by Nan Ryan
Once she passed on the contents of the dispatch, he would be steaming headlong into a death trap. He was sure to guess the truth about her, if he lived through the battle. She would be responsible for endangering his life. She might even be responsible for his death.
Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She felt suddenly dizzy and her cheeks were hot despite the cold of the snowy November afternoon.
She closed her eyes and strongly considered tearing up the note. She opened her eyes. She drew a labored breath, hardened her heart and dutifully placed the message beneath the cold stone.
PART TWO
Twenty-Nine
The deed done, Suzanna turned away.
Heart aching now, she hurried through blinding snow, unmindful of the biting winds stinging her cheeks and slicing through her billowing cape. The chill of the storm could not compare to the coldness gripping her heart.
Early this morning she had awakened with a start, as one of those horrific psychic sensations had come over her. The strong premonition of impending danger. The kind of frightening feeling she’d not experienced since that terrible day she’d learned that Ty and Matthew had both died in the war.
Now it was happening again.
She had known this morning, well before he had summoned her to the cottage, that Mitch would arrive back in Washington and send for her. And that their rendezvous would be different from all the others. It would be their last.
It was almost like a prophecy. And so it had been with an added sense of foreboding that, summoned just as expected, Suzanna had hurried to meet him. She had carefully hidden her anxiety from him, but she knew when she found the dispatch that her eerie fears had been confirmed.
Their time together was all gone.
She was certain that after today, she would not see Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley again this side of paradise.
Suzanna felt tears stinging her eyes, but blinked them back and pressed on. She was sad and depressed and wanted nothing more than to go straight home and pull the covers up over her head. But she couldn’t do that.
She had assured her increasingly unhappy landlady that she would pay the overdue rent she owed on her set of rooms before nightfall today. When she’d made the promise, she’d had no idea how she could keep it.
Now she knew.
Suzanna walked three long miles through the blinding snow until she reached the glass-fronted windows of one of Georgetown’s finest jewelers. She hurried inside, setting the bell to ringing over the entrance.
From a curtained door at the back of the store, a thin, bald man in a finely tailored frock coat appeared. “Yes, miss, may I help you?”
“I certainly hope so,” said Suzanna as she unhooked the braided frogs holding her snow-dampened cape together.
She reached up behind her head and undid the clasp of the gold chain supporting the sapphire. For several weeks she had considered selling the necklace for much-needed cash, but hadn’t dared. Mitch would surely have been suspicious had she shown up not wearing it. Since the day he had given the gem to her, she had always worn it in his presence. Now she no longer need worry that he might wonder what had happened to the necklace.
Suzanna took off the jewel, laid it atop the counter and asked, “How much will you give me for this?”
Ten minutes later she left the jeweler’s without the necklace, but with several bills in the pocket of her cape. Suzanna hated that she’d had to sell the sapphire, but she’d had no choice. She had no money. None. There was nothing left of the small sum she had realized from the sale of Whitehall. Most of what the mansion had brought had gone to pay the back taxes. The purchaser had refused to close the deal until she agreed to clear that debt.
With the sale of the sapphire, Suzanna reasoned that she could survive for another month or two. After that, the future was uncertain. No matter. She didn’t much care what happened to her. The good-hearted Mattie had repeatedly invited her to move into the roomy Kirkendal mansion, but Suzanna was too proud. She was a LeGrande, one of the blue-blooded LeGrandes of Virginia, and she did not accept charity.
Suzanna suddenly smiled ruefully and shook her head at her misplaced pride. She refused to be a beggar, but she’d had no qualms about becoming a whore.
* * *
On the day of the planned attack, Suzanna awakened before sunup and waited in her rented rooms until dawn, walking the floor and worrying. Had she done the right thing? Would Mitch be injured in the ambush? Even killed?
The thought made her physically ill. Nonetheless, she continued denying to herself that she had foolishly fallen in love with the enemy. It couldn’t be true. She didn’t love Mitch Longley. She just hated the thought of her actions being responsible for anyone’s death.
