Only in My Arms

by Jo Goodman

  "My stomach's growling," she explained defensively, taking the chair opposite him.

  "I didn't say anything."

  She ladled mushroom soup into her bowl. "You didn't have to. No one who uses silence as effectively as you has to say much of anything. I swear you could have wrung a confession from Saint Joan." Mary spooned some soup, raising it to her lips. The aroma was delicious, and the first taste proved it was every bit as good as it smelled.

  They ate in silence for several minutes, moving from the soup to the crisp salad with vinaigrette dressing. Mary asked, "Where are we going?"

  "To the theater."

  "The theater?" She could not have been more surprised if he had said they were going to jump in the Potomac. "There's a play you want to see?"

  "Not exactly."

  She waggled her fork at him. "I know how to use this weapon."

  He laughed. "All right. I was at the library this afternoon, catching up on what Washington knows about the Colter Canyon affair. While I was going through some of the most recent papers I saw an opening night notice for Much Ado About Nothing. It's anticipated to draw quite a crowd because Yvonne Marie is playing the role of Beatrice. I may not have seen anything but saloon hall dramas these last few years, but even I've heard of Miss Marie."

  "I shouldn't wonder," Mary said tartly. "She has her picture on cigarette packages. I've seen them."

  He arched one dark brow. "Really."

  "We had patients at the hospital who swore her picture, if held close to the heart, had healing powers. It was not a notion well received by Mother Superior."

  Or Mary either, he suspected. "Well, tonight she's live at the Regent Theater and I'd like to be there." He served Mary her portion of the broiled trout and parsley potatoes.

  "I rather despise myself for saying this," she commented, "but I really don't have anything to wear."

  Ryder's gray glance slid smoothly over Mary's dark green gown. It was embellished with ivory lace at the throat and cuffs, and she had found a brooch among her sister's things to enhance the high neckline. "You look fine to me."

  She grimaced. "That's because you haven't been to anything but saloon hall dramas. Someday I'll explain how insulting that comment is."

  He changed the wording a bit. "You look beautiful, and you'll be fine for what I have in mind."

  Mary rolled her eyes. "That's only marginally better."

  "Trust me."

  "I have to," she said. "I have no idea what you're up to."

  * * *

  What Ryder had in mind did not involve stepping foot in the theater. Mary sat back in the carriage, propped her feet on the seat opposite her, and sighed dramatically. "And I did so want to see Miss Marie perform Beatrice," she said.

  Ryder patted her foot absently as he continued to stare out the carriage window in the direction of the Regent's front entrance. He had a good view of the six double doors that led into the theater. While carriages waited in a very civilized line along the wide avenue to pick up the theater patrons, none blocked the entrance, and therefore, none blocked Ryder's line of vision from across the street.

  "I can't imagine what you think you'll see," Mary said, stifling a yawn. "It will be at least ten minutes before the final curtain."

  "People are enamored of the theater to different degrees," he said. Ryder put Mary's feet on his lap and massaged her ankles. "Someone may always leave early."

  She hummed her pleasure as his fingers worked over her ankles and feet and didn't bother to disagree with him. Once the play was ended there would be a well-bred, mannerly rush to the street to exit the entertainment hall, but leaving prior to the first round of applause was simply not done.

  This last thought was barely a complete sentence in her head when the doorman stepped forward to open the doors on the right side of the entrance. Mary caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and she sat up straighter, removing her feet from Ryder's lap. She leaned closer to the carriage window and immediately had to clear the condensation of her breath on the glass.

  "Washington," she murmured, shaking her head. "This wouldn't happen in New York." She heard Ryder chuckle under his breath, but she ignored him as two couples exited the theater. Both of the men were wearing Army uniforms. Mary didn't know enough about insignia to identify their ranks. "Do you know them?" she asked.

  Ryder didn't answer her. He was frowning, studying the soldiers with a narrowed, incisive gaze.

