Gregory, Lisa (48 page)

Two
days later, Matthew sat at his desk in naval headquarters, thoughtfully staring
out the window. This was his last day here; soon he would be either dead or
back home. Yesterday he had finally located the hiding place of the Navy's new
ironclad that he had been sent to destroy. Tonight he would blow it up and
escape to the South— provided, of course, that he was not killed in the
process. At any rate, it would be over, and Katherine out of his reach.

And
he had been unable to see her to explain the ridiculous mix-up, to apologize
and declare his love for her. In one sense, it did not matter; no doubt she had
lost whatever feeling she had held for him. It seemed as though everything he
did in connection with her was wrong and gave her more reason to hate him. But
in another way, it mattered very much: he could not stand to die letting her believe
for the rest of her life that he had not loved her. At least he could give her
the satisfaction of knowing she had been the only woman to capture his heart.

However,
the lovely Miss Devereaux refused to see him. Each time he called, the butler
announced that she was not at home. He wrote her a letter, but she returned it
unopened. Wildly, he thought of forcing his way into the Van der Vries house
and tracking her down, but stopped himself; breaking into the house of a
prominent citizen was hardly the way to avoid detection. And he could not
scuttle his country's welfare for his own affairs of the heart.

"Ah,
Commander Forrest," a voice boomed.

Hampton
winced. He recognized the voice of Major Lindale, a deadly bore from Nantucket.
Resignedly he turned to greet the man—and suddenly turned ice-cold. Lieutenant
William Perkins stood beside Lindale.

"Major
Lindale." Matthew forced his voice to remain calm. Surely Katherine had
not given him away to her former fiancé.

"Forrest,
I'd like for you to meet somebody here. Lieutenant Perkins, Commander Forrest.
Perkins is from my home town; just happened to run into him as I was coming
over here to see you. Thought I would just bring him along to meet you."

"Lieutenant
Perkins." Matthew greeted him with the stiff condescension of a senior
officer.

"Commander."
Perkins saluted. There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, only the
blank boredom of someone who had just spent several minutes with Major Lindale.

"Perkins
here is on a blockader; sailing tomorrow for Wilmington."

Hampton
felt an insane desire to laugh and say that was his plan, too. Perkins
continued to look at him and saw a small frown line crease his forehead.

"Excuse
me, sir," he said, "but I feel that I have met you before."

Once,
at the Devereaux yards. "Perhaps you were stationed in Philadelphia?"
Hampton said coolly.

"No,
sir."

"Well,
perhaps, we have met each other in passing." He shrugged, dismissing it.
"Glad to have met you, Lieutenant. Good luck."

"Thank
you, sir." Perkins saluted upon recognizing the dismissal in his voice and
escaped gratefully. He had been afraid he was stuck with Lindale for hours.

Perkins
went to a restaurant for his last meal ashore. Forrest's face nagged at his
memory; there was something faintly familiar about him. What a stupid thing to
spend his time on—stubbornly he shoved it out of his thoughts.

After
dinner he strolled past the Van der Vries house. Mr. Devereaux had written to
tell him of Katherine's visit to New York and to urge him to call on her.
William had not done it. He was haunted constantly by the thought of her, but
he knew that Katherine had meant it when she broke off their engagement, and he
would not force his presence on her against her wishes. Often, however, he
walked past the house where she was staying, hoping for a glimpse of her.
Tonight he leaned against the fence, staring hungrily at the lighted windows
before him. In one room, he could see several blue-coated men and the blond
woman he sometimes saw leaving the house. He did not see Katherine.

He
leaned his head against the iron bars of the fence, still slightly warm from
the day's sun. He remembered the taste of her lips in that last deep kiss as he
left her the night of their engagement party. He remembered her smile, her
wide, generous mouth, her low voice. That day when she had shown him around the
ship the prisoners were working on and she had told him he could call on her.
He clenched his teeth against the hot tears threatening to flow. Perhaps he
could at least see her once before he sailed; not pressure her, just offer her
his help and friendship, if she should ever need it.

Suddenly
he stiffened and raised his head. That day on the ship ... he had climbed down
the ladder. There was tension in the air; a guard had stood behind Katherine
and across from her a ragged prisoner with a bold face and cold eyes. Commander
Forrest. Captain Hampton. Good God! Captain Hampton was in New York
masquerading as a Union commander! He had stood not three feet away from the
man he hated most in the world!

Perkins
began to run. When he reached headquarters he found everyone long since gone,
and he paused for a moment, thinking. Surely he would be in his quarters. He
headed for the bachelors' quarters, but when he reached them, he found that
Commander Forrest was not quartered there. The quarters were wartime-crowded
and the newly arrived commander had been unable to get a room there. He was
living in a room in town. William got the address and soon found Hampton's
room. He knocked several times on the door but to no avail.

"Here
now! Can't you see he isn't home?" said an irritable voice, and William
turned to find a heavy, middle-aged woman clutching her wrapper to her.

"Is
this where Commander Forrest lives?" he asked politely.

