Passion's Fury

by Patricia Hagan

  “You’re insane!” She stepped away from him, her back against the brick wall bordering the terrace. “I’ll do no such thing.”

  Trella spoke up quickly. “Don’t bother with her, Rance. I’ll do it. I can do anything better than she can.” She lifted her chin defiantly and gave April a brief look of disdain.

  Rance rubbed at his mustache with his knuckles as his mind raced along. Trella was always eager to help, but the truth was that she lacked April’s gentility. April would easily be accepted into the inner circle of Washington society. But Trella wouldn’t. Too, April’s ethereal beauty would make her seem spiritual, otherworldly.

  “No,” he said finally, firmly. “April will do it.”

  “I won’t!” She looked at each of them in turn, eyes flashing rebelliously, defiantly. “I will not add to that poor woman’s grief, and I think all of you are evil to even consider such a disgusting trick.”

  “But you’d be doing her a favor, really,” Edward broke in. “It will make her feel good to think she’s talking to her boy. We’ll take care of all the details and make it believable. Just leave it to us.”

  “I will not be a part of this. It’s absolutely out of the question.”

  Rance’s fingers squeezed into her forearm as he jerked her away from the others. He pulled her into the shadows. Her lips parted in protest, but he spoke first.

  “Before you give me a lecture on deception, April, let me remind you that you are a Southern woman in Union country, and that as long as you are here you are in danger of being accused of spying for the South.” She stared at him and he took a deep breath and went on.

  “You need the rest of us, and we need you, for cover. We’re all taking grave risks just being in Washington. And as for the seance, please remember that Mrs. Lincoln has held several before now and will doubtless continue to do so. You are not deceiving her any more than she has already deceived herself. And you may even ease her grief a little. What difference does it make to you whether she really talks to her son, or just thinks she does? If it makes the poor woman feel better, why should it matter to you?”

  He had her on both points, and she hadn’t the energy to pretend otherwise, not to herself or to Rance.

  She sighed wearily. Would the nightmare ever be over? Or would things only get more and more complicated?

  “All right, Rance,” she sighed. There really was no choice. He led her back to the ballroom, explaining his plan as they moved.

  “I’m going to get us introduced to one of the women Trella heard talking. You tell her you’re interested in having some gowns made by this Lizzie Keckley. It may not be easy. I don’t imagine a woman who works for the President’s wife takes on new customers without a recommendation. So be charming, and maybe you’ll be lucky. Understand?”

  She gave him what she hoped was an arrogant grin. “I’m going to enjoy the day you get what’s coming to you, Rance Taggart.”

  “That’s the first hope you have given me, April,” he said with a wink as he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Now I do have something to look forward to.”

  “That’s not what I was talking about,” she hissed. They entered the ballroom once more, and he whispered for her to smile. Play the game, she commanded herself. Play the game. For now, there is no other choice.

  “That’s one of them,” Trella stepped close to Rance and whispered anxiously. “I think she’s the one who has the same seamstress as Mrs. Lincoln.” Rance nodded and told her to calm down, that he would handle things.

  April watched as the woman approached. She was being led in their direction by a tall man wearing the uniform of an infantry colonel—a black coat with double rows of brass buttons, gold cord trimming the high collar and cuffs. Braided gold epaulets covered the shoulders. His trousers were light blue, with bright red stripes down the sides, and he also wore a bright red fringed sash at his waist.

  He extended a white-gloved hand to Rance, the tips of his neatly curved mustache tipping upward as he smiled. “Mr. Taggart, I believe. We met yesterday at the cattle-yard.”

  “Ah, yes, of course, Colonel Truxmore,” Rance countered, then began the introductions.

  As the Colonel presented his wife, April saw instantly that they would not get along. She had seen the type before. She had married an officer, married “well,” according to society, but what had she, as a person, ever done that was noteworthy? Had she married someone else, she might be out in the fields, tending a crop, or sitting at home with her children instead of attending a fancy ball, giving herself airs.

  “April.”

