful to you for your hospitality and helping us secure lodging.”

  She waved her hand with a delicate laugh. “Only too happy to help another person in need. And the fact you are from the South compelled me to treat you with kindness during this time of war,” she added unnecessarily. Her eyes darted to my face, watching for my reaction.

  “And there is your opening,” Kipp murmured, his amber eyes alert and on me.

  “Yes, Mrs. Surratt, quite honestly I wasn’t sure how we would be received in Washington,” I said, leaning forward, hoping I was wearing the most earnest facial expression in my extensive repertoire.

  “Well, Washington is a town of divided loyalties,” she replied cautiously.

  “Watch yourself, Petra,” Kipp intoned. “John mentioned to her last night that you and Peter seem to be pretty visible in town for strangers. After Booth remarked on having spied you from the window of his hotel room, John became concerned thinking that you and Peter might be Union spies. His business, after all, makes him overly cautious and lacking in trust. He told his mother to be careful around you.”

  I managed to change the tone of the conversation to something light and frivolous. And although after John Surratt met with Booth, the history was that Confederate sympathizers began to use Mary Surratt’s house as a gathering place, I didn’t know it would happen at that moment. But after hearing the street-level door slam, the murmur of male voices began to drift up from the first floor of the townhouse. John Surratt, Booth, and another man were downstairs! I could only hope they would not make an appearance in the parlor, given John Surratt’s suspicious nature. For a moment, my anxiety diverted my attention from Mary, as her words formed a question in my mind.

  “Is everything to your liking, Mrs. Holmes?” she asked, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

  “Oh, yes, yes, and thank you,” I stuttered, trying to regain my footing in the conversation. I’d let Kipp work on what was happening downstairs.

  “Booth is here with John Surratt, and I believe the other man is David Herold,” Kipp said, taking a deep breath.

  Mary’s thoughts became as diverted as mine as her worry over John’s activities filled her mind. It was almost as difficult for her to continue to talk with me as it was for me to listen and respond. Anna, too, was becoming restless, curious as to what was happening downstairs as we prattled on about nonsense and sipped tea. The words spoken in the kitchen were not decipherable, but there were occasional emotional outbursts of a tone rather than actual spoken phrases I could hear. With effort, I calmed myself; Kipp had shut himself off from me so as to not divert my focus.

  The tea finally struggled to an awkward conclusion, and I rose to depart. As I did the courteous leave-taking, murmuring words over how pleasant the afternoon had been, I realized I would have to exit out the front with a high probability I would be seen leaving the house. Given Booth’s apparent notice of my frequency of appearances around town, it was not something I desired, but there was no other way around the moment. The tea was finished, and I was being ushered to the door. Kipp pushed against my legs, looking up at me, his tail wagging briefly.

  “We’ll deal with it,” Kipp said, his warmth against my body supplying its usual comfort. With Kipp at my side, all adversity could be met and conquered, or so I chose to think.

  The weather, which seemed variable to a high degree, had changed during the time I’d been sipping tea, and once again the sky overhead was turning prematurely dark, the clouds lying low over the city. Although it was cold, I didn’t think it was below freezing, and we might be in for another rain event. A warning rumble of thunder caused the iron railing along the stairs to tremble beneath my fingers. I descended carefully, as women had to do in those times due to the voluminous skirts that could hobble one quite suddenly, hoping I would be able to make my departure unseen. As I made it to the street level, two large wagons were rumbling past, the drivers shouting encouraging words to the weary teams of mules, which were overworked and ready for the day to end. With my inhaled breath, I caught the odor of the sweaty animals, the stench from the drivers’ unwashed bodies, as well as a more pungent fragrance from one of the nearby waterways which was polluted with human waste. The latter brought a sting to my eyes, which watered. Deeply humid days seemed to capture odors in the air, unwilling to release them, and I prayed for a wind to kick up and blow it all away.

  “Booth is watching us,” Kipp murmured. “Act, uh, casual,” he suggested.

  “And how do I do that?” I hissed, irritated at such a silly directive.

  “You could whistle or something,” he replied, trying to bring levity to the moment.

  Even though I’d grown completely lazy and dependent upon Kipp’s amazing talents, the thoughts of Booth were as easily accessible to me as they were to Kipp. Yes, he noticed, and instead of his appreciation of my female figure, I followed a trail of suspicion clouding his thoughts. For the first time, he truly wondered if I was who I’d claimed to be. After all, there were female spies on both sides of the Mason Dixon line. Having a dog at my side could be a clever act to appe
ar innocent, since no spy usually traveled with two dogs and a brother. I didn’t have to see his handsome face to imagine the changes in his features as a series of emotions and thoughts crossed his mind.

