“I don’t believe we’ve met, Senator Blackgrace,” I say. “I’m Lizzie Van Persie.”
“I see,” he says in a gloomy tone that matches the winters in his home state of Maine. “I’m acquainted with your father. Will he be in attendance tonight?”
“Unfortunately not. He’s out west handling our family’s affairs.”
“The railroad business, if I remember correctly?”
“You have an excellent memory.” My father travels often to oversee our family’s business endeavors in the rail industry. At my mother’s urging, he sold off the Van Persies’ steamboat holdings because many of our ships were built with slave labor. Father’s own feelings about abolition were more ambiguous than hers, but he would have done anything for her.
“Is your father well?” Senator Blackgrace continues.
“Quite well. The drier air in the West has done wonders for his lungs.” My father’s coughing fits have kept him out of uniform and away from home. He seems to avoid Washington — where he shared so many happy times with Mother — as much as he can. I’ve no doubt that he also wishes to avoid Grandmama’s nagging tongue, which constantly tells him to buy back our steamships or to eat more of his dinner. He has never possessed the backbone to stand up to her, aside from his decision to marry an abolitionist spinster from a no-name family.
“Excellent, most excellent,” Senator Blackgrace mutters. He appears ready to take his leave, but I can’t let him until I ask the question that Uncle Ambrose readied for me. My fingers tremble, and I shove them behind me.
“I’ve heard your wife comes from the Carolinas,” I start.
He arches a furry brow. “She does, though she prefers Maine.”
“I hope to visit Charleston one day, perhaps after the war.” I cringe inwardly at what I must say next. “I’ve always admired South Carolinians and their tenacity to fight for their convictions.”
He sniffs. “If you’ll pardon me —”
I step in front of him. It’s rude of me, I know, but I let my uncle’s question tumble free: “Forgive me, Senator, but have you met my dear friends Mr. Alexander and Mr. Stephens?”
My heart clashes against my chest. I search the senator’s eyes. Will he understand the meaning behind my words?
But Senator Blackgrace only blinks at me. “I’m not acquainted with those gentlemen. Good evening, Miss Van Persie.”
He stalks off, and my arms fall to my sides.
He must not be the Raven.
If he were, he would’ve recognized the code phrase “Mr. Alexander and Mr. Stephens” that would mark me as a Confederate ally — for Alexander Stephens is the Confederacy’s vice president. And upon hearing that, the senator would have uttered a code phrase in return.
I wring my hands and wonder if I followed my uncle’s directions correctly. Could I have made a mistake? But the senator’s eyes didn’t even flicker when I mentioned the names.
Before I can take another breath, Grandmama thunders toward me with the force of a tempest. “Elizabeth! Mr. Noble has gone off to speak to Maud Ingersoll because you tarried here for so long. An Ingersoll! Her father, Robert, is an atheist, I’ll have you know.”
“I couldn’t interrupt my conversation with the senator. Wouldn’t that be impolite, Grandmama?”
“I’d define rudeness as disobeying your grandmother,” she retorts, and pinches me. “Posture, Elizabeth.”
I wish once more that she’d call me Lizzie, but I’m sure she’d simply pinch me again if I spoke up. I attempt to slip away, explaining that I haven’t had a bite to eat all night, but Grandmama shushes me.
“You may eat after your engagement.” She takes me by the wrist to haul me toward another suitor, but we’re soon swarmed by a flock of her elderly friends, and I gladly make my escape.
Hurrying away from Grandmama’s glare, I head into the library to gather my thoughts, but I find the room already occupied. In the far corner, Sophie stands beside Father’s globe, on the verge of tears. William paces beside her, equally distraught.
“Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he asks her.
I shrink back into the shadows, forgetting about the Raven and thinking only of my sister. Something is bothering her: that much is obvious.
William catches sight of me and straightens. “Lizzie, how do you do?”
“I’m — I’m well, thank you,” I say. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Nonsense, not at all.” He slides Sophie a look. “I’ll take my leave.”
He strides out of the room, leaving Sophie and me alone. I hurry to her. “What in the world has happened between the two of you?” I ask.
“It’s nothing —”
I take her hands. “It’s not nothing. Please, Sophie. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She smiles a bit too brightly. “There’s no need to fret. William and I had a misunderstanding.” She frees her hands from mine and asks breezily, “How were Grandmama’s suitors? Or do you prefer your Westacre beau?”