Maryland—his domain. His to use as a hiding place for the stockpiled goods. All these years they had known it was a possibility, and so they had been readying the codes to guide future Knights to the caches. To hide them, he would utilize architecture by engraving symbols into stone and referencing landmarks. Structures unlikely to change in the next few years.
He glanced briefly into the empty space where Pennsylvania, Virginia, Delaware, and the so-dubbed West Virginia lay. If necessary, he could venture into those areas. He might need to do so to plant the symbols. But for the treasure itself…
His eyes fell again on that narrow strip of western Maryland. The mountains would provide the perfect hiding places. There were still enough uncivilized places that they could get in and out without drawing attention, places where only the rails went. Whole valleys still untouched, protected by the natural barriers of the Appalachians.
A better hiding place he could not have designed.
Best of all, he knew the area well. Railroad business took him frequently to Cumberland, a town that had sprung up primarily to accommodate the passage west.
Noise from the hall caught his attention. Jess, if the tone of grumbling could be trusted, and her heavy tread. His gaze went to the clock, now free of dust. Much as he appreciated that Marietta accepted his presence enough to want the space clean for him, he still despised the thought of others, especially the slaves, treading so close to plans so vital. Lucien had trusted them, at least enough to carry the Knights’ secrets on under their noses.
The fool.
Devereaux shuffled his papers together and toed shut the drawer from which they had come. He was not usually away from the rail offices so early in the day, and he had no desire to fend off questions from the stupid, over-inquisitive slave of his mother’s. He crept to the paneling beside the curio cabinet, reached to the hidden latch behind the massive piece of furniture, and pressed. The click signaled the release of the lock, allowing him to open the panel like a door.
An icy draft radiated up the hidden stairwell. He grabbed a lantern from the cabinet, struck a match to light it, and stepped into the cold.
Fifteen steep steps later, golden light touched all corners of a small room. It didn’t hold much at first glance. An old table, a single chair, a few crates. Nothing upon the dirt walls shored up with wooden beams, nothing to attract attention.
Which was the point. If anyone ever stumbled upon this chamber, with any luck they would think it naught but an abandoned cellar connected to the oldest part of the house. Hence why first Lucien and now Devereaux used it to store the most vital and sensitive of the Copperhead documents.
He spread his papers out again on the table and set the lamp near them, pausing afterward to grab the wool coat shoved into one of the boxes. Warm enough then, he fished out a more complete map to put alongside the sketch and turned back to his perusal.
Caves—he needed caves. They were in short supply on the eastern side of the state, but in Allegany and Washington counties it was a different story. Years ago, he and Lucien and Father had explored the areas around which their rails were being run, and they had wandered through the countryside.
More than wandered, a few times. His gaze fell on the detailed map, the mountains between Hagerstown and Cumberland. That was where they had been when he and Lucien had ventured far into a cave and then stumbled across a vast cavern buried deep in the hills. He had been but a boy, no more than ten or eleven, but such a cavern could not be forgotten.
A cavern big enough to hold all the gold he had stockpiled. All the gunpowder barrels. Weapons, even cannons. It was big enough to hide anything that would fit through its mouth. And yet no one knew about it—the locals claimed they had no caves.
Pulling out paper and pencil from the box, he sat on the uncomfortable chair and got down to business. First a list of all the items he would be responsible for storing, most of which had not been sent to him yet. But as they arrived he would load them into his private train cars, ready for a trip into the mountains…
First, though, he must take a trip himself, and better sooner than later. A week from now, perhaps, after a few important meetings. A fortnight at the outside.
And while he collected the goods, Booth and Surratt and Osborne and whoever else they brought in could be taking care of the King Abe nonsense. He would do well to separate himself from that, if President Davis expected him to remain in good standing with both North and South to effect the next uprising.
He pulled out his pocket watch. Another hour until those gentlemen were scheduled to join him in the more accessible part of the basement lair. That would give him plenty of time to complete his lists and update the membership based on the latest casualty reports.