Shadow of Dawn (28 page)

Clayton looked thoughtful. “Is Miranda still
with the Hendersons?”

“Yes.”

“You might ask her, in a roundabout way, if
there was any way to tell them apart. Don’t make her think you’re
suspicious…she might tell her cousin.”

“And if he is Andrew? What then?”

“We’ll straighten it out.” He traced a finger
around the curve of her jaw. “I promise.”

She stared at him. He bent to kiss her and
then stopped, frowning suddenly.

“Does he press you? Where has he been
staying?”

“He stays in my old bedroom. I told him I
needed time to get used to the idea of his being alive. He
knows…well, the whole family knows that I slept in the same room
with the mysterious man in black.”

He groaned. “Oh, Catherine, this is a
nightmare I’ve put you through.”

She said softly, “He really is a gentleman.
He won’t let anyone speak of that. Everyone believes it was an
honest mistake.”

“It’s a scandal, nothing less. And it’s all
my fault, none of yours. I’m so very sorry, my dear.” His gaze grew
more intent. “You sound as if…Catherine, you must have loved Andrew
once. If he really is your husband—”

“He isn’t. He never was.”

He said soberly, “Catherine, I know you well.
You have always believed that marriage is sacred. You said vows
with Andrew before God. You were even going to turn me away, for
him.”

“But that was before—”

“Before what?”

“Listen to me, Clayton Pierce. I believed
Andrew was dead, and I married you in good faith.” Her voice
faltered and lowered to a whisper. “I love you, Clayton. How can
you doubt that?”

He saw her eyes fill with tears and without
hesitation embraced her. “I don’t doubt it, my darling. And I don’t
want the world to have any doubt that you belong to me. That’s why
we have to make sure.”

“But how?” she asked, her voice muffled
against him.

“I want to meet him. I’ll arrange it somehow.
In the meantime I’ll see if I can track down John Kelly, or find
proof that he was killed in place of Andrew. One of them is dead,
that much is certain. On the way home I want you to tell me his
story…everything he’s told you. But now I must ask you—” He pushed
her gently back, his hands on her shoulders, and looked intently
into her face.

“Did you see who killed Ingram?”

Catherine wiped her nose again with Clayton’s
handkerchief and shook her head. “I just saw him walking away. It
was too dark to even tell what he was wearing, other than a
hat.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“There were two other men here, besides Bart.
I don’t know who they were. I never saw them up close. I could
barely hear them.” She repeated the words she had been able to
overhear.

Clayton released her and walked back and
forth for a moment, thinking. “The Yankees are going to try again
to capture Richmond. I suppose what you heard could mean these men
will attempt to kill General Lee during the battle—or have him
killed. A stray shot would be impossible to trace. Did you hear
anything more about this rifleman?”

“No. I’m sorry, Clayton. I was so
scared—”

“You are the bravest woman I know…too brave
for your own good. Catherine, if I had come in and found your body
lying there—” He broke off. He came to her and again took her
shoulders in his hands. “Don’t ever do this again.”

He looked so fiercely into her eyes that she
could only nod. He put one hand behind her head and kissed her
brow. Then he swiftly removed his cape and put it on her. Below it
he wore his gray Confederate uniform.

“We’ve got to go now.” He placed the chairs
where he had found them, came back, and picked up the candle. Then
he turned again and went into the other room, retrieving his hat
from the floor where he had thrown it before setting off in pursuit
of Catherine.

“We can’t just leave him like that,”
Catherine said, trying to avoid looking at Bart’s body.

“We have no choice. But I do wonder why he
was killed. Shot in the back.”

“It sounded like quarreling, just before he
was shot.”

Clayton stood still, holding his hat, the
candle flickering in his other hand and throwing a mellow light
over the dark corners. For some reason the image stuck in
Catherine’s mind like a photograph.

“You couldn’t tell what about?”

“No. The wind was in my ears.”

Clayton blew out the candle, pinched the wick
and slipped it into his pocket. “No use having them wonder who’s
been burning this candle. There are plenty of others over
there.”

“Aren’t you going to have them arrested? You
know who they are, except for the fourth man. That is, assuming he
was the leader and they were part of the usual group.”

“I don’t know yet. We don’t know anything for
sure.” Not for the first time that night, he seemed evasive. She
told herself she was imagining it.

He took her hand and led her out the front
door. “I assume you rode?”

“My horse is a good ways down from here.”
Catherine had to raise her voice over the wind. She could almost
smell rain in the air, but it still held back. “Bart’s horse was
here, too.”

“There were no horses anywhere around when I
got here. The fourth man must have taken it. I suppose I didn’t
look far enough to see your horse.”

“Didn’t you see anything of a rider? He left
only moments before you got here.”

“No,” Clayton said. “I didn’t.”

They came to his horse first, which had been
tied some distance away. He held the reins and they walked through
the trees until they reached the other horse. The mare neighed; she
had not liked standing in the turbulent gale. Clayton lifted
Catherine onto the mare, then mounted his stallion. It was a slow
journey. Unlike the other time they

had traveled through the woods, there was
little light; scudding gray clouds obscured the face of the moon.
Catherine had no doubt that she would, by now, be in a state of
terror if not for Clayton’s presence.

She related everything Andrew had told her
about his imprisonment and subsequent escape. There was not much to
tell. Clayton listened and said little.

