The Spymistress Read online

  None too soon the service ended, and with a sigh Lizzie put away her missal, rose, and stretched discreetly. She took Annie’s hand as the family joined the other worshipers filing from the church, pausing every now and then so that Mother could exchange greetings with friends and neighbors. They had not yet left the churchyard when Lizzie heard the distant clanging of a bell—­two long peals, a pause, and then a third—­coming from the direction of the Capitol. With a sudden chill, she recognized the source of the solemn timbre—­the old iron bell in the truncated brick tower with the wooden belfry on the southwest corner of the Capitol Square. In peacetime the tocsin struck the hours or warned of fire, but on rare occasions it summoned the militia to arms.

  The alarm sounded again, resonating ever louder as church bells near the Capitol joined the iron clamor. Lizzie jumped as, behind her and very near, the bell in the steeple of Saint John’s began to toll.

  “What is it?” Annie cried, squeezing Lizzie’s hand tighter as all around them, ladies gasped and men shouted questions. Neighbors hurried from their homes into the street, glancing wildly about and querying one another in various degrees of fright and confusion.

  “Lizzie!” Suddenly Eliza was beside her, breathless. “What’s happened? Why are they sounding the alarm?”

  “I don’t know.” From what she had overheard, the consensus of the anxious people milling about them was that the city was under attack, but Lizzie would not repeat the rumor with young Annie so close and so frightened.

  “Could it be the Union army?” Eliza’s face lit up with hope. “Are we going to be delivered? Praise God!”

  “Hush,” cautioned Lizzie, glancing over her shoulder. To her dismay, Mary stood nearby watching them, lips pursed in disapproval, but had she overheard? “Such sentiments are best expressed among friends, not in a crowd.”

  Suddenly a young man clad in the uniform of the F Company raced up on horseback. “Union warship coming up the James!” he bellowed, wheeling his horse about in the middle of the street. “All militiamen report for duty!”

  A woman shrieked. Several men broke away from the throng and raced into their homes, reappearing moments later pulling on their uniforms and grasping their weapons and kits. Lizzie gathered her family and ushered them swiftly home, but she paused on the front portico to watch in astonishment as civilians of all ages raced after the militiamen, toting weapons that seemed better suited to display nostalgically above the hearth—­rusted fowling pieces, long-­bored duck guns, antique blunderbusses, swords gone so dull that they had probably last inspired fear in Cornwallis’s men at Yorktown, pistols of every caliber and description.

  “Those decrepit weapons won’t leave so much as a mark on a warship,” said John, who had remained with her on the doorstep after seeing the others safely inside. “I bet only half of them are loaded, and the other half look like they’d be more dangerous for the wielder than his target.”

  Lizzie laughed shakily, alternately excited and terrified. If a Union gunship fired upon Richmond, it would rain down destruction on loyalists and rebels alike. “I knew the Union would deliver us eventually, but even in my wildest hopes, I didn’t think they would come so soon.” Gathering up her skirts, she turned to go inside. “I’m going up to the roof to watch.”

  Lizzie darted up the stairs to the attic and then out a back window to the rooftop, where she found most of the servants already gazing out upon the James low in the distance. At first glance she beheld nothing but the broad curving ribbon of the river sparkling silver beneath a cloudless sky—­no warship, no smoky flash of cannon, nothing.

  “What have you seen?” she queried, glancing down the row from Peter and William to Caroline, Judy, and old Uncle Nelson.

  “Nothing,” said William. “Nothing except the great multitude of Richmond, who apparently got the same idea we did.”

  When he gestured, Lizzie turned her gaze closer to home and discovered figures crowding other rooftops, peering out from church steeples, climbing Church Hill on foot, all for a better view. After nearly an hour had passed with no change in the lovely, familiar landscape, she spied John on horseback, making his way up Grace Street.

  Quickly Lizzie went back inside and downstairs to meet him, but by the time she reached the foyer, Mary had already led her husband off to the parlor. There Lizzie found her sister-­in-­law reclining on the sofa, pale and silent, while John paced and Mother knitted, unperturbed.

