In Freedom's Shadow, page 16
Once their return from Richmond was overdue, Pinkerton must have panicked and sent two more agents south to find out what happened. It was the only scenario that made any sense.
That didn’t change the fact that it was a precarious decision by Pinkerton. Worse, it wasn’t his own neck he was risking. Besides Lewis and Scully, sending more agents into Richmond imperiled all his operatives there.
The spymaster’s Washington team would know soon enough from the southern papers that Matchett had captured Lewis and Scully. Brackett had noted the absence of Warne and Webster in the article, however. If he had no other intelligence source, Pinkerton still wouldn’t know what became of them.
Would the spy chief realize the danger he’d already created for his two embedded teams in Richmond? Or would he double down on his mistake and impatiently send more operatives to search out Warne and Webster? Scobell pondered the possibilities, but couldn’t be certain how Pinkerton would react.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to get the cipher disc and get the hell out of this city. Until that happened, not a minute would pass when he’d feel safe.
Scobell started suddenly when the door into the alleyway opened. A small, thin woman stepped out. A short-stemmed pipe dangled from her lips.
“Lucy,” he called softly.
Lucy showed no signs of surprise at being accosted on the way to the latrine. She simply turned her crooked neck slowly to look in his direction. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the alley. Once they did, she inclined her head slightly to show she recognized Scobell.
“Getting so’s an old woman can’t even use the privy in peace,” she said. Her tone was so flat that Scobell wasn’t sure if she was joking.
He decided to play along. “True,” he said. “I’m mighty sorry for catching you here. I jus’ weren’t for sho’ it were safe to meet you in the open.”
“Mm-hm,” she said around the stem of her pipe.
“Been wondering whether you heard anything ‘bout me from Cap’n Matchett,” he said.
She shook her head from side to side in a slow, wide arc.
“Nothin’?” Scobell pressed.
She stared at him for a moment, as though insulted by the repeated question. “Nope.”
“The cap’n or his men been talking ‘bout Missus Lawton at all?”
Lucy considered this for a moment. “Nope. Can’t say I’ve heard your missus’ name neither. Guess Massa jus’ ain’t interested in y’all.”
A wave of relief washed over him. Not only had Matchett not recognized him, but they hadn’t tagged him and Brackett as part of the spy ring either. If they had, her name would’ve been on the lips of every man in the department.
“S’pose not,” he said. “Jus’ soon keep it that aways.”
“I reckon so if you the one done burnt him,” she said. Turning toward the outhouse, she declared, “Well, I come out here to take care of my business.”
Scobell pressed his luck.
“I gots another question for you,” he blurted.
She looked up at him, her eyes owlish behind the magnifying lenses of her spectacles. A quick puff flared the tobacco in the bowl of her pipe.
“That pouch what the cap’n was looking for when we was in the office?” he said.
Lucy nodded.
“You knows what’s in it?” Scobell asked.
“Yep,” she said.
A moment passed before he realized she didn’t intend to say anything more. He stifled an exasperated grunt.
“What’s in it?” he finally asked.
“Don’t know as I oughta say. Cap’n Matchett say I shouldn’t talk ‘bout what I sees round him and his place.”
“You seen it then?”
Another puff on the pipe. “Cap’n say I shouldn’t talk ‘bout what I sees.”
Scobell thought for a moment. “How ‘bout you don’t have to talk?” he said.
She looked at him quizzically.
“How ‘bout I axe you something and you shakes your head yes or no?”
Her pipe flared energetically as she considered this. At last, she nodded her head slowly.
“You seen what’s in the pouch?” he asked.
Lucy nodded again.
“Is it a cipher disc?”
She stared blankly at him from behind her glasses. This was proving far tougher than he thought.
“A round thing, ‘bout like this?” He made a circle with his thumbs and forefingers. “Gots another round thing on top?”
The pipe bobbed up and down as she moved her head.
He tossed in a test question. “Gots numbers all round it?”
Lucy shook her head no.
“Letters?” he asked. “Letters ‘round the outside?”
She nodded once again.
He’d been right. Matchett had a cipher disc.
Now Scobell had to get it.
“Lucy, I needs what’s in that pouch,” he said urgently. “Can you help me get it?”
“No, suh!” she snapped, recoiling.
Damn it. He’d pushed too far, too quickly.
“Lucy,” he said, “I needs it. I needs it to get free.”
“No, suh.” She turned and looked toward the outhouse. “I gots to do my business.”
“Matchett done smacked you,” he said. “Done kept you a slave your whole life long. Probably whipped you plenty.”
Lucy suddenly turned back to face him.
“Cap’n Matchett been my massa since he were a boy,” she said. “Probably thirty year, now.” She pulled the pipe from her mouth, gesturing with it to punctuate her words.
“His daddy was my massa afore that,” she said. “Since I been a little girl. Cap’n’s daddy done gimme this pipe. Said it belonged to my granny afore she died.” She took a step toward Scobell as her argument gained steam.