  As we entered the townhouse, the rain began to fall, first as a gentle pattering which quickly escalated into a deluge. I glanced back at Mary Surratt’s house where the lights from the windows glowed soft amber as the conspirators huddled in the warmth of the ground-level kitchen. Telepaths recognize one another immediately, so I knew that Peter and Elani were already back, upstairs in the parlor. A minute later, they clambered down the staircase, Elani’s nails ticking softly against the scarred wood surface. Peter took one look at my face, my flesh showing the chill from the air, and wordlessly put the kettle on the still warm stove.

  “Well?” Elani asked, glancing at Kipp.

  “Booth, Surratt, and Herold gathered for the first time in the Surratt townhouse,” he began. “Wait,” he said, taking a deep breath. “John is introducing Booth to his mother and sister right now, and they are both suitably impressed to meet a famous actor.” Kipp began to pant with effort. “Booth, as is his talent, is being seductively charming, leading them both to think he is a fine gentleman to know and to entertain. Mary doesn’t realize at this point that he is trying to form a conspiracy to act against Lincoln. As much as she despises the Union, and as much concern as she has over John’s activities, she is not engaged yet.”

  Peter saw to my needs, pouring me a cup of tea he’d brewed, as Kipp unraveled all he’d learned. Booth brought Herold, who would later be hanged for his part in the assassination of Lincoln, to meet John Surratt for the first time. It was more of a gripe session, with Booth hogging the stage, which was his nature, due to his extreme political views as well as the consuming hatred that ignited his body like a wildfire. John viewed Booth as a tool he could use, and Booth felt the same about John. Both men were cautious, with the natural suspiciousness of men who wish to bring down a government. For the first time, the notion of kidnapping Lincoln was raised. What Kipp had overheard appeared to match with what we knew of recorded history.

  “And how did your day go?” I asked, glancing at Peter, who had removed his boots and was sitting in his stocking feet, slouched back in his chair from fatigue.

  “It was a bust. We drove out there, and for some reason, Tad never showed. After a bit, we just came home.” Peter looked unsettled.

  “And?” I prompted.

  “There were men obviously lurking in the woods, watching us this time, more boldly than before. At some point we will need to confront that issue, I believe.” Peter’s dark eyes met mine. “They are Confederate spies who watch that road intermittently due to Lincoln and other members of the government who travel that route.”

  “Well, great,” I muttered. “We have spies watching us, and Booth is suspicious of us. I’m worried we may disrupt the timeline unless we are very careful.”

  “What do you recommend?” Elani asked.

  There were a few remedies open to symbionts who were in the midst of a mire of quicksand with potentially dire outcomes. The easiest was to put an end to the time-shift and return home posthaste. My suggestion was met with intense disappointment from my companions, who stared at me as if I’d grown another head.

  “My other thought,” I added, rushing my words, “is that we create a story to feed the spies who watch the road to the Soldiers’ Home, knowing it will get back to Surratt and Booth. I suggest, other than the times we go there, let’s stay inside during the day and keep our prowling to after dark when we will be less conspicuous.”

  We were to have an opportunity to test out our story a few days later, when the rain had cleared, and a warming trend was being encouraged by the winds from the southeast driven by a storm swirling in the turbulent Gulf. I think the few days we’d spent huddling in our townhouse helped us fall off the radar of the conspirators, if our surveillance of Booth and Surratt’s thoughts was any measure. Out of sight, out of mind, it seemed. Peter made arrangements for a boy to meet us on the next street corner with a carriage, and after coins exchanged hands, we were on our way, heading north out of the crowded city. Thankfully, we were leaving the stench and congestion behind us. Dusk was falling, and the western sky was making the conversion from blue to pink and deep violet as long, wispy clouds cluttered the horizon. A v-shaped wedge of geese moved overhead, honking noisily as they either fled something or sought something.

  Peter had become increasingly comfortable driving the horse, the reins held limply in his hands. I glanced down and approved of the calluses he was developing on his formerly soft flesh. He caught my eyes staring and smiled.

  “I guess I’m losing my office hands,” he remarked, lifting his dark brows. The wind blew a little harder, stirring the hair that had grown long over his collar where it curled against the stiff white fabric.

  “Well, that’s a good thing, right?” I said, poking him in the side with my elbow.