  “What’s the news?” she demanded, taking John’s hands in hers.

  “Governor Letcher received official intelligence that a Union sloop of war called the Pawnee has passed City Point and is steaming hard to Richmond.” John’s face was a tight mask of agitation. “Its mission is to shell the city and burn it to the ground.”

  Mary let out a low moan. “That coward,” she shrilled. “That cowardly baboon Lincoln! Sneaking down the James to attack an undefended city on a Sunday. On a Sunday!”

  “I’m sure President Lincoln is not on board,” snapped Lizzie. “It’s unfair to accuse him of sneaking.”

  “If we’re setting the facts straight, I don’t believe he’s a baboon either.” Mother set her knitting aside. “John, dear, tell us what we should do. Evacuate to the farm?”

  “I’m not leaving,” Lizzie promptly declared.

  “No, nor do I think that’s necessary at this point.” John frowned and went to the window, though there was nothing to see but the throng milling outside. “The militia have taken up positions at Rocketts Wharf, but they’re armed only with rifles and bayonets. Some fellows hauled the cannons out of the armory—­”

  “Not those magnificent bronze cannons France gave to the state of Virginia,” Lizzie broke in.

  “The very same.”

  “But those were ceremonial gifts from one government to another. They were never meant to be used in war.”

  “And they likely won’t be. The mob managed to hoist the cannons onto a wagon and hitch it up to a team of horses and mules, but as they were hauling the heavy load through the city, one of the cannons broke free, rolled down the hill toward the Custom House, and tumbled into the gutter, where as far as I know it remains.”

  Lizzie laughed, and Mary glared at her. “You would enjoy this,” she said brittlely. “You’re Union to the core. Mrs. Lodge says—­”

  They all watched her, waiting for her to continue, but she fell abruptly silent.

  “Mary,” said John levelly, “I will not have you carrying tales about Lizzie through the neighborhood.”

  Balling her hands in her lap, Mary glared up at him. “I have nothing to say to my friends about her that they haven’t already heard elsewhere or observed for themselves.”

  “Nevertheless”—­John’s voice carried an edge—“I will not have my wife gossiping about my sister. Do not embarrass me.”

  “That’s all that matters, isn’t it? That your sister is thought well of.” Mary bolted to her feet, tears in her eyes. “My parents warned me that I was marrying down when I agreed to be your wife, but they couldn’t have known how very low I would fall, that I would always come second to your precious spinster sister.”

  “I’ll be in the garden,” Lizzie said, cutting short the painful exchange, and hurried out back for a better view of the James. Shading her eyes from the sun, she walked to the foot of the garden, where she had watched the torchlight parade march past a few nights before, but the only boats she observed on the winding, silvery river were those docked at Rocketts Wharf and a rowboat carrying several especially foolhardy sightseers.

  “That Yankee gunboat ain’t comin’, Miss Lizzie.”

  Startled, Lizzie whirled about to find Nelson sitting on his heels tending the oleander, and despite everything, it occurred to her that she ought to chide him for working on his day off. “How can you be so sure?”

  “I got a nephew works on one of them pole barges.”
Stiffly, Nelson straightened with a grunt, brushed soil from his palms, and joined Lizzie at the edge of the terrace. “Spoke with him after worship, soon as we all heard the warning. I’ll tell you what he told me and you make up your own mind. City Point’s about twenty miles away, where the Appomattox meets the James. The river’s narrow and twisting, and some places the channel’s so narrow all you got to do is fell a single tree to block any ship that might want to come further. Set a few fieldpieces up on them high ridges, and hide a few marksmen on those steep bluffs, and that gunboat wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Lizzie felt faint. “Have the rebels placed any soldiers there?”

  “I surely don’t know, but the Yankees don’t either.” Nelson squinted at the distant river, shaking his head. “My nephew says with them odds, no gunboat captain would risk his ship and his crew just for the chance to shell a small city like ours, not even if he was drunk or insane.”

