Passion's Fury (26 page)

His lips continued to smile, but his eyes betrayed the anger she had evoked. “Just keep on looking blissfully happy, my dear. That’s all I’m asking—for now.”

She allowed him to lead her into a delicate twirl, and when they passed close to each other, she hissed, “You need never ask for more. Remember that.”

He raised their arms up high, fingers entwined as he twirled her in time to the waltz. “I won’t ask, April…but you will.”

The implication was maddening, carrying her to the point of explosion. The dance ended, and she was only dimly aware of the spattering of applause around the room, meant for them. She was grateful when Trella and Edward approached, greeting them like the close friends they pretended to be.

Edward and Rance steered them to a terrace overlooking the city, leaving them in the shadows while they went for glasses of champagne.

“My, but Rance is a handsome devil tonight,” Trella gushed the moment they were alone. “I don’t see how you can stay out of his bed, April. I should think—”

“I should think you could mind your own business,” April said icily. “Really, Trella, do you ever think of anything except mating?”

Trella laughed, a high tinkling sound that grated. April had never known her to be truly angry. While she envied Trella her sunny nature, she also found her offensive.

“My heavens, I don’t think of doing it with just any man, honey,” she said. “Just those who appeal to me—like Edward and your Rance.”

“He is not
my
Rance.”

“Well, you could do it with him if you wanted to, and you know it. And don’t tell me you haven’t, because Edward says you have. I don’t see why you don’t want him again. A man has to have it, and if you don’t give it to him, he’s gonna go somewhere else. How can you even think of sending him to the arms of another woman? Edward says he thinks that’s what he’s doing, because there are plenty of nights when Rance doesn’t come in till dawn, and he smells like perfume, and—”

“Trella, really!” April stared at her in wonder. “You and Edward seem to spend a great deal of time speculating about Rance’s personal life. Why not use your energies to spice up your own activities?”

For the first time, Trella looked angry, but there was no time for a retort. Rance and Edward returned, carrying crystal glasses of sparkling champagne.

“Now tell Rance what you heard the women saying,” Edward spoke to Trella urgently. With a smug look in April’s direction, she made a smacking sound and began. “I overheard a woman saying that the White House seamstress, Lizzie Keckley, makes dresses for her once in a while when she has time. The Keckley woman told her about those say…say and sees…”

“Seances,” Rance corrected her, ebullient. “Go on.”

“Well, this Lizzie, who’s a nigra and used to be a slave, she even worked for Mrs. Jefferson Davis once, she said Mrs. Lincoln is having those things at the White House, and she’s talking to that son of hers that died last February. And that’s why the President won’t be here tonight, because they’re having another one tonight, and he went to it.”

“You don’t look surprised,” Edward said to Rance.

“I’m not. I’ve heard the talk. There’s been a lot of criticism, but Lincoln is said to be a very sympathetic husband who covers up his wife’s erratic behavior.”

“That’s right,” Trella rushed on breathlessly. “The woman was talking about that, too. She says she’s heard that every time a new medium comes to Washington and Mrs. Lincoln hears about it, she has another one of those say…seances. Folks have tried to talk to President Lincoln about it, because they don’t think it’s right, having such goings-on at the White House like that.”

Rance nodded. “He grieves over his son, too. The boy was only eleven. Evidently he’s so concerned about his wife’s grief that he’s glad for her to receive comfort from any source.”

“This nigra, Lizzie, is the one that got her started, according to the women I heard talking. She believes in all that stuff.” She turned to Edward. “Do you believe they really talk to the dead?”

April had been silent as long as she could. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on? You all act so excited. What’s so important about seances at the White House?”

Rance narrowed his eyes, deep in thought, then said, “Edward, this is an opportunity we can’t pass up. We’re already here in the Union capital and we’re accepted as businessmen, horse traders. All we have to do is arrange for a seance in the White House, and while all that table rapping and nonsense is going on, we can look around. We’re bound to find some information of use to the Confederacy. It’s worth the risk.”

Edward started to speak in agreement, but April cut in quickly. “Aren’t you going to tell me anything?” she asked, exasperated.

“We are going to have a seance at the White House,” Rance said as though speaking to a child. “Have you heard of the Fox sisters? They started a national fad of communicating with the dead. People have begun to take it quite seriously, particularly since the war. There are plenty of widows and parents trying to communicate with men they’ve lost.”

“I’ve heard about this,” she muttered, “but I’m not interested.”

“You will be, because you’re going to learn all about spirit rappings and table tappings, eerie voices, flickering lights, mystical music, and speaking in trance.” He gave her a lazy smile.

She shook her head. “Why should I learn? I don’t believe in it—charlatans preying on the grief-stricken. It’s disgusting.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think, because you’re going to be a medium and conduct a believable seance at the White House for Mrs. Mary Todd Lincoln, herself. With Trella’s help, and, of course, the assistance of Edward and myself, you’re going to give the most credible seance that has ever been held in the White House. Mrs. Lincoln will hold you in the highest esteem—and so will the Confederacy,
if
Edward and I can discover any valuable information.”

“You’re insane!” She stepped away from him, her back against the brick wall bordering the terrace. “I’ll do no such thing.”

Trella spoke up quickly. “Don’t bother with her, Rance. I’ll do it. I can do anything better than she can.” She lifted her chin defiantly and gave April a brief look of disdain.

Rance rubbed at his mustache with his knuckles as his mind raced along. Trella was always eager to help, but the truth was that she lacked April’s gentility. April would easily be accepted into the inner circle of Washington society. But Trella wouldn’t. Too, April’s ethereal beauty would make her seem spiritual, otherworldly.

“No,” he said finally, firmly. “April will do it.”

