Shadow of Dawn (21 page)

“Really, Uncle Martin, is that what’s been
bothering you? I know you’ve been worried about something
lately.”

Martin rubbed his jaw. “It never occurred to
me, actually, but just now we were all together in the parlor…Mrs.
Kelly, too…and Bart asked her if Andrew seemed …different in any
way. And she said she didn’t know, that in all that black garb he
seemed like a perfect stranger.”

“Well,” Catherine said slowly. “He is
different. He’s been through a horrible experience. But of course I
would know my own husband.”

“You didn’t know him very well when you
married him.”

“Why would anyone masquerade as my husband,
Uncle Martin? A thief would surely have robbed us by now and be
gone.”

“I don’t know. As I said, it only just
occurred to me.” Martin seemed evasive, nodded a farewell without
meeting her gaze, and turned to go.

Catherine leaned against the door, feeling as
if danger was closing in on all sides, and there was no way to
escape it.

No man ever really loved a woman, lost her,
and knew her

with a blameless though an unchanged
mind.…

C
atherine had
resumed her nightly reading of
A Tale of Two Cities
, with
one difference: she now read in the parlor to the entire household,
including “Andrew,” and excepting Mrs. Shirley who elected to stay
in her room. She had started from the beginning, for the benefit of
her new listeners.

It was the third week in January 1863, and
Clayton had made almost a complete recovery, at least outwardly,
from his injuries. Catherine suspected there were other scars that
would take longer to heal.

The army of northern Virginia still camped
defensively around Fredericksburg as the North planned their next
move. Union General Burnside had been replaced by Joseph Hooker,
whom President Lincoln hoped would at last accomplish his ultimate
goal—the invasion of Richmond. Robert E. Lee, with his generals,
plotted out possible strategies to save Richmond and the
Confederacy.

On January 1 President Lincoln had proclaimed
that all slaves residing in territories that were in rebellion
against the Union were free (actually it was only a formal
announcement following a preliminary proclamation he’d made the
previous September). It did not apply to border states that fought
for the Union. The Confederacy paid little heed to the
“Emancipation Proclamation,” saying it was just a political move
intended to convince the world that the federal government’s only
objective was to end slavery, and thus gain sympathy for the
Union.

Bart and his accomplices had not yet held
another meeting. Clayton said they seemed to be waiting for
something. He decided to allow certain letters to get through to
Bart, who would almost certainly soon discover, if he hadn’t
already, that his last message had never been delivered to
Burnside’s staff. Lieutenant Hadley was in Libby Prison along with
his two henchmen (the third was dead); they were not allowed
visitors. However, a report was given to any who might care to
inquire that Hadley had been arrested carrying information to the
enemy.

Catherine finished the section and laid the
volume aside. Outside rain fell in torrents, dashing hard against
the windows. Clayton sat unmoving to her left. Bart stood at the
fireplace staring down into the flames, his arms folded. Martin and
Sallie shared the settee, and Miranda Kelly engulfed the
comfortable armchair opposite them.

“Sallie, do grace us with some music
tonight,” Miranda said, reaching for a box of candy which sat on a
table next to her.

Sallie looked up from her embroidery. “What
shall I play?”

Bart said, without looking up, “A nocturne
would suit my mood.”

“Why, Bartie, I’ve never known you to be
melancholy.” Sallie rose gracefully, and as she always did, paused
before passing “Andrew” as though afraid he would seize and devour
her. She lifted her skirts and went to the piano at the opposite
end of the room.

Catherine was not an expert player, but
adequate; Sallie was truly gifted. She selected some sheet music,
announced, “Chopin’s Prelude Opus 28 Number 7,” as though she were
performing in a concert, and in a moment the haunting strains
muffled the sound of the rain and filled the room.

