An Extraordinary Union

by Alyssa Cole

  “This treason talk is getting tiresome. I’m not nor have I ever been for the North,” Malcolm said, keeping his voice calm and friendly. Rufus was circling him, his eyes locked on Malcolm as he unbuttoned his coat and then tossed it aside, windmilling his arms as if testing his range of motion in his fine shirt. Malcolm didn’t like that one bit. “I have plenty of friends in Richmond who will attest to that, if you want to bring me before your Vigilance Committee.”

  “Vigilance Committee?” Rufus laughed low and much too gleefully for Malcolm’s liking. “Try the Sons of the Confederacy, boy. Don’t act like you don’t know what that is. We make good sport rooting out race traitors and Lincoln’s lapdogs. I’ve suspected you for days now, listening to all the claptrap you fed Susie and the senator, and I intend to have fun with you.”

  Sons of the Confederacy.

  Malcolm tried not to show any sign of surprise, but his blood ran cold at Rufus’s words. He hadn’t suspected the oaf for a second.

  Malcolm had heard of the group before; Pinkertons stayed well clear of its members because they had certain predilections in their interrogation techniques. They enjoyed doling out pain, and no detective who found himself captured came out of the situation unbroken—if they managed to survive.

  “I don’t know if you really tried to hurt Susie,” Rufus said, eyes narrowed. “Senator Caffrey can tend to that. I do know that you’re a spy. Now I’m gonna hurt you and you’re gonna tell me what I need to know.”

  In two long strides, the man had reached Malcolm and without further preamble punched him hard in the stomach. He’d known Rufus had the brute strength of a pie-fed boy, but now he felt it in his rattling ribcage. Malcolm had managed to twist away from the blow a little, but it had still knocked the wind out of him, leaving him short of breath.

  “Are there any other detectives working with you here?” Rufus asked.

  Malcolm’s eyes were still squeezed shut, so he knew that he gave nothing away about Elle and Timothy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Rufus clasped his hands together and raised them over his head before delivering a punishing blow to Malcolm’s hunched back, sending him sprawling on the floor. He kicked out at Rufus as he fell, but the man dodged the kick and then ran in and delivered one of his own.

  Malcolm drew in a sharp breath as he heard the crack in his side.

  Definitely broken now.

  “I ask again: Are you working with any other detectives?”

  “Go to hell, Rufus. Maybe you’ll find the answer you want there. Mine is still ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’”

  Malcolm rolled to his side and was pulled short by the chain, barely escaping a full blow to the face as Rufus swung his foot and stomped the place where Malcolm’s head had just rested. The man was vicious, and if he found Elle . . .

  Anger boiled up in Malcolm. He pulled his feet up under him and launched himself forward headfirst, catching Rufus right in a soft belly that had been unprepared for a blow. Rufus stumbled back and fell to his knees, arms clutched around his torso as he glared at Malcolm from across the cellar.

  He struggled to his feet and Malcolm tried to gauge his attack so he could counter it, however feebly, when the sudden commotion of shouts and clattering filtered down the stairs, along with the distinct smell of smoke.

  “The house is on fire!” someone shouted as they rushed past the door.

  Rufus smiled then, his teeth bared and an expression of dumb superiority on his face.

  “You know, I am plum tired after tonight’s festivities,” he said. “Since you claim you don’t know nothing, I guess I have no use for you. I’ll go check on the fire, though. And if anyone remembers there’s a Yank in the cellar chained to the floor, it won’t be me.”

  With that he grabbed his jacket and headed up the stairs. He shut the door behind him, leaving his flickering lantern behind, as if Malcolm would need light if the fire made its way to the cellar.

  Malcolm had been in many a close call before, but the fear that gripped him now was a new specimen. Being killed by another man was one thing, and slowly roasting while chained to the floor was another. He was going to die, and painfully. He wouldn’t see the end of the war. He wouldn’t see Elle’s beautiful face again.

  No.

