Kicking the empty vial under a dresser and out of sight, I called out, “Enter.”
He came into the room, and though he said nothing untoward, there was no ambiguity about what he intended, what he wanted.
A woman might take part in the sexual act for a host of reasons. Earlier in my life, I had done so out of sympathy and out of expectation. Recently, I had done so out of passion bordering on lust. With Captain Bowditch was the only time I did it out of patriotic duty. That didn’t make it transcendent or glorious or indecent. It simply was. And then, it was done.
Afterward, he slept, and I got what I’d come for.
The key in my hand was hot from my flesh. Everything depended on it, on such a small piece of metal. For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, as they say; for want of this key, not much larger than a nail, a war could be lost.
Or, I hoped, won.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bright Hope
As we expected, Mrs. Greenhow stayed out all night at the general’s, and a small team of our men was able to enter her house and search it thoroughly. I was not present for the initial search. As planned, I passed the key to an operative at Bowditch’s back door. It was a surprise that the operative in question was Graham DeForest, and when I saw his familiar mustache and the understanding in his warm brown eyes, I wanted to cry out and collapse into his arms. It would have been a luxury. Instead, I pressed the key into his hand wordlessly, keeping my composure until I was back indoors.
Several long hours later, we repeated the operation in reverse, and I took the key back from him to replace it so that Bowditch would never know it had been missing. When DeForest returned the stolen key, he covered both my hands with his in a prearranged signal, the only thing that could put a smile on my face: they had found what they sought at Mrs. Greenhow’s. Our work had been fruitful. I allowed myself a few precious tears of joy before I took the long steps back to the bedroom. Then I found the empty vial under the bureau and tucked it into my pocket, so I would leave no evidence. The spill on the carpet had already dried to invisibility.
My conversation in the morning with Bowditch was blessedly short, the span of just a few minutes. He left unmentioned the husband he thought I was returning to. He found several excuses to pat me possessively, touching my cheek, my hand, my shoulder. I steeled myself and did not wince. Then I returned to my hotel to scrub off the entire night’s doings as best I could.
A few hours later, I went with the team to Mrs. Greenhow’s house. Not having slept a wink, I was dizzy with exhaustion, but the importance of the day kept me alert. Dressed in a heavy nut-brown skirt and shirtwaist, sober and silent, I blended into the background. DeForest, without a word, stood next to me; I realized Pinkerton had brought him purely for my benefit, and I would have been grateful, if I had allowed myself to feel anything at all. Instead, I stayed focused on the proceedings. Pinkerton bore a civil warrant in hand, and we entered the spy’s house legally, for the purpose of arresting her for treason and taking her directly to prison.
When we took her by surprise, Mrs. Greenhow attempted to swallow a coded message, but Pinkerton was able to grab it from her before she succeeded. The team was quick and surgical. They knew where everything was, so they were able to retrieve it in full view. They took her maps from the top shelf of the library and her cipher translation key from the drawer of the desk in the study. If I’d only managed to pick that lock the first time, I began thinking but cut myself off before I could finish the thought. Instead, I reached for DeForest’s hand and squeezed it, and he stood by me, knowing only a fraction of what I was feeling but knowing enough.
Taylor came down from upstairs with Greenhow’s diary in hand, and she tore herself free from the agent restraining her long enough to swipe his face with her nails. She even drew a bit of blood. But he laughed instead of cringing, infuriating her. We all knew this was the least blood that she had drawn, and hers in turn would be forfeit when the extent of her crimes came to light.
Like Mrs. Greenhow, I stayed silent during the entire enterprise. Hours later, once the arrest was complete and she was in custody, I had one more thing to say to Pinkerton.
Inside, I was burning with fury and grief; I did everything I could to keep both emotions out of my voice, making myself a creature of logic for him. Logic was always the hardest thing for him to say no to.
Arms folded, I said, “I want to interrogate her.”
“Not necessary. We have enough to hang her regardless. Her testimony is beside the point.”
“The point is different for me. Do I need to remind you?”
His voice was warm and fatherly, and it almost undid me. “It won’t help. Will it?”
“Yes.”
“Will it bring him back?”
“Don’t be cruel.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled downward.
“I know it won’t,” I admitted, but I did not soften my stance. “I just want to see his killer punished. I’m shocked to see you might stand in the way of justice like that.”
“I’m not trying to protect her. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Like you protected me when you sent Tim to Richmond?”
“That wasn’t about you.”
Now, my anger was threatening to slip its chains. “Like hell it wasn’t.”
“Warne, I don’t know what I can do to convince you.”
“You can’t,” I said flatly. “What you can do is sign an order for me to go visit Mrs. Greenhow. My identity could be revealed at any moment, and I’ll be useless here in Washington. Let me see her, and then let me go free.”
“You’ve always been free.”
“Have I?”
“Warne,” he said, his voice weary. “I don’t want to fight with you. I want you to heal.”
“I don’t know if I ever will,” I said, “and that’s the truth.”
“I know. I know what it looks like when you lie.”