But whatever the Lord’s decision about whether to feed Mr. Booth to the flames of hell, I found I couldn’t do the same to his photograph. When had he ever done me an unkindness? I thought of him gently examining my locket with Private Flanagan’s hair and comforting me, and my eyes welled with tears. No, even though Mr. Booth had committed the worst sin a man might commit, I couldn’t bring myself to cast him out of my life. Instead, I slipped the photograph in between two others and closed the album.
No doubt hundreds of young women across America were looking at their own albums and deciding what to do with Mr. Booth’s picture. I wondered what poor Miss Hale was doing with hers.
• • •
Mrs. Holohan came back late in the day on Monday to set out some laundry for Susan, who would be doing one more wash for the Holohans. “Guess where the detectives are dragging my husband and Mr. Weichmann now,” Mrs. Holohan said to Mrs. Surratt as she came into the parlor. “Canada.”
“To search for my son, I suppose.”
“Yes. They’re taking my husband so he can identify him. The more eyes the better, they say.”
Mrs. Surratt stared out the window.
• • •
Besides Susan, the servant girl, there were only four of us in the house now. Soon there would be three: Miss Jenkins was planning to take the coach back to Surrattsville on Tuesday. As Anna had predicted, Miss Dean, who was supposed to have returned that afternoon, had not. “You can sleep in Miss Holohan’s room if you’d like a little privacy,” Mrs. Surratt offered that night as we sat around knitting—all but Anna, whose cold had become worse. She was lying stretched out on the sofa, thumbing restlessly through Godey’s Lady’s Book.
“I’d rather stay with you, Mrs. Surratt.”
She gave me a smile. “Thank you, dear girl.”
I turned to Anna. “So what will we be wearing next fall?”
“Who cares?”
I went back to my knitting. “Sorry.”
Anna raised herself to a sitting position. “Ma, what will happen if Mr. Weichmann finds Johnny?”
“They will bring him here for trial, I imagine, and he will be found innocent. Don’t fret so, dear one.”
“And they will hang Mr. Booth if they try him,” Anna said. She lay back down listlessly and turned her face to the back of the sofa. Absently, Mrs. Surratt patted her head.
I looked up from my knitting and frowned. I had never been much for feeling odd sensations, but over the past few minutes, I had been unable to concentrate for the feeling that something was peculiar. With everyone in such dismal spirits over the hunt for Mr. Surratt, though, I said nothing.
Then we all heard it: footsteps, coming up the stairs to the door, followed by the familiar ring. Mrs. Surratt opened the window. “Mr. Kirby?” she called.
“No, but we must come in, if this is Mrs. Surratt’s house.”
Anna sat up. “Ma, don’t go!”
“I must, child. Perhaps they have news of your brother.”
I heard voices, too indistinct for me to make out. Mrs. Surratt, trailed by several men, came into the parlor. “Young ladies,” she said. “You must hear what I have to say calmly. We are all under arrest.”
31
MARY
APRIL 17, 1865
Since Saturday, I had known the police were not done with us—not after they arrested Mr. Weichmann. But I did not expect them to turn up at the door late Monday night, just when most of Washington was going to bed.
As was the case of the night of the assassination, there were four of them, but none had been here before, and two of them wore army uniforms. It was one of these—senior in rank, I supposed, although I was not versed in army insignia—who said, “Mrs. Surratt?”
“I am Mary Surratt, the widow of John Surratt.”
“And the mother of John Harrison Surratt?”
“Yes.”
The officer held up a piece of paper. “Major Smith, U.S. Army. I have orders, ma’am, from the government to arrest everyone in this house and to search the premises. You will be taken to the headquarters of General Augur, the provost marshal for the district.”
So we would not be in the hands of the Washington police, but the military. I took a breath to steady myself. “Everyone, sir?”
“Everyone.”
I turned without a word and went in the parlor, where I broke the news to the young ladies. Olivia and Nora took the news quietly, as I had expected, but Anna began crying.
Major Smith glanced at her. “Who is that, Mrs. Surratt?”