  On either side of the road, the trees loomed, the twilight making the woods appears more alien than during the familiar light of day. The golden leaves of the American beeches chattered as we passed, their rest disrupted by the breeze, the sound noticeable in the otherwise quiet countryside. For an instant the forest seemed animated, a living thing that was somehow threatening to us. Shaking my head, I reprimanded myself for letting my imagination go wild. Inhaling deeply, I caught the scent of wood smoke from some distant fire.

  “There are men up ahead, hiding just within the edge of the trees,” Kipp murmured, poking his nose up against the back of my neck. I felt it quiver, moist and cool, against my flesh. Reaching back with my hand, I curled my fingers into the dense fur of his throat as he pressed against me.

  “It will be fine,” I said, feeling the need to install some comfort into my friends.

  The horse, seemingly anxious to arrive at a final destination, picked up the pace, almost breaking out of a meandering trot into a canter. Peter eased back on the reins, since we didn’t wish to appear as if we were in a hurry or frightened. After about a hundred yards, four men burst out of concealment from the tree line and galloped towards us, angling so as to cut off our path. Peter pulled up our horse, which began shaking its bay-colored head in annoyance at the unexpected interruption.

  “Hello, friends,” the lead man said, smiling as he leaned down to peer into the carriage. “What’s your business on this road?” Even though he was smiling and his tone was pleasant, his intent was not a good one. He’d been told by his superiors, fed information by John Surratt, to interrogate us. Although his face was partially hidden by the brim of a slouch hat, his thoughts were clear to all of us.

  “And why would you ask?” I spoke up, feeling the need to navigate this tricky road. My female status would give me some cover considering the times and the social mores.

  The man, as I expected, removed his hat, revealing a greasy pate of hair that fell to his shoulders. He was dressed in a heavy overcoat concealing weapons that were strapped to his waist. The other men were similarly clothed, their faces shrouded in darkness beneath the brims of their hats.

  “Well, ma’am,” he replied, “there have been reports of highwaymen in these parts, and we’re just making sure that people who are traveling have business here abouts.” He smiled again, the expression not making it to his dark eyes. A small stain of tobacco juice marked the corners of his mouth, almost causing an artificial frown to appear as if on a clown’s painted face.

  “My goodness!” I exclaimed, my eyes growing wide. With a dramatic flair, I grasped Peter’s arm. “These roads are not safe. I told you that, brother!”

  “We are on our way to the Soldiers’ Home,” Peter said, after patting my hand in what seemed to be a comforting gesture. “A friend of our father is an invalid there, and he’s lost his eyesight. We, as a gesture of kindness, sometimes visit to read to him and give him comfort.” Peter blinked like an owl as he traded glances with the rider.

  “B
rother, if these roads are not safe, we shouldn’t come anymore,” I said, taking the opportunity to look at the surrounding woods, pretending to be anxious. Behind me, Kipp snickered at my performance, clearly amused at my Tallulah Bankhead drama style.

  The man relaxed, and as we followed his thoughts, it was clear he believed us and thought we were no danger. After all I was a female, and Peter didn’t carry the appearance of a potential combatant. All of this served us well, since he would dutifully report back to Surratt and company, who would hopefully mark us off their list of concerns. Kipp, behind me, had been tensed, prepared to intervene and manipulate the man’s notions if needed, but it seemed he was ready to take our explanation and run with it.

  I thought I’d sweeten the deal a little. “Sir, since we are strangers to these parts and a long way from Tennessee, do you have advice for us on how to avoid these highwaymen of whom you speak?”

  “I’d not carry anything of value,” he replied after stumbling a moment.

  Peter laughed softly. “No concerns there, my friend. And we appreciate your cautioning us.”

  As the men road off, their destination clearly Washington, we breathed a collective sigh of relief. That moment could have gone good or bad, but it seemed those men were eager to receive a positive message that they could relay.

  “They are intermittently sent out to monitor several of the roads that serve as main highways into and out of Washington,” Kipp said. “The weather is cold, and they’d prefer to be at the tavern, drinking whiskey in a warm building versus sitting out here in the woods. In other words, they wanted to hear just what you had to say, and they can go home.”

  “Petra, you handled that well,” Elani said, her eyes glowing bright from the rear of the carriage.

  As I nodded my head at the compliment, I realized none of us should clap ourselves on the back with too many congratulations. The times were dangerous, and our need to keep a low profile and a soft footprint was even more necessary than ever.