  Rance’s voice had an edge to it.

  “This is Mrs. Truxmore,” he said with meaning only she understood. “I was telling her that you have been admiring her exquisite gown.”

  “Oh…yes,” April said quickly. Actually, she was not that enthused over the olive green velvet. The neck was too high, and the overall effect was austere.

  “I was also telling her that you are in a quandary for a wardrobe, since we aren’t that well established in Washington. Since we will be going to Europe next month, you would like her to recommend a seamstress.”

  Mrs. Truxmore did not look impressed. In fact, April thought impishly, she looked like she had just sucked a lemon. All sorts of wicked thoughts began to dance about in her head, like wondering what sort of expression she had on that prune face when the Colonel made love to her. Did she ever part her lips and sigh with ecstasy, or moan with delight? Or did she lie there, lips pursed in disapproval, with all the eagerness of a corpse in a coffin?

  April had to stifle a giggle. Rance was glaring at her. “Yes, yes,” she said in a rush. “I do so desperately need the services of a good seamstress here. I can get by with just a few things. Rance, darling that he is, has promised me a whole new wardrobe in Paris, but I don’t want to arrive in the midst of the winter social season looking like a frump.”

  She decided to get to the point, wanting the scene to end. “Who is your seamstress?”

  Mrs. Truxmore’s neck stiffened even more, and her chin jutted higher until she was actually looking down her nose at April. “Well!” She was most offended. “My seamstress is Elizabeth Keckley, who also happens to be the White House seamstress. I hardly think she would take just anyone as a customer.”

  April bristled and clenched her gloved hands. Just anyone, indeed!

  Rance felt her indignation and casually moved his hand to her back to give her a warning caress with his fingertips.

  The Colonel coughed, embarrassed by his wife’s effrontery. “My dear,” his voice had an edge to it. “I think in this instance Elizabeth would consider taking Mrs. Taggart as a customer. After all, her husband has just delivered 50 artillery horses to three of my companies. Good artillery horses are hard to come by these days.” He spoke with emphasis.

  “How patriotic of Mr. Taggart,” she said acidly. “But wasn’t he paid for the horses? My goodness, if he’s a businessman—”

  “Yes, of course he was paid.” The Colonel no longer tried to hide his annoyance. “But he did not have to sell the horses to my regiment. There are plenty of other regiments anxious for artillery horses. Now I want you to arrange for Mrs. Taggart to have an appointment with Elizabeth.”

  “But Elizabeth might not agree.”

  “She will agree. I’ve paid her enough money over the years that she better not disagree.” He looked at Rance and April in turn, smiled apologetically, and said, “My wife is so protective of Elizabeth. Doesn’t want her overworked, you know.”

  “Of course,” Rance nodded with understanding. April simply returned the woman’s icy glare. “Tomorrow would be a good day for a fitting. My partner and I have some business appointments, so my wife won’t have anything to occupy her.”

  Colonel Truxmore glanced at his wife, silently warning her not to object. With a little sniff and another lift of her chin, she murmured, “I will have a carriage sent for Mrs. Taggart at one o’clock.”

 
“Wonderful!” The Colonel beamed. “Why don’t you make it earlier so the two of you can have lunch? Are you staying here at the hotel, Mrs. Taggart?”

  Rance spoke up quickly. “Yes, we are staying here. I’m sorry, but she won’t be able to join your wife for lunch. She is entertaining the wife of another of my associates.” He turned slightly and gestured toward Trella. “Mrs. Clark will be accompanying her to the fitting. The two are inseparable,” he laughed softly.

  “Tomorrow at one then,” Mrs. Truxmore nodded stiffly, then turned to her husband. “I see some people we should speak to.”

  They said good night and walked away, and as soon as they were out of hearing range, April cried, “I have never met anyone so unpleasant in my entire life.”

  “Wonderful!” Rance beamed. “That means I no longer hold that position.”

  Edward and Trella laughed, and even April had a difficult time keeping a straight face.