Still, a great rush of emotion swept over her and Suzanna wept bitterly. She wished more than anything in the world that she could take it back. Undo what she had done. Already she regretted her actions. She was sorry she had deceived Mitch, remorseful that she had put his life in jeopardy.
Maybe she did love him. Dear Lord, she had fallen in love with the handsome Yankee admiral she had coldly betrayed.
“Mitch,” she sobbed, her heart breaking. “Forgive me.”
* * *
It happened just as planned.
At straight-up noon on that cold December day a Federal ram steamed around a bend in the muddy Rapidan River. Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley, in command of the vessel, stood on the hurricane deck.
From a safe distance away in an abandoned building high up on the bluffs overlooking the winding waterway, a heartsick Suzanna watched through a field glass trained on her unsuspecting lover. Suzanna had hired a fleet-footed mount from a livery stable and had ridden the nine long miles to this well-concealed location to observe Mitch’s date with destiny.
A destiny for which she alone was responsible.
Along the riverbanks, hidden in the tall grass, Confederate soldiers waited to spring the trap. Her heart beating in her ears, her eyes clinging to Mitch as he stood with his back erect and feet braced apart, Suzanna waited what seemed an eternity for the battle to begin.
The ram moved closer and closer, unaware of what was about to happen.
At last a Confederate army captain raised a hand in the air. And brought it down.
Suzanna jumped as the firing began. A barrage of minié balls rained down on the slow-moving ram in a bloody firefight that ended almost as soon as it had begun. When it was over Union sailors lay dead on the deck of the ambushed ram.
Her eyes never leaving him, Suzanna winced when Rear Admiral Mitch Longley was struck by Rebel fire. She felt the pain slam through her chest as if she herself had been hit. As Mitch clutched his bleeding left side and began to go down, he clearly formed her name on his lips.
“Suzanna,” he said, his eyes narrowing with hatred. “Damn you, you treasonous bitch!”
He knew! Mitch realized that she was responsible for the ambush. He knew that she had betrayed him. While she clutched the field glass, blinked away tears and attempted to swallow the lump in her throat, Suzanna watched as Mitch cursed her. And himself for leading his men into an ambush.
* * *
Now that it was too late, the truth became crystal clear to Mitch. The Rebels had had advance warning. And he knew there was only one way they could have gotten it. Suzanna. The beautiful, red-haired woman he loved more than life itself was a conniving Confederate spy who had played him for a fool. She had allowed him to make love to her in order to learn military secrets with which to bring him down.
God, how could he have been so blind?
It was she; it had to be. She had read the secret dispatches he had unwisely left unguarded, and had alerted the Confederates. Mitch gritted his teeth against the searing pain in his side. He was rapidly losing blood. The hand pressing the wound was wet and scarlet with it. He could feel the dense blackness beginning to envelop him.
His last conscious thought was he hoped that he lived long enough
to admit he had been duped by a clever Confederate sympathizer. He could hardly wait to confess to his misplaced trust and tell of Suzanna’s callous deception.
He should be court-martialed and hanged for his unforgivable stupidity.
And she would be hanged for her crime against the Union!
Thirty
Mitch struggled to open his eyes. After several failed attempts, he finally managed it. Squinting, he looked straight up. And was surprised to see not a bleak gray winter sky overhead, but a high, white-painted ceiling.
Slowly, he turned his head and saw row upon row of beds. Beds that were filled with wounded, moaning men. He was in a hospital of sorts, though how and when he got here he could not recall.
Mitch tried to sit up, but faltered. The sudden movement caused him to wince in pain, and perspiration quickly dotted his upper lip and forehead. His head fell back to the pillow and he closed his eyes once more, his wounded side hurting so badly he could hardly breathe.