  As Mary watched, the doorman went to the curb and waved for a hack. A hansom detached itself from the long line of waiting cabs, and the driver smartly guided his horse and hack to the entrance. The carriage blocked her view momentarily, and when the hansom moved on, the doorman was once again a solitary figure outside the Regent Theater.

  Mary leaned back again, turning her attention to Ryder. He was no longer looking across the street, but his eyes, though trained in Mary's direction, were not seeing her either. "Ryder?" she asked. "What is it?"

  He didn't answer immediately, and when he did, the reply was cryptic. "The unexpected," he said.

  Mary had no patience for that. Her foot connected with his shin. She nodded, satisfied that she now commanded his complete attention.

  "You kicked me," he said accusingly.

  "I nudged you," she said. "There's a difference."

  "Tell that to my leg." He rubbed it a moment. "I thought I recognized one of the men, that's all," he said. "I'm probably mistaken."

  Mary wasn't convinced that Ryder would make that sort of mistake. For some reason she couldn't divine, he wasn't prepared to tell her more. She decided to share what she knew instead. "Neither of them were high-ranking officers," she said. "Nor have they been in Washington very long."

  Ryder regarded her with interest. "How do you surmise that?"

  "The hansom that was summoned for them is rented, just as ours is. The carriages lining the street on the other side belong to their owners. If those men were more permanent residents of the city, and if they could afford it, they would have had their own carriage meet them at the entrance. It makes a more proper presentation, and even in Washington, perhaps most especially in Washington, presentation is as important as substance."

  "What else?" he asked, intrigued.

  "Neither one of them has been an officer long," she said. "Their uniforms are slightly faded, but the insignia is new. It was much brighter under the theater lights than even their buttons."

  "And?"

  "And they didn't go to West Point," she said with assurance. "They would have learned some manners there if they hadn't been taught any at home. They should not have left the theater early. Illness alone might provoke that action, but you could see very well that none of the party was ill." Mary's smile was a trifle smug as she concluded, "And the women they escorted were as rented as the hacks."

  Ryder was not surprised she had noticed that.

  "It's really not appropriate to hire a... a..."

  "An escort," Ryder supplied. "I think that's the word you're searching for."

  "It's not," she said honestly. "But it will serve. As I was saying, it's not appropriate for an opening-night performance. Husbands quite properly escort their wives to an event like this. They don't even take their mistresses unless they want to embarrass them or publicly humiliate their wives. It's simply not done. Now, tomorrow evening is an entirely different matter."

  Ryder's lip curled derisively as he considered the mores and mandates of polite society. "How does one learn these things?" he asked with a touch of sarcasm.

  "My point exactly," Mary said. "One learns by living with them. These rules aren't written down anywhere. They're rarely spoken of. Yet they often are accorded more respect than the Ten Commandments, and they are enforced with more exacting punishments than the plagues God visited upon the Egyptians. Those two men who just exited don't know the rules or they didn't care enough to observe them. Now, if you thought you recognized one of them it only makes sense to me that you met the man
in the West." Mary gave Ryder a firm, questioning glance. "So? Are you going to tell me something more than you have or do I—"

  Ryder held up his hand as all the double doors in front of the Regent were opened with considerable flourish. The opening-night patrons began to spill onto the sidewalk almost immediately. "You can wait here or come with me," he said, as a handsomely gilded carriage approached the front doors and blocked their view. "But if you come, stay by my side and don't draw attention to yourself."

  "As if I would."

  Leaning forward quickly, Ryder kissed her quickly on the cheek. "You can't help it, Mary. Cover your hair." He opened the door of the hansom, jumped down, and held out his hand to her.

  Mary raised the hood of her cape before she took the proffered hand. Ryder told their driver to move on, circle the block, but not take another fare. He assured the man they would be making the return to the boarding house with him and they would pay for his time. Mary was going to remark on the wisdom of this, in light of their reduced funds, when she felt Ryder tug on her arm to get her to cross the avenue.

