“It is, and God help me for it.”
#
Randolph had resumed his surveillance of the Grayson house shortly after sunrise. It was possible his fornicating wife had returned to the city during the night, but it was unlikely. Traveling after dark was hazardous in good times and these certainly weren’t. The doc would want to protect his “little woman,” which meant they’d be holed up somewhere. He didn’t care to think about what they might be doing.
He continued to watch the Grayson place but nothing happened. No one left, no one arrived. He was bored, but no more bored than he’d been sitting in a Yankee prison yard all day. At least now he had a hip flask to wet his whistle. It didn’t contain the quality liquor of his father’s crystal decanters—this was Monongahela, which would rot the guts of an Iroquois Indian—but it was better than nothing.
By noon he was fed up and decided to take a new approach.
If his wife and this doctor were having an illicit relationship, they might not stay at his friend’s house.
He checked the hotels outside the burned center of the city and finally discovered Dr. Thomson was registered at the Sand Hills.
“I’m glad I finally found him,” he told the white desk clerk. “We were in the war together and lost track of each other in the last hectic days after the fighting stopped. Was his lady with him?”
The clerk hesitated, no doubt mindful of his employer’s instructions to be discreet about their guests and associates. Randolph produced a silver dollar and started slipping it across the marble counter.
“He registered by himself,” the clerk informed him, his eyes on the hard currency. “But he’s staying in the John C Calhoun suite, which is quite large.”
“He always was a man of tastes. Any idea when he’ll be returning?” He kept his finger on the silver piece.
“No, sir.”
“Well, I’ll catch up with him later.” He made a small circling motion with the coin. “Is that all you can tell me?”
“That’s all I know, sir.”
Randolph grunted, pocketed the money, turned and walked out.
#
Buck, Sarah and Rex arrived in Columbia shortly after noon. Rex had tolerated the trip well, with the aid of a few sips of laudanum administered at regular intervals by Sarah. They went directly to Ruth’s house a quarter mile from the Grayson residence. Ruth had plenty of room, a full staff of servants and eager willingness to nurse the crippled young man who had no immediate family in the city.
The funeral carriage drawing up outside her front door stirred a few of the neighbors’ lace curtains and no doubt occasioned shocked comments behind them, especially when a living man was carried into the house instead of a dead person being carted out.
Rex was settled in the back parlor downstairs. Sarah would stay upstairs in a room next to her mother’s. The two women planned to take turns seeing to their houseguest’s needs.
“You’re obviously in very competent hands, my friend,” Buck told Rex after checking his sutures one more time. “And since you are, I have no qualms about leaving you to go to my hotel and get cleaned up. You have enough laudanum to tide you over till I get back with a fresh supply.”
“I’m very grateful, Buck. If there’s ever anything I can do—”
“Rest and get well—” he patted his patient’s shoulder “—and be nice to your nurses.”
The hearse driver had left Gypsy and Scamp tied to a hitching post. He rode his gelding and led the stallion—whom he suspected wouldn’t be a stallion much longer—to the Sand Hills Hotel livery stable. On the way he stopped at an apothecary shop and purchased two flagons of laudanum and several rolls of bandages. He was anticipating a hot bath and shave, followed by a short nap before returning to Ruth’s house.
“Good afternoon, doctor,” the clerk at the desk said as he reached into one of the cubbyholes behind him for Buck’s room key. “Oh, you had a visitor a couple of hours ago, said he’d catch up with you later. Did he find you?”
“A visitor?” Perhaps Gus had stopped by. “Did he give his name?”
“No, sir. And I didn’t recognize him. Not one of the locals.”
“What did he look like?”
He pursed his lips. “About your size and build. Rather coarse and weathered looking, if I may say so, but spoke like a gentleman. Said you were friends from the war. Had a Charleston accent.”
“A Charleston accent, you say?” The only person he knew with anything resembling a Charleston accent was Asa, but he was several inches shorter than Buck and smaller in build. As much as Buck liked and admired the young man, no one would credit him with speaking like a gentleman. Then it hit him and a shiver ran down his spine. This could be but one person. “Did he say what he wanted to see me about?”
“No, sir. He was very insistent on learning when you’d be returning though. Naturally I—”
“Did he happen to mention where he was going from here?”
The clerk shook his head. “Only that he would catch up with you later.” He offered Buck his key. “Will you be wanting—”
Ignoring the key and the rest of the question, Buck ran out the door and around the corner to the stable.
“I need Gypsy immediately,” he told the livery man.
“Now? Sir, he’s all wet. I was bathing him like you told me.”
Buck muttered a curse under his breath. “What about Scamp?”
“Getting ready to do him now.”
Buck didn’t like riding stallions, and Rex’s had already proved untrustworthy, but he had no choice. “Saddle him, and quickly.”
“Whatever you say, sir.”
The groom was probably not being intentionally slow, but the simple process of getting the horse from his stall, putting on his bridle and bit, the saddle blanket, then the saddle itself seemed to take an eternity. The horse kept skittering around too, further slowing the process. During that time, Buck checked the pistol he’d been carrying in his coat pocket for the last two days. Five bullets. That should be enough.
#
Randolph returned to the Grayson house in time to see the elderly couple, whom he recognized from the previous day, presumably the banker and his wife, leave the house on foot. Should he follow them or should he keep the house under surveillance? Where were they going? Where were Sarah and her lover? Did they have a private nest of their own? Restlessness won out. Randolph trailed behind the old folks from a discreet distance on the other side of the street.
Fifteen minutes later the pair rang the doorbell of a fine house on Pendleton. A few moments later it was opened by the witch herself, Ruth Greenwald.
Well, it looks like I struck the mother lode. Wherever momma is, dear, sweet Sarah can’t be far away. Now all I have to do is sip and wait.
He removed the silver flask from his hip pocket and took a swig. Was Dr. Thomson already inside with her, or were they off somewhere doing things that weren’t respectable? He twisted his mouth at the taste of the Monongahela. As Sarah Drexel’s husband he was entitled to her estate, which had no doubt increased considerably in size following her father’s death. Franklin had told Randolph all about it, and his attempt to lay claim. Nice try, Poppa. No matter. Soon Randolph would be enjoying bourbon at least as good as his old man’s.
He’d just replaced the flask in his pocket when the front door opened again and the well-dressed couple emerged. Randolph’s heart lurched. This time it wasn’t Ruth at the door but Sarah. It had been more than two years since he’d seen her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. While he was languishing in a filthy Yankee prison, how many other men had she been sharing her favors with? Smiling, she stood at the open door for a moment and waved to her guests as they strolled back the way they’d come. They passed within five feet of where he was pressed against a brick pillar. His heart was pounding now, from the danger, from the excitement, but mostly in anticipation of what was to come. He craved action, the kind that only violence and women could satisfy.