Still, physical suffering did not stop the flood of remembrance and regret that washed over him as it did each time he regained consciousness. He, a seasoned Union officer, had made an unforgivable blunder, and his lack of judgment had cost precious lives. He had led his trusting crew into a deadly Confederate trap, a trap that had been set for him by Suzanna LeGrande.
Looking back now, he found it easy to see that he had been marked from that first warm May night when he’d walked into Mattie Kirkendal’s mansion and spotted a beautiful, flame-haired temptress across the crowded ballroom. The irresistible Suzanna had, no doubt, been the capable young lady designated to charm, captivate and seduce him. How she must have laughed and bragged to her Rebel friends about the ease with which she had led the Yankee swine to slaughter.
Gritting his teeth against the pain—both physical and mental—Mitch recalled with vivid clarity all those occasions when she had buttered him up and begged him to share news of fleet movements and upcoming battles and war room tactics.
He had never told her anything, but he had, on more than one occasion, carelessly left his musette bag—filled with dispatches and maps—within her reach. On their last afternoon at the cottage, that bag had contained the secret dispatch laying out the strategy wherein he would steam up the Rapidan, surprise a large number of unsuspecting Rebs amassing near a Confederate supply depot, and take out as many of the enemy as possible.
But the Rebs had been tipped off.
Leaving the supply depot deserted, they had dug carefully concealed ramparts along both sides of the river and had waited for the ram to steam into sight. As easy as shooting fish in a barrel.
“Yes, I believe he’s awake.” Mitch heard the soft voice of a woman.
He opened his eyes and saw a white-uniformed nurse coming toward the bed. Behind her were a couple of naval officers, a lieutenant commander and a vice admiral.
“Admiral Longley,” the men said in unison, nodding to him. Mitch acknowledged them by attempting to sit up.
“No, no, Admiral Longley,” the nurse gently scolded, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. “You’re to be very still or else I will not allow your visitors to stay.”
The rotund, white-haired senior officer said to the nurse, “Give us a few minutes of privacy, miss.”
She pursed her lips. “Five minutes, gentlemen. The patient is quite ill. He needs rest.” And she hurried away.
Vice Admiral Gregory C. Bond looked down at the badly wounded man whose ashen face was etched with pain. While Lieutenant Commander James Brackett stood at ease with his hands clasped behind his back, Admiral Bond pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat down.
“Ready to tell me how this could have happened, Admiral Longley?” said Admiral Bond.
Mitch nodded. Oh, was he. He could hardly wait to reveal the identity of the conniving Southern bitch who had lain in his arms for the sole purpose of betraying him. Exposing her and knowing that she would get her just reward was what had kept him alive. It was the only reason he had wanted to live after the ambush. From the minute he’d felt the minié ball shatter his left side, he had been determined to live long enough to make Suzanna LeGrande pay.
Now, finally, the time had come.
His pain-dulled eyes cold, Mitch opened his mouth to speak. And found that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hand Suzanna over to the authorities, knowing she would go to prison, might even be hanged for spying against the Union. The chilling prospect of his beautiful flame-haired lover being executed made his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. No matter what she had done to him, he could not endanger her life.
Speaking slowly and distinctly, Mitch addressed his superior officer. “Admiral Bond, this tragedy is my fault and mine alone, and I accept full responsibility. I was foolish beyond pardon, and because I was, lives have been lost.” Mitch drew a labored breath and stated, “I was in D.C. on a snowy afternoon in late November. After a war room meeting was completed I had two or three hours to kill before returning to my post. I spent that time with a woman. We shared a few drinks and had impersonal sex, after which I fell asleep. Apparently, the woman went through my musette bag and read the dispatches. Either she sympathizes with the Confederacy or else she sold the information for money.”
For a time, the old admiral didn’t speak. He simply stared at Mitch in disbelief, his anger rapidly rising. “The young lady, she was a prostitute?” the stern-faced officer finally asked.
“Yes,” Mitch answered truthfully, bitterly. “The woman is most definitely a whore.”
