Holy City (Jack Francis Novel)

by M Murphy

  Holy City

  By

  MP Murphy

  Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold or destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

  Copyright © 2014 by MP Murphy

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 0692247122

  ISBN-10: 9780692247129

  First Gaslight Books edition 2014

  Manufactured in the United States of America by Gaslight Books.

  Printed in Charleston, South Carolina

  For information regarding special discounts on bulk purchases, please contact Gaslight Books.

  Front cover Knights of the Golden Circle medallion photo courtesy of the National Archives.

  Holy City

  Prologue

  Liverpool, England

  March 25, 1865

  “The fall of the Confederacy is almost certain now.” James Trenholm addressed a group of three men in a small upstairs office of his father’s business, Fraser, Trenholm & Company. “I have received word from Father that Richmond will fall within the week and President Jefferson has begun making evacuation plans.”

  “Is the company prepared for this? We have a lot vested in the Confederate cause and surely there will be repercussions for our involvement.” The gentleman who spoke was the last Fraser to sit on the board. The war years had not been kind to him or his family back in South Carolina. For certain he had very little left to lose.

  “We have been making the proper arrangements throughout the war. Currently, here in England and back in the States, plans are in the works that will secure our company.” James Trenholm glanced towards a young English gentleman at the end of the table. “Lord Wallace has guaranteed us protection by the

  crown if the Union decides to punish our international interest. For this reason we have moved the securities of Fraser, Trenholm & Company from Charleston to Liverpool. All that has been left in South Carolina is the office where we will negotiate cotton prices and shipping orders after the war.”

  “And what about your father?” The elder Fraser asked still fearful.

  “Father’s role as Secretary of the Treasury for the Confederacy has left him in position to secure the funds still owed to us by the government in Richmond. When the city evacuates so will the Confederate Treasury, and with it all the remaining gold and silver coins, bars, and bricks stored in the bank vaults there. He has gotten an agreement from President Jefferson that the treasure will be split with half sent to Charleston and the other half to Savannah, where it will be loaded onto the company’s blockade runners and sent on to England.”

  “That is not my only concern.” The old man said. “What of your Father’s well-being? Will he not be prosecuted for is role in our government?”

  “Between our connections here in England and Father’s back in the states, it appears that he will be allowed to return to Charleston after the war. He is fearful that the Union will hold him briefly, but is certain it will only be temporary. Many others in his position are already setting up President Jefferson to take the brunt of the Union repercussions against the Confederate Government.”

  “You seem pretty confident about the fall of the Confederacy and the security of this company.” The final man in the room spoke. Dressed in Confederate grey, the man was an associate of James’ from Charleston but not a friend. Edward Tidwell was the Confederate attaché to England and a constant problem. “Both Charleston and Savannah have surrendered to

  Union troops and are currently occupied. How do you expect to

  load the remains of the Confederate Treasury onto ships and escape from two Union occupied cities, as well as avoid the Union Naval blockade?”

  “Points outside each city have been chosen where the wealth of the Confederacy can be loaded onto flat boats and then sent down stream to where our blockade runners lay hidden and in wait. With the fall of almost all of the South’s ports the Union blockade is weak, losing ships everyday as they move into the occupied harbors.”

  “What locations have you found that Union troops won’t discover? Ships being loaded to sail are quite noticeable.” Tidwell said suspiciously.

  “Those locations are none of your concern. Besides, I am not even sure which locations Father has chosen. I am certain he will rely on the advice of the captains of his blockade runners in order to decide on the best spots to load the ships.”

  “I’m sure he has it all figured out.” Tidwell said.

  “If that is all,” Lord Wallace got up from his seat in the room, “I must return to the night’s festivities before I am missed. James, I trust everything is in good hands.”

  The rest of the men rose as well and headed towards the door of the office. Tidwell turned back towards James before he exited. “I am a little uneasy with the fact the Confederate

  Government is entrusting one family with all of its wealth. It would be a shame to see the whole cause go down because of someone else’s greed.”

  “This family and this company have always supported the Confederate cause and the fight for state’s rights, and we always will.” James said as he shut the door on Tidwell halting any further conversation he may attempt.

  Chapter 1

  It was a spring day unlike any I had seen before. First it was still March and the grass was green, flowers were blooming and the sun was shining bright overhead, an unusual occurrence for someone raised in Cleveland, Ohio. Besides the 75 degree temperatures, it was also a day of celebration. I arrived in Charleston only the day before to attend the wedding of my closest cousin to his South Carolina born bride. I never liked to miss a wedding, especially one in such a beautiful town.

