Shadow of Dawn (14 page)

When Clayton didn’t answer at first, she put
one hand over her eyes and said, “What you must think of me! I’ve
been such a fool!”

Slowly he reached out and drew away her hand,
looking into her face until reluctantly she met his gaze. “I think
you are a woman of courage and honor, and I respect you more than
anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Who are you?” she whispered, as tears came
into her eyes. “Why have you done this?”

He released her hand and got up once more to
stand before the fire. He put his hand on the mantel and bent his
head, staring into the flames as he searched for words.

She had seen him stand just that way before,
as Andrew.

“My name really is Clayton Pierce. When the
war started I was a newspaper correspondent, as I told you. I still
write occasional dispatches for the Atlanta papers. I did quite a
bit of that when you thought I was sleeping. No,” he added with a
touch of humor in his voice, “I don’t really take laudanum. That
was simply a…prop.

“Before that I practiced law in Atlanta. It
wasn’t exciting enough, I suppose, and I left that to work for the
newspapers. For a while I stayed out of the army. I didn’t believe
in secession but I finally decided I couldn’t take up arms against
my own state. I started out as a scout in Jeb Stuart’s division.
When he needed some intelligence work done across enemy lines, he
asked me to do it. I became one of his agents.”

“You mean you’re a spy!”

He straightened and looked back at her,
clasping his hands behind his back. “Yes, I’m a spy. This summer I
was ordered to report to General Randolph at the War Department for
special duty. I went to New York to meet with a French commissioner
to arrange for a loan to the Confederate government. When I got
back, I was given command of a new intelligence unit.” He paused,
adding, “And that is what brought me into your life.”

“But, you knew Bart—”

“I really did meet Bart at the university,
but we were only casual acquaintances. However, I knew hospitality
would demand that he at least invite me to supper the day I met
him, not quite by chance, at one of the local restaurants. I needed
to establish contact with him and with other people, which was
something ‘Andrew’ couldn’t do.”

“But why did you have to pretend to be
Andrew?”

“I needed to be in the house. I wanted to
find proof that a certain person was a traitor…selling information
to the enemy. I also wanted to find out who his accomplices
were.”

“You mean Bart!”

“Yes. He’s not a courier for the government,
as he told you. He actually compiles military information and
encodes it, then sends it out to the Yankees by couriers. For some
reason he decided not to send his own men this time…it’s possible
he’s sensed that someone is on his trail. You were less likely to
be stopped and searched. It was quite a risk, but obviously one he
was willing to take.”

She felt as though she were floundering in a
quagmire. “But that night on the balcony, Andrew was in his
room…and then when you came to interview Andrew, how did you—” She
broke off abruptly.

He nodded and said dryly, “Madame
Defarge.”

A sob erupted from her throat. She jumped up
and went to the door, but before she could throw it open and run
away, he had grasped her arms and pulled her against him, while she
wept in utter humiliation.

“I was such a f-f-fool,” she said again,
stuttering.

“Don’t, Catherine. What else were you to
believe when you saw me climbing up to the balcony? Nobody thinks
you’re foolish. Mrs. Shirley is an agent, too.”

One of his arms moved away from her as he dug
in a pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She turned away, wiped
her eyes and nose, and sat back down.

“Please tell me the whole story,” she said,
forcing a wan smile. “It can’t get any worse.”

He sat across from her. As the tale unfolded,
she realized he must trust her a great deal, for as far as she
could tell he left nothing out.

Early in the war, someone had been informing
General McClellan of General Johnston’s movements, the number of
his troops, even the exact quantity of his arms and other supplies.
When Johnston was wounded and replaced by Robert E. Lee, the same
thing continued to happen. In fact, an actual copy of Lee’s orders
prior to the battle of Sharpsburg had somehow fallen into
McClellan’s hands.

There was sharp disagreement as to how it had
happened—whether it was the work of a spy or a careless courier—but
it precipitated the battle prematurely and brought immeasurable
damage to the Confederates.

Clayton had become convinced that someone in
the attorney general’s office was leaking the information, for that
was where his trail of investigation halted. That someone he
believed to be Bart Ingram, though he still didn’t know how Bart
obtained the information, since his job did not give him access to
the military secrets he divulged to the enemy. But, there were
ways.

Security was lax in both armies, in spite of
pleas by officers and secret

service men to conceal vital information from
all eyes except those of the top generals. In fact, in January of
that year one of the Confederate generals had discovered an article
in a Baltimore paper describing in detail a certain expedition he
was about to undertake, forcing him to abandon it altogether.
Likewise, the northern press had unwittingly supplied the South
with statistics about its own army, as spies successfully smuggled
newspapers below the Mason-Dixon line.

Because it was highly unusual, Clayton and
his associates had discussed at length the fact that Andrew Kelly,
an officer, had been shot for desertion. (There was quite a bit of
desertion in the army, Clayton said, but most of the time it was
because the men needed to see to the welfare of their families, and
they almost always returned. There had to have been no doubt about
Andrew’s intentions for him to be executed.) In the course of his
investigation of Bart Ingram, Clayton discovered that Andrew Kelly
was married to a woman who lived in the same house with Bart.

It was decided that Andrew’s death would not
be recorded and Clayton would impersonate him in order to build a
case against Bart and discover the identity of his cohorts. Clayton
was about the same height and size as Andrew, and he managed to
acquire the latter’s coat. Another trained agent, Mrs. Shirley,
would accompany him in order to provide assistance when the
necessity arose.

As indeed she had, and very convincingly,
Catherine thought.