“And this…ah…woman? Does she have a name?”
“I’m sure she does,” he said, adding the lie, “but I don’t know what it is.”
The vice admiral frowned and rubbed his chin. “Let me get this straight. You took pertinent military documents along with you to visit a common prostitute? Is that what you’re saying, Longley?”
“Yes, sir,” Mitch replied without hesitation, knowing but not caring that he could be severely punished for his lack of judgment. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Admiral.”
“Why, you irresponsible son of a bitch!” Admiral Bond’s face grew scarlet as he raged, “I ought to kill you with my bare hands! You put your entire crew in harm’s way for a drunken roll in the hay with some cheap whore! By God, I’ll have you court-martialed for this if it’s the last thing I do!”
“I would expect nothing less, sir,” Mitch said calmly.
The older officer exhaled heavily with anger and disgust. Fighting to regain control, he crossed his arms over his chest and drew several ragged breaths. “You’re not fit to serve in the United States Navy, Longley!”
“I’m aware of that, sir,” Mitch stated evenly.
After a pause, Bond said, “You love the navy, do you, Admiral Longley?”
“I do, sir. It’s my chosen career, the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve been in the United States Navy since graduating from Annapolis when I was twenty-one years old.”
The older officer, a basically softhearted man, couldn’t help but be touched. He knew what it was like to love the military; he had spent his entire adult life in uniform. Markedly tempering his tone, he said, “Two things will save you from a court-martial, Longley. In the first place, you’re badly wounded. I’m not sure you could hold up to a military trial. In the second place, and more importantly, your career up until this tragic mistake has been without blemish. I have gone over the records with a fine-tooth comb and have learned that you’ve been an able crewman, a model officer, a credit to your country. I’ll save you from a court-martial, Longley.” He smiled weakly, then added, “We all make mistakes. Unfortunately, yours was a costly one.”
“Unforgivable,” said Mitch, trying hard not to groan or squirm as the pain in his wounded side grew almost unbearable.
“I’m sorry, Admiral. You’ll have to go now.” It was the concerned nurse, hurriedly approaching the bed as if she had sensed Mitch’s misery.
“Yes, yes, all right,” said Adm
iral Bond, getting to his feet. He looked at Mitch and told him, “You must be punished.”
Mitch nodded in understanding.
The older man continued. “I’m having you cashiered out of the navy, effective immediately.” He patted Mitch’s shoulder and added, “Sorry, my boy.”
Then he turned on his heel and left, with Lieutenant Commander James Brackett trailing after him.
Thirty-One
Allan Pinkerton was like a dog with a bone.
He would bury the scant information he had gathered on a suspected red-haired Southern female spy, then he’d dig it up again and sink his teeth into it. Anytime he had a few spare minutes, he took out the slim dossier on the mysterious agent and carefully studied it.
Pinkerton was frustrated. And intrigued. And determined. Though he had resigned as head of the government’s secret service agency, he remained committed to catching the daring female operative, whom the Union commanders had once even apprehended, only to let go without so much as recording her name. Since then there had been only unsubstantiated sightings of the elusive spy Pinkerton had dubbed Blaze.
In an all-out effort to bring her in, Pinkerton had quietly begun sending out any agent he could spare to gather information on a handful of young red-haired woman in the D.C. area who might fit the bill. So adept were his deputies at trailing suspects, the women never knew they were being followed.
Including Suzanna LeGrande.
She never for a minute suspected that the noted detective had found out who she was and strongly suspected her. She had no idea that often when she left her rented rooms, someone was watching—and had been watching that fateful snowy November afternoon.
Allan Pinkerton had learned that the woman he’d been calling Blaze was Miss Suzanna LeGrande, a native Virginian and a striking young beauty who fit the description of the enchantress the Union commanders had caught and released. It was reported to Pinkerton that Miss LeGrande had secretly met with Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley at a secluded cottage in the city.