It was, Catherine thought, a strangely
poignant and revealing moment. Bart continued to stare moodily into
the crackling fire. Martin drank a cup of coffee and looked at no
one, and Miranda nibbled on bonbons like a contented rabbit. Both
the coffee and the bonbons had recently been smuggled in through
the blockade and sold at exorbitant prices. Miranda had paid for
them herself.

Clayton’s black hood was turned slightly in
Catherine’s direction and she knew he was looking at her, though
his vision must be considerably dimmed. She had worn one of her
best gowns to the supper table, amber-colored with off-the-shoulder
sleeves. Not to be outdone, Sallie’s neckline plummeted to an
alarming degree and her hair was a maze of intricate ringlets and
braids.

The music ended and Sallie proclaimed,
“Nocturne Opus 15 Number 2.” She was halfway through it when Bart
looked up, unfolded his arms and walked negligently toward a table
bearing a chess set.

“That Carton fellow’s something else, eh,
Andrew?” He looked down and fingered one of the chess pieces
absently. “He finds the love of his life only to realize he’s not
worthy of her.”

Clayton nodded but did not speak.

“So sad,” said Miranda, with tears in her
eyes at the mention of Dickens’s tragic hero.

“What do you think?” Bart asked, sitting down
at the chess table. “Does his love for Lucie perhaps vindicate
him?”

Sallie stopped playing abruptly and put the
cover down with a slight bang, obviously miffed that no one seemed
to be listening. She returned to her seat and took up her
embroidery.

Clayton said, after a moment, “I think that
any man who loves a woman of such goodness, so utterly and
completely, must have in himself the capacity for goodness.”

Sallie stopped sewing and looked at the man
in black as though she’d never seen him before. Miranda took out
her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

“Ah,” said Bart. “And what do you think,
Catherine? Should Lucie have loved Carton in return?”

“Perhaps she did,” Catherine answered, rather
saucily. “Perhaps she loved her husband
and
Sydney Carton,
but naturally she would never do anything about it.”

Miranda’s eyes grew round and Sallie cried,
“Catherine!”

“Well, I don’t see how anybody could be as
pure and innocent as Lucie. I don’t see how any woman could help
loving…at least just a little…any man who loved her the way Sydney
did.”

“After all, we are talking about fictional
characters,” Sallie said. “Their thoughts begin and end with the
pages on which they’re written.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Catherine replied.
“The reader is quite free to interpret their thoughts and even to
read between the lines, though there really is nothing to indicate
Lucie had any feelings for Mr. Carton except gratitude, and
pity.”

“I should hope not,” said Sallie
indignantly.

“Forgive me.” Bart laughed a little. “I
didn’t mean to start a quarrel. Come, Martin, let’s have a
game.”

Martin finished his coffee and set down his
cup. “I think not. I believe I’ll go upstairs. Good night,
everyone.”

Sallie watched him go with an arched eyebrow
but did not follow.

“Andrew, then, how about it?”

The black hood moved back and forth
negatively. Sallie remonstrated, “Bartie, how mean!”

“I’m sorry…truly, I forgot about
your…problem. Catherine?”

She started to refuse but thought better of
it. She rose and walked over to the chess table and took a seat,
watching while Bart arranged his pieces. She was not particularly
good at chess, though she had played often with her father. Finding
it hard to concentrate, she half listened to Sallie and
Miranda.

Sallie was saying, “Miss Miranda, you have
chocolate on your chin. Let me get you something…no need to ruin
your handkerchief.”

She moved across to the table beside “Andrew”
and knelt down, bending low over a drawer and, Catherine suspected,
fully displaying her attributes to Clayton. She thought
resentfully, Why, she’s doing that on purpose. Why do they keep
testing him?

Sallie withdrew a faded but clean linen
napkin, rose and turned to hand it to Miranda, who dabbed it with
her tongue and scrubbed her chin. Sallie then bent over again and
closed the drawer before returning to her seat. The masked face
remained impassive, but Catherine could almost see Clayton’s grin
of amusement, the wretch!