“My daughter, Anna. She is sick, sir. Must she—”
“Yes, everyone must go. And the other two?”
“My niece, Miss Jenkins, and one of my boarders, Miss Fitzpatrick.”
“Anyone else here?”
“Only a colored servant.”
“Where? Abed?”
“No. She is usually in the kitchen at this time of night.”
Major Smith nodded to the detectives. “See to her. We don’t need her at the general’s office at present, but keep her here. She may have information to give us. Detective DeVoe, get the carriage. Bring it within only a half block. We don’t want to scare that Mr. Kirby away.”
“Sir, Mr. Kirby is an upstanding man and a native of Washington. He has never been in trouble.”
“That may be, ma’am. I don’t doubt it. But you called down to us as if you were expecting him, and it’s our business to know what business he has here.” Major Smith turned back to Detective DeVoe, who had been standing stock still. “The carriage, sir.”
“Walking is good enough for this lot.”
“It certainly is not. One of the young ladies is sick. I will have her and the rest treated with common courtesy. Now get the carriage.”
I squeezed Anna’s hand. Major Smith said briskly, “It is a chilly night, ma’am. Come with me and collect what hats and cloaks you and the others need. Captain Wermerskirch, stay in here with the young ladies. Do not allow them to talk amongst themselves.”
With Major Smith trailing behind, I walked to Anna and Olivia’s attic room and got their warm things, plus boots for Anna, who had been wearing only a pair of flimsy slippers. In the room Nora and I shared, I reached for Nora’s beautiful Kashmir shawl, but Major Smith shook his head. “The young lady won’t want that in Old Capitol Prison, ma’am. Get her something plainer, if she has one.”
“I thought we were going to General Augur’s office, sir.”
“We are, but then to Old Capitol Prison.”
Old Capitol Prison, where spies, deserters, and miscreants of all stripes went. A memory of my threatening Johnny with it flashed through my mind. I could have never sent him to such a place, and he knew it. “I am ready.”
Major Smith nodded. “Very fast you are, ma’am.”
I gave Anna her shoes, but she stared at them as blankly as a native of deepest Africa. So I knelt beside her and eased her feet into them as Anna began to weep. “Do not behave yourself so, little one,” I said, reverting to my address for Anna when she was still in short skirts. “You are already so worn out with anxiety that you will make yourself sick. The officer who arrested us is in uniform and is a gentlemen and will treat us kindly.”
“But, Ma, he told us that we were to go to Old Capital Prison! To be taken there!” Anna began to sob again.
“Hush!” In her ear I whispered, “You must be brave for the South, and for Johnny.”
To my surprise, this actually worked. Anna nodded and sat back quietly.
With all four of us ready to go, I turned to Major Smith. “Sir, I would like to pray before we leave.”
“Certainly, madam.”
I knelt by the piano, and the girls, while remaining seated, bowed their heads. Silently, I prayed the Lord would keep them safe and give me courage to withstand my coming ordeal. I begged him, as I had every night since Good Friday, for his forgiveness for my role in what had happened. While I acknowledged that Johnny’s fate was in h
is hands, I asked that he keep my boy safe. And finally—although it might not have been entirely right to do so—I asked his help in not saying anything that would get my son into more trouble.
When I was done, I raised my head meekly, knowing everyone had been waiting for me to finish. But Major Smith said, “Have a seat, Mrs. Surratt. I would have thought DeVoe would be here with the carriage by now, but he’s not.” He paced around a bit before saying to his companions, “Whoever comes here must be kept inside for questioning. If the doorbell rings, let the caller in, then close the door behind him.”
Beside me, Nora whispered, “All that for poor Mr. Kirby?”
“I heard that, miss,” said Major Smith.
Nora nodded and gestured to Mr. Rochester, who had come into the parlor to give the soldiers a disdainful look. He jumped into her lap, and she cuddled him close to her. Anna leaned against my shoulder, and Olivia wiped a tear from her eye.
And then we all heard footsteps on the stair, followed by the doorbell’s peal.
