Redeeming Gabriel (18 page)

Camilla shook her head. “Thank you, Mr. Nelson, but it appears you’re already engaged with Fanny. I’m only going down to the docks to collect hemp—you can see the warehouses from here.” When Wendell opened his mouth to protest, she smiled. “Really. Mr. Byrd will keep me company.”

Fanny’s lip curled. “You can collect rope anytime, Camilla. Come help Wendell and me choose my birthday present.”

Something in Fanny’s tone alerted Camilla to potential mischief on the part of her friend. She stroked the mule’s rabbitlike ears. “Thank you very much for the ride, Virgil. You were right—maybe I shouldn’t go to the warehouses until Schuyler or someone can go with me. I’ll talk to you later.”

Virgil grinned. “Shore enough. You have a good time in that there joolry shop!” He hopped aboard the cart and clucked to the mule.

Fanny released a breath. “Shall we remove ourselves from the street?” They headed back toward the jeweler’s, one young lady on each of Wendell’s gangly arms. “Camilla, why do you have to expose yourself to that man’s company? It’s simply not good for your reputation.”

“How could Virgil Byrd’s company be bad for my reputation?”

“Everybody knows he’s a bootlegger.”

“He’s no such thing! Fanny Chambliss, you’re repeating gossip.”

Wendell cleared his throat. “Miss Beaumont, the man does seem to be an odd acquaintance for a lady such as yourself.”

“Virgil has more kindness in his heart than most people I know. I don’t pick my friends because of how they dress or how well they can read or—”

“Oh, pooh, such excitement over a garbage-picker.” Fanny shrugged. “Wendell and I were wondering if you’ve recovered from the interruption of your ball last week. I noticed how overset you were. In fact, the whole family disappeared for quite some time.”

Camilla moistened her lips. “Yes, it was very distressing. But the Yanks seem to have given up on Fort Morgan for the time being.”

Fanny refused to be sidetracked. “Wendell and I were quite concerned about you. It appeared Reverend Leland was, as well.”

Camilla suddenly wished she’d chosen to pursue her rope-picking errand. “Reverend Leland is a very kind man.”

Wendell seemed to be uncomfortably aware of the tension between his two companions. He cleared his throat. “Look, here’s the jeweler’s.”

Giving Camilla a narrow look, Fanny led the way into the cluttered shop. Wendell stopped to talk with Mr. Alexander, the proprietor. Camilla trailed behind as Fanny lingered in front of a display containing a brooch, earrings and bracelet of hand-carved coral.

Fanny touched the silver clasp of the bracelet. “Oh, how pretty.”

Camilla murmured agreement.

Fanny draped the beads around her wrist. “Papa says we’ll all be dripping in jewels pretty soon.”

“I doubt that.” Camilla brushed a hand down the threadbare waistline seam of her dress.

“Oh, I think it’s fairly certain.”

Camilla frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed our fathers spending quite a bit of time lately talking business?” Fanny cast a furtive glance at Wendell, who was still occupied with garrulous Mr. Alexander. “I think they’re working on some secret project.”

“What project?” Camilla whispered.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“Of course I know,” Camilla said quickly. “But I thought it was a military project, not a private business venture.”

Fanny leaned over to examine the coral more closely. “It
is
a military project, but we all stand to profit if it’s delivered safely.”

“The boat, you mean?”

“Boat? What boat? I’m talking about the cotton, goose!”

“Cotton?”

“I thought you knew all about it.” Fanny gave Camilla a superior smile. “Our papas contrived to find a Northern buyer for all that cotton General Forney ordered out of the city, and the payment’s coming down on a train any day now.” She lowered her voice. “Eight hundred thousand dollars’ worth of silver!”

Camilla blinked. But before she could respond to Fanny’s staggering announcement, she realized Mr. Alexander was peering at her earbobs, his monocle enlarging one eye to fishlike proportions.

“W-what’s the matter?” she stammered.

“I say, that’s a fine example of native carving, my dear. If you ever decide to sell them I would be happy to broker.”

“Oh, I could never—”

“I understand.” The pudgy jeweler sighed. “Senti-mental value and all that. Pity.” He turned to Fanny. “Miss Chambliss, would you care to try on this set?”

Ezekiel Beaumont flipped open the door of his cigar case and offered Gabriel his choice. Spinning the carousel-like contraption, Gabriel chose a fine Cuban panatela.

