Alas Richmond: A Civil War Romance

By Nikki Stoddard Schofield

As the capital of the confederacy experienced its final days, Verity Stuart, a lifelong resident of Richmond, Virginia, was falling in love with an Englishman, Giles Tredwell, who was spying for the Union.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463487713

Nikki Stoddard Schofield

Nikki Lynne Stoddard Schofield, born during World War II, became seriously interested in the Civil War when she attended her first meeting of the Indianapolis Civil War Round Table and heard Alan Nolan, author of The Iron Brigade, present the program. She has remained an active member of that club of scholars ever since. Serving in various offices, Nikki has been president four times. She organized and led the annual week-long bus tour for several years. Stoddard Schofield began writing Civil War romances shortly before her retirement as law librarian at Bingham Greenbaum Doll, a large law firm in downtown Indianapolis where she worked for 37 years. Her motivation for writing her first novel was reading a bad romance novel and thinking: “I can do better.” Nikki set several criteria for her novel. Most important, the heroine and hero must be kind to each other and always together. Two common plot twists in romance novels which Nikki dislikes are the heroine and hero disliking each other at the beginning and having extensive separations. She resolved to avoid these devices in her story-telling. Being a born-again Christian, Ms. Schofield always brings Christianity into her stories. She writes about people during the Civil War such as you might meet in any era, struggling to resolve the problems they confront. At Speedway Baptist Church, Nikki serves as a deacon, adult Sunday school teacher, business meeting moderator, and assistant treasurer. She is active in the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship, affiliated with her church. As a tour guide at Crown Hill Cemetery since 1993, she has developed Civil War tours including “Treason in Indianapolis” based on her third book, Treason Afoot. Many of the characters in that novel are buried at Crown Hill. Other tours she has created are “Drama and Disaster” and “Tombstones and Trees.” One day a week, Nikki works as the staff genealogist at Crown Hill, the third largest private cemetery in the country. Stoddard-Schofield is a docent at the Indiana Medical History Museum on the grounds of the former Central State Hospital for the mentally ill. For many years, she volunteered in the Manuscripts and Rare Books Division of the Indiana State Library, creating finding aids for the collection. Nikki portrays several Civil War women for various events and meetings. Annually at Crown Hill, she tells Mary Logan’s story of General John Logan establishing Memorial Day and portrays the second wife of Frederick Douglass for Spirit of Freedom honoring the black soldiers who fought for the Union in the Civil War. Her most recent portrayal is Clara Barton, known as the Angel of the Battlefield. A member of the Buster Keaton International Fan Club, she attends the annual convention in Muskegon, Michigan, during the first week-end of October, which is close to the silent screen comedian’s birthday. Her other interests are reading, gardening, stamp collecting, old movies (especially film noir), and genealogy. Nikki is the mother of two sons, Rob and Gaven, six grandchildren (Bridget, Stephanie, Nicholas, Abigail, Gabrielle, and Lily), and five great-grandchildren (Gee, Bella, Elias, Sebastian, and Aria). Born in Michigan, she has lived most of her life in Indianapolis.

Book preview

© 2011 by Nikki Stoddard Schofield. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 08/25/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-8773-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-8772-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-8771-3 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011915084

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preview

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Resources

"Alas, alas, the great city,

Babylon, the mighty city!

For in one hour your judgment has come."

Revelation 18:10

Dedicated to my sons,

Rob and Gaven,

With love

Preview

Colonel Hale took the paper from Giles, read it, and then asked, "Who is this man, Reilly Stuart?

My wife’s first husband, Giles lied.

Just then, Verity had a coughing fit, clearly heard through the closed door.

That’s my wife. She’s very ill. I’m expecting a doctor at any moment.

What’s wrong with her? growled the military man.

Could be pneumonia, the ague, consumption. I just don’t know. She’s burning up with fever. That’s why I’m so anxious for a physician to see her.

It looks like you located the body. The Confederate officer studied the paper and read, Dueling. That’s unusual.