“You’re a good reader,” Bart said. “I suppose
it’s a way of passing the time.”

“Um.” She concentrated on her move.

“You’ve not been to the hospital lately,” he
observed, in a casual tone.

“No. I’ve been taking care of…of Andrew.”
Thinking about the game, she had almost said “Clayton.” If she
hadn’t been sitting down, her knees would surely have given way at
the thought of so deadly a slip!

“He seems much improved, but I thought I
noticed him limping the other day.”

“It’s one of his old wounds. He had a
shattered kneecap.”

“Really? I should think he would limp all the
time.”

“Oh, they fixed it, more or less.” Another
potential mistake. I’m just no good at this, she thought.

“I’m sorry, Bart, I don’t think this was a
good idea. I can’t seem to get my mind on it. If you’ll excuse me,
Andrew and I will retire.”

“Of course.” Bart leaned back, took a cigar
out of his pocket and lit it, all the while watching as she walked
over to Clayton, took his arm, and led him from the room.

In his bedroom Clayton pulled off the scarf
and saw at once that something was wrong. “What’s the matter?” he
asked.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get through this
without ruining everything. Bart makes me so nervous!”

“He likes to play games, and I’m not talking
about chess.” He took her arms in his hands. “You’re doing fine,
Catherine. He wants to be suspicious of me, and I think the only
thing that confuses him is your obvious conviction that I am really
Andrew.”

“I almost called you Clayton tonight!”

He laughed a little. “Now that truly would
have put an end to it.” He put his arms around her. “Stop worrying.
It can’t last too much longer. If we don’t find out what we need to
know, we’ll find another way.”

“Something’s wrong with Uncle Martin. And I
believe Sallie is just as suspicious as Bart. I think Bart told
Sallie to let Miranda stay here just because he wants to find out
more about you!”

“Catherine.” He held her by the shoulders and
looked into her eyes. “You mustn’t worry. If you’re afraid of
making a mistake, then don’t say anything at all. Refuse to play
along with Bart.”

“And Sallie! What was she doing? Watching to
see if your head would follow her movements? You see, everyone
suspects something!”

“Darling, listen to me. It doesn’t matter
what they think. What interests me is how they behave, each and
every one of them, and I must say it’s getting more interesting all
the time.”

He released her and changed the subject as he
dragged off his gloves. “I liked what you said about Lucie
Manette,” he said, chuckling. “You really are something of a little
rebel, aren’t you?”

“Well,” she said, lifting her brows and
turning away to stand near the fireplace. “It is possible to love
two men. I think I had started falling in love with ‘Andrew’ before
I knew he was you, and I was falling in love with you, too.”

“But we’re one and the same.” He came to
stand behind her and slid his arms around her waist. “I think
somewhere inside your heart you must have known that.”

“All I knew was that I had to make a
choice.”

“And you chose your husband. You made the
right choice, Catherine, the only choice.” He turned her around to
face him. “Please forgive me for putting you through that.”

“Oh, I’ve forgiven you. But don’t put me on a
pedestal, Clayton Pierce. If I hadn’t liked ‘Andrew,’ if I had
really been repelled by his injuries, I don’t know what I would
have done.”

“I do. You would have done the same
thing.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “You had a
face I could see, and strong arms to hold me.…”

“Shh,” he said. “I know you too well.”

They looked at each other and the magnetic
bond surged between them. He kissed her, then set her from him and
said, a little shakily, “I think we’d better say good night, my
love.” She swayed toward the door, her hand going up to rest on her
flushed cheek. She stopped when he spoke again, with a quiet
urgency.

“Do you know how much a temptation you are to
me, Catherine Kelly? Do you know how many times, when you thought I
was Andrew, I wanted to hold you, to touch you, to comfort you? And
now that you know the truth, it only becomes more difficult every
day. I really have no right to ask you to marry me. When the war is
over, I don’t know what property I’ll have. I can’t promise you
that I will even—”