  As evening fell and the bewildered, disappointed, relieved citizens of Richmond abandoned their lookout posts, descended Church Hill, and returned to their homes, Lizzie stepped out onto the rooftop again and looked to the east until the sun set. She saw flickering campfires along the riverbanks down by Rocketts Wharf, where the city’s defenders had bivouacked for the night, but the Pawnee never appeared.

  A quiet night passed, and in the morning, William went out after breakfast for the papers and brought the Dispatch to Lizzie on the back piazza. A bold headline caught her eye: “The Excitement Yesterday.”

  “Shall I read to you how the Dispatch accounts for the invasion that wasn’t?” she called to Mother, who was cutting flowers in the garden and laying them carefully in a basket.

  “No need, dear,” she called back. “I was there.”

  Lizzie smiled and read on silently. “In times like these we must be prepared for any emergency, and every rumor deserves careful and considerate attention,” the article declared, but to Lizzie the affirmation read like an embarrassed apology on behalf of a city that had flown into a panic at the first sign of real danger. The city of Richmond—­and perhaps the entire state of Virginia—­was woefully unprepared for war. And so would she be if she relied upon the papers and the gossip of the streets for information, never knowing for certain what events were unfolding in her own city. She must see for herself.

  As soon as she could get away, Lizzie crossed the street to the Carrington residence and rapped upon the door. When Eliza appeared, she smiled brightly and inquired, “Shall we see if any new gunboats or vice-­presidents have come to town?”

  Soon the pair were strolling around Capitol Square, market baskets dangling from the crooks of their elbows. Watching and listening intently to the conversation and activity flowing around them, they soon learned that Vice President Stephens had arrived in Richmond before dawn that morning, that he was staying at the Exchange Hotel, and that he was at that very hour in conference with the governor and his most important advisers. They also discovered to their consternation that the Pawnee had never even set out upon the James the previous day, but had been steaming up the Chesapeake between Norfolk and Washington all the while Richmond was scrambling to prepare for its arrival. Meanwhile, residents of outlying villages had experienced their own version of the previous day’s panic, having heard that the Pawnee Indians had invaded the city and were viciously scalping and tomahawking its citizens.

  “Rumors,” Lizzie murmured in disgust. “They will be the death of me.”

  “How do such tales get started?” Eliza wondered, setting down a bunch of leeks after barely glancing at them.

  “Usually with some small grain of truth, but to discern that grain from all the others...” Lizzie lowered her voice. “We should purchase something, you know, so that people don’t begin to wonder why we’re wandering about with empty baskets.”

  Eliza purchased the leeks, while Lizzie selected a bunch of radishes, delectably red and shiny, with lush greens. They left the market and strolled around the Capitol, where there might be more to learn. They had just decided to turn toward home when a carriage pulled up in front of the elegant new Spotswood Hotel at the corner of Eighth and Main, a jubilant crowd of men and boys and even a few ladies following close behind. When a gentleman in his midfifties clad in a tall silk hat and fine suit stepped from the carriage, a smattering of applause broke out, which he politely acknowledged with a modest bow, his expression bemused. Although his hair was turning gray, his thick, full mustache was nearly black, his figure trim and strong, his bearing dignified.

  As three other gentlemen escorted the newcomer into the Spotswood, Eliza gasped and seized Lizzie’s arm. “I know him,” she exclaimed. “He’s acquainted with my uncle, and we met at the White Springs Resort last summer. That’s Mr. Lee.”

  “The colonel? Robert E. Lee?”

  “I don’t suppose he’s a colonel anymore. He resigned his commission after Virginia voted to secede. He said—­oh, what was it? It was in all the papers—­that despite his devotion to the United States, he could not bring himself to raise his hand against his family and the people of Virginia. He said that he would never again draw his sword except in defense of his native state, and then he retired to his home in Alexandria.”