  I had set myself up in a rented carriage house off of Church Street in the oldest section of the city. The main house was a beautiful colonial built in the common Charleston single house style. Its red brick and double piazzas were highlighted by a glorious live oak in the garden, dripping with Spanish moss. I sat on the small porch attached to the carriage house and sipped the rest of my morning coffee as I slowly donned my tuxedo for the early afternoon wedding ceremony. It was a beautiful setting and I was already thinking about staying on a little longer than I had originally planned.

  The ceremony was a couple blocks from where I was staying at Saint Michaels Church. From my porch, I could see its white steeple gleaming in the sunlight, and was happy to see a skyline that lacked the obtrusiveness of any modern buildings. Bryce had been one of my closest cousins, even though I had him

  by quite a few years. I spent a lot of time with him back in

  Cleveland after his father died battling cancer. Eventually, he left the cold North to come to school at the College of Charleston, where he met his future bride. Sarah seemed to be a nice enough young woman, but I had not had a chance really to get to know her yet. She came from an old Charleston family with roots going back before the American Revolution, something she was very proud of.

  My bowtie was a little crooked so I took a moment to get it right in the mirror before I went to the small kitchen to rinse out my coffee cup. Outside the carriage house, on a drive paved in Charleston brick, I stood for a moment to soak up the sun and adjust the sleeves on my tux. Mrs. Legare (pronounced Le·gree), the woman I was renting the carriage house from, sat on the first floor piazza of the main house with a group of ladies having tea. I gave them a wave and a smile as I walked toward the street. They returned it with waves, big smiles, a
nd then a few whispers when they thought I wasn’t looking. I am sure the news of a single man renting from Mrs. Legare spread quickly throughout the neighborhood. Each time I walked the drive there seemed to be new faces on the porch, most always women.

  I walked north on Church Street and cut down St. Michael’s Alley over to Meeting Street and to the front entrance of Saint Michael’s Church. A group was gathering out front and I recognized a few faces as I approached. Bryce’s mother Joyce was there to greet me.

  “He’s inside waiting for you.” She said grabbing my arm and leading me inside.

  “Is everything alright?” I asked because of the nervous tone of her voice.

  “Oh heavens yes. I’m just at my wits end trying to coordinate our side of the family. Now go and do your duty.” I

  felt a push on my back as she sent me through a doorway and then turned to go back out front.

  Inside, Bryce stood in front of a mirror putting the finishing touches on his tux. Next to him was a young man about his age whom I had yet to meet.

  “Jack,” Bryce said turning towards me, “I would like you to meet my other groomsmen, a friend from college and one of Sarah’s good friends growing up. Jack Francis this is Jason Trenholm.”

  “Please to meet you.” I said shaking the kid’s hand.

  “Same here. Bryce has had a lot to say about his favorite cousin from up North.”

  “Only good I hope.”

  “Yes, only good.”

  Suddenly there was a knock on the door and the three of us were being called upon to make our way to the front of the church. A beautiful day for a celebration.

  Chapter 2

  The ceremony was short and charmingly appropriate for the colonial church. The bride looked magnificent and the new couple’s love seemed to radiate out into the crowd. From the tranquility of the ceremony came the loud and joyful reception. Drinks were very abundant, including healthy portions of bourbon, and the South Carolina barbeque was almost as good as the Lowcountry oysters. The entire reception was held in the backyard and gardens of Sarah’s grandmother’s home on the Charleston Battery. The home was nothing less than a mansion, with three story piazzas, a pair of exterior buildings, and spectacular views of the harbor and Fort Sumter. As darkness began to fall, and the chandeliers hanging from the live oak trees came alive, the party took on a rowdiness found only when a young couple gets married. With the music playing, people dancing, and the drinks flowing I became lost in my surroundings and the magic of the whole scene.

  I woke the next morning to a blistering headache and a knock on my door. When I slowly rose to answer it, I found Mrs. Legare without her normal Southern genteel composure. The vivacious older woman was now stark white in the face and appeared frantic.

  “Good morning.” I said with a dry throat.

  “Mr. Francis, there is someone here to see you and it is very urgent.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Not important at the moment. You simply need to dress and come up to the house quickly.”

  “Give me a moment and I’ll be right up.” The woman turned and scampered back up the drive in a hurry. I took a quick glance at the first floor piazza and saw no one waiting for me. Odd, considering that was Mrs. Legare’s normal meeting spot.

