Redeeming Gabriel (27 page)

“Yes. You are. I’ve managed to avoid suspicion myself, but Duvall is aware you’re not the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-your-mouth society miss you claim to be. I’m surprised he’s not here already.”

Camilla stared at him, the breath knocked out of her. “Gabriel, I can’t leave without saying goodbye—”

“If you go home, you’ll be arrested for treason along with your entire family.”

She crouched before him, suffocated by the truth. He was right. Part of this terrible coil could be directly attributed to Gabriel’s machinations—but not all. Her own decisions, her own mistakes, had led her and her loved ones into mortal danger. Despite his harsh words, she sensed his compassion.

Compassion? Where did that fit with this spy, this liar?

She drew herself together. “All right,” she muttered. “Then let’s go. I’ll get word to them later.”

“Good girl.” Relief colored Gabriel’s deep voice. “I’ll go down first, you follow. Be careful.” He backed spider fashion down the sloping roof, hands and feet clinging to the shingles.

Camilla wasn’t afraid of heights, but the steep descent was tricky. Scooting on her rear, she inched down while Gabriel grabbed the rope and went over the edge. By the time she reached the eaves, Gabriel was standing on the ground holding the rope taut. Taking a deep breath for courage, she slid onto her stomach and shimmied down.

Gabriel caught her by the waist before she reached the bottom and set her on her feet. To her surprise, he immediately released her and stepped back.

She gave him a questioning look, but he reached for the rope and flung it up onto the roof out of sight.

“Where are we going?” she whispered. Government Street was deserted, but she didn’t want to draw the attention of any random sentry who might be out and about.

“Rail station. There’s to be a trade tonight. Turns out the eight hundred thousand in silver your friend Fanny has been counting on has nothing to do with contraband cotton. It’s earmarked to pay for the fish boat. Forney’s going to send it by rail over to Charleston.”

“They got it working again?”

Gabriel nodded, putting a finger over his lips. He pulled Camilla into the shadow between two buildings. “Sentry,” he whispered in her ear.

They waited, Camilla hardly daring to breathe but aware of Gabriel’s solid shoulder just above hers. A gray-clad sentry sauntered by, whistling, gun propped across one shoulder. He looked neither right nor left and disappeared around the next corner.

Gabriel touched Camilla’s arm. “Come on.”

They zigzagged through town without further alarm, approaching the depot from behind the warehouse. The river ran behind them, silent in midnight somnolence. A few boats tied in at the dock rocked gently with the current, their owners and captains long gone for the night.

Camilla’s heart pounded, though she hid her reluctance. At last she was going to see with her own eyes this contraption that had nearly killed Jamie. If only there were some way she could make sure it never killed another sailor, whether Union or Confederate. Nobody ought to suffer the way her family had suffered for such an evil cause.

Gabriel slipped around the side of the warehouse on the balls of his feet, carefully stepping on tufts of grass and mud, so as not to crush the oyster shells underfoot. She followed as best she could, nearly slamming into him when he stopped suddenly at the corner.

He peered around the building. Camilla held her breath.

No sound but the chirr of mosquitoes and tree frogs. The damp reek of the river. Rough plank walls against her shoulder. She looked up at the moon, sailing like a virgin’s halo into a bank of clouds.

“There’s not a soul here,” Gabriel breathed. “What’s going on?”

“Maybe they changed their minds.”

“Your grandmother said—”

Camilla started to laugh out loud, but caught herself and crammed a fist against her mouth. “What’s
Lady
got to do with it?” she whispered.

There was a long pause. “You didn’t know?”

She looked up at him, expecting him to explain the joke. The night was very dark indeed, and she’d left her glasses at home. But her eyes had somewhat adjusted to the gloom, and there was no sign of amusement in his posture or manner. “Gabriel?”

“Your grandmother’s the brains behind everything. The underground railroad, setting up my couriers, communication with the admiral.” He paused. “Everything.”

In a night full of surprises, this one took over her breath, her thoughts, the strength in her legs.