  That would explain the adulation and the civilian attire. “He has come out of retirement, it seems,” Lizzie said, watching as Mr. Lee and his entourage disappeared inside.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  APRIL–JUNE 1861

  S

  oon thereafter, all of Richmond would learn that on the afternoon Lizzie and Eliza witnessed Robert E. Lee checking into the Spotswood Hotel, Governor Letcher bestowed upon him the rank of major general and offered him command of the whole of Virginia’s military and naval forces. Mr. Lee readily accepted, the state convention swiftly approved the appointment, and on the morning of April 23, he was formally inducted at the Capitol. The newspapers reported the day’s momentous events in rapturous language, and even Lizzie, dismayed though she was by his choice of allegiance, could not fail to be impressed and moved by his solemn humility: “I accept the position assigned me by your partiality,” he had said. “I would have much preferred had the choice fallen upon an abler man. Trusting in Almighty God, an approving conscience, and the aid of my fellow citizens, I devote myself to the service of my native State, in whose behalf alone will I ever again draw my sword.”

  At last Lizzie and Mary found a rare subject on which they could agree: Robert E. Lee was a brilliant choice to lead Virginia’s armed forces, his love of Virginia and his nobility of spirit were inspiring, and he would pose a formidable challenge to any Union opponent who dared face him. “I wish he were on our side,” Lizzie grumbled to John, who heartily agreed.

  Things were moving too quickly, one heart-­stopping event following another like boulders tumbling down a hillside. The day after General Lee was put in charge of Virginia’s military, Confederate vice-­president Stephens and a convention committee led by the aged former United States president John Tyler signed a treaty proclaiming that Virginia would adopt the Confederate constitution and place all its military resources under Confederate control.

  Lizzie was badly shaken when it was all said and done. She blinked back tears when the papers reported that John Minor Botts, a Unionist Whig she had long admired, had declared the signing of the treaty illegal under state law, a courageous act with so many powerful enemies arrayed against him. When his protests were summarily dismissed, Mr. Botts had withdrawn to his rural home two miles northwest of the Capitol.

  Indignant, Lizzie and her mother called on him at Elba Park to express their sympathy and enduring admiration, and they were heartened to find that despite the sudden and dramatic downturn in his political fortunes, he remained stubbornly Unionist. They spent a pleasant afternoon doing their best to raise the spirits of Mr. Botts and his wife, but as they departed, Mr. Botts kindly but firmly discouraged them from
calling on him again. “I am carefully observed, day and night,” he said, nodding across the street to a placid, round-­faced man in a gray suit who stood watching them over the top of a newspaper.

  “Was he there when we arrived?” Mother asked, watching the man from the corner of her eye.

  “Yes, and he’ll be there long after you depart, and around six o’clock, a skinny fellow with a scraggly, tobacco-­stained beard will replace him.” Mr. Botts’s thick, unruly brows knitted and his stern features softened with regret. “I’m grateful for your friendship, good ladies, but your kindness imperils you. You must not seem too fond of me, or of my unpopular opinions.”

  Lizzie and her mother bade him a sad farewell, uncertain when they might meet again. They departed for Church Hill without a single glance for the man in the gray suit studying them from across the street.

  President Jefferson Davis must have ordered troops into Virginia the moment it joined the Confederacy, for it seemed that the ink on the treaty had scarcely dried before troops from South Carolina began to arrive in great numbers, setting up encampments at strategic points throughout the city and providing entertaining distraction to its residents. The press hailed the heroes of Fort Sumter as “an invincible and heroic race of men” and “perfect gentlemen in every respect,” and indeed all who beheld them were impressed by their smart, dashing uniforms, their military ardor, and their bold, sun-­browned, manly countenances. To Lizzie’s disgust, the ladies of Richmond became thoroughly smitten, and in pairs and in crowds, they met the troops at the train station, eagerly attended every evening dress parade, and visited the camps to deliver the shirts, uniforms, and tents they had sewn, as well as tasty delicacies from their kitchens and gardens. The Dispatch praised the ladies as ministering angels who “have demonstrated their faith by their works. All honor to them,” and singled out the women of Church Hill for not only providing necessary supplies, but also for nursing soldiers who had fallen ill.