We thought so, too, Catesby said.

These hot-blooded young radicals, said Colonel Hale, handing the paper back to Giles, who tucked it in his pants pocket. You say you are her second husband? Giles nodded. Have you been married long?

No, said Giles, then lowered his voice and asked, Colonel Hale, may I confide in you? The officer’s stern visage softened as Giles tilted his head slightly, appearing earnest.

Do you know the story of David and Bathsheba? Giles asked, almost in a whisper.

Yes, was the whispered reply.

Well, that’s the story here. Giles noticed the other two Confederates move closer to hear. I’m David. Reilly Stuart is Uriah the Hittite, sent to his death so David could marry Bathsheba.

You instigated the duel? asked Colonel Hale as his eyes widened.

No. I have no idea what caused him to enter a duel. I only knew he was on the battlefront and she was home alone.

Verity coughed again.

Your wife is… The colonel paused.

Giles nodded and said, Yes. The same as Bathsheba. With child. He hung his head and sounded contrite when he added, Like David, I am to be blamed.

Catesby looked over at Giles and then back at the Confederates to see if they believed this lie. Apparently, the colonel did. In a whisper, the military man said, Poor woman. Take care of her. He gave a single pat to Giles’s shoulder and went down the hall. His escort followed.

Catesby and Giles waited until the sound of footsteps died before breathing sighs of relief. Clapping Giles on the back, Catesby’s deep blue eyes stared into Giles’s dark brown eyes as he said in a low tone, Good work, King David.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the readers of my first novel Bondage and Freedom, A Civil War Romance, published by Author House in 2010. They affirmed my story-telling ability to such a degree that I have ventured into writing a second novel.

Joanne Alexovich, a paralegal at Cantrell, Strenski and Merhringer, read the manuscript and made corrections.

Jeff Berty, CPA, of J. BERTY Investigative Accounting, gave valuable assistance in style and content. Because he is an attorney, accustomed to careful editing, he made hundreds of changes and corrections. Since I work for attorneys, I know how they like to revise drafts and did not accept all that Jeff suggested. However, I did consider each penciled notation. Some of the improvements to this writing are due to his recommendations.

Carla James, a legal assistant at Bingham McHale, was enthusiastic in her evaluation and caught many typographical mistakes. She checked some final revisions and approved them.

Doug Jones, whose wife Barbara is an attorney at Cantrell, Strenski and Merhringer, read the manuscript in two days and declared it a good read. Having taught writing at Indiana University Purdue University Indianapolis, Doug offered advice on the craft of writing.

Gerald Jones of Anderson, Indiana, fellow member of the Indianapolis Civil War Round Table and president of the Madison County Historical Society, provided information regarding Civil War prisons and guns.

Martha McDonald, my friend since seventh grade, served as editor and critic for this novel as well as Bondage and Freedom. She missed her calling in not working as a book editor at which she excels. I truly appreciate her advice and encouragement not only in writing this book but throughout our lives as friends. Martha took time out of her busy schedule to read Alas Richmond more than once. Although she still admonishes me for being too free with my commas, I have incorporated most of her corrections. Her advice and friendship are invaluable to me.

I am especially appreciative of Martha and Jeff meeting with me at the Indianapolis Museum of Art for lunch on July 8, 2011, and going page by page through the manuscript as we discussed possible changes.

I wish to thank a member of the Indiana Canal Society for providing information about travel on canal boats in bygone days. He is also a member of the Indianapolis Civil War Round Table, and wishes to remain anonymous.

Resources listed at the end of the novel provided facts referenced herein.

The photograph on the back cover was taken by Gary Martin on June 10, 2011, at the studio of Wilbur Tague Photography 315 West Main Street, Brownsburg, Indiana 46112.

The Civil War costume which I am wearing in the photograph was made by Mrs. Barbara Horan, a seamstress in Indianapolis, for my portrayal of Belle Boyd, the most famous Confederate spy.

