God willing, they always would. Even if it had cost Slade so very dearly already. Now the brother shall betray the brother to death…
“I know. Blast it, I know. Perhaps we weren’t careful enough. Perhaps there were spies about as we rode into town.”
Spies. Though his throat went dry, Slade resisted the urge to swallow. Not a tell he wanted to indulge around an actor schooled at expression. And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake. He lifted his brows.
Booth huffed out a breath. “Unlikely, I know. But we haven’t the leisure for unlikely foils, not anymore. Time is too short.”
But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.
Had he dared, he would have whispered a prayer that it be so, that the Lord would help him endure until whatever day would be his last. Contenting himself with silence, he made no objection when Booth spurred his horse to a canter. Slade followed suit, shadowing the man through the avenues, around carriages and other horses, until the somewhat familiar facade of the Surratt boarding house came into sight.
As they came to a halt, a Negro man emerged to take their horses. Slade nodded his thanks and leapt up the stairs after Booth, who burst in without so much as a knock, his riding crop still in hand and bellowing, “John!”
Slade closed the door behind him, while Booth strode toward the parlor, from which a steady stream of curses rang out in Surratt’s tone. He slid into the room too, just in time to see the usually cool young man gesture with his revolver.
“Ruined! Blighted! I ought to put an end to it all here and now, I might as well—” His self-threat ended in a sputter of unintelligible groans.
Booth paced the room, frantic. Perhaps his own agitation was heightened by his friend’s. “Calm yourself, John. We—”
He cut himself off when he turned and spotted what Slade had noticed the moment he stepped inside the room—they weren’t alone. In addition to another Knight, one of the boarders sat in the corner, a book in hand and his mouth agape.
The fellow cleared his throat, looking more than a little frightened. “Good evening, Mr. Booth.”
Had the actor attempted a smile, it no doubt would have been convincing. But he didn’t bother. “I didn’t see you there.”
Surratt charged from the room, motioning his friends to follow. They did, leaving the boarder staring after them.
Booth scarcely waited until they were all ensconced in a chill, dim back chamber. “What happened? What is it?”
“What happened?” Surratt spun toward the entrance with blazing eyes. “How am I to know? Perhaps one of the others fouled up. Perhaps we were betrayed.”
The echo pulsed through the room, leeching out what warmth had been in it. Slade sucked in a breath only because the others did.
Surratt sighed and folded himself onto a couch. “Foolishness, I know. It’s merely our usual bad luck asserting itself. His driver took another route.”
Praise the Lord.
Booth groaned and sank into a wingback chair. “Why?”
“There was no reason, so far as I could tell. I spotted them coming, was prepared to act, and then they just turned. I tried to rush away, to alert the others or intercept him elsewhere, but…”
But they hadn’t scouted all the other roads. They didn’t know where else they could set upon him without being noticed. Hence why changing the route had been so sensible a plan. Relief wove through gratitude within Slade.
Lincoln was safe. Herschel was safe. More, Herschel had trusted him. Slade sat too, and rubbed a hand over his face.
Maybe Ross hadn’t completely succeeded at ruining everything. Maybe Slade really could put it to rights. Maybe he’d emerge from this with a hope for a future.
Maybe…but doubt still plagued him. And with doubt came the flashing of cat-green eyes in his mind. He hadn’t let himself think too much, yet, about what Walker Payne had told him that morning about the unknowns of Marietta Arnaud Hughes. Didn’t dare. Because thinking about it made him wonder. A woman willing to run off with a quadroon laborer surely couldn’t be so opposed to a two-bit detective on principle, after all.
But principle didn’t matter a whit in these things. He was none too sure either of them had anything left to give. Wasn’t sure what it would take to overcome the obstacles. She and Payne must have loved each other something fierce to plan such a thing, but that hadn’t been enough either.
Maybe nothing would be.
Twenty-Three
Marietta’s hand shook as she folded the letter and slid it onto the table beside the soldier’s cot. Last week she had made it through her first hospital visit with nary a roll of nausea. Then again, last week an amputation hadn’t been underway behind the curtain. She hadn’t heard the groans of the patient before they sedated him, the clang of surgical tools.
Hadn’t heard the grinding of the saw. No, not just heard it. Felt it in her own bones.