The Spymistress Read Online Free

sidewalks in a state of distracted agitation. The closer they drew to the Capitol, the thicker the crowds became, and a chilly uneasiness settled upon her when she realized that an electric air of celebration filled the air. She heard shouts of “Virginia!” and “Hail the Old Dominion!” but that told her nothing; the most ardent secessionist could proclaim his loyalty to their fair state as loudly as she herself could, with an entirely different meaning. But then she saw them again, the flags of rebellion—the palmetto of South Carolina, the dreadful three stripes and seven stars of the Confederacy. And then the Capitol came into view, and atop its flagpole, where the Stars and Stripes had once boldly waved, flew the flag of the Confederate States of America.
    “Oh, no, no,” she murmured. It could not be. The delegates could not have voted already, and they could not have voted in favor of secession. It was impossible, unthinkable—and yet all around the carriage, men were flinging their hats into the air, women wept for joy at the sight of Confederate flags being hoisted on high, boys whooped and marched and played at soldier with sticks for rifles. Somewhere unseen, a band struck up “Dixie,” and a more euphoric and vengeful rendition she had never heard.
    Richmond had gone mad. All around, her fellow citizens, neighbors, acquaintances were celebrating their disloyal repudiation of their country. What were they thinking? How would secession bring them anything but sorrow and death?
    Balling her trembling hands into fists, she knocked on the carriage wall for Peter’s attention. “Let’s go home,” she called to him, her voice shaking, her vision blurring with tears. “I’ve seen enough.”

Chapter Two
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    APRIL 1861
    P
eter swiftly turned the carriage toward Church Hill, and when they reached home and he helped her descend, he looked as shocked and apprehensive as she felt. When he offered to get his brother and return to the central district to gather what news they could, she did not want to let him go for fear of his safety, but his assurances that they would be careful and her own urgent desire for news overcame her objections.
    “Be careful,” she told the brothers as they headed out—William, the elder of the two, slim, bespectacled, with a quiet manner and impeccable courtesy that ignorant people mistook for deference, and Peter, tall and strong, his elder brother’s greatest admirer, unfailingly gentle yet unyielding with the animals in his care. “The crowds are in a frenzy, and they could turn on you without the slightest provocation. Do you have your passes?”
    “Yes, Miss Lizzie,” said Peter. “Don’t you worry about us.”
    “We’ll learn all we can,” William promised.
    “Don’t be gone long,” Lizzie urged. “Find out the results of the vote and hurry back.” When they nodded, she waved them off before she changed her mind. As she hurried inside, she prayed they would return safely before Hannah realized her sons had left. If only Mary Jane could have gone with them. With her prodigious memory, she could scan the records of the closed session and recite them verbatim later, but if venturing out into a secessionist mob was unsafe for the Roane brothers, it was doubly unsafe for a woman.
    Fortunately, Hannah was busy settling little Eliza and Annie down for their naps when her sons departed, and after that, she went to the kitchen to sew and gossip with Caroline. Since the mansion was so grand, three stories tall and fourteen rooms, the absence even of one’s own sons could easily go unnoticed for an hour or two. They were grown men, perfectly capable of looking out for themselves, and they should have been free men too, but Lizzie’s father had thwarted Mother’s plans to give them liberty. As Father’s illness had progressed, he must have suspected that Mother and Lizzie intended to free the family’s slaves upon his death, for he had secretly added a codicil to