CHAPTER VII
THE COTTAGE IN THE SIDE STREET
Prescott rose the next morning with an uneasy weight upon his mind--thethought of the prisoner whom he had taken the night before. He wasunable to imagine how a woman of her manner and presence had everventured upon such an enterprise, and he contrasted her--with poorresults for the unknown--with Helen Harley, who was to him thepersonification of all that was delicate and feminine.
After the influence of her eyes, her beauty and her voice was gone, hisold belief that she was really the spy and had stolen the papersreturned. She had made a fool of him by that pathetic appeal to hismercy and by a simulated appearance of truth. Now in the cold air of themorning he felt a deep chagrin. But the deed was past and could not beundone, and seeking to dismiss it from his mind he went to breakfast.
His mother, as he had expected, asked him nothing about his late absencethe night before, but spoke of the reception to General Morgan and thegolden haze that it cast over Richmond.
"Have you noticed, Robert," she asked, "that we see complete victory forthe South again? I ask you once more how many men did General Morganbring with him?"
"I don't know exactly, mother. Ten, perhaps."
"And they say that General Grant will have a hundred thousand newtroops."
Prescott laughed.
"At that rate, mother," he replied, "the ten will have to whip thehundred thousand, which is a heavier proportion than the old one, of oneSouthern gentleman to five Yankees. But, seriously, a war is not won bymere mathematics. It is courage, enthusiasm and enterprise that count."
She did not answer, but poured him another cup of coffee. Prescott readher thoughts with ease. He knew that though hers had been a Southernhusband and hers were a Southern son and a Southern home, her heart wasloyal to the North, and to the cause that she considered the cause ofthe whole Union and of civilization.
"Mother," he said, the breakfast being finished, "I've found it pleasanthere with you and in Richmond, but I'm afraid I can't stay much longer.My shoulder is almost cured now."
He swung his arm back and forth to show how well it was.
"But isn't there some pain yet?" she asked.
Prescott smiled a little. He saw the pathos in the question, but heshook his head.
"No, mother," he replied, "there is no pain. I don't mean to besententious, but this is the death-grapple that is coming. They willneed me and every one out there."
He waved his hand toward the north and his mother hid a little sigh.
Prescott remained at home all the morning, but in the afternoon he wentto Winthrop's newspaper office, having a direct question in mind.
"Has anything more been heard of the stolen papers?" he asked ofWinthrop.
"So far as I can learn, nothing," replied the editor; "but it'saltogether likely that whoever took them has been unable to escape fromthe city. Besides, I understand that these plans were not final and thematter may not be so serious after all."
It seemed to Prescott in a moment of cold reason that the affair mightwell end now, but his desire would not have it so. He was seized with awish to know more about that house and the woman in it. Who was she, whywas she here, and what would be her fate?
The afternoon passed slowly, and when the night was advanced he set outupon his errand, resolved that he would not do it, and yet knowing thathe would.
The little house was as silent and dark as ever, doors and shutterstightly closed. He watched it more than an hour and saw no sign of life.She must have gone from the city, he thought, and so concluding, he wasabout to turn away, when a hand was laid lightly upon his arm. It wasthe woman in brown, and the look upon her face was not all of surprise.It occurred suddenly to Prescott that she had expected him, and hewondered why. But his first question was rough.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Nothing that I wish," she replied, the faintest trace of humour showingin her tone; "much that I do not wish. The reproof that your voiceconveys is unwarranted. I have tried again to leave Richmond, but Icannot get past the outer lines of defenses. I am the involuntary guestof the rebel capital."
"Hardly that," replied Prescott, still somewhat roughly. He did notrelish her jaunty tone, although he was much relieved to know that shecould not escape. "You came uninvited, and you have no right to complainbecause you cannot leave when you wish."
"I see that I am in the presence of a sincere rebel patriot," she saidwith irony, "and I did not know before that the words 'rebel' and'patriot' could go together so easily."
"I think that I should surrender you to the authorities," said Prescott.
"But you will not," she said with conviction. "Your conscience wouldreproach you too much."
Prescott was silent, uncertain what to say or to do. The woman annoyedhim, and yet he did not conceal from himself that the slight protectingfeeling, born of the fact that she was a woman and, it seemed, helpless,remained in his mind.
"Are you alone in that house?" he asked, still speaking curtly andpointing toward the wooden cottage.
"No," she replied.
