“You were close?” Andrea heard the unmistakable sadness in his voice.
“My mother and James were about as fond of children as they were of learning how to be horse breeders. They left Hawthorne to be closer to his family in New York when I was ten, leaving us with our grandfather.”
So that’s why Daniel fought for the Union, Andrea thought. His father’s family was from the North.
“Anyway, my grandfather knew I would eventually take over Hawthorne, and he raised us until he died. I was seventeen, then. Daniel was twelve.”
“So you raised Daniel.”
He shrugged. “I did what I could.”
Andrea stared at the ring on her finger. “He never told me you were brothers, but I could tell he respected you greatly…admired you.”
“The feeling was mutual.” Glancing sideways at her, he must have seen her staring at his ring. “It says: ‘Dare All for Sacred Honor.’ My grandfather had them both made.”
He cleared his throat in such a way then that Andrea knew he was getting ready to change the subject. She instinctively braced herself.
“I’ve often wondered what Daniel meant when he insisted there were things I did not know.”
His voice sounded casual, yet Andrea’s heart pounded in her ears. Hunter had obviously replayed the scene in Fredericksburg over in his mind and was not satisfied with the end result.
“Who…who can know? He was in a great deal of pain. Perhaps he did not know what he was saying.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Hunter said, as he turned his head and stared at her. “Who can know?”
Andrea looked away and did not speak. She could not. The man beside her was back to that hostile, aloof composure that concealed his every thought. A more overbearing and intimidating man she had never encountered.
“You still haven’t told me how you met him.”
Andrea tried to hold her hands steady. She vaguely remembered Daniel telling her he had spent some time in Richmond. “I met Daniel here…in Richmond a few years ago,” she said. “I went to school here. And then when I decided to come South, I—”
“Used him,” Hunter answered disdainfully.
Andrea’s breath caught in her throat, and both of her hands turned to fists. She did not speak for fear of saying something she would regret. It seemed to her the horses moved in slow motion, the street was growing longer, or time was standing still. Out of boredom from the lack of conversation, her gaze drifted over to Hunter’s strong hands as they expertly held the reins, then to his well-muscled forearms disappearing into coat sleeves. She shuddered at the power they conveyed and looked away.
“Are you chilled, Miss Marlow?”
Expecting to see a look of mockery when she glanced up at his face, Andrea was surprised to find that ridicule was apparently not his intent. He appeared honestly concerned, his gray eyes soft and sympathetic.
“No, I’m…I’m fine.” Andrea found it hard to speak, wondering why his considerate side caused her heart to beat more tumultuously than his callous one had.
The two rode in silence for what seemed like hours to Andrea, though it was but the distance of two blocks.
“This is it, is it not?” Hunter pointed with his eyes and turned toward the side of the street.
Andrea nodded but did not bother to respond nor ask how he knew. Instead, she practically leaped from her seat before he even pulled the horse to a halt.
“Perhaps we can discuss this in more length in the future, Miss Marlow.” He leaned over and placed his hand on her arm before she could fully make her escape. “I’m in town a few days.”
“The ride was quite lovely.” Andrea lowered her eyes, not wanting him to see the fear she knew must be reflected there. “I thank you for the escort.”
“Are you trying to change the subject, Miss Marlow?”
“Does it seem like I am?” She looked him in the eyes now and his reaction was as she predicted. He scowled and shook his head, then flicked the reins and drove away.
Andrea’s smile faded as she turned toward the house. She had to leave Richmond.
And soon.
Chapter 41
An open foe may prove a curse, but a pretended friend is worse.
– Benjamin Franklin
September 1863
Captain Hunter cursed without looking up from the dispatch he studied when Gus, one of his scouts, knocked and stuck his head in the door.
“Sorry, sir, but you said you wanted to see anyone the pickets stopped from now on.”
“What do you have?”
“Just a young boy traveling alone. Says he’s lost, with the weather and all. We can send him on his way if you like.”
Hunter felt inclined to do just that. A soupy mix of fog had moved in, making it impossible to see three feet in any direction. An interrogation would likely not be worth the interruption. “Where did he say he was heading?”
“Uh, he didn’t quite say.” Gus paused as if gauging Hunter’s reaction. “Johnny’s the one that stopped him. He told Johnny he wants to know by what authority we halted and questioned him. Says he shouldn’t need a pass nor answer to people while traveling in his own country.”
“Is that so?” Hunter raised his head for the first time. “Well, I would be delighted, and indeed it is my duty, to enlighten him that he is traveling in my country now. By all means, send him in.”
By the time word passed down to the pickets, more than a few minutes had passed. Hunter resumed reading the captured dispatch, and turned his chair around to make notations on a hand-drawn layout of troop movements lying on the table behind him.
Gus brought the boy in, saluted, and made a hasty retreat, while Hunter recorded the new information. He did not realize another person was in the room until he glanced over his shoulder and saw the youth staring intently at the large map on the wall. When their eyes finally met, the moment of recognition was simultaneous. The boy looked down instantly, and Hunter let out an oath.