“Sit down, boy.” Ezekiel jabbed his own cigar in the direction of the most uncomfortable chair in the small, sparsely furnished office.

Ignoring the order, Gabriel tucked the cigar in his pocket. “I’ll save it for later.” After a couple of days of unanswered messages, Gabriel had assumed the old man was avoiding the issue of his daughter’s betrothal and run Ezekiel down at the M & O depot on Lipscomb Street. But the jumble of letters, maps, bills of lading and other assorted paperwork littering the big desk indicated Ezekiel had simply been too busy to respond. “I appreciate your time, sir,” Gabriel said with fine irony.

Beaumont huffed into his chair, picking up a stack of correspondence. “The station manager’s at home recovering from a malady of the lungs, and most of our able-bodied men are at work on the entrenchments. Pardon my bluntness, Reverend, but this ain’t a good time to sit around jawing about church work.”

“I haven’t come to talk about church work.”

Beaumont waved a hand. “If it’s that business about Camilla, there’s no need to hash that over again. All is forgiven. We’ll forget it ever happened.”

Gabriel struggled not to let his mouth unhinge. “But, sir, I’ve come to offer for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“No need to be hasty. Camilla’s a pretty girl, but she’s not been bred up to the hardships of a circuit preacher’s life. Frivolous little thing like her—she’d drive you mad inside of a week. Just the other day she was after me again for dress money. No notion of the value of a dollar.”

In spite of his preconceived ideas about society princesses, Camilla Beaumont was one of the least frivolous young women Gabriel had ever met. “Let me understand you, sir,” he said softly. “You seem to consider your daughter and me to be socially unequal. Do you think I’m more interested in your business holdings than in her?”

Beaumont countered. “I’m looking out for both your best interests. Camilla doesn’t seem to be all that keen on the attachment. I know for a fact she’s been pining for that good-for-nothing Yankee cousin of hers since she was old enough to toddle along after him.”

“You don’t strike me as the type of man to give his daughter her head in such an important decision.”

“True.” The cigar again prodded the air. “But neither will I be manipulated by the first young jackanapes who backs the girl into a corner and steals a kiss.”

Gabriel stiffened. “Mr. Beaumont—”

“Now, don’t take offense. If Camilla’s heart is engaged, and you can prove you’re able to care for her in the manner she’s accustomed to, then by all means court her.” Beaumont stood and laid his massive hands flat on the desk. He speared Gabriel with eyes as hard and gray as his eldest son’s. “If, however, I find you’re using my daughter for any purpose other than cherishing her for the treasure she is, you’ll find yourself tossed into the gulf and left for shark bait.” He slammed his hands on the desk with a solid crash. “Is that clear?”

Gabriel nodded, tight-lipped. “It’s clear, sir.”

He had underestimated Ezekiel Beaumont.

Chapter Fourteen

G
abriel found Delia, still dressed in her costume from
The Lucky Buck,
sitting on a sack of corn husks in the hold of the
Magnolia Princess.
Judging by her thunder-cloud expression, she was not happy that he’d made her wait past the appointed time.

Without bothering to apologize, Gabriel crouched beside her. “What have you got for me?”

She pulled a scrap of paper from her blouse and slapped it into his palm. “Things are heating up in North Mississippi. The blockade’s working, because the Johnnies are getting low on supplies. There are signs that some kind of action’s coming down the M & O, and Washington wants to know what it is.”

“Tell them I have an informant inside a household including a bankroller of the M & O and the commander of the gulf coast forces. I suspect they’re moving troops down through here, then back up another line toward East Tennessee, but I don’t have numbers yet.” He hesitated. “There’s something else. In New Orleans I discovered the development of an underwater torpedo boat that the builders scuttled before I could get more than a glimpse. They’re reconstructing it here in Mobile.”

“Have you seen it?”

“No, but I have confirmation that it exists. Camilla Beaumont is helping me find it.”

Delia scowled. “The society belle with you on the pier? Who
is
she?”

“The daughter of Ezekiel Beaumont, who happens to have his finger in lots of Confederate pies, including the railroad and this torpedo boat. She’s not pro-Union, but she’s abolitionist. I’m talking her around.”

Delia stiffened. “You’re going to get us all killed!”