The black and white picture on the front cover is an actual photograph taken after Richmond was burned in April 1865.

About the Author

Nikki Stoddard Schofield has been creatively writing since elementary school in Whitmore Lake, Michigan. Because her first novel, Bondage and Freedom, A Civil War Romance, met with much praise, she has continued her writing career.

To write Bondage and Freedom, Nikki researched guerrilla warfare in East Tennessee, and to write this current novel, she researched the fall of Richmond. She is currently working on her third novel, Treason Afoot, A Civil War Romance, about the treason trials held in her hometown of Indianapolis from September to December 1864.

Nikki’s inspiration for starting on this career of writing Civil War romances began when she was reading a genre romance that was so disappointing she said to herself: I can do better than that. With three requirements, Nikki began to write. The first requirement of the story was that the hero and heroine are always together. The second requirement is that they are always kind to each other. The third requirement is that the history is in the background not the foreground. She continues to maintain these standards.

Ms. Schofield is the mother of two sons, Rob who lives with his wife Vicki in Cincinnati, Ohio, and Gaven who lives with his wife Christine and three daughters in Mosley, Virginia, south of Richmond. She has five granddaughters, Bridget, Stephanie, Abigail, Gabrielle, and Lily; one grandson, Nicholas; one great-grandson, Gonzalo Gee (Bridget’s son); and one great-granddaughter, Isabella Bella (Stephanie’s daughter).

Since 1974, Nikki has been the director of the law library at Bingham McHale LLP, the fourth largest law firm in Indiana. When she entered phased retirement to work Monday through Thursday, she accepted a second job as Staff Genealogist at Crown Hill Cemetery on Fridays. Nikki has been a tour guide at Crown Hill, the third largest private cemetery in the country, since 1993.

A member of Speedway Baptist Church since 1990, Ms. Schofield is an ordained deacon, moderator and adult Sunday School teacher. She serves on the Coordinating Council of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship with which her church is affiliated.

Nikki served two terms as president of the Indianapolis Civil War Round Table, where she has also been the annual tour director, secretary and newsletter editor. In period costume, she has given first-person portrayals of Civil War women including Confederate spy Belle Boyd, Lincoln conspirator Mary Surratt, Mrs. Stonewall Jackson, the second Mrs. Frederick Douglass, nurse Clara Barton, and Lucinda Morton, wife of Indiana’s Civil War governor.

Chapter One

Lynchburg Depot

Monday, August 29, 1864

A sudden thunderbolt burst from an angry sky. Rain beat against the tin roof of the Lynchburg train depot. Travelers on the crowded platform huddled against the brick wall to protect themselves from the storm. Two oarsmen on the James River, down the slope from the depot, were struggling to get to shore as waves sloshed over the sides of their rowboat.

Giles Tredwell, inside the large building, loosened his silk cravat and rubbed away the trickle of perspiration under his collar. The August heat and humidity reminded him of the Roman sauna at Bath, England, which he had visited many times with his family.

Maybe it will be cooler on the platform, thought Giles, opening the door to go outside. A blast of hot wind struck him in the face. He backed against the bricks and set his tan leather bag down beside him. Two young women a few feet away were arguing. They stood facing each other on opposite sides of a pine coffin.

That’s my husband’s body! shouted Sarah Winthrop, a gaunt woman with straw-colored hair. She was standing beside her father-in-law who was bearded and glum. Hands on her hips, she was loud enough to be heard clearly over the howling storm.

No! It’s my husband! declared Verity Stuart, in a firm but calmer voice. She was standing alone, her gloved hands clutched together at her waist. It must be, she added softly.

But Giles heard her because she was near. Both women were dressed in black and wore veils, but Sarah’s was flipped back over her bonnet so her angry face was visible. Giles could not see if Verity was angry but her voice, sounding raspy, quavered on the last three words. He knew she was upset.

Look at the undertaker’s certificate, said Joseph Tompkins, the station master, carrying a crate past the end of the casket and pointing.

