The woman about to enter the parlor ahead of them turned with a polite though puzzled expression. "Yes?"
"Ashton Huntoon — and may I present my husband, James?
James, this is the wife of our distinguished general commanding the Alexandria line. James is in Treasury, Mrs. Johnston."
"A most important position. Delightful to see you both." And away she went into the parlor. Ashton was glad they'd exchanged words out here; Joe Johnston ranked the other general on the Alexandria line — the one who captivated everyone — but his wife was not one of Mrs. Davis's intimates.
"I don't think she remembered you," Huntoon whispered.
"Why should she? We've never met."
"My God, you're forward." His chuckle conveyed admiration as well as reproof.
Sweetly, she said, "Your backwardness demands it, dear — Oh, Lord, look. They're both here — Johnston and Bory." Thus, on a wave of unexpected joy, Ashton swept into the crowd, nodding, murmuring, smiling at strangers whether she knew them or not. On the far side of the packed room, she spied the President and Varina Davis. But they were surrounded.
Memminger greeted the Huntoons. The Dutchman brought Ashton champagne punch and then, responding to her request, introduced her to the officer everyone wanted to meet — the wiry little fellow with sallow skin, melancholy eyes, and an unmistakably Gallic cast to his features. Brigadier General Beauregard bent over her gloved hand and kissed it.
"Your husband has found a treasure, madam. Vous êtes plus belle que le jour! I am honored."
Her look deprecated the flattery and at the same time acknowledged the truth of it; Carolina women knew coquetry, if nothing else. "The honor's mine, General. To be presented to our new Napoleon — the first to strike a blow for the Confederacy — I know that will be the high point of my evening."
Pleased, he replied, "Près de vous, j'ai passé les moments les plus exquis de ma vie." Then, with a bow, the Creole general slipped away; many more admirers waited.
Huntoon, meantime, anxiously eyed the crowd. He feared someone had overheard Ashton. Was she so stupid that she didn't know the high point of the evening should be an introduction to President and Mrs. Davis? In such states of terror over small things did James Huntoon pass most of his life.
Huntoon's study of the crowd soon generated a new emotion — anger. "Nothing but West Point peacocks and foreigners. Oh-oh, that little Jew's spotted us. This way, Ashton."
He tugged her elbow. She jerked away and, with a glare and a toss of her head, sent him off to mingle. This left her free to greet the small, plump man approaching with a genial smile and a hand extended.
"Mrs. Huntoon, is it not? Judah Benjamin. I have seen you once or twice at the Treasury building. Your husband works there, I believe."
"Indeed he does, Mr. Benjamin. I can hardly believe you'd take notice of me, however."
"It's no disloyalty to my wife, presently in Paris, to say that the man who has never noticed you is a man who has never seen you."
"What a pretty speech! But I've heard the attorney general is famous for them."
Benjamin laughed, and she found herself liking him — in part because James didn't. A good deal of opposition to the President and his policies had already arisen; Davis was especially scored for allegedly favoring foreigners and Jews in his administration. The attorney general, who presided over a nonexistent court system, was both.
Benjamin had been born in St. Croix, though raised in Charleston. For unexplained offenses said to be scandalous, he had been expelled from Yale, which her brother Cooper had attended. A lawyer, he had moved with ease from the United States Senate, where he had represented Louisiana, to the Confederacy. His critics called him a cheap and opportunistic machine politician — among other things.
Benjamin escorted her to the buffet table and gathered little dainties on a plate, which he handed to her. She saw James, in the act of sidling up to the President, throw her a furious look. Delightful.
"An ample repast this evening," Benjamin commented. "But not first quality. You and your husband must join me some other night and sample my favorite canapé — white bread baked with good Richmond flour and spread with anchovy paste. I serve it with sherry from Jerez. I import it by the cask."
"How can you possibly get Spanish sherry through this blockade?"
"Oh, there are ways." Benjamin smiled, an innocent, airy dismissal. "Will you come?"
"Of course," she lied; James wouldn't.
He asked for their address. Reluctantly, she gave it. It was clear he recognized the boardinghouse district, but it didn't seem to diminish his friendliness. He promised to send a card of invitation soon, then glided away to pay court to General and Mrs. Johnston. They stood by themselves, displeased by the fact and by the crowd around Old Bory.
Ashton thought of following Benjamin, but held back when she saw Mrs. Davis approach the attorney general and the Johnstons. She didn't have nerve enough to join a group that formidable; not yet.
She studied the First Lady. The President's second wife, Varina, was a handsome woman in her mid-thirties, presently expecting another child. It was said that she was a person without guile, plain-spoken and not hesitant to state opinions on public questions. That was not traditional behavior for a Southern woman. Ashton knew Mrs. Johnston had called her a Western belle behind her back, and not to compliment her. Still, she'd give anything to meet her.
With a delicious start, she saw that she stood a far better chance of meeting Davis himself. James had somehow engaged him in conversation. Ashton started through the maze of scented feminine and braided male shoulders.
She passed near three officers greeting a fourth, a spirited-looking chap with splendid mustaches and curled hair whose pomade was almost as strong as her perfume. "California's a long way from here, Colonel Pickett," one of the other officers was saying to him. "We're glad you made the journey safely. Welcome to Richmond and the side of the just."
The officer thus addressed noticed Ashton and favored her with a gallant, mildly flirtatious smile. Then he frowned, as if trying to place her. One of Orry's classmates had been named Pickett. Could this be the same man? Could he have seen a resemblance? She moved on quickly; she had no desire to discuss a brother who had banished her from her childhood home.
James saw her coming, turned his back. Bastard. He wouldn't present her; it was her punishment for talking with the little Jew. He'd pay.
She sought a familiar face and finally located one. She forced herself on Mary Chesnut, caught alone and unable to escape. Mrs. Chesnut seemed friendlier tonight, and inclined to gossip.
"Everyone's crushed that General and Mrs. Lee are absent — and without explanation. A domestic spat, do you suppose? I know they're a model couple — they say he never curses or loses his temper. But surely even a man of his high moral character occasionally lets down. If he were here, we'd probably have an impromptu West Point reunion. Poor old Bob — flogged by the Yankee press when he resigned and joined our side."
"Yes, I know." They said the woman kept a diary and that it was prudent to speak guardedly in her presence.
Smirking, Mrs. Chesnut tapped Ashton's wrist with her fan. "You'd think that would make him popular with the troops, wouldn't you?"
"Doesn't it?"
"Hardly. Privates and corporals from fine families call him the King of Spades because he sent down orders that they must dig and sweat like the commonest field hands."
Hanging on her words with feigned interest, Ashton had not failed to see a tall, well-set-up gentleman in blue velvet studying her from the punch table. He let his gaze drift down to the peach silk spread tightly between her breasts. Ashton waited till he met her eye again, then turned away. She left Mary Chesnut and drew nearer her husband and the President.