Prescott looked at her inquiringly. He thought that he detected thefaintest twinkle in her eyes. Could it be that a woman in such aposition was laughing at the man who had helped her? He felt his facegrow red.
"You wish to know who is there?" she said.
"I do not wish to know anything of the kind."
"You do, and I shall tell you. It is merely a woman, an old maid,perhaps as friendless as myself, Miss Charlotte Grayson. I need not addthat she is a woman of right mind and sympathies."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She wishes to see the quick end of this hateful rebellion. Oh, I tellyou there are many who think as she does, born and bred within thelimits of this Confederacy. They are far more numerous than you rebelssuspect."
She spoke with sudden fire and energy, and Prescott noticed again thatabrupt stiffening of the figure. He saw, too, another curiouseffect--her eyes suddenly turned from dark-blue to black, an invariablechange when she was moved by a passion.
"It is always safe for a woman to abuse a man," replied Prescott calmly.
"I am not attacking you, but the cause you serve--a hateful cause. Howcan honest men fight for it?" she said.
Prescott heard footsteps in the main street--it was not many yards fromthere to the point in the little side street where he stood--and heshrank back in the shadow of the fence.
"You do not wish to be seen with me," she said.
"Naturally," replied Prescott. "I might have to answer inquiries aboutyou, and I do not wish to compromise myself."
"Nor me?" she said.
"Perhaps it is too late for that," replied Prescott.
Her face flushed scarlet, and again he saw that sudden change of theeyes from dark-blue to threatening black. It occurred to him then thatshe was handsome in a singular, challenging way.
"Why do you insult me?" she asked.
"I was not aware that I had done so," he replied coolly. "Your pursuitsare of such a singular nature that I merely made some slight commentthereon."
She changed again and under drooping eyelids gave him that old imploringlook, like the appeal of a child for protection.
"I am ungrateful," she said, "and I give your words a meaning that youdo not intend. But I am here at this moment because I was just returningfrom another vain attempt to escape from the city--not for myself, Itell you again, and not with any papers belonging to your Government,but for the sake of another. Listen, there are soldiers passing."
It was the tread of a company going by and Prescott shrank still fartherback into the shadow. He felt for the moment a chill in his bones, andhe imagined what must be the dread of a traitor on the eve of detection.What would his comrades say of him if they caught him here? As the womancame close to him and put her hand upon his arm, he was conscious againof the singular thrill that shot through him whenever she touched him.She affected him as no other woman had ever done--nor di
d he knowwhether it was like or dislike. There was an uncanny fascination abouther that attracted him, even though he endeavoured to shake it off.
The tread of the company grew louder, but the night was otherwise still.The moon silvered the soldiers as they passed, and Prescott distinctlysaw their features as he hid there in the dark like a spy, fearing to beseen. Then he grew angry with himself and he shook the woman's hand fromhis arm; it had rested as lightly as dew.
"I think that you had better go back to Miss Charlotte Grayson, whoevershe may be," he said.
"But one cannot stay there forever."
"That does not concern me. Why should it? Am I to care for the safety ofthose who are fighting me?"
"But do you stop to think what you are fighting for?" She put her handon his arm, and her eyes were glowing as she asked the question. "Doyou ever stop to think what you are fighting for, the wrong that you doby fighting and the greater wrong that you will do if you succeed, whicha just God will not let happen?"
She spoke with such vehement energy that Prescott was startled. He waswell enough accustomed to controversy about the right or wrong of thewar, but not under such circumstances as these.
"Madam," he said, "we soldiers don't stop in the middle of a battle toargue this question, and you can hardly expect me to do so now."
She did not reply, but the fire still lingered in her eyes. The companypassed, their tread echoed down the street, then died away.
"You are safe now," she said, with the old touch of irony in her voice;"they will not find you here with me, so why do you linger?"
"It may be because you are a woman," replied Prescott, "that I overlookthe fact of your being a secret and disguised enemy of my people. I wishto see you safely back in the house there with your friends."
"Good-night," she said abruptly, and she slid away from him withsoundless tread. He had noticed her noiseless walk before, and itheightened the effect of weird mystery.
She passed to the rear of the house, disappearing within, and Prescottwent away. When he came back in a half-hour he noticed a light shiningthrough one window of the little house, and it seemed more natural tohim, as if its tenant, Miss Charlotte Grayson, had no reason to hide herown existence. Prescott was not fond of secrecy--his whole nature wasopen, and with a singular sense of relief he turned away for the secondtime, going to Winthrop's office, where he hoped to find more congenialfriends.