Mr. Winthrop slowly read aloud. Certificate of Undertaker, Lynchburg, Virginia. I hereby certify that I have embalmed this dead body for transportation so no fluids will escape from the case and no offensive odor will be detected.

What’s the name? his daughter-in-law asked.

Cain’t read it. Rain smeared the ink, Mr. Winthrop answered.

Just open the casket. Look at the face, said a one-armed man in a dirty Confederate uniform.

Manico, fetch a crowbar, Mr. Tompkins ordered as he set the crate beside the train tracks.

Manico Wrenn, the porter, did as he was told. Although a free man now, Manico had been a slave most of his twenty-five years and was accustomed to taking orders.

Giles looked west, saw no sign of the 3:00 o’clock train, and turned his attention back to the drama surrounding the coffin.

Pardon me, ma’am. Pardon, suh, said Manico, shouldering his way through the crowd.

Pry it up, ordered Mr. Tompkins, just as a flash of lightning illuminated the roiling dark sky. Verity, watching the crowbar dig into the casket lid, swayed backwards. Giles quickly moved to her side.

Is she going to collapse? He lightly touched the small of her back but quickly removed his hand when she straightened.

The roaring wind muffled the sound of creaking nails in the pine.

Mr. Winthrop snarled at Verity, I paid for his embalming. If it’s your husband, you gotta pay me back.

The lid was up. Thunder boomed. Verity jerked at the sound. Mrs. Winthrop peered over the coffin’s edge, held her handkerchief to her mouth and turned her face toward the brick wall. Her father-in-law leaned forward to see the dead body.

Will you look? Giles said to the widow beside him.

Glancing into the wooden box at the same time Mr. Winthrop did, Verity immediately fainted. As she crumpled to the platform, Giles grabbed her around the waist.

Mr. Winthrop declared, That’s Herbert! That’s my son!

Nail it up, Manico, the station master told the porter.

Giles lifted Verity into his arms and felt a stab of pain in his left shoulder which radiated down his arm.

Take her inside, someone said.

This way, said the soldier with the empty sleeve as he opened the door.

Giles carried Verity toward the entrance, but her hoop skirt ballooned up in the wind, obstructing his view. Turning around, he went through backwards. The one-armed man yanked the door shut.

Inside, Giles lowered his burden to a bench and felt the sharp pain ease. His left shoulder had a piece of shrapnel from the Battle of Winchester. It ached during rainy weather but was usually tolerable. He knew better than to lift something heavy, but he would not let this woman fall on the platform.

Poor thing, said a white-haired woman, coming to the bench. What happened to her? She began tucking the hem of Verity’s skirt around her ankles.

She fainted at the sight of a man in the coffin, Giles answered, tugging his arm from under her voluminous black silk skirt.

You a Yankee? asked the woman as she pushed down the whale bone hoops of Verity’s full skirt and made certain that her legs were covered.

No, ma’am. English, said Giles.

Using her railroad timetable to fan the still form, the woman said, English, huh? Well there’s water in the corner.

As Giles went to the water bucket, the woman called after him, You English haven’t been much help to us fightin’ this war.

The onlookers murmured agreement. The station was more crowded inside than it was on the platform. Travelers milled around. The train was expected momentarily. Elderly people sat on the few benches.

No, ma’am, we haven’t, Giles agreed with her as he took a tin dipper and filled it full.

The travelers watched the unconscious woman, the foreigner getting her water and the old woman fanning. Giles returned to the bench, knelt and lifted Verity’s lace veil.

Pretty thing, said the woman with the fan.

A whistle sounded above the noise of the wind.

Train’s here!

Finally!

About time.

Trains are always late these days.

Hurry!

Have to go! said the woman, thrusting her timetable at Giles. She rushed out the door with the others.

Giles stuffed the timetable into his jacket pocket and reached behind Verity’s head. She moaned softly and fluttered her eyes open. Tilting her head toward the dipper, he said, Here. Drink this.