  “I think we should dance to celebrate our good fortune.” He held out his arms to her as the orchestra began to play a lilting waltz. “We move together so well, my dear. It’s as though we were made for each other.”

  He led her to the center of the floor, and April was aware of everyone watching in admiration as they began to glide in time to the music. Yes, she thought, a bit wistfully, it was a shame there had to be such animosity between them. They made a striking couple. They danced well together. And, she thought as shivers of warmth moved up and down her spine at his nearness, they did seem made for each other. She could remember the touch of his lips, the feel of his seeking hands, and a flush went through her as she remembered much more than that.

  She was aware of the envious eyes of the women. Rance was quite handsome. He exuded strength, manliness, and charm. Why did there have to be such contention between them?

  But, she reminded herself, it was not of her doing. He had interfered in her life, taken her by force that first time, made her beg. He had caused her resentment.

  Their eyes met, held, and she looked away as he smiled knowingly. Damn him! He couldn’t know what I’m thinking, she raged silently. He couldn’t!

  But, strangely, she knew that he did indeed know what she was thinking, and a good deal more besides.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rain slashed against the windows. Thunder rolled in the distance and lightning split the black heavens. An icy chill permeated the room, despite the roaring fire in the hearth.

  “A perfect night for a seance,” Trella offered as she stood before the mirror rubbing rouge into her cheeks.

  April sat in a chair near the fire, staring down at the black bombazine dress she was wearing. A mourning dress, Rance had said it was befitting attire for a medium. “I don’t think any of this is going to work,” she murmured worriedly. “The whole idea is foolish.”

  Trella gave an unladylike snort. “You just don’t have any faith in Rance, that’s all. I happen to know what he’s got planned. You just do your part, and everything will turn out just fine,” she added accusingly.

  April leaned back and closed her eyes. The only satisfaction she had derived thus far from the whole scheme was seeing the angry reaction on Mrs. Truxmore’s face when she walked into her sewing room to hear Lizzie Keckley exulting over the fact that April was a medium.

  “A…a what?” the arrogant woman had cried.

  Lizzie had repeated her astonishing discovery while April remained silent. Mrs. Truxmore then opened and closed her mouth several times before exclaiming, “Well, I do not believe in such nonsense, and I will not have it discussed in this house.”

  “I believe in it,” Lizzie said firmly. “A lot of people do. Including Mrs. Lincoln.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of the weird goings-on at our White House,” she said tartly, eyes narrowing in condemnation. “I happen to know that you take part in those affairs, Lizzie, but while you are in my house, you will honor my wishes. I do not wish to have such deviltry discussed here.”

  She turned to April. “Is it true? What she said? Do you profess to talk with the dead?”

  “Of course,” April regarded her coolly. “I have done so many times. I am pleased to hear that there are so many people in Washington who also believe.”

  The woman placed her hands on her hips as her face turned red. “I would never have allowed my husband to talk me into having you here, had I known this dreadful thing. Lizzie! How much longer will you be with the fitting? I prefer to have this over with as quickly as possible.”

  Lizzie had finished without delay, but not before she made April promise that she would conduct a seance for Mrs. Lincoln.

  “It would be an honor,” April had told her. “I have had strong vibrations within since arriving in Washington. The other day my husband and I passed the White House in our carriage, and I was overwhelmed by a feeling that told me someone was trying to communicate with me from beyond. Since I’ve heard of the death of Mrs. Lincoln’s son, I know it was he who was trying to speak to his mother through me.”

  “Praise the Lord,” Lizzie had cried, rolling her large eyes skywards and raising her arms. “It’s a sign. I know it is. When I tell Mrs. Lincoln, she’s going to have to see you. I just know it.”

  Mrs. Truxmore did not even bid her good-bye, and this caused April no distress. As soon as they were in the carriage, moving away from the house, Trella squealed with delight. “It’s going to work out just like Rance said it would!” And April merely nodded, feeling dreadful. She still considered it a cruel scheme.

  There was a soft knock on the door.