The air had chilled considerably and she was
glad for the warmth of Clayton’s mantle. The wind did not seem so
ferocious once they were out of the woods, but she wondered if her
ears would ever stop ringing. Clayton knew of some side roads and
before long they had reached the Henderson’s’ street. They stopped
at the livery first, leaving both horses so he could walk with her
to the back of the house and make sure she got safely into her
room.

They entered the backyard and stood at the
base of the enormous oak. Catherine removed the cape and handed it
to him.

“You’d better take this. It’s going to
rain.”

He held it in his hands but did not put it
on. “Catherine,” he said, with a troubled expression, “just how
long do you think he’ll…be a gentleman, as you put it?”

She couldn’t resist a wicked gleam in her
eyes. “Why, I’m sure I couldn’t say.” When it failed to bring a
smile to his lips, she relented.

“Is that what’s bothering you, Clayton
Pierce? He’s not going to do anything against my will with everyone
in the house, and I’ll make sure I’m never alone with him.”

He looked only slightly mollified.

“I think you should tell Ephraim the
situation, so that he can keep an eye on you.”

“All right, I will. In fact, I’ll be relieved
for him to know the truth.”

“I thought you would.” The shadow of a smile
did appear, but only for a moment. “Is that horse pistol I saw in
the wardrobe in your room still there?”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“My father taught me years ago. I think I
remember.”

“Load it. And for heaven’s sake keep it
pointing away from you. Put it in the table by the bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now be very slow and careful when you climb
up there. I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss your wife good
night, Major Pierce?”

He complied with fervor, saying against her
lips, “You must wear breeches more often, Mrs. Pierce.”

She smothered a giggle as he lifted her onto
the lowest branch. She had climbed halfway up when, without
warning, the long-delayed rain poured like a million buckets of
water from the sky. She was soaked before she had even reached the
balcony.

Gasping, she pulled herself over the rail and
looked down through the sheets of rain at Clayton, blowing him a
kiss. He waved, but she saw that he was still waiting for her to go
inside. She turned, lifted up the window and slipped into the room,
runnels of water flowing off her clothes onto the floor. She closed
the window quickly.

No sooner had she done so when she heard a
knock, and Andrew said, “Catherine, open the door at once.”

H
er mind racing, she
reached automatically for her long-sleeved wrapper, which hung on a
hook inside the armoire. She put it on and decided to forestall him
from entering.

“Andrew, I’m…I’m not dressed. I’ll be out in
a few minutes.”

To her dismay the lock clicked, the door
opened, and Andrew strode into the room, closing the door behind
him. She still couldn’t help thinking of him as Andrew, even though
she was certain he was the twin, John.

He stopped short at the sight of her,
drenched and dripping. “What in the world…where have you been? I
didn’t see you come up.”

“I came home early from the hospital. I
didn’t feel well and I went to sleep. I went out on the balcony for
some fresh air and got stuck out there in the rain…you know how
that door is. I had to climb in the window.”

He stared at her. “We’ve been waiting supper
for you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I was about to go downstairs when I heard
you.”

He couldn’t have heard her unless he was
standing outside the door, about to let himself in! She looked
pointedly at the key he held in his hand.

“Jessie showed me the duplicate keys,” he
said, exhibiting no embarrassment. “I was worried about you. I
thought you should be home by now.”

“I hardly see how searching my room would
help find me.”

He ignored that. “You’d better get out of
those wet things.” Apparently he noticed how the wrapper clung to
her body. “What on earth do you have on?”

“It’s…it’s my underwear.”

“Out on the balcony in your underwear!” He
seemed truly shocked.

“Well, nobody could see me.”

“Here, let me help you.”

“No, Andrew!”

He stopped his movement toward her.

She feigned anger, which was not difficult.
“I just want to be left alone. I’m not well. Please give me that
key and I must ask you to respect my privacy.”

Her anger seemed to transfer itself to him.
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, but I insist you join us for
supper as soon as you’ve changed. And I forbid you to go parading
about outside without your clothes on. Suppose one of the household
had seen you…suppose it was Bart Ingram, who seems particularly
susceptible to your charms.”

She almost winced at the mention of Bart.
“It’s not something I do every day, I assure you.”

“I should hope not. But you will, I trust,
heed my wishes in this matter. I’ll send Jessie to attend to
you.”

He left the room, his head set at an
indignant angle. He did not leave the key, but she thought it wise
to say nothing of it. Hurriedly she stripped off her wet clothes,
wrapped them in a sheet, and stuffed them under the bed. Later she
would give them to Ephraim to dispose of. By the time Jessie had
made her cumbersome way up the stairs, Catherine’s equally soaked
underthings were lying on the floor and she had put on dry
ones.

Jessie helped her dress, then unbraided her
hair and painstakingly worked the tangles out with a brush and
comb. She asked no questions, though Catherine could tell she was
about to burst with curiosity. The wet hair was fastened into a
snood and Catherine hurried downstairs to join the others, who
waited in the parlor.

Sallie said, “Oh, Catherine, you’ve been
washing your hair? Better hope you don’t catch cold…it’s been so
drafty today! I’ve just been scolding Martin for going out in this
weather.”

“Andrew says you’re not feeling well,” her
uncle said. “Oh, I’ll be fine,” she answered, and sneezed three
times. “I’m sorry to hold you up.”

Andrew gravely handed her a handkerchief and
took her arm to go in to supper. They sat down and Sallie said at
once, “I can’t help wondering where Bartie is. He went out this
afternoon but told me he’d be sure to be here for supper.”