Her lips parted. She drank. Her gaze focused on his face, inches away from hers. Giles saw that her eyes were brown but the whites were tinged pink.

Is that from crying or are you sick? He wondered.

W-what happened? Putting her hand under the bowl, she held the dipper away from her mouth.

You fainted. He held firmly to the dipper handle with one hand and the back of her neck with the other. Although she wore a stiff bonnet, his hand was beneath it, touching her damp hair encased in a net.

My h-husband?

No, it was not him.

Her chin trembled. Her eyes sparkled from unshed tears. Her cheeks were drained of color. She looked as pale as the dead man. But, Giles thought: She is the prettiest woman I have seen in a long time.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Giles Hensleigh Tredwell. I am from York, England.

I need to get her mind off her dead husband.

What is your name?

Verity Louisa Stuart. She took another sip of water before adding, No relation to General J.E.B. Stuart. She pronounced J.E.B. as Jeb. Giles was well aware of the famous Confederate general.

Where are you going? he asked.

My home is in Richmond. Another swallow. I’m very thirsty. She finished the warm water in the dipper.

I am traveling to Richmond. I have business there. He carried the empty dipper back to the pail. The door to the street closed. The room was deserted. They were the only two people in the large waiting room.

The train? Verity sat up straight, putting her feet on the floor, and looked around.

As if the big machine had been spoken to, it answered with a whistle, ground its wheels and chugged out of the station. The sound of the storm almost covered the noise of its departure.

It seems we must catch the next one, Giles said, coming to sit beside her. She scooted away to sit at the far end of the bench.

Verity coughed several times, covering her mouth with her fingerless lace glove.

Are you here alone? he asked.

Yes, she said, glancing at him and coughing again.

What made you think that coffin contained your husband’s body? he asked her.

The l-letter, she said. From her wrist, she pulled at the drawstrings of her small purple purse, saying, In my reticule. Taking out two pieces of paper, she looked at them. Travel pass. Letter from the army. She put the pass back in the small purse and held out the other paper to him. Giles read silently.

Mrs. Reilly E. Stuart, It is possible for you to remove your husband’s remains from the Lynchburg Depot. Please advise when you will expend the effort to do so. Major W. T. Grigsby, Commanding, 41st Battalion, Virginia Cavalry, Lynchburg.

Did you advise Major Grigsby that you would be coming to Lynchburg? Giles wanted to know.

She shook her head. I was not able to. The telegraph lines were down. She coughed. He waited. She continued, Yankees cut the wires. I came as soon as I received this. As she tucked the paper back into her handbag, another boom of thunder sounded, causing her to jump. By courier, she added.

The message does not say that his body is here, Giles said. It simply states that it can be transported from here when you advise the army that you are coming to fetch it.

Again, Verity’s chin trembled. She covered her mouth and coughed.

What am I doing here with this sick widow? I have important work to do. This is not how I planned my day to go. I should be on that train now. But I cannot desert a fellow human in need. My parents taught me better. Jesus taught me better.

Quickly, Giles said, If you will permit me, I will help you locate your husband’s body.

Would you? Her eyes were shimmering. Giles thought the tears would trickle down her cheeks at any moment. She coughed hard, with her head bent and her hand over her mouth.

Yes, Mrs. Stuart, I will, said Giles.

Joseph and Manico came inside and glanced at the couple on the bench.

Storm’s not letting up, said the station master as he went into the ticket office at the far end of the waiting room. Manico silently entered the baggage room near them.

When is the next train? Giles called after the porter.

Tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow! I will miss my appointment. Will the transaction await my delayed arrival? What if someone gets there ahead of me? Nevertheless, I cannot desert this widow. She needs my help. There appears to be no one else.

Turning to Verity, Giles asked, May I escort you to your hotel?

I don’t have a room. I just arrived today.

Where is the nearest hotel? Giles asked Manico, who was exiting the storage room with a small, dark green, wooden trunk. Although Giles had stayed at an uptown hotel the previous night, he knew it was a twenty-minute walk there, which would be even longer in this fierce wind.

