The Spymistress Read Online Free Page B

burning. “Mr. Lewis will know more,” she said, letting the lace curtain fall, obscuring the glass. “When he returns, he’ll tell us what happened within the Capitol today, and perhaps things will not look so bleak.”
    “Or perhaps they’ll look much worse.” Two deep creases of worry had formed between Mother’s brows. “He’s late. I pray he hasn’t come to any harm.”
    Lizzie glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, and her heart skipped a beat when she discovered that Mr. Lewis was an hour overdue. “I’ll ask Caroline to keep dinner warm,” she said, as calmly as if a ruined meal were the greatest of her concerns. “I’m sure he’s fine, merely delayed, and that’s certainly understandable given all this—this nonsense.” She waved a hand toward the west, to the Capitol, where madness apparently ruled the day.
    Another hour passed in anxious waiting. When Caroline protested that the chicken would only grow drier and the salad more wilted as the evening wore on, Mother agreed that the family should sit down at the table. They hoped Mr. Lewis would join them belatedly, but the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away, and still he did not return.
    Long after Lizzie’s nieces were tucked into bed and Mother too had bade her good night, Lizzie sat alone in the library with an unopened book of poetry on her lap and a cup of tea cooling on the table by her side, brooding. At the sound of the front door opening, she tossed the book aside, leaped to her feet, and reached the foyer just as William was helping Mr. Lewis out of his coat. “Thank heavens you’re safe,” she greeted him.
    “My sincere apologies for worrying you,” said Mr. Lewis, removing his hat and handing it to William. “I would have sent a message, but there wasn’t a messenger to be had.”
    Lizzie took his arm and led him to the dining room, where Caroline quickly appeared with a remarkably appetizing plate considering how long Mr. Lewis’s dinner had been kept for him. Lizzie held back her questions as long as she could to allow her ravenous guest to eat, but when his pace slowed a trifle, she said, “How did this happen?”
    “I warned you that it might.”
    “Yes, and I thought you were being ridiculously pessimistic, and for that I apologize.” She reached across the table and lay her hand on his arm. “Mr. Lewis, don’t mince words out of concern that you will worry me. I’m not easily frightened, and nothing you say could be worse than what I imagine.”
    Mr. Lewis sat in quiet contemplation, placed his hand over hers for a moment, then took up his knife and began to butter a slice of bread. “In the hours leading up to the vote, I was told that if I failed to vote for secession, I would never leave Richmond alive.”
    Lizzie’s heart thumped, but she held on to her composure. “And yet here you are, safe and sound. I assume you intend to leave the city soon, before they can make good on their threats.”
    He regarded her with an expression of surprise and gratitude. “You didn’t ask me how I voted.”
    “I don’t need to.” She managed a smile. “You of all people would never allow the Intimidation Convention to sway your vote. I can only assume that a great many other delegates lacked your courage.”
    “At the crucial moment, their fear for their own safety outweighed their love of country.” Mr. Lewis’s gloom deepened, and he pushed his plate aside. “Any man who dared profess love for the United States was jeered and stoned whenever he set foot outside the Capitol. We were told we must vote for secession or the streets of Richmond would run with blood.”
    Lizzie sighed and sat back in her chair. If only John Minor Botts had not been excluded from the convention. He would have rallied the Unionists. He would not have allowed them to falter. “I heard a rumor that federal arms have been captured in Virginia.”
    “It grieves me to tell you that’s no mere rumor. And because of it, the vote