Raymond, as he expected, was there with his brother editor, and so wasWood, the big cavalryman, who regarded Robert for a moment with an eyecoldly critical. Raymond and Winthrop, who stood by, knew the cause, butWood quickly relaxed and greeted with warmth the addition to the party.Others came in, and soon a dozen men who knew and liked each other wellwere gathered about the stove, talking in the old friendly Southern wayand exchanging opinions with calm certainty on all recondite subjects.
After awhile Winthrop, who passed near the window on some errand,exclaimed:
"Gentlemen, behold Richmond in her bridal veil."
They looked out and saw the city, streets and roofs alike, sheeted ingleaming white. The snow which had come down so softly spoke only ofpeace and quietness.
"It's battle smoke, not a bridal veil, that Richmond must look for now,"said Wood, "an' it's a pity."
There was a touch of sentiment in his voice, and Prescott looked at himwith approval. As for himself, he was thinking at that moment of anunknown woman in a brown, wooden cottage. With the city snowed-in shemight find the vigilance of the sentinels relaxed, but a flight throughthe frozen wilderness would be impossible for her. He was angry athimself again for feeling concern when he should be relieved that shecould not escape; but, after, all she was a woman.
"Why so grave, Prescott?" asked Raymond. "A heavy snow like this is allin our favour, since we stand on the defensive; it makes it moredifficult for the Yankee army to move."
"I was thinking of something else," replied Prescott truthfully. "I amgoing home now," he added. "Good-night."
As he passed out into the street the snow was still falling, sooncovering his cap and military cloak, and clothing him, like the city, ina robe of white.
Raymond had said truthfully that a deep snow was to the advantage of theSouth, but as for himself, he resolved that on the next day he wouldinvestigate the identity of Miss Charlotte Grayson.
Prescott knew to whom it was best to turn for information in regard tothe mysterious Charlotte Grayson, and in the doing so it was notnecessary for him to leave his own home. His mother was likely to knoweverybody at all conspicuous in Richmond, as under her peaceful exteriorshe concealed a shrewd and inquiring mind.
"Mother," he said to her the next day as they sat before the fire, "didyou ever hear of any lady named Miss Charlotte Grayson?"
She was knitting for the soldiers at the front, but she let the needlesdrop with a faint click into her lap.
"Grayson, Charlotte Grayson?" she said. "Is that the name of a newsweetheart of yours, Robert?"
"No, mother," replied he with a laugh; "it is the name of somebody whomI have never seen so far as I know, and of whom I never heard until aday or two ago."
"I recall the woman of whom you speak," she said, "an old maid withoutany relatives or any friends in particular. She was a seamstress herebefore the war. It was said that she went North at its outbreak, and asshe was a Northern sympathizer it would seem likely; but she was a goodseamstress; she made me a mantle once and I never saw a better inRichmond."
She waited for her son to offer an explanation of his interest in thewhilom seamstress, but as he did not do so she asked no questions,though regarding him covertly.
He rose and, going to the window, looked out at the deep and all butuntrodden snow.
"Richmond is in white, mother," he said, "and it will postpone thecampaign which all Southern women dread."
"I know," she replied; "but the battle must come sooner or later, and asnow in Richmond means more coal and wood to buy. Do you ever think,Robert, what such questions as these, so simple in peace, mean now toRichmond?"
"I did not for the moment, mother," he replied, his face clouding, "butI should have thought of it. You mean that coal and wood are scarce andmoney still scarcer?"
She bowed her head, for it was a very solemn truth she had spoken. Thecoil of steel with which the North had belted in the South was beginningto press tighter and tighter during that memorable winter. At everySouthern port the Northern fleets were on guard, and the blockaderunners slipped past at longer and longer intervals. It was the same onland; everywhere the armies of the North closed in, and besides fire andsword, starvation now threatened the Confederacy.
There was not much news from the field to dispel the gloom in the South.The great battle of Chickamauga had been won not long before, but it wasa barren victory. There were no more Fredericksburgs norChancellorsvilles to rejoice over. Gettysburg had come; the genius ofLee himself had failed; Jackson was dead and no one had arisen to takehis place.
There were hardships now more to be feared than mere battles. The menmight look forward to death in action, and not know what would become ofthe women and children. The price of bread was steadily rising, and thevalue of Confederate money was going down with equal steadiness.