Smallwood Hotel across Jefferson Street. He gestured behind them. Rooms fill up fast. Setting the trunk beside the bench, Manico added, Here’s the lady’s trunk.

My valise! exclaimed Giles, remembering it. The quinine! Quickly, he rushed outside. Looking up and down the platform, he saw no sign of his luggage. Gone! All that quinine just gone.

Coming back inside, he scowled and declared, Someone stole it!

Tan leather, wasn’t it? I saw you with it, suh, said Manico. He too went outside and looked briefly. The platform was empty.

What will the thief think when he finds twenty bottles of quinine neatly tucked away among the clothes? Giles asked himself.

Thieving is rampant, Manico said to Giles.

Rampant is not a word I would expect to hear from you, an uneducated porter, thought Giles, who looked intently at this black man standing in front of him.

I’m so sorry, Verity said. This is my fault. Because you assisted me, your traveling bag was stolen. She coughed.

Turning from Manico to the coughing woman, Giles said, No, it’s not your fault. It could have happened if I was standing right there.

Anything valuable? asked Manico.

Just clothes, Giles answered him.

My new clothes and quinine intended for Union prisoners. Can I get more quinine in Lynchburg?

Joseph Tompkins, having locked his office, called across the waiting room, Leaving, Manico. Night watchman’s here. See you tomorrow. He went out into the storm.

Will you allow me to escort you to the Smallwood where you can rest out of this weather? Giles asked Verity. Then, I will go to Major Grigsby and inquire about your husband’s body.

I would like to rest. I don’t feel well, she said.

Her statement did not surprise Giles or Manico who had listened to her coughing.

Manico handed Giles an umbrella he retrieved from the baggage room before locking it, and said, I’ll carry the lady’s trunk. You take care of her.

At the street door, Giles opened the umbrella and pressed it low to keep his hat from blowing off. He held Verity’s upper arm firmly and led her out into the storm behind the porter’s large body, providing a wind break for the couple.

Manico knew where the deep ruts were and avoided them. Nevertheless, Verity, holding up her skirt in front, trailed the back hem in the mud.

If I must let go of something, I’ll let the umbrella fly away before I let go of your arm, Giles thought. If it’s hard for me to stand in this wind, it must be harder for a little lady like you.

Verity stepped in a low spot and seemed to be sinking. Giles quickly grabbed her around the waist and held her up, but only for a moment. When he felt that she had steadied herself, he moved his hand from her waist back to her arm.

It’s just ahead, folks! Not far now! Manico shouted over his shoulder. His thin cotton shirt was soaked, outlining his muscular arms and broad chest.

Giles, too, was drenched. The lady had no shawl so her bodice was rain-soaked and her hoop skirt blew like a sail.

Into the storm, Giles shouted, How many military trains come through Lynchburg?

Manico shouted back, Ten or twelve a day! and wondered why this stranger wanted to know about military trains.

"Lynchburg’s a big supply town for Lee, isn’t it?

Before answering, the black man looked down the rain-swept street and saw figures scurrying in the distance. They were too far away to overhear. Not just Lee! All the Southern armies! His words were quickly swallowed by the wind but Giles heard them clearly. Manico had a suspicion that this gentleman, who was aiding a lady in distress, was not just a tourist from England but possibly a spy.

Stepping into the lobby of the Smallwood Hotel, Giles had trouble pulling the heavy wooden door closed with his bad arm. Manico reached around him to grab the handle and yank it shut. The three people crossed the musty-smelling lobby, past the parlor on the right and the dining room on the left, to the registration desk where a teenager sat on a high stool.

Good afternoon. Welcome, the boy said, smiling at the wet arrivals. Hello, Manico.

Hello, Francis. These folks need a room, the porter said.

Frank! I’ve told you, Manico. My name is Frank, said the fifteen-year-old, retrieving a brass key from a hook behind him and slapping it on the desk. Room three.

