Hughes shook his head. “He is a slave owner, though, who has been hit hard by the prospect of losing his labor force. Booth feels certain he can be swayed.”
His noncommittal grunt was drowned out by the rattling of a carriage directly over them. Though not so much as a pebble tumbled down, it still made his shoulders tense.
Surratt inclined his head toward Hughes. “It sounds as though the missus is home.”
“Time to adjourn.” Their host went about extinguishing the fire. “Osborne, try to sound out your friends for a weak spot in their protection before the inauguration. But if there simply is none, look for one afterward.”
Booth took his hat from the table and tapped it into place, taking a moment to smooth his pomaded curls around it afterward. “I will keep you updated as to where I am staying. Or you can always reach Surratt at his mother’s boarding house.”
Hughes shooed them toward the exit. “You fellows and those you trust must see to this. I will be out of town on other Confederacy business soon.”
They all fell into a line to leave, Surratt saying something that sounded like agreement but which was interrupted by Booth’s mumble about the imbecility of the Confederacy. Hughes ignored them both and waved them all into the dark stairwell, shutting the door to the meeting room behind him.
No doubt their host was eager to greet his would-be missus.
Slade let the past hour spin through his mind as they took the shadowed journey up the stairs and into the never-used ballroom with its outside entrance. They apparently already had a location in mind for where they would hold Lincoln if they managed to kidnap him, but they hadn’t named it. Just kept referring to it as “the hideout.” Still too soon, he supposed, to have their complete trust.
The men filed into the ballroom one by one. Hughes closed the paneled door behind them and then peeked out the one into the hedge. He waved Booth and Surratt out. No one said a word as they slipped into the evergreen shroud and from there into the open. Booth and Surratt vanished down the alley. A few moments later, Hughes led Slade to the front door.
No one opened it for them, which was no doubt why the man’s face contorted into a hard scowl. He pushed the heavy wood open himself, but then he stopped so abruptly that Slade nearly ran into his back.
No surprise, given the picture within. All of the servants dashed about, Walker and Norris and old Pat carrying trunks, the women bandboxes and wrapped packages. Headed, not for the main stairs, but the ones leading to the side of the house from which Slade and Hughes had just come.
Mrs. Hughes stood at the base of the steps, pale and seeming in shock, while her redheaded minx of a daughter-in-law laughed with a woman Slade had never seen before. Though there was something vaguely familiar about her… He frowned at the frayed black dress the guest wore, the threadbare shawl.
Not Marietta Hughes’s usual company. Which stirred up all sorts of questions.
“Mari?” Hughes moved another step into the chaos, sidestepping a box full of…photographs? When the women looked his way, he went still again, and stiff as ice. Slade slid off to his side and closed the door behind him. Hughes smiled, but it looked about as friendly as a rattlesnake’s tail. “Miss Gregory, isn’t it?”
“It used to be.” Marietta’s grin, if Slade weren’t mistaken, contained a hint of smugness. Which was odd, given her reaction to the photograph he now remembered to be where he’d first seen the woman. “Though for some years now it has apparently been Barbara Arnaud. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my sister-in-law, Stephen’s widow. Barbara, you no doubt remember Devereaux Hughes, and this is his guest, Slade Osborne.”
“Ma’am.” Slade stepped up when Hughes remained still, took her hand, kissed it. And knew with one glance into Barbara Arnaud’s serene face that he would like this woman. That peace in her eyes called his mother to mind. And it didn’t hurt any that Hughes was obviously less than thrilled with her presence.
“How good to meet you, Mr. Osborne.” Her voice was soft, both in volume and texture. She turned from him to Hughes. “So good to see you again, Mr. Hughes.”
Hughes took her hand, but too slowly. Bowed over it, but didn’t kiss her knuckles.
Slade shot a glance to Marietta, who smirked back at him.
She stepped nearer, and light from the window angled over her. It lit the flame of her hair and set to glowing the pearls around her neck.
Familiar pearls. Three of them on a thin strand of gold. Slade frowned. The very same three pearls he had seen that bizarre night on the wife of the tall old man. He hadn’t had time to slip away and discover who they were. All he had managed to verify was that a ship still bobbed in the harbor with Masquerade painted on her hull.