“I won’t!” She looked at each of them in turn, eyes flashing rebelliously, defiantly. “I will not add to that poor woman’s grief, and I think all of you are evil to even consider such a disgusting trick.”

“But you’d be doing her a favor, really,” Edward broke in. “It will make her feel good to think she’s talking to her boy. We’ll take care of all the details and make it believable. Just leave it to us.”

“I will not be a part of this. It’s absolutely out of the question.”

Rance’s fingers squeezed into her forearm as he jerked her away from the others. He pulled her into the shadows. Her lips parted in protest, but he spoke first.

“Before you give me a lecture on deception, April, let me remind you that you are a Southern woman in Union country, and that as long as you are here you are in danger of being accused of spying for the South.” She stared at him and he took a deep breath and went on.

“You need the rest of us, and we need you, for cover. We’re all taking grave risks just being in Washington. And as for the seance, please remember that Mrs. Lincoln has held several before now and will doubtless continue to do so. You are not deceiving her any more than she has already deceived herself. And you may even ease her grief a little. What difference does it make to you whether she really talks to her son, or just thinks she does? If it makes the poor woman feel better, why should it matter to you?”

He had her on both points, and she hadn’t the energy to pretend otherwise, not to herself or to Rance.

She sighed wearily. Would the nightmare ever be over? Or would things only get more and more complicated?

“All right, Rance,” she sighed. There really was no choice. He led her back to the ballroom, explaining his plan as they moved.

“I’m going to get us introduced to one of the women Trella heard talking. You tell her you’re interested in having some gowns made by this Lizzie Keckley. It may not be easy. I don’t imagine a woman who works for the President’s wife takes on new customers without a recommendation. So be charming, and maybe you’ll be lucky. Understand?”

She gave him what she hoped was an arrogant grin. “I’m going to enjoy the day you get what’s coming to you, Rance Taggart.”

“That’s the first hope you have given me, April,” he said with a wink as he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Now I do have something to look forward to.”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” she hissed. They entered the ballroom once more, and he whispered for her to smile. Play the game, she commanded herself. Play the game. For now, there is no other choice.

“That’s one of them,” Trella stepped close to Rance and whispered anxiously. “I think she’s the one who has the same seamstress as Mrs. Lincoln.” Rance nodded and told her to calm down, that he would handle things.

April watched as the woman approached. She was being led in their direction by a tall man wearing the uniform of an infantry colonel—a black coat with double rows of brass buttons, gold cord trimming the high collar and cuffs. Braided gold epaulets covered the shoulders. His trousers were light blue, with bright red stripes down the sides, and he also wore a bright red fringed sash at his waist.

He extended a white-gloved hand to Rance, the tips of his neatly curved mustache tipping upward as he smiled. “Mr. Taggart, I believe. We met yesterday at the cattle-yard.”

“Ah, yes, of course, Colonel Truxmore,” Rance countered, then began the introductions.

As the Colonel presented his wife, April saw instantly that they would not get along. She had seen the type before. She had married an officer, married “well,” according to society, but what had she, as a person, ever done that was noteworthy? Had she married someone else, she might be out in the fields, tending a crop, or sitting at home with her children instead of attending a fancy ball, giving herself airs.

“April.”

Rance’s voice had an edge to it.

“This is Mrs. Truxmore,” he said with meaning only she understood. “I was telling her that you have been admiring her exquisite gown.”

“Oh…yes,” April said quickly. Actually, she was not that enthused over the olive green velvet. The neck was too high, and the overall effect was austere.

“I was also telling her that you are in a quandary for a wardrobe, since we aren’t that well established in Washington. Since we will be going to Europe next month, you would like her to recommend a seamstress.”

Mrs. Truxmore did not look impressed. In fact, April thought impishly, she looked like she had just sucked a lemon. All sorts of wicked thoughts began to dance about in her head, like wondering what sort of expression she had on that prune face when the Colonel made love to her. Did she ever part her lips and sigh with ecstasy, or moan with delight? Or did she lie there, lips pursed in disapproval, with all the eagerness of a corpse in a coffin?

April had to stifle a giggle. Rance was glaring at her. “Yes, yes,” she said in a rush. “I do so desperately need the services of a good seamstress here. I can get by with just a few things. Rance, darling that he is, has promised me a whole new wardrobe in Paris, but I don’t want to arrive in the midst of the winter social season looking like a frump.”

She decided to get to the point, wanting the scene to end. “Who is your seamstress?”

Mrs. Truxmore’s neck stiffened even more, and her chin jutted higher until she was actually looking down her nose at April. “Well!” She was most offended. “
My
seamstress is Elizabeth Keckley, who also happens to be the White House seamstress. I hardly think she would take just anyone as a customer.”

April bristled and clenched her gloved hands. Just anyone, indeed!

Rance felt her indignation and casually moved his hand to her back to give her a warning caress with his fingertips.

The Colonel coughed, embarrassed by his wife’s effrontery. “My dear,” his voice had an edge to it. “I think in this instance Elizabeth would consider taking Mrs. Taggart as a customer. After all, her husband has just delivered 50 artillery horses to three of my companies. Good artillery horses are hard to come by these days.” He spoke with emphasis.

“How patriotic of Mr. Taggart,” she said acidly. “But wasn’t he paid for the horses? My goodness, if he’s a businessman—”

“Yes, of course he was paid.” The Colonel no longer tried to hide his annoyance. “But he did not have to sell the horses to
my
regiment. There are plenty of other regiments anxious for artillery horses. Now I want you to arrange for Mrs. Taggart to have an appointment with Elizabeth.”

“But Elizabeth might not agree.”

“She will agree. I’ve paid her enough money over the years that she better not
disagree.
” He looked at Rance and April in turn, smiled apologetically, and said, “My wife is so protective of Elizabeth. Doesn’t want her overworked, you know.”