Verity moved away from the two men as Giles opened his jacket to get his billfold. Manico saw the gun holster the Englishman wore under his coat but thought it nothing unusual. This was war time and a man needed to carry a weapon.

Just as Giles was unfolding his leather wallet, he glanced at Verity gripping the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes closed. She swayed. Is she going to faint again? Quickly, Giles pulled out twenty dollars which he knew was the going rate and his calling card. Dropping them on the opened guest book, he snatched up the key, saying: Please sign for me. She’s ill. I need to get her upstairs.

In the next moment, he was escorting Mrs. Stuart up the narrow stairs with Manico following.

The boy called, We only serve breakfast from seven to nine. No other meals. Then he picked up the money and put it away, before taking the pen and card. Carefully, on the page titled, Monday, August 29, 1864, he wrote: Mr. and Mrs. Giles Hensleigh Tredwell, York, England, paid $20.

The stairwell smells mustier than the lobby. Maybe it’s the rain that brings out the odor, thought Giles. Unlocking the door, he said to Verity, You need to remove your wet clothes right away. Change into something dry. I’ll go to the Confederate camp and inquire for Major Grigsby.

Giles went in the room first to determine if it was safe for her to enter. By the gray light from the single window, he saw the usual hotel room furniture, narrow double bed, bureau, washstand with basin and pitcher, one straight chair and a dressing screen. He motioned for her to come past him as he held the door open. Manico followed Verity and placed the trunk on the floor in front of the bureau.

Turning to Verity, who was holding the top bar of the brass footboard, Giles asked, Do you need anything before I go?

No, thank you, she said, swaying slightly.

If you are going to faint, at least you have a bed to fall on here.

I’ll return as soon as I can, he said, setting the room key on the bureau and closing the door.

Verity nodded and coughed hard. As soon as the door closed, she knelt down to unlace her high-top shoes. As soon as they were off, she tried to stand but felt dizzy and grabbed the bedpost. Reaching under her skirt, she untied her hoop skirt and let it drop to the floor. Stumbling to the bed, she collapsed. The springs squeaked. With slow tired motions, she removed her gloves, bonnet, net and pins in her hair.

This pillow is not very soft, not as plump as my feather-filled one at home. That was her last thought before she was sound asleep.

Manico, waiting for Giles in the hall, asked if he could help. The men agreed that Manico would buy new clothes and a bag for Giles, since he was going to the Confederate camp in search of the widow’s dead husband and stores might be closed when he returned. The Englishman gave Manico money for the purchases and two dollars for his services. The porter gave Giles directions to the camp.

Although it was late afternoon, the dark shelf of clouds made it seem like dusk. Lightning brightened his way. Giles took Jefferson Street west until it dead-ended into Washington Street where he saw a field of white tents flapping in the wind. Although the camp was not hard to locate, Major Grigsby was. After asking five soldiers, at five stops, Giles finally came to a larger tent that had a wet flag wrapped around the pole by the entrance. He entered and saw a young soldier sitting behind a fold-up table. After exchanging introductions, Giles explained his mission to Alfred Dunn, aide-de-camp to Major Grigsby.

The Major is away, I’m afraid. I don’t know anything about deceased men. I just started this job last week. Father got it for me because Mother didn’t want me in the infantry. Oh, I apologize. I’m rambling. His voice reminded Giles of a girl.

Where is Major Grigsby? He shook out the umbrella and leaned it against the unsteady desk.

Yankees were spotted about ten miles west. He led a detachment. I don’t know what they can do in this rain. Can I offer you something? A towel? The young man began searching a crate in the corner of the tent and found a linen square which he handed to Giles.

Who keeps records of the dead? Giles asked as he took off his hat and wiped moisture from his face and hair.

Doctors, I suppose. Hospitals. We have many military hospitals in Lynchburg, I’m sorry to say.

Giles listened as Alfred gave directions to the nearest medical facilities and then asked permission to wait in the tent until the rain let up. In truth, he had another motive for wanting to remain.