Gabriel caught her around the waist. “Easy now.” He gave her a moment to recover. “She said your father and the general were to meet my uncle and Mr. Chambliss here at midnight, to arrange sending the torpedo boat east. I’ve got to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“How are you going to—” She gasped at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“I told you the rudder was bent.” It was Diron Laniere’s rough voice. “We couldn’t send it to Carolina without putting it back through the forge.”

“So your faulty work is to blame for nearly losing eight hundred thousand dollars’ worth of inventory.” The cultured drawl sounded like Fanny’s father, Mr. Chambliss. The two men paused just beyond the corner behind which Gabriel and Camilla waited.

“The boat was perfect,” growled Diron. “Only thing that would do that much damage would be if got caught on something underneath the water while it was in operation. Threw the balance off so it waggled in circles instead of coming to the surface.”

Mr. Chambliss grunted, but Camilla couldn’t hear the rest of his answer. There was a jingling of keys as somebody opened the warehouse door. The men’s voices retreated inside the building.

For the moment Camilla didn’t care.
The rudder was bent.
The boat had been destroyed while in operation—not before.

Gabriel had nothing to do with Jamie’s accident.

“Camilla!” Gabriel gave her a slight shake, bringing her back to herself. “Are you all right?”

“I’m…” She passed a hand across her brow. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel.”

“About what? Not knowing about your grandma?”

“No, about…I thought you…” She seized his hands. “You didn’t sabotage that boat, did you?”

“I told you.” He searched her face with gruff tenderness. “I was going to loosen a ballast tank valve, but at the last minute I just couldn’t do it. That’s why it’s so important that I succeed this time.”

“So the other thing you told me…the thing about giving your life to God? Was that the truth, too?”

“It’s the absolute truth. And it has nothing to do with you. Well, of course, in a sense it does, because I’d never had found Him without you. But maybe I
would
have, because it seems He’s been pursuing me since I was ten years—”

Camilla launched herself at him, stopping his incoherent whisper with her lips.

Lady carried a candle into the dark sewing room off the kitchen and found Harry sound asleep on his cot. When she touched his shoulder, he grunted and rolled over, swiping a hand across his face.

“Lady?” His voice was rough with lingering sleep. In the flickering light of the candle she thought his blue uniform still hung loosely on his thin frame, but he seemed recovered from whatever malady had overtaken him. He lifted his head. “What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“After midnight.” She set the candle on the sewing machine table and dragged Camilla’s little stool close to the cot.

A dimple creased Harry’s rough cheek. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected condescension?”

“As you very well know, charm will get you nowhere with me.” She frowned at him.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Harry complained. “You could at least be cordial. Why did you never like me?”

“I don’t dislike you, Harry. I simply wish you wouldn’t take advantage of Camilla’s hero worship. She deserves a chance to meet other young men before she ties herself to you.”

“Yes, but even when we were children—”

“Even when you were children I could see it coming. Leave her alone, Harry.”

He sat up, injury on every line of his thin, handsome face. “Uncle Zeke thinks I’m good enough for her. Jamie, too.”

“I didn’t bring you here to argue over Camilla. I want to know what you’ve been telling General Forney.”

Harry’s expression was innocent. “We’ve discussed the terms of my exchange. That’s all.”

“And just what are those terms?”

“You’re a meddlesome woman, do you know that?” Harry smiled gently.

“Have you turned Camilla pro-Union?”

“I don’t discuss politics with Camilla.”

“Well, you’re going to discuss politics with me. I won’t have my granddaughter jeopardized by your checkerboard loyalties.” Lady was pleased to see Harry’s eyes flicker. “If you’ve got any notion of taking Camilla with you when you leave Mobile, you have another think coming.” She paused. “And if you love her, you
are
leaving Mobile.”

Harry sat white-faced and wordless for a moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Lady unfastened Camilla’s locket from about her neck. “I have a proposition for you, my dear.”

Delia held her breath as the stable door opened, admitting a small pool of candlelight. For more than an hour, she’d been sitting on a bale of hay in the first stall, absorbing the unfamiliar odors of leather, feed and manure, her pulse accelerating with every passing moment.

She’d never laid eyes on the house servant who’d brought her the Camellia’s note. But he’d spoken the code word and waited respectfully while she responded. The instructions he brought were both odd and downright inconvenient, considering she’d been entertaining a highly placed officer with connections to the lower Mississippi command. But she didn’t dare defy a direct order.