  The pace was more frantic now as hansoms vied with each other to collect their owners and the hired hacks moved in to snare the patrons who didn't have their own means of transportation. Ryder and Mary dodged horses and hansoms as they crossed the wide thoroughfare. They slipped behind a hack just pulling up to the sidewalk and then took their place as part of the crowd. Ryder wove Mary skillfully through the throng until they were able to stand just beyond the gaslights on the shadowed perimeter of the theater.

  Mary did not know who he was looking for or what to expect, but she was able to identify a number of people in the sea of faces. "That's Alvin Schafer," she whispered to Ryder. "And his wife Carolyn. Over there, in the blue, just coming out now. He's a social reformer, and very well connected politically. I've heard him speak in New York. They take up the cause of orphaned children in the cities."

  Ryder was only listening with half an ear. He gave the couple a cursory glance and continued to scan the faces in the swarm in front of the theater.

  "There are the Dodds." She stood on tiptoe to get a better view of the pendant at Mrs. Dodd's throat. "Why, I believe that's paste," she said, astonished. "She must have sold the original and had a copy made. I can tell you, the original is not half so large as that garish item. And look at the way she refuses to close her cape. She's inviting everyone to ogle it."

  "Perhaps they don't have your discerning eye," Ryder said dryly. "Or perhaps she's inviting a thief." He glimpsed Mary's questioning frown. "If it's insured, then she would be reimbursed for its loss."

  Mary was left to wonder at it as the Dodds disappeared into their waiting carriage without incident. She pointed out several other people to Ryder and received little comment in return. It was obvious to Mary that he was searching for a very particular face in the crowd.

  "There's Warren Hamilton," she said, as the senator exited the theater. There was no mistaking the sharp features of the Massachusetts' politician. In most cartoons Mary had seen he was unimaginatively represented as a hatchet. In person, it seemed the cartoonists had been kind. "Is that who you've been—" Mary stopped because she felt Ryder stiffen as the senator stepped to one side and revealed the presence of the young woman on his right. "Oh," she said, her voice hushed. "She's the one we've come to see."

  Ryder placed a hand on Mary's shoulder as she came up on tiptoe and began to crane her neck in order to catch a better glimpse of their quarry.

  Feeling a bit like an unruly puppy who has just been ordered to heel, Mary nonetheless shrank back into the shadows. She had seen enough to form an initial impression. Anna Leigh Hamilton was acknowledged as a beauty for very good reason. The woman's sunshine yellow hair caught the eye, and her flashing eyes and smile held one's gaze. She cut a dainty figure on the arm of her tall, angular father. She was as ebullient as he was sober, as generously proportioned as he was spare. His impatient air faded only when he cast an indulgent smile in her direction.

  Ryder retreated a step backward into the safety of deeper shadows when Anna Leigh glanced in his direction. She did not see him, but looked past him instead, trying to spy the location of the carriage that was meant for her and her father. The doorman also saw her look and immediately stepped forward to search for Senator Hamilton's carriage himself.

  "She's a princess," Mary said softly. "Everyone does her bidding."

  Ryder nodded. "Let's go. I've seen enough. She's here and we can follow—"

  Mary laid her hand on his forearm, stopping him. "Wait," she said. "Isn't that your uncle?"

  Wilson Stillwell emerged from the theater, accompanied by two gentlemen. Mary recognized neither of them, but she was struck by the fact that they nodded politely to Anna Leigh and addressed her father while Wilson Stillwell made no acknowledgment.

  "Your uncle has as little time or regard for Miss Hamilton as you do," Mary said. "He cut her and her father dead."

  "I doubt that it was on my account," Ryder said dryly.

  Mary sighed. "You might give him the benefit of the doubt. Miss Hamilton maligned you, and your uncle is responding to it in the only way left to him."

  Ryder did not argue with Mary's interpretation. Certainly she was correct in that Wilson Stillwell had made a direct cut. Ryder was just unsure of the motivation. He tore his attention away from his uncle and surveyed the thinning crowd. He and Mary could not afford to stay much longer as they would be noticed by the doorman who had returned to his post. "Come on," Ryder said. "Our driver's circled the block for the third time. We need to go."