I almost rose to answer it before remembering the circumstances. Instead, Captain Wermerskirch and the one I had heard called Mr. Morgan headed to the door, and Major Smith planted himself in the doorway leading from the parlor to the hall. After a rumble of conversation, he headed into the hallway, and after a few minutes more, he called for me. Standing in the hall was a stranger in a sort of skullcap.
“This man says that he was hired to dig a gutter for you.” Major Smith held up a pickax. “He brought this with him. Did you engage him to do so? Do you know him?”
I raised my hand. “Before God, sir, I do not know this man. I have not seen him before, and I did not hire him to come dig a gutter for me.”
Major Smith nodded. “Sir, your story does not hang together. I am placing you under arrest. Madam, return to the parlor.”
As soon as I took my place in the parlor—occupied only by us ladies at present—Anna asked, “Who was that, Ma?”
“A hard-looking fellow with a skullcap, who came here with a pickax.”
Anna began to cry once again. “He must have come to murder us,” she wailed. “Had those men not been here—”
Captain Wermerskirch stuck his head inside the door and raised his finger to his lips, and Anna fell silent.
It was nearly midnight when Major Smith finally informed us that our carriage was here. As if Anna were an invalid, Olivia and I helped her to her feet, while Nora gave her cat one last hug. As we walked into the hall, I saw the man with the pickax slumped in a chair opposite the parlor door, guarded by one of the soldiers.
• • •
As our carriage rolled through the mist and fog of an April night in Washington, Detective DeVoe, riding in front beside me while the young ladies crowded together in a heap of skirts and hoops in the back, gruffly informed me that I should not expect much of General Augur’s headquarters; due to a fire, he had had to relocate to Fourteenth Street. “I am certain they will be adequate,” I said inanely.
When we reached our destination, Detective DeVoe hustled us out of the carriage and into a dingy room with a motley collection of chairs, in which he ordered the young ladies to sit and (changing to a more genial tone) to have a catnap if they wished. Leaving them in the company of a young soldier, he led me into a room where a man stood behind a large desk and another one sat behind a stack of paper, inkwells, and ink pens. Waving me to an upholstered chair, considerably more comfortable than those in which the young ladies were sitting, the man behind the desk said, “Colonel Foster. I would like to ask you a few questions. First, tell me where you live, and who lives there with you.”
I gave him the information.
“You did not mention your son John Surratt. Does he stay with you?”
“When he is in town he does.”
“And when did you last see him?”
“On April 3 of this year. The day Richmond fell.”
“He is a friend of John Wilkes Booth?”
“They are acquainted.”
“When did they make their acquaintance?”
Wearily, I tried to think back. “I cannot say exactly when.”
“Mr. Booth has been a regular visitor to your house?”
“Yes.”
“How often did he call? Once a week? Several times a week? Once a day? Twice a day?”
“Sometimes twice a day.”
Colonel Foster raised his eyebrows.
“We found him very much of a gentleman.”
“Yes, it seems you did. Did your son mention how he came to know Mr. Booth?”
“Not that I recall,” I lied tiredly.
“Weren’t you at all curious about how your son made the acquaintance of one of the country’s most sought-after actors? Did you not find it odd?”
“My son is a country-bred young gentleman. I consider him capable of forming acquaintances in the best society. Besides, Mr. Booth often called when my son was not there. Sometimes he asked for him, sometimes he did not.”
“Since the murder, have you not wondered what brought Mr. Booth and your son together?”
“Certainly, but I cannot account for it. I do not think anyone was more surprised when we heard that Mr. Booth could be guilty of such an act. He was very clear of politics, and it was a subject that we never indulged in when he visited.”
Colonel Foster looked at me intently. “What are your political sentiments?”
“I don’t pretend to express my feelings at all. I have often said that I thought that the South acted too hastily. That is about the amount of my feeling.” Another lie. How many more would I have to tell?
“Did your son say where he was going when he left you?”
