One of his plump hands plucked an oyster from a silver bowl and dispatched it down his throat with gusto. You also endeavor to be a survivor, so I hear, Burdetta said to herself, gliding on.
Across the room, she noticed a tall officer, handsome in a gaunt sort of way. He drew the eye because of his empty left sleeve, pinned up at the shoulder.
She approached cautiously. He was making some point about the military situation to three other people, one a handsome woman with the look of a Spaniard or a Creole. The woman clung to the officer's good arm. His wife?
The man impressed her. She glided away again, inquired here and there, and soon got an answer.
"That's Colonel Main, one of Mr. Seddon's assistants. His duties? Various. I don't know all of them, but one is to act as a watchdog on that beast Winder."
Burdetta Halloran beamed. "Thank you so much for the information. Will you excuse me while I exchange this empty cup for a glass of white wine?" The search was over.
She was ushered to Orry's desk in the War Department at half past eleven the following morning. Polite and surprisingly graceful despite his handicap, he positioned the visitor's chair for her. "Kindly be seated, Mrs. — Halloran, I believe you said?"
"Yes, Colonel. Is there somewhere we might speak that is more private? I've come on a matter of extreme gravity which is also highly confidential."
Skepticism flickered in Orry's dark eyes. Despite his good manners, he was tense and had been for two weeks. Each morning he awoke with the hope that today he would glance up from his desk to see Cousin Charles striding in. As soon as he had received the letter from George and gone to Libby to see Billy's condition for himself, he had written Charles, in care of Hampton's command, requesting an urgent meeting.
Of course, when the Yanks, the Kilcavalry, struck, Charles had no doubt been occupied, to say the least. But the emergency was over. At minimum, he could have sent a note. Couriers traveled between Richmond and field headquarters frequently. Did the silence mean Charles was hurt? If so, all the responsibility fell on him —
With some struggle, he wrenched his attention back to Mrs. Halloran's question. "Let me see whether our small conference room is free."
It was. He led her in and shut the door. From her reticule she took a folded paper. Spread out, it proved to be a sketch map of the James River below the city. She had indicated several landmarks and drawn four small squares on the riverbank in the Wilton Bluffs area.
She pointed to the squares. "These represent the buildings of an abandoned farm, Colonel. Abandoned, that is, except by those now conducting business on the premises at night. If you investigate, you will find this farm is the headquarters for a cabal led by a certain Mr. Lamar Hugh Augustus Powell, of Georgia."
Orry tap-tapped his long fingers on the gleaming table. What did this attractive woman want? She had a steely, desperate quality he had detected at once. It showed in her posture, her eyes, her controlled voice.
"Powell," he said. "I believe I've heard the name. Speculator, isn't he?"
"By profession. His avocation is treason."
Quickly, she told the rest. Powell's cabal was gathering and storing weapons at the Wilton Bluffs farm. With her nail she touched the rectangle immediately next to the line representing the bluff. "This is the shed that once housed implements. On this side it's a sheer drop, a long one, down to the James. But the shed may be approached safely through this field to the north. Or possibly —"
"Wait, please. I'm sorry to interrupt you, but before we go on, you must tell me the purpose of the cabal. There's nothing illegal about owning and storing weapons, especially if the purpose is home defense."
"The purpose," she said, "is to assassinate President Davis and one or more senior members of the cabinet."
In that deliberate way of his, Orry remained motionless to let his thoughts catch up. After his astonishment passed, he didn't laugh. Didn't even feel like it. "Mrs. Halloran — with all respect for the patriotic impulse that brought you here — do you have any concept of how many reports of threats against the life of Mr. Davis reach these offices every week? One or two — at minimum. Many weeks, the number is much higher."
"I can't help that. My information is correct. If you search this building I'm showing you, I guarantee you will discover rifles, revolvers, infernal devices —"
"Bombs?" That rattled him; it wasn't typical. "What type? How are they to be used?"
"I can't answer either question — I don't know. But I assure you there are explosive devices on the property. Stage a raid; you'll find them. You may even find the plotters. They meet frequently."
"How soon is this attempt to be carried out?"
"I've been unable to learn that."
"All right, then how did you come by the information you do possess?"
The steel was impregnable. He saw it even before she said, "It's impossible for me to tell you that. My refusal involves matters of trust. Promises made —"
"Obviously your inquiry must have taken a great deal of time —"
"Months."
"And determination."
"I am a patriot, Colonel Main."
Somehow he doubted the assertion. Again he said nothing. The attractive Mrs. Halloran struck him as one of those people who had a tightly guarded inner place where true opinions, motives, methods were carefully hidden and permanently unreachable. In that respect, she reminded him of Ashton.
He cleared his throat before resuming. "I don't doubt you for a moment. Nevertheless, it would be extremely helpful if I had some idea of how you came by your information."
"I gathered much of it myself. A person I trust helped with other pieces — actual observation of the farm at night, for example. That is the most I can say. Why do such details matter? What counts the most is the plan. The threat!"
"Agreed. Please allow me another question."
Curiously, the sudden masked look of her eyes reminded him of someone he hadn't thought of in a long time: Elkanah Bent. "All right."
"Didn't it occur to you that the provost marshal is the logical man to hear what you've just told me? Oh, but perhaps you've already —"
"No." She made a face, as if she had bitten into spoiled meat. "I have never met General Winder, but I despise him, like any right-thinking citizen. The civilian population can't find enough food, yet he persists with his ridiculous price decrees that anger the farmers and make the situation worse. I would never deal with a man who's done as much to harm our cause as any general on the other side."
On that point, anyway, Mrs. Halloran had a lot of company. She sounded convincing. His fingers tap-tapped the table. Beyond the closed door, war clerk Jones complained about some error in paperwork.
"Is there anything else?"
"No more facts, Colonel. Only this: I promise that if you investigate, you'll find every word is true. If you fail to investigate — dismiss what I've said, for whatever reason — the death of the President will be on your conscience."
"That's a heavy burden." He sounded unfriendly for the first time.
"Yours now, Colonel. Good day."
"Just a moment."
The command caught her half risen from the chair. "We're not finished. I will take you to one of my clerks. You'll give him your full name, place of residence, and other pertinent information. That is routine with everyone who aids the War Department."
Burdetta Halloran's tension melted under a flood of relief and joy. Main's long, furrowed face, his patient manner — above all, his anger when she tweaked his conscience, and his subsequent display of strength — told her something important. Her intelligence and judgment were all she believed them to be. He was precisely the right man.