So she’d rid herself of her visitor, changed into her
Omnibus
costume and skipped off the riverboat. Hurrying through the stifling, silent streets of Mobile, she’d wondered at this sudden development. She’d thought Gabriel had the situation well in hand and hadn’t expected to meet him again.

But the candle’s flame revealed a much thinner frame than the erstwhile minister’s muscular body. Delia shrank into the shadows of the stall. Who was this? Under the broad brim of the man’s hat, she could see nothing but an angular jaw.

He lifted the candle. “Camellia?” The voice was soft and deep, almost cultured. Southern in inflection.

“Who are you?” She stayed in the shadow, waiting to see what he’d do.

“Harry Martin. Lady sent me.” His gaze found the stall, and he began to edge toward her. “Come on out.”

“Stop right there. I have a gun.” She let him hear the click of shot engaging. “Where’s Gabriel?”

“I gather he’s in need of assistance. That’s where you and I come in.”

Nothing seemed right about this. Strange man, strange meeting place, vague orders. But still…orders. She opened the stall door and moved into the aisle, the little derringer clasped in both hands.

Harry Martin moved closer, spilling candlelight on her face. His eyes widened in admiration, his lips forming a soundless whistle.

She aimed the gun at his heart. “I have the wagon ready. Where’s the silver?”

“They’re bringing it down to the kitchen entrance. Would you mind pointing that popgun somewhere besides my person? You’re making me a tad nervous.”

“I’m not too calm myself,” she said grimly. “I don’t know why we’re doing this.”

“Because you and I are expendable, my dear.” Martin smiled faintly. “And—presuming we manage to evade capture—we stand to come out of this much richer than we went in. How does that sound?”

Delia hesitated, then lowered the gun. Harry Martin might not have the palpable charisma of Gabriel Laniere, but there was a certain wicked charm in that crooked smile. And the opportunistic flair appealed to her sense of adventure.

“It sounds like you and I are in for an interesting evening. Come help me hitch these horses.”

Gabriel would have been much happier if he’d been able to finish this job without worrying about Camilla’s safety. The bravest of cohorts, she would never slow him down on purpose, but she was flagging. She’d been through a lot today, and they had a long night ahead.

The two of them skulked in a ditch below the tracks, where an eastbound train chugged in the dark like some jolly monster. They’d watched Beckham Chambliss pace along the rails while Gabriel’s uncle and a small crew of roustabouts strained to lever the boat from a wagon into an open railroad car. Uncle Diron’s profane remonstrations to “Watch out, you boneheads!” had punctuated the men’s grunts and curses for several hair-raising minutes before the vessel was safely disposed in its home on wheels.

It appeared that Diron was to be the only guard assigned to the boat. The rowdies scattered as he clambered into the car, wiping his sweating face on a rag. He stood scowling down at Chambliss in the yellow light of a lantern swinging from his large fist. “You’re sure the payment’s secure—”

“I told you, Laniere, you’ll receive your share on your return.” Chambliss backed away, as if he were afraid the big man would charge him like the bear he resembled. “Just get this thing delivered. Then it’ll be their responsibility.”

Diron glanced at the shadowy hulk of the boat behind him. “I’m gonna miss her. I might stay and make sure she does her job.”

Chambliss shrugged. “What you do from here is your business—as long as the merchandise reaches the buyer. I’m going to report to Beaumont and the general.” Waving away Diron’s growl of assent, he turned and staggered toward the empty wagon.

Gabriel felt for Camilla’s hand. “Now’s our chance. Come on.” He stood cautiously, making sure she was on her feet before he moved toward the train.

Diron had taken the lamp inside, and Gabriel avoided its dull glow as he flattened himself beside the open door. “Uncle!” he called softly. “It’s me.”

Diron’s curly gray head appeared in the opening of the boxcar. “Gabe? What the—”

“Shh! Give me a hand up, will you?” Gabriel allowed his uncle to pull him into the car, stifling more profane exclamations with a raised hand. He turned and leaned out to help Camilla in. “Up you go.”