  He gripped the chain as best he could with his nerveless hands, levered his weight at his knees, and began pulling again, using his own heft to try to dislodge the chain from the ground. His muscles strained and he felt the veins standing out on his forehead as he pushed himself to the limit.

  It was futile.

  The door opened again and smoke billowed into the cellar.

  “Forget your lantern?” Malcolm growled, tensed for another attack.

  “I’m here for nothing so useful as a lantern.” Elle’s low voice wrapped around him, and he knew what true elation was. “Just an idiot Scotsman who tried to plow a senator’s daughter.”

  Her small form hurried down the steps, eyes bright, brow creased. She was dressed as a man again, in clothes that were slightly too large for her and a hat that was slightly too small. He didn’t ask any questions—he was busy trying to regulate his sheer happiness at seeing her before him.

  “Of course there would have to be a consarned lock,” she snarled.

  Malcolm looked on dumbfounded as she lifted the hat and shoved a hand into her thick hair. She pulled out two hairpins and then dropped to her knees before him.

  “I didn’t try to plow Susie. I’m sorry about the kiss—”

  “You can grovel later,” she said. “Hold out your hands.”

  She stuck the hairpins between her teeth, first flattening them and then bending up the end of one at a ninety-degree angle.

  He held out his hands and she briskly set to work picking the lock. He could sense the tension in her body as she moved one hairpin back and forth through the lock, stopping occasionally.

  “Where did you learn to pick locks?” he asked when he saw her screw up her face in frustration.

  “Blacksmith had to come open an old lock on a door when we first moved up North, explained what he was doing as he worked and let me try it.” Her reply was brisk and efficient, matching the way she worked the hairpins back and forth in the lock. Her teeth sank into her plump lower lip as she worked, and if the power of concentration had been tangible the lock would have already crumbled to dust.

  God, she was magnificent when she was all business.

  “I love you,” he blurted out.

  “Hush! I’m trying to hear the pin fall,” she snapped, pressing her ear closer to the lock. She slowed her movements down even more, then with a quick flick of her wrist the shackles opened and blood coursed painfully into his hands.

  She closed her eyes briefly, in relief or prayer or both, and looked up at him with glossy eyes.

  “It seems, against all common sense, that I love you, too,” she said. Then Malcolm’s heart hurt along with the rest of him, but from overabundance. He tried to grab at her shoulders and pull her to him, but his hands weren’t completely mobile and his fingers would not obey.

  Instead, Elle stood and grabbed his hands, rubbing circulation into them as she pulled him toward the stairs, glancing up at the cracked door.

  “Are you ready to make a daring escape, Mr. Detective?” she asked as they climbed the steps. She turned, and because she was ahead of him they were at an even height.

  “I’m at your command, Earl,” he said. “All I ask for is one kiss.”

  He needed to touch her, to feel her mouth against his.

  “You’ve already had a kiss tonight,” she said stiffly, beginning to turn away from him. He reached for her, his hand just strong enough to maintain a grip on her arm, and pulled her back gently. Even that slight exertion sent an explosion of pain through his torso, but he wouldn’t be deterred.

  “That wasn’t a kiss,” he said. “This is a kiss.”

  His mouth slanted over hers, lips pressing
firmly against hers, which were sealed tight against him. He licked at her hungrily and she opened for him on a sigh, her hand reaching up to cradle his bruised face as she met his ravenous demands. Her tongue danced with his gently, soothing him, as if she were afraid she would hurt him if she returned his ardor.

  Emotion filled him for a moment, nearly overwhelmed him, and she pulled away quickly, eyes shining as if she had been affected in the same way.

  “Forward march, soldier,” she said, her voice a little shaky as she turned and tramped up the steps.

  She paused at the door; then they both passed through into pandemonium.

