“I know. Get down.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get down!” She raised the gun, pointing it at his heart. At this distance, she couldn’t miss.
“I’ll have your balls for this!”
“Try,” she said.
The amusement in her whisper seemed to enrage him. He surged to his feet, reaching once more toward his inside coat pocket. She aimed and squeezed the trigger of the weapon in her hand without conscious thought or remorse.
The gun exploded, the recoil numbing her arm. Orange fire spat from a cloud of smoke. The man whipped around, falling back on the seat and grabbing his arm. His virulent curses singed the air.
Lettie had not wanted to hurt him, not that he deserved much consideration after what he intended to do to Angelique. In any case, he had brought it on himself.
She had to hurry now. The La Cour family might board themselves up inside their house at the sound of a shot in the night or they might come running to investigate. Behind the buggy, there was a movement at the edge of the plum thicket and the gleam of starlight on a rifle barrel. An instant later there was nothing.
“I would advise you not to try that again!” she said, the words hard. “Now get down.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? The Thorn?”
The gibe was thrown at her as he wrapped the reins around the whipstock and climbed down slowly, holding his arm. It shocked her, for that was the impression she wanted to convey. If she did not, what was the point? The certainty that she was not who she pretended to be rang so loudly in his voice that it sounded strange to her ears, but there was no time to consider it, nothing to do but to continue. She walked her horse a step closer and to the left, keeping the man well in sight.
“Take off your clothes.”
There were more curses, but he obeyed. His jacket was thrown in the dirt. His cravat landed on it in a silken twist, followed by his shirt. His suspenders were lowered with difficulty as he favored his arm. There he stopped.
“Boots and trousers, too.”
“Go to hell!”
“After you,” she answered. She meant the words to be harsh and drawling, but instead they had a crisp sound.
He stared at her for a long moment. Abruptly he said, “I know your voice.”
A frisson of terror and purest dislike ran through her. She repeated slowly, as if to an idiot, “Boots and trousers.”
“It will come to me, and when it does…”
He allowed the threat to hang in the air as he bent, hopping on one foot, to tug off first one boot, then the other. He lowered his trousers and stepped out of them, leaving him dressed only in his linen drawers.
“Over against the tree.” She waved the gun toward a post oak she had selected earlier. There were several lengths of grass rope around her saddle horn. She took them in her hand without removing her gaze from the pale figure of the man before her. Kicking her foot from the stirrup, she slid to the ground and ducked under her mount’s head.
“Arms behind you,” she snapped.
“I’m bleeding, damn you.”
He was, but not seriously. She had done no more than plow a furrow across his forearm, a source of satisfaction even as the sight of the damage made her feel a little queasy. Holding the revolver steady, keeping her distance, she eased around behind the tree.
How to keep him covered and tie him up at the same time? There was no need to struggle with the question. Lionel was there, a silent shadow. As she grasped the man’s wrist and pulled it back, the boy took the grass rope from her and looped it about her prisoner’s hand, drawing it tight as she brought the other wrist behind the tree. In a moment it was done. To secure his feet presented no problem. As a final precaution, she took a handkerchief from her hip pocket and, stretching to her full height, bound his eyes.
The man had fallen silent as if in angry concentration. She paused, considering whether to gag him or not. It made no real difference if he was found, providing they were well away by that time. She decided against it. At her gesture, Lionel melted back into the grove of oaks, heading toward the plum thicket. She saw the thicket shake as the others began to move out.
She eased away from the tree, surveying her handiwork. It appeared that it would do. It would have to do. She had almost forgotten. From the pocket of her coat, she carefully removed the locust shell pierced by a thorn. She considered the man before her for long seconds. She could hang the emblem in the hair on his chest, but it might not stay. His nose was a handy place, but the handkerchief over his eyes was in the way. She allowed her gaze to settle on his drawers. There was a conspicuous spot. Before she could change her mind, she reached out and attached the locust shell.