The soldiers in the field often walked barefoot through the snow, and insummer they ate the green corn in the fields, glad to get even solittle; but they were not sure that those left behind would have asmuch. They were conscious, too, that the North, the sluggish North,which had been so long in putting forth its full strength, was nowpreparing for an effort far greater than any that had gone before. Theincompetent generals, the tricksters and the sluggards were gone, andbattle-tried armies led by real generals were coming in numbers thatwould not be denied.
At such a time as this, when the cloud had no fragment of a silverlining, the spirit of the South glowed with its brightest fire--aspectacle sometimes to be seen even though a cause be wrong.
"Mother," said Prescott, and there was a touc
h of defiance in his tone,"do you not know that the threat of cold and hunger, the fear that thosewhom we love are about to suffer as much as ourselves, will only nerveus to greater efforts?"
"I know," she replied, but he did not hear her sigh.
He felt that his stay in Richmond was now shortening fast, but there wasyet one affair on his mind to which he must attend, and he went forthfor a beginning. His further inquiries, made with caution in thevicinity, disclosed the fact that Miss Charlotte Grayson, the occupantof the wooden cottage, and the Miss Charlotte Grayson whom his motherhad in mind, were the same. But he could discover little else concerningher or her manner of life, save an almost positive assurance that shehad not left Richmond either at the beginning of the war nor since. Shehad been seen in the streets, rarely speaking to any one, and at themarkets making a few scanty purchases and preserving the same silence,ascribed, it was said, to the probable belief on her part that she wouldbe persecuted because of her known Northern sympathies. Had any one beenseen with her? No; she lived all alone in the little house.
Such were the limits of the knowledge achieved by Prescott, and for lackof another course he chose the direct way and knocked at the door of thelittle house, being compelled to repeat his summons twice before it wasanswered. Then the door was opened slightly; but with a soldier'sboldness he pushed in and confronted a thin, elderly woman, who did notinvite him to be seated.
Prescott took in the room and its occupant with a single glance, and thetwo seemed to him to be of a piece. The former--and he knewinstinctively that it was Miss Grayson--was meager of visage and figure,with high cheek bones, thin curls flat down on her temples, and a blackdress worn and old. The room exhibited the same age and scantiness, thesame aspect of cold poverty, with its patched carpet and the slenderfire smouldering on the hearth.
She stood before him, confronting him with a manner in which boldnessand timidity seemed to be struggling with about equal success. There wasa flush of anger on her cheeks, but her lips were trembling.
"I am speaking to Miss Grayson?" said Prescott.
"You are, sir," she replied, "but I do not know you, and I do not knowwhy you have pushed yourself into my house."
"My name is Prescott, Robert Prescott, and I am a captain in theConfederate Army, as you may see by my uniform."
He noticed that the trembling of her lip increased and she lookedfearfully at him; but the red flush of anger on her cheek deepened, too.The chief impression that she made on Prescott was pathetic, standingthere in her poverty of dress and room, and he hastened to add:
"But I am here on my own private business; I have not come to annoy you.I merely want to inquire of a woman, a lodger of yours."
"I have no lodgers," she replied; "I am alone."
"I don't think I can be mistaken," said Prescott; "she told me that shewas staying in this house."
"And may I ask the name of this lady who knows more about my own housethan I do?" asked Miss Grayson with unconcealed sarcasm.
Prescott saw that her courage was now getting the better of hertimidity. He hesitated and felt his cheeks redden.
"I do not know," he was forced to reply.
Miss Grayson's gaze became steady and triumphant.
"Does it not then occur to you, Captain Prescott, that you areproceeding upon a very slender basis when you doubt my word?"
"It is hardly that, Miss Grayson," he replied. "I thought--perhaps--thatit might be an evasion, pardonable when it is made for a friend whom onethinks in danger."
His eye roamed around the room again and it caught sight of somethingdisclosed to him for the first time by the sudden increase of theflickering blaze on the hearth. A flash of triumph appeared in his eyeand his boldness and certainty returned to him.
"Miss Grayson," he said, "it is true that I do not know the name of thelady of whom I speak, but I have some proof of her presence here."
Miss Grayson started and her lips began to tremble again.
"I do not know what you mean," she said.
"I ask for the wearer of this," said Prescott, taking a long brown cloakfrom the chair on which it lay and holding it up before Miss Grayson'seyes.
"Then you ask for me," she replied bravely; "the cloak is mine."
"I have seen it several times before," said Prescott, "and it was alwaysworn by some one else."