“Cap’n Matchett beat me some, sho’” she conceded, “‘Bout like any massa would. But he done fed me and give me a roof. Done made me a house slave, too, so’s I never had to work the fields. Never sold me South neither, where they work them Negroes to death.”
Scobell had seen it before, but it still amazed him. The loyalty of a slave to their master. Despite every barbarous treatment imaginable – forced poverty, whipping, rape, even deliberately dividing mother from child and husband from wife – some slaves remained devoted to the people who deprived them of the most basic elements of human liberty.
It was all they’d ever known. The unfamiliar world beyond the veil of bondage was sometimes more terrifying than even the most horrific reality within it.
Scobell tried another tack. “So you gonna be true to him ‘stead of helping free one of your own people?”
“My own people?” she said. “Didn’t you hear me? The Matchetts is my people. And you being the one that done burnt the cap’n!” She gave a dismissive wave.
“But…”
“But nothin’,” Lucy spat. “You ain’t my people. Havin’ black skin don’t make you nothin’ to me. You jus’ want something you can’t get, so’s you want my help. Don’t you talk ‘bout being my people.”
With that, the proud old woman spun away from him and went back into the office. Apparently, her need to use the outhouse had gone away.
CHAPTER 19
“It’s my fault,” Scobell said in exasperation later that evening. “I let Lewis and Scully’s arrest rattle me. I pushed too hard.”
“It’s understandable,” Brackett replied. “All of this has me scared to death, too.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter if you understand it. Lucy was our best chance – hell, our only chance – to get a cipher disc and get out. Scaring her off put an end to that.”
A depressed hush fell over the hotel room as the two considered their situation. At last, Scobell said, “We just need to leave.”
“What?”
“We need to pack up and get out of here,” he said. “Get out of Richmond, out of the South completely. Get to safety.”
It would mean sacrificing his liberty, but what good was freedom to the dead?
“But we haven’t completed our mission,” Brackett countered.
“We have the information we’ve gathered on Tredegar,” he said. “We have troop numbers in the city to report.”
“But no cipher disc,” she interjected.
“So we’re supposed to keep trying until we’re caught?” he said. “Until you’re thrown in prison, and I’m skinned and swinging from a tree?”
“We knew those were the risks when we came here,” Brackett countered. “That hasn’t changed.”
He suddenly jumped to his feet and paced in agitation. “What’s changed is they know we’re here now!”
“You said Lucy hadn’t heard us mentioned.”
“They know the Union has spies in Richmond. How long until they link us to them and come knocking on that door? A week? A day? An hour?”
Brackett glanced at the hotel door before she replied. “You may be right,” she said. “But we have an assignment. We need to see it through.”
“So that’s it?” he said. “You’re leaving here with a cipher disc or not at all?”
“Are you that worried about saving your own skin?” she countered.
“And yours. I don’t want either of us ending up in Matchett’s hands.”
Brackett set her thin jaw rigidly. He could see the muscles around it working as she forged her answer.
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” she said after a moment. “But we have an assignment to accomplish. We need to see it through.”
Another look at Brackett’s expression told him she wouldn’t be swayed. Any further discussion being pointless, he stalked off to his own room. Between frustration and fear, sleep would be a distant wish tonight.
◆◆◆
The next morning, things got considerably worse.
Another headline blared from the newspaper pages, this one from the Richmond Dispatch. Scobell’s heart sank as he read the first line of the front-page story.
The Condemned Spies
We have refrained for several days past from mentioning that two men, Pryce Lewis and John Scully, had been tried before the Court Martial now sitting at the City Hall, and condemned to be hung as spies.
The news was upsetting, although not unexpected. The next section, however, was a gut punch.
The execution has been postponed for a short time on a respite granted the parties by the President, but we are assured will come off at an early day. It is intimated, and we believe on good authority, too, that the condemned have made disclosures affecting the fidelity of several persons, one or more of whom have been apprehended. If rumor speaks the truth, he will find himself, no doubt, in an uncomfortably hot place.
They had talked. Either Lewis or Scully, or maybe both, had stared at the gallows that awaited them and loosened their tongues to save their necks.
Scobell couldn’t help but ponder whether he might do the same in their shoes. He shook the thought away and turned back to the article.
Who could the “several persons” be? It wouldn’t seem to include Brackett or himself. Lucy had told him only the day before that Matchett and his men hadn’t mentioned them.
That left only Webster and Warne. One of them was already in custody. If the other wasn’t, it wouldn’t be long until they were.
The Confederate government was unlikely to execute a woman, even one convicted of spying. But they had already sentenced Lewis and Scully to hang. If Webster was the one in custody, he would surely follow as quickly as they could pull together a jury to convict him.
Would the sight of the gallows sway Webster as well? Would the thought of that rope tightening around his throat, of dangling below the wooden deck, kicking and strangling as his last breath failed to come, chase away his loyalty to his fellow operatives, too?