  I rinsed the smell of booze off of me with a quick cold shower and threw on a pair of shorts with a light button down from Brooks Brothers. I covered my tired eyes with a pair of sunglasses and splashed on some cologne before I ventured out into the morning sun. When I made it to Mrs. Legare’s door, she was there to greet me and quickly ushered me into the first floor study, where I was greeted by a concerned looking Bryce and an older gentleman I did not recognize.

  “Mr. Francis,” Mrs. Legare said, “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. George Trenholm.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” I gave the man a firm shake.

  “I’ll leave you gentleman be.” Mrs. Legare said as she retreated from the room.

  George Trenholm took the chance to move behind the desk in the room and sat down. Bryce followed suit by moving to the sofa, and I took it as a clue to sit myself in a chair facing Mr. Trenholm and the desk.

  “What is it that I can do for you Mr. Trenholm?”

  “Please, you can call me George.”

  “All right George.”

  “Jack, if I may, last night something terrible happened to my family. Shortly after the festivities ended for Bryce and Sarah, my son, Jason, was found murdered in Stoll’s Alley, apparently on his way home from the reception.”

  “My God, I’m so sorry.” I gave a quick look to Bryce, who appeared near tears.

  “Thank you. Bryce here tells me that you were once in the FBI and are currently still in the business from a private aspect.”

  “Yes, I was with the Bureau for ten years. Now I do security consulting and some private investigation work. But I have taken a break from work for nearly six months now.”

  “Well, I am hoping then that you will be willing to get back into it. The murder of my son, I assure you, has already spread across this town. However, more delicate matters may come about because of it. I would like to hire you to investigate why and who killed my son and bring me any information you find first.”

  “I’m not about to willingly involve myself in a cover-up of some kind, if that’s what you’re asking?”

  “Not at all, I’m quite certain Jason’s reputation will go untarnished. It is the family I’m more concerned about.”

  “I believe I’ve heard this request before.” I said, thinking back to Captain Gilmore in Cleveland.

  “Jack, as an outsider let me explain to you a little bit about Charleston. Even though it has become a modern city, it is still

  very much a small Southern town. Those of us whose families have been here since the beginning have rebelled against England, built fortunes from slavery, and tried to secede from the Union.

  During this city’s long history families have inter-married, bonds formed and bonds broken, secrets made and secrets kept all for the benefit of keeping the family wealth and promoting what we believe in. There are a lot of people out there that are loyal to the Trenholm family, but there are just as many in this town that would love nothing more than to see us destroyed. All I am asking is for you to stay on top of the investigation and keep me informed, so that I may act and react according to what you find.”

  “What you are telling me is someone killed your son and you believe they are out to destroy you family too?”

  “I’m not saying for sure, but there is a good chance there is more here than simply murdering Jason. No one randomly gets murdered walking the streets South of Broad, so there must be more to it.”

  “You seem very certain, George. Any reason you can give me as to why?”

  “Not willingly. Are you prepared to accept my offer Jack? I can promise you it will be worth your while.”

  I looked over to Bryce sitting quiet on the couch. His eyes pleaded me to say yes. “I will help you. Jason was a good friend to Bryce, and for that alone I would help.”

  “Thank you. Our family will forever be grateful.” George Trenholm said, with a face that was only slightly more relieved.

  Chapter 3

  In a room in the attic of a Victorian home in the Cannonborough neighborhood of Charleston, a man was slumped over a desk. The room behind him was shabby and simply furnished. A twin bed sat unmade, a dresser unpainted, and a TV about twenty years old was on in the background with the sound turned down. Spread across the desk was an array of papers containing land records, family trees, and property holdings. The man looked haggard, but a fire shone in his eyes. He drank too much coffee and ate too little. On the wall above the desk hung his most prized possession, a Confederate sword that looked as clean and well-kept as the day it was made.

  The man got up from the desk and walked over to a small table that held a coffee maker. The pot was empty and he prepared a fresh one as he watched the news on the te
levision. As he waited for the coffee to brew he turned up the volume on the TV and sat on the bed to watch. The news of Jason Trenholm’s murder in the historic and wealthy South of Broad neighborhood had shocked the city. East Bay Street and the Battery were covered in about as many journalists as tourists, each one gawking and straining for a look or a word from someone with information. The whole scene intrigued the man.

  Once, a long time ago he was destined to join the privileged ranks of the Charleston aristocracy that live in the

  South of Broad neighborhood. His family had the necessary link to the founding of the city, participated in the War for Independence, owned plantations, and supported the Confederacy, but since then it had all disappeared. The legacy tarnished and the fortunes withered away to nothing. Nothing