"Of
course it is, but he's gone out. Why don't you come back later?"

"Are
you by any chance his landlady?"

"Yeah.
Why?"

"I
am an old friend of the commander. We went to school together."

She
regarded him suspiciously. "You don't talk funny like him."

"Oh,
no, I don't mean when we were children. At the Naval Academy. I just got in
today and learned he was here. I would very much like to surprise him. Do you
think that you could let me into his room?"

She
stared at him, apparently judging him; at last, the solid, honest look about
him decided her in his favor.

"All
right," she said, and went back to her room to fetch her keys.

In
a moment she returned and let him in. William lit the kerosene lamp on the
table and surveyed the room. It was a spare, barren room. No wonder. A spy did
not carry memorabilia around with him. William pulled a chair directly across
from the door and sat down. Perfect. Hampton would open the door and be
directly in his line of fire. He pulled his gun, turned out the lamp, and settled
down to wait.

Stealthily
Matthew climbed over the high wire fence, the bag of explosives slapping
ominously against his back. Crouching, he ran through the shadows on the dock
toward the squat outline of the ironclad. He slowed as he neared the gangplank
and pulled his knife. The guard at the end of the gangplank leaned drowsily on
his rifle. Hampton hurled his knife; it whistled through the air and the guard
went down without a sound.

Matthew
crept on board and down into the bowels of the ship, scarcely daring to
breathe, but he did not encounter another guard. When he judged himself to be
below the waterline, he planted his charge against the metal wall of the ship's
hull. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he lit the fuse. Then he turned and
sped up to the deck and back down the docks toward the fence. He sprang at the
fence and scrambled up it.

"Hey!
You! What are you doing? Stop right there!" an angry voice called, and
Matthew heard running steps behind him. Cursing, he swung over the top of the
fence. The man behind him fired and Matthew plummeted to the ground. With a
great roar, the ironclad went up in a flash of light. A flying piece of metal
caught Matthew's pursuer in the head and he fell.

Hampton
lay on the ground, the wind knocked out of him by his fall. He struggled to
catch his breath; there was a searing pain in his head. He felt his head; it
was sticky with blood. The bullet must have grazed him, knocking him out and
sending him crashing to the ground. Painfully, he stood up and staggered away,
driven by desperation. He must not be found here.

At
last he reached the streets. Several times he almost lost consciousness.
Someone hurrying toward the noise bumped into him and he almost cried out. His
side was throbbing in pain, and he thought he must have broken a rib. Thank God
it was so dark the stranger had not seen the blood streaming down his face. He
had to keep wiping it out of his eyes. He forced himself forward; he would not
be caught and hanged. At least he would make it to New Jersey and the little
sailboat that awaited him there. Better to die at sea.

At
last he reached his boardinghouse and stumbled up the stairs to his room.
Fumbling, he managed to unlock the door and open it; he leaned briefly against
the doorjamb.

"Come
in, Captain Hampton." Suddenly the room sprang to light. Dully Hampton
stared at Perkins sitting across the room, holding a gun on him.

"Damn."

Katherine
was torn from her sleep by the muffled boom. She sat straight up in bed, her
heart pounding. She looked at the clock. Almost midnight. What had awakened
her? She left her bed and went to her window, but she could see nothing but the
oak tree. On tiptoe she went down the hall to a front window. In the distance,
probably down by the Navy yards, a glow lit the sky. A fire?

Suddenly
she was shaken by a wave of fear—it had something to do with Matthew; she knew
it. She scurried back to her room and began to scramble into a dress. She
shoved her feet into some slippers and snatched up a shawl against the cool
night air. She started for the door, then stopped. If she left through the
house, she might awaken Angela and the servants. Darting to her window, she
pulled it open and reached out. She could just touch a limb of the tree. When
she was a child, she had often escaped the house via the tree by the back hall
window; she hoped she could still do it. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the
branch and swung out. Hand over hand she slid down the limb until she found
footing. Holding her skirts up about her waist, she clambered down the tree and
dropped to the ground. Then she took off at a run, driven by fear for Matthew.

Racing
through the streets, she cursed herself for not seeing him the past two days.
She had fled home in a rage and fallen on her bed in sobs. When she had finally
pulled herself together, she realized that she could not trust herself around
him; she could not hide the turbulent emotions he roused in her. It would be
easier for both of them if they did not see each other. So she had refused his calls.
But now she hated herself for her folly; if only she had more control over
herself and had talked to him, maybe she could somehow have kept him from this.

Blindly
she scurried along, finding herself part of a curious crowd rushing down to the
docks to see what was going on. She pulled the shawl up over her head to hide
her bright hair and shadow her face. She was not sure she was going the right
way. Pegeen had wormed Matthew's address from some poor naval clerk and they
had ridden past it in a cab: she could not keep from seeing where he lived,
like a tongue returning to a sore tooth. But on foot and in the dark, she was
unsure of direction. Still she plunged on, not stopping to think what a silly,
harebrained thing she was doing. The only thing in her mind was the terrible
conviction that Matthew needed help.