Trading Scobell and Brackett to save his own neck would be an attractive proposition. If Webster wouldn’t do it to save his life, would Warne do so to save herself from prison?
He posed this question to Brackett as he tossed the Dispatch to her. She quickly scanned the article, her face turning so pale he thought she might faint.
She rose from her cushioned chair and crossed the room to pour a glass of water from a ceramic pitcher. Brackett gulped down the water in one motion, refilled it, and nearly emptied it a second time.
She was still staring down at the glass in her trembling hand as she announced, “Warne won’t talk.”
“You’re sure about that?”
Brackett whirled on him. “I’m telling you, she won’t talk! I know it.”
Scobell considered pressing, but her penetrating glare told him the topic was now off limits. He resigned himself to that reality and changed course. “What about Webster then?”
Brackett considered the question. “I don’t think he’d talk either,” she said after a moment.
“You don’t sound as sure about him as you do about Warne,” he observed.
Brackett fixed him with an icy look designed to remind him that the subject of Warne’s loyalty was no longer open to discussion.
“I only meant that you don’t seem as certain about Webster’s integrity,” he said.
“He’s an honorable man, not to mention a brave one,” she said. “I don’t believe he would turn us in to save himself.”
“Are you sure? Or are you trying to convince yourself?”
“I feel sure,” she said.
Feelings, Scobell thought, won’t make a difference. Only what came out under the forceful questioning of Winder and Matchett would matter.
◆◆◆
The next morning’s Richmond Dispatch answered the question of which Pinkerton operatives they’d apprehended. A minor article on the bottom of the front page announced the arrest of Tim Webster on charges of spying in the service of the United States. The article noted that his wife, who was also under suspicion, remained in their room at a local boarding house.
While the espionage story might have been headline news just a day before, much larger events now took precedence: YANKEES ATTACK YORKTOWN!
McClellan’s army had finally pushed south into Virginia again. They had landed at Fort Monroe, then marched on Yorktown. There, they’d fired the first shots of the invasion. From the Virginia maps he’d memorized, Scobell assumed McClellan’s intent was to threaten Richmond by pushing up the narrow peninsula between the York and James Rivers.
Was it possible that the Federal army would reach Richmond in time to liberate all the Pinkerton spies? The mere thought kindled a spark of relief inside him.
He immediately tamped it down, however. There were too many variables that could slow the advance of the Union forces, and even one day too late would still be fatal. If Brackett and Scobell were going to get out of Richmond safely, it would be up to them to orchestrate it.
Scobell joined Brackett in her room to plan their actions for the day. It had become their daily custom after he picked up the morning newspapers. She opened the door with an expectant look on her face.
“What’s the word this morning?” she asked.
“They’ve arrested Webster,” he murmured, handing her the paper. “And McClellan has attacked Yorktown.”
“What?!” She snatched the paper from his hand and quickly scanned the front page.
“They didn’t arrest her,” she said after a moment.
Scobell was confused. With another of their spy team arrested and a Union attack underway, that was the piece of information Brackett latched onto?
Before he could ask, she blurted, “I need to go see her.”
Now it was Scobell’s turn: “What?”
“I need to see Kate,” Brackett said. There was no mistaking the urgency in her voice.
“You can’t be serious,” said Scobell. “Even if she isn’t under active guard, they’ll be watching her for sure. We can’t be seen there. They’ll know instantly that we’re operatives, too.”
Brackett turned away from him and sat silently. It wasn’t until she sniffled and wiped her cheek with a handkerchief that he realized she was crying.
“You need to tell me what’s going on here,” Scobell said. “What is happening between you and Warne?”
Brackett drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then faced him again. Her eyes were rimmed in red and tears welled within them.
“She’s my sister,” she said. It was as if hearing her own words out loud made the reality worse. She began weeping uncontrollably.
Scobell sat upright in surprise. “Your sister?”
“Yes,” she replied with a nod. “My oldest sister.” This created another tearful outburst. Scobell waited once again for it to subside. This bout ended more quickly than the previous one.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked.
“I haven’t told anyone,” she said. “And you can’t either. No one can find out, especially Pinkerton.”
Scobell didn’t understand, and told her so.
“If Pinkerton ever found out we were family,” she said, “He’d fire me immediately.”
She blew out a long breath that ended in a wry laugh. “Exactly because of situations like this.”
“I see,” Scobell said. “Because someone might put concern for their sibling above loyalty to his secret service, above completing the mission.”
Brackett nodded again. “Exactly.” She took another trembling breath and started again.
“Kate met Pinkerton in Chicago,” she continued. “She worked for him for about five years and did so well that he asked her to create a department of female detectives within his agency.” She stopped to dab her eyes and wipe her nose.
“This was all before the war?” Scobell asked.
“About a year before,” she said. “When she became the superintendent of Pinkerton’s female department, she wrote me a letter asking me to join.”
“Even though Pinkerton wouldn’t allow it?”
