Circle of Spies (The Culper Ring #3)

“Yeah.” His friend straightened, his expression not relaxing any. “I’d better get back in there and assure the others I was just giving you the what-for.”


And down his spirits spiraled again. Maybe he should resign himself to being always a pariah with this group of brothers. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to have any brothers. “Tell them you punched me in the nose. That’ll make them feel better.”

At least Herschel laughed. That was something. Enough to spur him on to his next meeting, strange as it felt to head to the National Hotel, where he had made arrangements to change into evening dress in Booth’s room. Not that he would have imposed upon Booth, but the man had offered when he had heard Slade was coming in to the city to go to the theater, and it had seemed wise to accept.

Though he still wished he could have found a way out of the theater invitation itself. Maybe had it been Marietta issuing, he could have—largely because she wouldn’t have invited him at all. They had avoided each other neatly the past forty-eight hours. But Barbara Arnaud had cornered him, and she’d had help in the towering form of Thaddeus Lane. Why he insisted Slade join his family for a play, he couldn’t say.

But here he was, knocking on Booth’s door en route to Ford’s Theater, pretty sure he would look exactly how he felt in formal attire—like a pretender. The only time he had ever bothered with finery in the past was when he was fresh from a win at cards and needing to impress his way into a higher-stake game. That didn’t exactly make him a gentleman worthy of passing his evening with some of Baltimore’s finest. Not unless they had hired him as protection.

The door swung open, and a smiling John Booth stood in the entrance. “There you are. Cutting it close, don’t you think? Hurry. I brushed your coat for you, but only because I was afraid you would mention you knew me and I didn’t want to be embarrassed by you.”

Slade breathed a laugh and stepped into the nicely appointed hotel room. He knew Booth called no one place home, but he must be doing pretty well to afford to stay here regularly. “Thoughtful of you.”

Booth ushered him in and shut the door, motioning to the chair onto which he’d laid out Slade’s tail coat, the matching trousers, and a waistcoat he had never seen before. “There is ‘no beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity,’ as the Bard said.”

“Shakespeare?” He measured the waistcoat with pursed lips. His father had never insisted he read Shakespeare as much as the theologians.

“Richard III. My favorite role. Is there a problem, Osborne?”

He glanced at his host and motioned toward the waistcoat. “That’s not mine.”

“Well, of course not. Yours was for day, not evening. You can return it to me when next we meet. I won’t miss it.” Booth shot a pointed look to the clock set upon a shelf. “You intend to make the start of the show, do you not? Wait much longer, and you’ll be barred until intermission.”

Why argue? He scooped up the clothes and stepped behind the screen. After discarding his everyday clothes he said, “I was visiting with that friend I told you about, the one still a member of Lincoln’s security team.”

All went silent in the room. Then Booth let out a quick breath. “And? Did you find anything? Can we take him before the inauguration?”

Evening suit on, Slade slid his arms through the velvet filigree waistcoat and winced. “No. They have already anticipated every option. There won’t be any weaknesses, not that day.”

The sigh that sounded forth bore an acute resemblance to one of Chicago’s gusts of wind. “It was too much to hope, I suppose. You were subtle? He suspected nothing?”

Slade reached for the detestable bow tie. “Does Shakespeare have some quote about giving a fellow a morsel of credit now and then?”

Booth laughed. “No doubt he does. I apologize, Osborne. I am merely frustrated by all the failures. I see you have gaiters, at least. Have you appropriate gloves?”

Gaiters? It took him a moment to realize he had moved back to talk of clothes and meant the shoes that had been in his closet along with the tail coat and top hat. As for gloves? “Ah…”

“No matter. I just purchased a new pair of maroon doeskin ones. You can borrow my old gold pair.”

Was the man always so generous? He finished with the tie, shrugged into the coat, and stepped from behind the screen.

Booth surveyed him, making a show of it worthy of his beloved stage. At length, he smiled. “I suppose you can admit to knowing me. So long as you hurry. I can’t claim an acquaintance with anyone who arrives late to the theater.”

Slade reached for the shoes. “I’m hurrying.”

“All the same, I had better show you the quickest route. I need to pick up my mail anyway.”