He returned the Mahan book to its place and began to read the one by Scott. He hoped it might provide some insight into the mind of this legendary general, but the book was a dry text for military officers. Mazorca had an interest in these matters, however, and decided to pass the time with Scott’s thoughts on drills, maneuvers, and drum signals. He adjusted the book to catch what dim light came in from the shuttered window. As he flipped through its pages, however, his own thoughts kept drifting back to the question of why a woman-and one described to him as a socialite, no less-would choose to read the words of Mahan and Scott. It was a peculiar pursuit, even in these troubled times.
An hour later, Mazorca heard shoes scraping on steps outside the front door. He put the Scott book back on the table. A key scratched against a lock and found the keyhole. The door squeaked back on hinges that needed oiling. It let in a blinding light but was shut almost immediately. Mazorca could see clearly again in the shadowy room. Someone had entered. He watched her from just a few feet away. She was by herself and did not see him.
Grenier stood by the door and let her eyes adjust to the poor light. Mazorca could not tell when she first saw him. She did not jump in surprise or even flinch slightly. Instead, she just cocked her head to one side, trying to recognize the uninvited guest who sat cross-legged on her couch. Her composure was remarkable.
“Good morning, Mrs. Grenier.”
“Do I know you?”
“We haven’t met.”
“You’ve chosen an odd way to make my acquaintance, sir.”
“These are odd days, Mrs. Grenier.”
“And you appear to be an odd man. I would like to know what you’re doing in my house.”
Mazorca rose from his seat slowly. He did not want to appear threatening, even though Grenier seemed unusually difficult to startle. From a pocket on the inside of his coat, he removed an envelope and held it out. “This may answer your question,” he said.
She did not reach for it. She did not even look at it. Instead she simply stared at Mazorca as he stood with his arm outstretched. Then she took a couple of steps to his side. Her eyes roamed up and down. She noticed his ear but said nothing. She was taking his measure.
Grenier finally nodded at the envelope. “What is that?” she asked.
“A letter from a mutual friend.”
“I have so many friends. Which one is also yours?”
“Langston Bennett of South Carolina.”
Her eyebrows arched on hearing the name. She shifted her gaze from Mazorca to the envelope. “Langston Bennett is a great man,” she said. “I will read the letter.”
Grenier took the envelope and studied it. The flap was sealed shut. She opened the drawer to a small table and pulled out a letter knife. As she thrust it in a hole at one end of the envelope, she gave Mazorca a quick look. “Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning to where her visitor had been sitting. Then she ripped open the envelope, unfolded the letter, and started reading. Mazorca already knew what it said. Before leaving Charleston he had steamed open the envelope, read the undated contents, and then resealed it.
My dear Violet,
Some weeks ago I wrote to you about an important project, whose nature we need not mention here. The man bearing this letter will execute our plans. He is a stranger to Washington and may benefit from your intimate knowledge of it. Please provide him with whatever assistance he seeks, in the interest of our vital cause.
Yours most affectionately,
Langston
Below the signature, the bottom of the letter was sheared off. Grenier set it down and left the room. Mazorca heard her open and shut a drawer. She came back with a small piece of paper in her hand. One of its edges was ripped. She held it beside the letter from Bennett. They matched perfectly. Grenier smiled and placed both pieces of the letter into the envelope.
“What is your name?” she asked with disarming sincerity.
“I’m called Mazorca,” he said.
“It is a strange name. A little mysterious, too.”
“No more strange and mysterious than a woman who reads books on infantry tactics and fortifications.”
“They are in the front windows of all the bookstores.”
“And ladies are buying them?”
“Last year I couldn’t tell the difference between a flanking maneuver and a casement carriage. Now I’m able to carry on whole conversations with federal officers about their work. I’m able to learn things which I may then pass along to others who find such information useful.”
“You sound like a spy.”
For the first time since entering, Grenier smiled. It brought warmth to her features. “We all have our secrets,” she said, circling around the tete-a-tete and sitting in the seat opposite Mazorca, even though the parlor contained several chairs.
“Perhaps, like your name, it is something we best leave a bit mysterious. I am Violet Grenier, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mazorca.”
“Likewise. But I’m curious about something. An hour ago, two of you left this house, but only one of you returned.”
“You’ve been watching me?” She sounded more flattered than offended. “That was Polly, who helps out around here. She has several hours off. I had thought that I would be alone in the house. Then you turned up.”
She leaned toward Mazorca and touched his arm gently. Just by watching her look at him, Mazorca understood what Bennett meant when he called Grenier the most persuasive woman in Washington.
“Your ear is terribly scarred,” she said. “What happened?”
“It’s an old injury, acquired far from here during a disagreement.”
“Something tells me that your adversary lost more than a piece of skin.”
“He did not fare well.”
Grenier smiled. “I have entertained presidents in this very spot,” she whispered.
“What about the current one?”
She pulled away from him, as if the mere thought of Lincoln was physically repulsive. “No. Never. He is the Mammon of Unrighteousness. I believe this is a subject upon which Langston Bennett and I are in complete agreement.”
“That would seem to be the case.”
“And that is why I’m willing to help you,” she said, drawing near again.
“I would appreciate it if you simply told me what you know about Lincoln and his circle.”
“The abolitionists are pathetic. Because of them I cannot now look upon the Stars and Stripes and see anything but a symbol of murder, plunder, oppression, and shame.”
Her face had twisted into a scowl, but the expression vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. “I certainly understand the importance of consorting with them,” she continued. “I’m friendly with some-quite friendly, as a matter of fact. I receive detailed reports on cabinet meetings, troop movements, and the like. I’m often aware of what the president intends to do, and I know it before Congress or the newspapers do. It requires me to spend a considerable amount of time in the company of people whose opinions I find repellent. Yet it is all in the service of a cause greater than us. Wouldn’t you agree, Mazorca?”
“It will serve your purposes and mine if you can share some of what you know with me, Mrs. Grenier.”
She smiled sweetly and touched his arm again. “Please, call me Violet.”
“What can you tell me about the president, Violet?”
“I will try to be objective,” she said, taking a deep breath.
“I have despised him ever since he came to prominence in those debates with Stephen Douglas, when they were campaigning for the Senate three years ago. He is a buffoon from the backwoods of the far frontier. Much of Washington and even many of his supposed friends consider him a coward-first for the way he sneaked into the city in the middle of the night before his inauguration, and then for taking the oath of office under armed guard. There are soldiers everywhere nowadays. We’re used to seeing them in Washington, of course, but today they have a greater presence than ever before. The president wants more of them still. Some of my friends say he is worried about an invasion from Virginia and Maryland. He should be, considering how his policies are driving half the states to secession. By preparing for war, however, he makes it impossible for people to believe he is a man of peace. I think he wants to assemble an abolitionist army and intends to rule the Southern states with an iron fist.”