“I know what I’m doing. Make sure Farragut knows what I’m onto and ask for more time. Did you find out about the fifty-third Tennessee cavalry that was at Corinth?”

“Yes, but it’s not good news. They were detached to Tupelo, got caught in a little skirmish and were out-maneuvered because they overestimated the enemy’s strength.” Delia snorted. “McClellan is the biggest horse’s behind you ever met in your life.”

“McClellan? I thought they were under Grant.”

“Grant moved on to try for Vicksburg.”

Gabriel sat quiet for a moment. “How many left in that company?” He knew most of them.

“Almost all wiped out, I’m afraid. The ones in the rear caring for the wounded were taken prisoner.”

Gabriel took her wrist. “Any names?”

“No. I could probably find out, if you want.”

“Harry Martin, a field surgeon. First lieutenant, I think.”

Delia sighed and shook her hand free. “All right. I’ll do my best. Don’t get your hopes up, and be careful what you tell the Beaumont girl.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Delia rolled her eyes, then flounced up the ladder.

Gabriel chuckled, waited a suitable amount of time and followed.

Camilla stopped for a moment in the open doorway of Chambliss Brothers Machine Shop and watched Gabriel and his uncle shape a carriage wheel. Diron held the metal to the anvil, while Gabriel swung an enormous hammer with practiced ease. He grunted as the hammer slammed against the metal with a deafening final clang, then stepped back and wiped his face against his forearm. As he looked up and caught her gaze, he slowly lowered his arm.

Camilla swallowed. The temperature in this place must be at least a hundred and ten. That would explain why her midsection felt so hollow and squishy. She backed out onto the sidewalk.

Gabriel followed, yanking a bandanna from a back pocket and wiping his face. “Were you looking for me?”

“I haven’t seen you since the ball,” she said breathlessly. “I was just wondering if you’d talked to Papa yet.”

A teasing glint appeared in his eyes. “Last I heard, you didn’t think this engagement was such a good idea. Change your mind?”

“N-not exactly.” She twisted her ring. “I’ve learned something. Something important.”

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at his uncle, who was picking over some scrap iron. “We can’t talk here. Where are you headed?”

“Lady asked me to deliver some supplies to the hospital, then pick up a box at the train depot. If you’re finished, maybe you could come with me?”

He ruefully looked down at his dirty hands and sooty, sweat-soaked clothes. “You’d better come talk to uncle while I clean up.”

Camilla followed Gabriel into the machine shop, which smelled of oil and metal and cinders. “Do you work here often?” She watched Gabriel pick up a huge hunk of iron and chunk it into a corner.

He grinned over his shoulder as he walked toward a curtained-off section of the huge room. “A man can’t sit around writing sermons all day long.”

She made a face at his broad back, then smiled at Diron. “Hello, Mr. Laniere.”

He wiped his grimy hands on his even grimier apron and offered her a massive paw. “Pleased to see you, Miss Camilla.” He looked her up and down with an appreciative whistle. “You were pretty, got up like a boy, but you’re an eye-knocker in a dress.” He winked. “Gabriel tells me your papa gave him permission to court you. Amazing how that boy manages to land on his feet.”

Camilla blushed. “He obviously gets his charm from you.”

“Don’t know about that.” Diron pulled a tobacco pouch out of his shirt pocket. “Boy’ll feed you a load of malarkey sooner’n look at you.” He crammed a wad of tobacco inside his cheek.

“I know Gabriel loves you.”

“Not too long ago I would’ve said he didn’t love nobody but hisself.” He expertly sent a stream of tobacco juice into a nearby spittoon. “Now I ain’t so sure.”

“Wh-what makes you think that?”

“Never saw him look at nobody like he looks at you.” Diron crossed his arms. “And I can tell he ain’t quite figured you out yet. That boy does love a mystery.” He leered. “Might want to remember that.”

Camilla grinned. Diron Laniere was a rascal, maybe more so than his nephew. But she suspected he was right. If she were crazy enough to contemplate a real marriage with Gabriel, she’d have to be on her toes to keep from being run over like a watermelon on a train track.

Her amusement dimmed as she reminded herself that they were only playacting. As soon as she told Gabriel where the fish boat was, he would find a way to inspect it. Would he destroy it? Would he simply copy the design? Could he do either one single-handedly? And what on earth would happen to her own father if the vessel were destroyed?