Bart met with his accomplices on Sunday
afternoons when he was supposedly playing cards. These men helped
plan the delivery of the information to the Yankees. Directly
overhead was “Andrew’s” room and Clayton, by lying down with his
ear to the floor, had been able to hear their conversations.

On other days, as himself, Clayton watched
Bart’s comings and goings and took note of anyone with whom Bart
conversed. He knew the identity of all Bart’s accomplices, save the
one who actually gave them their orders and conveyed the stolen
information to Bart.

“It’s a thousand wonders you weren’t caught,”
Catherine interrupted to say, when Clayton explained how he would
leave and reenter the house through Andrew’s bedroom window.

“It was a small risk,” he replied. “None of
your neighbors can see into your backyard. It was a matter of Mrs.
Shirley playing lookout…two candles in her window meant the coast
was clear. She’s never forgiven herself for the time you caught
me.”

“I was looking out the window by the stairs.
It’s high up and no one ever uses it. I just happened to be
standing there.”

“At any rate, she had given me the signal and
was waiting for me to climb up when she heard us talking out on the
balcony. She didn’t know what was going to happen, so she put on my
clothes and got into

bed.”

“Most improper,” Catherine said with mock
sternness.

“Yes,” he agreed, smiling.

“And why,” she asked, “did you interview
yourself?”

“It was all part of the…deception. I didn’t
want anyone, least of all you, to make a connection between
‘Andrew’ and ‘Clayton’ arriving in the city at about the same time,
and never being seen together. Mrs. Shirley and I spent that hour
playing chess.” His eyes twinkled. “She beat me.”

Catherine put her hand to her temple and
shook her head. “I can’t believe all this.”

“Also,” he said, his voice so low and serious
that she looked up at him, “I did it because I wanted to be able to
say good-bye…as myself, not as Andrew. There will be a battle, very
soon, and I’ll be leaving.”

“What do you mean? Where will you go?”

“I’ll go to be with Lee’s army. I don’t
propose to sit tight somewhere when Lee desperately needs every
available man. I’ve already cleared it with the War Department.
From all indications this is going to be a big one.”

“And…you’re not planning to come back?”

He said quietly, “I hope to be finished here
in a few days. There won’t be any reason to come back.”

She got to her feet and it was her turn to
wander about the room. Her hands trailed along the edge of the
doctor’s desk and she looked at the books as Clayton had done,
without seeing them.

“And what will happen to Bart?”

“He’ll be arrested shortly. In the meantime,
he won’t know his letter was never delivered. We’ll intercept his
mail and he won’t receive any telegrams. I’ve already sent men to
arrest Hadley and his group. They’ll say Hadley had the letter in
his possession when he was captured, so Bart will have no reason to
be suspicious of you. But this may, finally, flush out his leader,
for whoever he is, he may begin to question the loyalty of those
working for him.”

“You said that, as Andrew, you would
disappear. How are you going to do that?”

“The plan was that he would just leave one
night…go home to Alabama.

He was to leave you a note explaining that he
needed some time alone, to plan your future together. Then, you
would later be informed that he had died on the way.”

“That would have hurt me a great deal,” she
murmured, running her finger down the spine of a well-used
book.

“I know that now.”

Clayton stood up. His next words were spoken
slowly, deliberately. “In the beginning it seemed right…it seemed
better than letting you know how he had really died. But I didn’t
count on your accepting him as he was. I didn’t know you, of
course, but I believed you would be horrified and repulsed by what
had happened to him. I was the fool, Catherine. I didn’t take into
account that you would be the kind of person you are. I’m very,
very sorry.”

She turned to face him. Her voice was almost
a whisper. “I suppose things are never easy in war.”

“Or in love.” His eyes met hers across the
room. “I never counted, either, on falling in love with you.”

The sound of a door opening and closing came
from the other room and in a moment the doctor ambled in, stopping
short when he saw them.

“Oh, you’re still here. Forgive the
intrusion.”

“We were just leaving,” Clayton said. “Thank
you for your courtesy, Dr. Edwards.”

“Not at all, my boy.” He winked at Catherine.
“I brought this one into the world some thirty-odd years ago. In
Atlanta, that is. Known him all his life. Seems odd we’d run into
each other here, but that’s what war does…brings people together or
else tears them apart.”

“Yes,” Catherine said absently, hardly aware
of what he had said.

“I’ve rented a coach,” Clayton told
Catherine. “The driver’s waiting, if you’re ready.”

She nodded. He helped her with her cloak,
again thanked the doctor, and led her through the corridors to the
back of the hospital. They got into the coach. Catherine was
grateful to see a warming pan, which Clayton placed at her feet. A
blanket lay folded in the corner; he reached across and handed it
to her so she could spread it over her lower body.

She felt warm and drowsy. “How did you know
so much about our family?” she asked. “You seemed to know me, you
knew Uncle Martin and even the servants.”

For the first time, he seemed evasive. “I
have a contact person,” he answered after a moment. “It’s probably
best if you don’t know who it is.”

“I don’t think I want to know. It’s strange
to think of people you know telling other people about you.”

“Catherine, I’m going to have to ask you to
lie about this adventure today. In fact, you’ll probably have to
tell a lot of falsehoods before this is over.”

“I don’t know if I can do it, Clayton, and
look anyone in the face. I’m not very good at hiding things.”

“A lot depends on it,” he said. “Not only my
life, but maybe even the outcome of this battle.”

“Then Bart was right about the importance of
that letter!”

“It was important all right, but it benefited
the Union, not us. Hadley was to get the letter to General
Burnside. I have an idea what’s in it, but I won’t be sure until I
can read it with the code in hand.”