  CHAPTER 24

  Elle’s heart was thudding in her chest: Everything was happening so quickly and not quickly enough. Many of the guests had been in the process of leaving, but luckily a good number of them had stayed behind to gossip about the unsavory events of the night or in search of misplaced belongings. Elle was sure Malcolm’s name would be plastered all over the scandal sheets Susie so adored reading.

  They stepped into a small closet as they heard the thud of heavy footsteps approaching.

  “Did Susie plan all this?” she asked. “Is she a detective for the Rebs?”

  “Rufus is a spy for the Confederates,” he said. “Susie is another thing entirely. She’d make a damn fine detective, though, if she could think of anything other than herself. Where are we going now?”

  “I’m driving us out of here,” she said, creeping from the alcove once the coast was clear. She didn’t have time to explain everything to him. They needed to escape while there was still a clamor to stop the fires.

  They crept stealthily along the back hallways, empty now that everyone had run to the front to fight the flames. Soon they were out in the brisk night air, running for the stable. Elle knew that Malcolm was bristling with questions, but Mary could answer once they got to the coach.

  Elle pulled the door open and commanded Malcolm into the open top cab. Both Mary and Althea jumped, recoiling from the large bloody man in a Confederate uniform.

  “Here we are,” Elle said briskly. “Malcolm, get on the floor and get under Mary’s skirts.”

  “What? No!” Mary balked. “Is that why you chose this big old gown? I should of known . . .”

  Elle blew out a frustrated breath. “There are several layers of fabric under your skirt. I’ll let you choose which he goes under. Whatever the selection, your modesty is protected and we won’t be caught.”

  “Elle, I’m here doing you a favor and you gonna send some white man under my skirt? Robert is gonna kill me.”

  “You’re not doing me a favor, you’re helping the Union. And what Robert doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  She slammed the door shut just as Malcolm asked, “Who’s Robert?”

  “My husband, who’s saving your backside tonight and will strangle you if you try anything funny down there,” Mary replied.

  “I do believe Elle would beat him to the punch,” Malcolm said, then groaned. “Besides, after the night I’ve had, I’m too exhausted to get up to much down here.”

  Elle climbed up onto the box and took the reins in hand. Behind her, she heard Mary giving Malcolm a summary of the plan they were undertaking. She hoped it was less impossible than it sounded.

  “Come on, girl,” she prodded. The horse whinnied and they began a slow trot toward the lane, away from where the crowds were clustered around the fire. The back road would be a more circuitous route, but it was safer than taking the main road, which would be even busier with people coming to put out the fire. As soon as the horse and coach pulled off of the rough track and onto the road, Elle’s heart began to beat a little easier. She tried not to think ahead, or to think of the boat that would come down the river and carry them away. For now she could only think in the moment if she was to get them there safely. She had no weapon but her wit, and she hoped that was enough.

  “Hold!” a voice rang out from behind them. “Hold there, boy!”

  Her heart sank. She slowed the horse to a stop as a soldier on horseback galloped toward them.

  “Where you going in the middle of this madness?” the soldier asked suspiciously.

  “Mistress need to go home real bad,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the carriage behind her. “She was all a tizzy when that fella got arrested, and then the fire started up and she passed clean out. Her girl had to use the smelling salts on her.”

  The soldier glimpsed into the carriage, and Elle imagined that Mary and Althea were doing some very convincing acting because he nodded his approval.

  “Careful now. This might be the spearhead of some Yankee attack on the city,” he cautioned, as if they were comrades in the war. “Get your mistress home safe, boy.”

  “I will, sah,” Elle said, already urging the horse forward. She visualized the map of Richmond as they moved forward at a cantor, recalling which roads would get them to Hangman’s Point the quickest and with the least trouble.

  They were moving quickly away from the mansion and down the tree-lined roads beyond when Elle heard an uproar behind them.

  “Tarnation,” she muttered under her breath and urged the horse on faster, the heavy carriage clattering noisily along behind her.

  Maybe they haven’t noticed, maybe they haven’t noticed, she repeated, although she already knew what the clamor was about.

  From far behind them, she heard the man’s voice again.