These soldiers look as cold and wet as Wellington’s men at Waterloo, said Giles, peeking through a crack in the canvas opening as he dried his hands on the linen.

You’re English, aren’t you? I knew it. The private answered his own question. I’ve studied the Battle of Waterloo. No, no, we don’t have as many as the Duke of Wellington. What was that?

Giles answered casually, Seventy thousand on each side. Armies were about equal.

Seventy thousand! exclaimed Alfred. Oh, my, no, we don’t have that many!

No? asked Giles, handing back the towel.

No. No, only about five thousand right now. Just here in Lynchburg, I mean. Of course, men are arriving all the time, new recruits and such. But men are leaving, too. He quickly added, I don’t mean deserting.

Giles did not need to hear more. He had gotten the information he wanted. Thanking the young man, he opened his umbrella to brave the storm again.

Do you think Queen Victoria will declare for our side? asked Alfred.

I’m sure I do not know the mind of that woman, replied Giles, smiling pleasantly.

Where can I reach you if we have news of Private Stuart?

Smallwood Hotel, answered Giles, pushing the umbrella in front of him as he exited.

At a sutler’s wagon parked on the edge of the camp, Giles waited for two soldiers ahead of him who were buying whiskey. Giles purchased slices of ham, a chunk of cheese, hard biscuits, two bottles of ginger beer and two red apples covered with brown spots. Although he disliked paying the high prices charged by these merchants who conducted business among soldiers, today he appreciated the convenience. This would be dinner to share with Mrs. Stuart tonight. It would save having to take her out again in this weather.

Walking back to the Smallwood, he pondered what he would say to the grieving widow alone in room three. The thunder and lightning had stopped but the rain was a steady downpour. Giles was wet through. He was hungry. He was tired. His shoulder ached.

I want nothing more than a dry bed and something to eat. That’s not asking too much, is it, Lord? But I must not forget that lovely young damsel, awaiting my return in the dungeon tower of the Smallwood Hotel.

Giles smiled at his own thoughts as he recalled the childhood stories his father had read to him and his siblings about King Arthur and brave knights aiding damsels in distress. He and his older brother Corson played knights and Vikings, while his sisters Bernadette and Florentine were Irish princesses or Welsh ladies. Whether their games were historically correct did not matter. They were fun. He missed his family.

I must write them. They need to know my new location. I doubt that letters to a lieutenant in the U.S. Army will be forwarded to the capital of the Confederacy. Not unless they are carried by a spy. A spy like me.

In stepping over a puddle, he sank in soft mud and moaned. When he lifted his foot out of the mud, he walked through a second puddle. It could not be helped.

How did I get in this mess? I should not be here. I should be inside that warm, dry train heading east. What was I thinking to volunteer my services to that woman? I’m not Sir Galahad.

Giles opened the front door of the Smallwood, and the man at the front desk called, No vacancy!

The Englishman replied, My name is Giles Tredwell.

Mr. Tredwell, I’m so sorry. My apologies. Frank signed you in. I’m his father, Edgar Johns, owner. Short in stature, he liked sitting on the high stool behind the registration desk.

Giles smiled at the innkeeper and closed his umbrella.

Terrible weather, isn’t it? But you’re probably accustomed to this. I heard England is a rainy country. Edgar reached behind him for a package and travel bag.

We have sunshine, too, Giles said as he crossed the lobby.

Here’s what Manico got for you. He said your bag was stolen at the depot. Terrible. Just terrible. A body isn’t safe anywhere.

Thank you, said Giles, taking the large paper-wrapped bundle and a dark brown leather valise.

Handsome luggage, said the innkeeper.

Giles nodded in agreement as he turned the bag from side to side.

Two men, both staggering, passed so close behind Giles that he could smell the liquor. They stumbled upstairs.

Frank said your wife is ill. Oh, here’s change from the purchases and your card Frank copied. Edgar set the bills