She swung away. Striding to the buggy, she unwrapped the lines, then slapped the horse on the rump with them, sending the buggy rattling away into the night. She turned to her own mount, taking up the trailing reins. Only then did she notice the pile of clothes. Her face grim, she made a bundle of them, tying the sleeves of the coat around it. Something in one of the pockets made a dull, clanking sound.
Her prisoner began to jerk at his bonds, uttering frantic protests and curses. Lettie ignored them as she slung the bundle up and looped it on her saddle horn. Her heart was beating so strongly, there was such excitement in her veins, that this time it was as nothing to mount her horse. She turned its head in the direction of the dark farmhouse.
The others, using the covering sound of the departing buggy, had already moved the wagon into the road and some distance along it. Lettie kicked her horse into motion, catching up to them. They paused long enough for her to toss the bundle of clothing into the wagon and climb in after it. The moment her horse was secured to the tailgate and Lionel’s eyes were covered, she began to strip. In a few brief moments, they were only a party of women and a small boy once more.
They proceeded sedately homeward. Behind them, struggling and cursing against the post oak, they left not the tax collector O’Connor but Martin Eden.
They toasted the success of their mission with blackberry cordial, using Aunt Em’s special glasses of fragile Venetian crystal that had been a wedding gift. Even Lionel had a glass of it, though two minutes after he had drunk it, he put his head down on the kitchen table and closed his eyes.
Their spirits were treetop high with their success and the relief that the ordeal was over. The other women had little doubt that when Martin was found with the locust symbol on his drawers, it would be taken as another exploit of the Thorn, and Ranny’s release would shortly follow. Aunt Em speculated endlessly about when Ranny would be home. Her best estimate would not allow her to think he would make it before dinner of the following day; still, she and Mama Tass had an enjoyable time planning the meal they would give him in celebration. Sally Anne put in a suggestion now and again. Lettie listened to them and smiled at their sallies, but she could not be quite so sanguine about the outcome of what they had done.
“Lettie, honey,” the older woman said, “let me pour you a little more cordial. You are still so pale. You aren’t going to turn all vaporish on us now that it’s over, are you?”
She shook her head, her lips curving in a faint smile. “I just keep thinking of Martin. What if he frees himself before anyone can find him and see the locust? What if he doesn’t report what happened? It will all be for nothing.”
“Not report it? Of course he will!”
“Will he? When it will make him a laughingstock?”
“At least you didn’t put a sign around his neck like the Thorn did O’Connor.”
“No, but something about his attitude bothers me. He was so insistent on knowing who I was, as if he was certain I could not be the Thorn.”
“Well, naturally he thought the Thorn was in jail. It’s what everyone thought.”
“I’m not so sure that’s all it was. Besides, he nearly recognized my voice.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear me.”
“That was always the weak point,” Sal
ly Anne said.
Lettie agreed. “I didn’t expect to have to talk so much. I don’t think I would have, except that he was so suspicious, so — so unimpressed.”
“You don’t think he will place you?”
“I have no idea.”
Aunt Em, worry in her face, said, “He’s so hot-tempered.”
Sally Anne turned her cordial glass in her fingers. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard him speak. I was so sure it was O’Connor who was setting Angelique up in New Orleans. She never said so, of course, but I just assumed it. What’s so strange is that Angelique never mentioned his name.”
“I don’t see that it’s strange at all,” Aunt Em said. “She knew he was a friend of the family, knew that he had once fancied you. It showed great delicacy on her part, but then that’s how these things have always been arranged.”
“It certainly makes more sense that she was so willing to go with him,” Sally Anne said, her tone dry.
“Yes, indeed. Martin would know the rules. Besides, he is a gentleman and an attractive man.”
“What I don’t understand,” Lettie said, “is why they were going to New Orleans. One would think he would make some provision for her here, closer to his home.”