Hunter continued to stare at the figure, blinking as he tried to allow his brain to catch up to what his eyes were seeing.
There could be no mistake. The youth looked identical to the one he had seen from across the stream almost a year earlier. But now he was close enough to recognize the green, almond-shaped eyes and feminine lips, the same ones he had last seen a few weeks ago in Richmond.
“What do we have here?” He stood, crossed his arms, and glowered while she remained stoically still. Hunter walked around her slowly, rubbing his chin, trying to figure out how this supposed Southern aristocrat had fooled him and so many others. “Thanks to the weather, I finally have the opportunity to meet the war’s most famous gadfly.”
Her chin rose a little higher in the air. “I beg your pardon, but I was under the assumption that honor belonged to you.”
Hunter looked at her severely for a moment, then continued, his voice losing its casual tone. “Where are you going? What is your business here?”
“I am going—” Hunter watched her eyes flick up to his and then to the floor. He could tell she had been considering telling an outright lie and thought better of it. “I’m going to visit my cousin north of here.”
“Dressed as a boy?”
She shrugged and met his stare with a corresponding look of defiance. “I’ve grown tired of Richmond. And I…I have no escort.”
“You have no escort, so you dressed as a boy,” Hunter rubbed his chin. “I don’t believe that’s an option most women would choose.”
“Your memory is short, Captain. I believe I told you before, I am not like most women.”
“As to the former, unfortunately for you, it is not,” he answered. “And as for the latter, yes, I believe we are quite in agreement on that point.”
Despair, disappointment, and even a little humiliation, showed clearly on his adversary’s face. Hunter swept his eyes across her ragged and well-worn clothes. His mind drifted back to the ball in Richmond, and then to Fredericksburg and his brother’s
final devotional words to her.
“Would you care to extend me the courtesy of telling me your real name?”
“I have no desire to extend that courtesy, nor is it my duty or obligation to do so.” She turned her back on him and began to rudely tap her toe.
“Well, I guess I can call you Maryann. You are accustomed to that name, are you not?” The room filled with silence. “Or do you prefer Miss Marlow?”
She turned back toward him. “Actually, my name is Andrew Sinclair.”
Hunter noticed her voice did not betray that her legs trembled beneath her, but her next statement confirmed that she felt them. “Do you mind if I sit?” She did not wait for an answer, but found the composure to lower herself into the chair in front of his desk as elegantly as a queen takes her place on the throne.
Hunter muttered under his breath, and proceeded to sit down as well. “I suppose you are proud of your deceit, Miss Marlow. You almost got away with it.”
She gazed over his head into the space beyond, refusing to look into his eyes. “Like I told you, it’s Sinclair, so I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She sat arrow straight, her hands folded gracefully on her lap as if she were a lady of distinction attending a tea party, not a spy being questioned by a Confederate officer.
“Oh, stop this game. You know what I mean.” Hunter banged his fist on the desk. When he failed to get a reaction, he took a deep breath to get his emotions back under control. “Are you a citizen or soldier spy? To whom do you report?”
She leaned forward in her chair, her green eyes flickering with fire. “I’m afraid I decline to answer, and I can’t believe an officer would insult me by asking it.” She stood and turned her back to him again, but her hand still gripped the back of the chair for support.
“You evidently don’t have the good sense to realize how much trouble you are in,” Hunter said as he walked around his desk to stand in front of her. “Nor how much trouble you have caused the Confederacy.”
“You flatter me once again, sir,” she responded, bowing her head graciously. “A compliment from a foe is worth a dozen from a friend.”
Hunter frowned and paced the room, his hands clenched behind his back. “Miss, you may be under the illusion that this is a game, but you are being interrogated by an officer. And if your friends have not advised you of the necessity of discretion, then perhaps, out of consideration for your youth and inexperience, I should. I would not even have requested this interview had you not given my pickets trouble with your impudence.”
He paused for a moment, regarding the girl’s calm, proud features in silent amazement before proceeding. “You’re a little young for this type of service, aren’t you? Since when is it the habit of the Yanks to use young ladies for special service details?”
“I’m old enough to see the state of affairs,” she said defiantly. “As for the Federals, it’s their duty to employ every resource for the suppression, the overthrow, and the punishment of rebels in arms.”
Hunter sat down and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Your story about your cousin can be corroborated?” He asked the question casually as he drummed his fingers on the desk, but he watched her face closely.
“No.” She bit her cheek and stared at the floor. “I had no time to send a telegram. I received word in Richmond that my horse was stolen and I’m returning to—”
Hunter stood. “Your horse? Your horse? Curious. I seem to recall you telling me in Richmond that you don’t ride well. Yet you own a horse. One that is apparently very near and dear to your heart. Very interesting.”
“How very admirable of you to commit every word of our conversation to memory,” she said weakly. “I had no idea I was such a noteworthy acquaintance.”
Hunter laughed. “My dear, didn’t I tell you that I believed our meeting would be an unforgettable one? Surely it is not one you have forgotten.”