“No. He went out with Mr. Weichmann, who came back without him and said that my son had bid him good-bye. On Wednesday, my son sent me a letter saying that he was laying over in Springfield, Massachusetts, because he had overslept and the conductor neglected to wake him. He did not tell me where he was going, but I think he was going to Canada, because I had heard him say several times that he would leave the country. Last fall he spoke several times of going to Europe. I supposed he had gone to Canada, but I had no particular reasons for so supposing. He had not made any arrangements for going to Europe or Canada.”
“Where is the letter?”
“I have hunted my house over but cannot find the letter he wrote me. I laid it on the windowsill and have not seen it since.”
Colonel Foster continued to fire questions at me. How long did it take to cross the Potomac River? How often had Johnny crossed the river? Did I know Mr. Atzerodt? Did he board with me? Who else came to board with me? Who had come to the house since the assassination? Some of his questions simply baffled me, so even when I was not trying to be evasive, I sounded like I was.
Then Colonel Foster asked me a question I understood perfectly well. “Do you think your son was at the theater with Booth?”
I sat up straight. “Not if it was the last word I had to speak.”
32
NORA
APRIL 17 TO 18, 1865
After Mrs. Surratt broke the news to us that we were under arrest, we were put into the care of a Captain Wermerskirch and ordered not to talk amongst ourselves while the head of the arresting party, Major Smith, accompanied her to get our wraps. As we had not been ordered not to talk to Captain Wermerskirch, I asked, “Where are they taking us?”
“First to General Augur’s office for questioning. Then to Old Capitol Prison.”
We all three started up. “But that’s for spies and traitors!” I said.
Captain Wermerskirch gave an if-the-shoe-fits-wear-it sort of shrug. “You’ll be in good company,” he offered. “Belle Boyd was there for a time. So was Rose Greenhow.”
“They were spies,” I snapped. “We’re not.” I leaned back and drummed my fingers nervously on a table. “My father! He won’t know what has become of me!”
“You can send him a letter from prison, miss.”
&nb
sp; I settled back and gloomily composed the letter in my head. Dear Father, You will be surprised to learn that I am at present confined in the Old Capital Prison, among spies and traitors…
For what seemed to be an endless time, we sat there waiting to be transported to General Augur’s headquarters, the only relief from the monotony being when a stranger came to the door. A young ruffian was all Mrs. Surratt, who was called to the hallway to get a look at him, would or could say. It was not until around midnight when we were at last filing through the hall on our way to the carriage that I saw him for myself. He had sort of a stocking cap jammed upon his head, and he was far too large for the dainty little chair in which he sat. But it was the look on his face that struck me most. Never had I seen an expression so entirely bereft of hope.
His dejection fed mine as I looked back to see that the men were already beginning to search the house, flinging open doors and yanking out drawers. In an hour, these men would know everything about us that our belongings could tell.
And what would happen when they found my photograph of Mr. Booth?
“Come along, miss. Don’t poke.”
I looked back one last time. “Someone please feed my cat!” I called as the door closed behind me.
• • •
At General Augur’s headquarters, Mrs. Surratt was taken away for questioning and the rest of us were put in a sort of waiting room. We were half dozing when the carriage, having made a trip back to the boardinghouse, returned with the man from the hallway. As Mrs. Surratt was still being questioned, they took him to another part of the room, separated from the rest by a railing, and hustled him into a seat. He was in handcuffs and could not remove his cap, so they yanked it off his head.
Mr. Payne!
I looked at him as closely as I could without being downright rude—not that Mr. Payne was in a position to complain. For he indeed was Mr. Payne. It was the odd cap that had kept me from recognizing him before, and now that I saw it lying on the floor, it did not appear to be a proper cap at all, but some makeshift one. There was the same black hair, the same muscular build, and those same piercing eyes. With his overcoat removed, I saw he was even wearing the same clothes he had worn when he had escorted me to Ford’s Theatre, although they were rumpled and dirty, and he himself was grimy. Had Mrs. Holohan seen him now, she would have been even more certain that he would not save many souls.
Hanging Mary Page 21