  Mary let her arm be taken. She was briskly escorted across the avenue just in time to meet the hack as it completed its final tour. As Mary clambered into the cab, she vaguely heard Ryder give the order to their driver to follow Senator Hamilton's carriage. She had her face pressed to the hansom's window as Ryder settled himself in the seat.

  "What are you still looking at?" asked Ryder.

  Mary did not pull back, turning her head sideways to keep her vision trained on the same point when the hansom began to move. "Your uncle's not gotten into the carriage with his companions," she said. "I believe he's going around to the side of the theater. Why yes, there he goes. What do you suppose he intends to—"

  "Miss Yvonne Marie," Ryder said.

  "What?" asked Mary. Then, "Oh. I see. He wants to make the actress's acquaintance." She turned away from the window. "He's never married?"

  "Briefly. Years ago. My aunt died in childbirth. The child died a few days later. He never remarried."

  Mary was genuinely moved. "How sad for him. Then you're all he has."

  "It may explain Wilson's actions," Ryder said tightly, thinking of his own dead wife and child. "It doesn't justify them."

  "No," she said quickly. "Of course it doesn't."

  Ryder sighed. "I'm sorry." He patted the space beside him, and Mary came across the swaying carriage willingly. "I know you had hopes that he could help us."

  That comment surprised her. "I haven't given up. Perhaps he still can. You saw how he was with Senator Hamilton and Anna Leigh. He might be willing to help if for no other reason than to get his own revenge. I've not seen or heard anything that makes me think we shouldn't ask."

  Ryder slipped his arm around Mary's shoulders. He gave her something else to think about. "I need to get into the War Office records," he said. "I'd be pleased to entertain some ideas as to how that could be accomplished."

  "I'll do it," she said immediately. "What are you looking for?"

  "Out of the question." He leaned forward as the hansom slowed to take a corner. Ryder looked out the window, marked the street, then relaxed and settled back. "I want to see the transfer orders and records for anyone connected to Fort Union."

  "You could find those things there?"

  He nodded. "Every document finds its way to the War Office sooner or later."

  Mary considered what Ryder might be after for a moment. "This has something to
do with those men who left the theater early, doesn't it?"

  Ryder smiled, not at all displeased that she had put it together. "No one will ever accuse you of being slow off the mark," he said. "Yes, it has to do with them. The taller one was vaguely familiar, but I recognized the other one. He was a private when I last saw him. I can't think of any reason for those stripes he's wearing now except that he was one of the two men who brought me in."

  Mary's eyes widened. "You mean at Colter Canyon?"

  "Patrick Carr," Ryder said. "He accompanied Davis Rivers up to the ridge to search for me and Anna Leigh after the raid."

  "I met Lieutenant Rivers," Mary said slowly, trying to place the time and situation. "It was my first day in Arizona. The lieutenant and a small party of soldiers accompanied my family and me from Tucson to Fort Union. I don't recall ever seeing Carr."

  "You weren't at the fort very long," Ryder reminded her. "And he may have already been transferred back here." His dark brows were drawn together as he tried to make sense of it. "His part in the trial was done a while back, but it's still surprising that he would have been brought East. No one moves privates around like that."

  "But you saw that he's an officer now."

  "A sergeant," he said. "It still seems unlikely that he should find himself in Washington. And the promotion was accomplished rather quickly. He was still a private when he testified against me."

  Now Mary was frowning as well. "What can it mean?"

  "That's why I have to get into the War Office," he said. "Apply yourself to solving that problem. I'm known to too many people there to simply walk in and ask to see enlistment and transfer rolls."

  There was no time to give it any thought as their hansom slowed again. They looked out together and saw that Senator Hamilton's carriage was leaving the street to enter a wide, semicircular drive in front of a gray stone mansion. Ryder slid back the communicating panel and ordered their driver to keep going down Jefferson Street. When they were out of sight of the Hamilton residence, he had the driver stop. He got out of the carriage, helped Mary down, and paid the driver. "We won't be needing you any longer," he said, adding a generous tip for the man's time.