“Yes, there is that,” Aunt Em said slowly. “It might be that she would not agree, for her family’s sake, but it seems a long way to go for — well, you know what I mean. On the other hand, I can’t believe Martin would simply move lock, stock, and barrel without saying goodbye.”
“Unless he didn’t want anyone to know he was going?”
“Because he was embarrassed? There would have been no need to tell us who his companion would be.”
Sally Anne, frowning, said, “Lettie is right. Why would he leave? He was doing quite well here.”
“There were people, you know, who wouldn’t speak to him because of his work with the carpetbaggers. Maybe he wanted to put all that behind him and start out fresh in New Orleans. Or maybe he loves Angelique enough to go for her sake.”
“Maybe,” Sally Anne said.
Lettie’s gaze fell on the bundle of Martin’s clothing that had been flung down beside the kitchen door. “There might be an answer in there.”
“Go through his pockets?” Aunt Em said with unease in her voice.
“I know it doesn’t seem right.”
“It might help Ranny,” Sally Anne said.
Mama Tass, sitting and listening to them, rolled her eyes heavenward in silent comment on such scruples. She heaved herself to her feet, moved to fetch the bundle, and plopped it down in the middle of the table. With a few swift, capable movements, she untied it and spread out the garments.
Aunt Em sat looking at them. Sally Anne lifted a shirt-sleeve and let it fall. Lettie reached for the coat and gingerly patted its folds. Mama Tass, with a great deal of expertise, took up the trousers and turned out the pockets.
Martin’s belongings were soon piled in the center of the table. There was a gold pocket watch and chain with fobs, a handkerchief, a small pearl-handled derringer, an ivory toothpick, a folded slip of paper, a few loose coins, and a long leather purse with a snap top. The purse bulged so thickly that Lettie picked it up, weighing it in her hand. On impulse, she opened the catch and poured the contents out onto the table. The gold coins gleamed, clanking musically, as they made a tall pile.
Sally Anne raised a brow. “There must be several hundred dollars there.”
“At least.”
“For Angelique, do you suppose?”
Aunt Em looked scandalized. “It wouldn’t have been that kind of arrangement. But I suppose he had to pay for their passages on the river packet and their stay at a boardinghouse or such a place until a house could be bought.”
“It does look as if he meant to go away permanently,” Lettie mused. She picked up one of the coins. It appeared to be freshly minted. She began to scatter the others with a fingertip. They were, every one of them, twenty-dollar liberty-head gold pieces. New.
An idea, vague and uncertain, began to form in her mind. She picked up the folded piece of paper and spread it out. Whatever she had expected, she was disappointed. There was only a short string of letters and numbers written upon it.
“TU0430E2,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Sally Anne’s voice was sharp.
Lettie began to repeat the string. Halfway through it, something clicked in her mind. She looked up at Sally Anne, her eyes wide. “The payroll.”
“Leaving Tuesday morning at four-thirty — in military parlance, 0430 hours — with an escort of two.”
“Then Martin must be the contact.”
“And if he’s the contact,” Aunt Em said, “then he must be the one who—”
“—who killed Johnny.”
Lettie’s wine-brown eyes were grim as she finished the statement. Martin was also the one who had arranged the trap for her brother that had led to his death in a fern-carpeted wood beside a spring. It was even possible that the newly minted gold pieces before them were part of the payroll for which he had been killed.
Aunt Em had been right all along. If Lettie had not been so set on the guilt of the Thorn, she might have seen it earlier. If she had, there were many things that might have been different.
“Oh, thank God,” Sally Anne said, burying her face in her hands. “Thank God!”
“My goodness,” Aunt Em said, reaching out to touch the woman’s shoulder. “You should be happy. It means Ranny is safe.”
Sally Anne gave a sniff and wiped her eyes. “It means to me that Thomas is innocent.”
“Thomas!”