He looked significantly at her and he saw again the nervous trembling ofthe lip, but her eye did not quail. This woman, with her strangemingling of timidity and courage, would certainly protect the unknown ifshe could.
"The cloak is mine," she repeated. "It is a question of veracity betweenyou and me, and are you prepared to say that you alone tell the truth?"
Prescott hesitated, not fancying this oblique method of attack, but athird person relieved them both from present embarrassment. A door to aninner apartment opened, and the woman in brown--but not in brownnow--came into the room.
"You need not conceal my presence any longer, Charlotte," said thenewcomer impressively. "I thank you, but I am sure that we need noprotection from Captain Prescott."
"If you think so, Lucia," replied Miss Grayson, and Prescott distinctlyheard her sigh of relief--a sigh that he could have echoed, as he hadbegun to feel as if he were acting not as a gentleman, but as apersecutor of a poor old maid. The girl--Lucia was her first name, hehad learned that much--confronted him, and certainly there was no fearin her gaze. Prescott saw, too, at the first glance, that she wastransformed. She was dressed in simple white, and a red rose, glowing bycontrast against its whiteness, nestled in her throat. He rememberedafterward a faint feeling of curiosity that in the dead of winter sheshould be wearing such a rose. Her eyes, black when she was angry, werenow a deep, liquid blue, and the faint firelight drew gleams of red orgold, he knew not which, from her hair; the hair itself looked dark.
But it was her presence, her indefinable presence that pervaded theroom. The thin little old maid was quite lost in it, and involuntarilyPrescott found himself bowing as if to a great lady.
"I have meant no harm by coming here," he said; "the secrets of thishouse are safe as far as I am concerned. I merely came to inquire afteryour welfare. Miss--Miss----"
He stopped and looked inquiringly at her. A faint smile curved thecorners of her mouth, and she replied:
"Catherwood; I am Miss Lucia Catherwood, but for the present I havenothing more to say."
"Catherwood, Lucia Catherwood," repeated Prescott. "It is a beautifulname, like----"
And then, breaking off abruptly, warned by a sudden lightning glancefrom her eyes, he walked to the window and pointed to the white worldoutside.
"I came to tell you, Miss Catherwood," he said, "that the snow lies deepon the ground--you know that already--but what I wish to make clear isthe impossibility of your present escape from Richmond. Even if youpassed the defenses you would almost certainly perish in the frozenwilderness."
"It is as I told you, Lucia," said Miss Grayson; "you must not think ofleaving. My house is your house, and all that is here is yours."
"I know that, Charlotte," replied Miss Catherwood, "but I cannot takethe bread from your mouth nor can I bring new dangers upon you."
She spoke the last words in a low tone, but Prescott heard hernevertheless. What a situation, he thought; and he, a Confederatesoldier, was a party to it! Here in the dim little room were two womenof another belief, almost another land, and around them lay the hostilecity. He felt a thrill of pity; once more he believed her claim that shedid not take the papers; and he tapped uneasily on the window pane witha long forefinger.
"Miss Catherwood," he said hesitatingly--that he should address her andnot Miss Grayson seemed entirely proper--"I scarcely know why I am here,but I wish to repeat that I did not come with any bad intent. I am aConfederate soldier, but the Confederacy is not yet so far reduced thatit needs to war on women."
Yet he knew as he spoke that he had believed her a spy and his full dutydemanded that he deliver her to his Government; but perha
ps there was adifference between one's duty and one's full duty.
"I merely wished to know that you were safe here," he continued, "andnow I shall go."
"We thank you for your forbearance, Captain Prescott," said the elderwoman, but the younger said nothing, and Prescott waited a moment,hoping that she would do so. Still she did not speak, and as she movedtoward the door she did not offer her hand.
"She has no thanks for me, after all that I have done," thoughtPrescott, and there was a little flame of anger in his heart. Why shouldhe trouble himself about her?
"Ladies," he said, with an embarrassed air, "you will pardon me if Iopen the door an inch or two and look out before I go. You understandwhy."
"Oh, certainly," replied Miss Catherwood, and again that faint smilelurked for a moment in the corners of her mouth. "We are Pariahs, and itwould ill suit the fair fame of Captain Prescott to be seen coming fromthis house."
"You are of the North and I of the South and that is all," saidPrescott, and, bowing, he left, forgetting in his annoyance to take thatprecautionary look before opening wide the door.
But the little street was empty and he walked thoughtfully back to hismother's house.