  “Halt!”

  There was something in the tone of the command that made Elle’s stomach flip. This would be no innocuous inquiry. If she stopped, that would be the end of them—she could feel it. Elle prodded the horse forward, lightly smacking at its flanks with the driving whip to push it faster.

  “Sorry,” she muttered as the horse obediently picked up speed, breaking out into a gallop. She knew that a horse pulling a carriage and four people was no match for lone riders, but she urged the horse onward, trying to gain some distance.

  “Elle!” Malcolm’s voice rang out from behind her. “Pull the carriage to a stop, quickly!”

  Her first inclination was to ignore him, but she knew he must have a reason behind what she thought was madness, so she pulled the horse to a stop. The carriage door immediately opened, and all three inhabitants spilled out. Malcolm ran to her, pulled her from her seat, and grabbed the whip from her hand, smacking the horse.

  “Yah!” The horse stood confused for a moment at its loose reins and then took off down the road, turning a bend and leaving them behind. Mary and Althea were already hustling into the cover of the trees, and Malcolm pulled Elle along after them.

  Just as they were completely hidden in the shadows of the trees, a cadre of men on horses thundered by them. They passed in a loud blur of hoofbeats and dust; then only the silence of the forest surrounded them.

  “It’s over. We’ll never make it now,” Althea whispered in a voice thick with fear. “Ben said this would happen. I should have stayed with him.”

  “You can go back now and let me know how that goes, but I have an appointment with a steam-powered ship ready to carry me to the Promised Land,” Mary said. “We got two legs, just like that horse had four, and we can get ourselves there.”

  She lifted the heavy skirts of her dress and began tramping through the woods. Elle felt a pang of guilt now, wishing she’d chosen something lighter.

  Making their way through the thick underbrush in the dark woods was harder than Elle had imagined. They tried to move silently, but Althea and Mary were hampered by their skirts, which kept getting stuck in brambles, and Malcolm’s injuries made stealth impossible. When fear or doubt crept in, Elle thought of the tired people who’d arrived at the back door of her parents’ home. If they could travel, and much farther, without complaint, so could she.

  “We’re getting close,” Mary said over her shoulder. They hadn’t been walking for a very long time, but if the carriage trick had worked out, then they would have been waiting at Hangman’s Point for
a substantial amount of time already. She wondered if she could have found another way to get them there safely, whether she had compromised Mary’s escape and Robert’s plan by drawing them into her subterfuge.

  Elle sighed and Malcolm took her hand. She looked up at him to find him smiling at her. Warmth flooded her, buffering her from the sharp edges of fear and doubt.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “I’m the one who’s supposed to inspire tales of derring-do, but so far you’ve managed to out-adventure me at every turn. Escaping slavers, setting Confederate mansions alight, escaping via stolen river boats. Not to mention saving me from a sure death.”

  Elle felt sick at the thought of what had left him so beaten, and what would have happened if she hadn’t set that fire and freed him.

  “You saved me, too,” she said.

  “I always will,” he said, bringing her knuckles to his lips to dust them with a kiss.

  “We always will,” she emphasized. “We bring out the best in each other. I’ve waited a lifetime to find someone who didn’t define me by my talent or try to censor me when I said things they didn’t find pleasing.”

  “As long as you promise not to recall every argument we have for the next fifty years, both your talent and your smart mouth are fine by me.”

  Fifty years? Would she really be allowed that? She looked away from him, unable to process being so happy in the middle of such a fraught situation.

  “Well, let’s wait until we’re actually on the boat until you congratulate me on my adventuring,” she said.

  Up ahead, the trees were starting to thin, and more moonlight filtered through the bare branches and the last clinging leaves of the deciduous trees. Mary turned around and in the light Elle could see the woman’s eyes focus on Malcolm’s hand holding hers. She fought the instinct to pull her hand away, to explain that she loved him and he loved her.

  Instead, she gripped his hand tighter.