  “April, we’re ready,” Edward called softly. She got to her feet, adjusting the black veil she wore over her face and she and Trella stepped into the hallway. Absently, April realized how much she hated the wallpaper pattern—thousands and thousands of four-leaf clovers. She felt smothered in them, felt as though she were lying facedown in a never ending shamrock field. A nagging pain had begun in the base of her skull and was beginning to press against her temples.

  “Drink this.” She glanced up from her reverie to see that Rance stood in the open doorway of his room and held a snifter of brandy. “You look as though you need it,” he said sympathetically.

  Gratefully, she gulped it down. He went inside the room and returned with the bottle. He refilled her glass and she drank again. The pain lessened almost immediately, and a blessed relaxation began to course through her.

  “April, this could be a very important evening to the Confederacy. Think of it in that light.”

  “I try to, but I still feel terrible, preying on that poor woman’s grief.”

  “You aren’t doing it for money,” he pointed out. “Think of the people who do. You told me yourself that this Lizzie Keckley was astonished when you said you never charge for your seances.”

  April laughed shortly. “My seances, indeed. I’m sure everyone will see through me, despite all your coaching.” She gave him a puzzled glance. “How did you come to know so much about seances, anyway? How do you know you’ve coached me properly?”

  Trella and Edward had gone on ahead. Rance closed the door to his room, locked it, then took her arm. They began walking down the hall. “April, I’ll be honest with you,” he said quietly, thoughtfully. “I’ve had this planned for some time. It was no spur-of-the-moment thing. I did research. I asked questions. I listened. If you follow my instructions, your act will be quite believable.”

  “You aren’t doing this just to ‘prowl about’ the White House,” she said accusingly as they began to descend the stairs. “I think you have other motives.”

  “You’re a smart girl, April,” he beamed approvingly. “Actually, it’s been my plan all along to be completely accepted in this city. What better way than making the President’s wife happy? It could mean friendship for you with her, and the confidence of President Lincoln for me. Then I’ll be in a good position to trade with the Union army.”

  She bristled. “There’s something else that doesn’t make sense—your w
anting to sell horses to the Yankees. I thought you wanted to supply the Confederacy. All of a sudden we move North and you become a traitor, and—” He squeezed her arm so tightly that she winced with pain, and he ground out the warning: “Don’t let me hear you say such a thing again, April. I’m no traitor to the South.”

  “Then why do you sell the Yankees horses?” she demanded. “Since we left Alabama, I haven’t known you to deal with the Confederacy once.”

  “I told you I don’t want to hear it.”

  “You’re hurting my arm,” she jerked against his grasp.

  “Maybe I’m trying to squeeze some sense into you. I’ll do more than that if you don’t shut up and stop asking questions about things that don’t concern you. I don’t have to confide my every move to you.”

  “It does concern me if you’re betraying the South and using me to help you do it.”

  They were halfway down the stairs. Edward and Trella were staring upward, eyes wide as they realized what April was saying so boldly. Rance turned to grip her shoulders, shaking her so roughly that her teeth clattered. “April, damn you, don’t make me hurt you!” he whispered harshly, his lips so close she could feel his breath upon her face. “I don’t want anyone overhearing you. Now if you don’t shut up, we’ll just go back upstairs, and I’ll give you a sound lesson in obedience.”

  Tears of humiliation and fury sprang to her eyes. She lifted the veil to wipe them away with the back of her hands. He had reduced her to tears once again, and she hated him. “Dear God, why do you torture me by forcing me to stay with you?” Her voice cracked and shook with emotion. “Let me go, Rance, please. I can’t tolerate this life. I’ve tried…I have. But I can’t stand being around you any longer.”

  He was silent for several moments as she cried, shoulders heaving. Finally, he asked quietly, “Has it really been that terrible, April? Are you really so miserable? I haven’t forced myself on you, and I’ve felt I was doing you a favor, looking after you. We both know what’s waiting for you if you go back to Montgomery. Has it really been so bad, these last few months?”