She looked up at him and then away into space, in what appeared to be a custom of hers when the topic was not pleasing. “No, I do not forget, but I remember with regret. As I told you in Richmond, any encounter with you is inexorably branded in my mind.”
Hunter smiled triumphantly. Now he was getting somewhere. “Perhaps I can be of help,” he said, trying to be amenable. “What does he look like?”
“Who?” she asked, bringing her attention, and her gaze, back to him.
“Your horse that was stolen!”
“That is not important.”
“I believe I will decide what is and is not important if you don’t mind!”
“Then can’t we confine ourselves to the discussion at hand? Let me see, I believe you were asking me—”
“This is the discussion at hand,” Hunter roared. “Is he a bay? A gray? Chestnut? Dun?” He stood in front of her now, but she did not answer. “Perhaps a sorrel? Piebald? Roan? By your silence, I shall assume none of the above. Hmm, I cannot think of another color—save black. Might your horse be a large-boned black?”
“If you have stolen him, it would do you well to return him.” She made no effort to control the anger in her voice now. “No one else will sit him! Least of all a man!”
“Then I’m to assume we are agreed, your horse is black,” Hunter said. “And if that is the case, and if indeed he’s been appropriated by my men, he is now the legal property of the Confederacy and will no doubt serve our cause splendidly.”
“No rebel will ever ride him!”
“Miss Marlow,” Hunter said, losing his patience. “Are you aware of the penalties of spying in the Confederate states? And once again may I suggest the prudence in being more guarded with your speech?”
She looked straight into his eyes, unblinking, defying his attempts to shake her. “Is the interview over, Captain?” She turned toward the door as if his silence was a signal for her to leave. “I believe you have detained me quite long enough.”
“Over? Are you questioning my authority to hold you here?” Hunter stood and banged his fist on the desk again. “By whose authority do you operate?”
“I believe I will pass on the question.” The girl’s voice indicated that she had no more interest in the conversation than if they were discussing the weather on the third day of rain.
“What are your orders?”
“Still less can I answer that question definitely.” She gazed back at Hunter frankly, almost amusingly, her eyes utterly fearless.
Hunter shook his head in frustration. “Tell me Miss Marlow, are you always this argumentative and belligerent?”
“You may draw your own conclusions, sir.”
“Indeed, I will.”
The sarcasm in his tone apparently did not go unnoticed.
“I am only argumentative, sir, when obligation, honor and vindication of the truth necessitate.”
“Your obligation is to answer my questions.” Hunter shook his head. “You are being charged with a serious crime. Have you no defense? I don’t believe you realize the character and extent of my power to deal with such conduct.”
“I would trust my explanation has been sufficient. I don’t know what other information I can provide you.”
“You have provided me no reasonable explanation—not for your presence here in my territory nor for your impudent behavior!” Hunter shouted, losing his temper again. “I must warn you, I’m finding your manner excessively insolent.”
“And insolence is a crime in the Confederacy? Or is it just an offense in your jurisdiction?”
She sighed then, like a child tiring of a game, and began removing her gloves in an exasperated sort of way. “May I remind you, sir, that you have found no treasonable correspondence on me and that I wear no insignia of the Confederacy. According to the Articles of War, I cannot be charged as a spy, at most a courier.” Her eyes never wavered nor changed expression. “I presume you have some acquaintance with the existence of that code, Captain Hunter?”
She then turned her gaze to her fingernails, as if contemplating whether they needed a clea
ning, indicating by her actions that she felt the subject had garnered more than enough of her time and attention.
Hunter raised his eyebrows in surprise, both at her revelation and the sudden recollection of where he’d heard the name Sinclair before. “Your knowledge concerning the usual handling of such affairs is correct, Miss Marlow. Unfortunately, your prediction of how I shall handle yours is not equally reliable.”
He watched her grow alert, like someone who senses the presence of an unseen gun.
“It is indeed unfortunate,” he continued, crossing his arms in satisfaction, “but I can prove you are, or have been, within our lines for the purpose of securing information. You can indeed be arrested as a spy on my word.”
Chapter 42
Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.
– Sir Walter Scott
Hunter watched his captive stand quietly as if weighing his words, then, with her green eyes glaring, leaned forward and placed both hands on his desk. “I don’t believe you. Where is your warrant for doing so?”
Hunter reached down and pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his desk drawer that had been found along the stream the night he had been rendered unconscious. “Does this look familiar?” He threw it onto the desk in front of her.
As her gaze dropped from his face to the piece of paper, Hunter thought he saw her flinch. In any event, she swallowed hard before she spoke. “It is inconceivable to me how an attempt to save the Union is considered a grave offense.”
“Then you are admitting you are a spy.”
“I do not believe I have responded affirmatively nor negatively to any of your statements or insinuations by expression, words, conduct, or deeds.”
Hunter stared at her incredulously. “I ask you again. Do you understand how much trouble you are in?”
Her eyes did not waver. She crossed her arms and sighed deeply. “I suppose I’ll have to be content knowing there are worse fates than being suspected of providing service in defense of country.”
Duty Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Book 1) Page 20