The woman nodded with a watery smile. “He was so wealthy, a mere soldier, and it seemed no one else had quite the same access to the information. Besides, he’s a Northerner, and not — not as warm-blooded as — as other men. I’ve been so afraid.”
“Good gracious, Sally Anne! Just because a man doesn’t drag you into a corner and smother you with kisses doesn’t mean he isn’t warm-blooded, nor does it mean that he’s a murderer.”
“I know, I know, but with everything else, it seemed all too likely.”
Lettie had every sympathy with Sally Anne’s fears, with good cause, but there were other things on her mind at the moment. “The question is, what are we going to do about it? It appears to me that we should lay the evidence in front of Thomas at once. Otherwise, Martin may get away.”
“We could go out and bring Martin in,” Sally Anne said.
“Too dangerous,” Aunt Em said promptly. “The reason he pitched such a fit when Lettie took his clothes wasn’t just because of his gold, but because he knew what she might find. He may have heard the wagon, too, even if he didn’t see the rest of us. If we return, he’ll know what we’re about, and there’ll be no holding him. I say let the army handle it.”
“If they can or will,” Sally Anne said.
“You still don’t trust Thomas?”
“Oh, yes, so long as the sheriff doesn’t mix into it. He and Martin are friends.”
“Oh, dear.”
“It might almost be better if the Knights could take care of it.”
“Yes,” Aunt Em said slowly.
“But why should they?” Lettie asked in exasperation. She had an extreme sense of time going to waste while they sat there discussing it.
“They aren’t interested in political justice alone,” Sally Anne said.
“That may be, but this seems a military matter since the army payroll is involved. I say let’s go see Thomas. Now.”
Sally Anne nodded. “You and Aunt Em do that. I think I should speak to Papa — that is, I believe that I should go on home. He — he will be worried about me.”
Lettie gave the woman a direct look. So far as she knew, Samuel Tyler was not aware of his daughter’s midnight activities but rather thought she was merely spending the night with her aunt. There was no time to question or argue, however. She got to her feet. “As you like. Shall we go, Aunt Em?”
“You — you won’t tell Thomas what I said?” Sally Anne asked.
Lettie smiled as she put on her hat and thrust a pin through it. “Now why should I do that?”
“No reason, of course.”
“Because I’m a cold-blooded Yankee?”
“You might think that he has a right to know.”
Did she really seem that prim and self-righteous? She would not think of it. In a few days it would not matter.
Gently she said, “Tell him yourself when the time is right, or don’t tell him at all. It’s nothing to do with me; I’m not the judge of any man or woman.”
19
“I DON’T SEE WHY YOU CAN’T STAY until Ranny gets home. It shouldn’t be more than another hour or so.”
Lettie put her hairbrush into her round-topped trunk and closed the lid. “And it may be tomorrow, Aunt Em, and you know it. Thomas didn’t promise; he just said he would try for today if all the proper forms were filled out.”
“If only Martin had not gotten away. I’m very much afraid the colonel wants to keep Ranny until he has another prisoner to put in his place.”
“It’s just this Reconstruction bureaucracy. No one seems to have the ultimate authority to make decisions, so everyone is careful.”
“It makes no real difference. What matters is that Ranny will be home soon, and he’s going to be upset to find you gone without so much as a good-bye.”
Lettie clung to her patience. “I’m sorry. As I said before, I just feel that I’ve imposed enough, that I’ve brought enough harm to all of you. My mind is satisfied, finally, about my brother and it’s time I went home.”
There was more to it than that, of course. It might be cowardly of her, but she did not think that she wanted to face Ransom Tyler. She had loved Ranny, had been comfortable with him. He was gone as surely as if Ransom had destroyed him. In truth, there never had been such a person. He was only the creation of a fertile mind and an actor’s art. The same might be said of the Thorn. The real Ransom might not be nearly so endearing or forgiving or strong. She did not think she wanted to find out precisely what he was like. So long as she did not see him, she could keep her memories unsullied.
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