The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

“Evening, Bell,” Braham said, handing over his hat and gloves. “Is the secretary awake? I have a message from the president.”

“He’s trying to sleep, Major, but he’d want the message. Miss Fanny and Sergeant Robinson are with him in his bedroom at the top of the stairs. Go on up.”

Before ascending the stairs, Braham paused for a moment at the entrance to the drawing room. The gaslights had been turned down for the night, and the fire banked. An unusual stillness prevailed. He’d never been in the room when the secretary wasn’t sitting in his easy chair surrounded by billowing smoke from his black cigar, swirling a drop of brandy in a glass while regaling his guests with comments about the day’s events. Braham blinked and looked away, bringing himself back to his surveillance.

The scent of magnolia blooms reached him from a vase on the table next to the staircase, but it wasn’t the flowers which made his nose twitch. It was the aroma of fried chicken drifting in from the back of the house, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since midday. Tomorrow there would be plenty of time to eat.

“Bell, the streets are crowded tonight with citizens celebrating Lee’s surrender. They may find their way here to express their gratitude. Guard the door well. Don’t let anyone else in.”

“Been listening to the music, sir. If anyone comes by, I’ll send them on their way,” Bell said.

Braham pounded up the stairs, his boots striking the boards with dull thuds. His heart thumped as if he had run for miles. His hand went instinctively to the hilt of the saber clanking at his side. On the landing on the third floor, he met Frederick Seward coming out of one of the bedrooms.

“Evening, Major.” Frederick glanced back into the room before closing the door, and said quietly, “Father’s almost asleep.”

“I have a message from the president, but it can probably wait until morning. No need to disturb him.”

Fredrick, seeming ambivalent, raised his brow. He knew as well as Braham his father would want the message from Lincoln, but Frederick preferred his father’s rest not be interrupted.

Secretary Seward took the decision out of his gatekeeper’s hands, calling from the bedroom, “If it’s Major McCabe, send him in, Fredrick.”

“He doesn’t want to miss any news. You better go in.” Frederick shook his head, dark brows drawn together.

Braham hesitated before opening the door, making one last dash through his memory in hopes of deciphering the blurred time sequence, but came up blank. He stepped into the room, his eyes taking a moment to focus as they adjusted to the darkness. Here, too, the gaslights were turned low, and the bright glow from the hearth gave the room spotty, wavering illumination.

Fanny, the secretary’s precocious daughter, sat on the far side of the bed, reading. She glanced up and gave Braham a welcoming nod. He had had several enlightening conversations with her during dinner parties, and had found her to be both witty and intelligent. He couldn’t help comparing her to Charlotte. Both were educated women, conversant in a wide range of subjects. But Charlotte had something Fanny didn’t, something intangible and unidentifiable which hovered companionably in the back of his mind, tickling his subconscious and flooding him with a sense of peace. It was more than possible, once Charlotte left, he would never again feel settled in his life.

A sergeant, probably the night nurse, sat near the head of the bed, closest to the door. He stood, acknowledged Braham, and moved to the chair placed at the end of the bed, limping slightly.

“Good evening, Major. Has Secretary Stanton sent another soldier to guard my father?”

Braham tried to smile as he sat in the vacated chair, but his lips felt stiff, unbendable. “No, I bring a message from the president.”

The secretary was swathed in bandages. His shoulder was heavily padded, where the head of the humerus had fractured in the carriage accident. His face was badly bruised and his jaw was also broken. “Read me the message,” Seward whispered. The extensive metal splint he wore on his head restricted his movements and made speech difficult.

Braham opened the folded piece of paper and squinted in the dark. Fanny, sitting closest to the lamp, turned up the light, and he proceeded to read the news from Sherman.

“Excellent,” Seward said. “With Sherman occupying Raleigh, Johnston will see the futility of further resistance. This victory should lead to a meeting between the two generals in the next few days.”

Braham was far from relaxed, but forced himself to appear outwardly composed. He didn’t want to alarm the secretary or Fanny. “Johnston won’t like Sherman’s terms of surrender.”

“He’ll have no choice,” Seward said.

Raised voices outside Seward’s room alerted Braham to possible danger.

“Frederick must be chasing a rat in the hall,” Fanny said.

Braham quickly came to his feet. “I’ll see what’s going on. Stay here.” He drew his revolver, held it flat against his back, and slowly opened the door. A tall, muscular man dressed in fine leather boots, black pants, and a jacket was arguing with Bell and Seward’s son. It was Lewis Powell, and he held a small package wrapped with twine.

Braham remained still, but his muscles tightened in readiness. His finger quickly cooled against the steel of the trigger. “Is there a problem here?”

“I must see the secretary now,” the wide-eyed man said in a terse voice.

Braham couldn’t come right out and shoot the assassin, but he could guard the door and keep him from entering. “He’s asleep. Come back later.”

Powell thrust out the package. “I have orders to deliver this medicine to the secretary and instruct him on how to take it.”

“Tell me. I’ll see the medicine is properly administered,” Braham said.

Powell’s hot impatience quickly turned into the cold stillness of a predator. “That’s unacceptable.”

Braham braced himself squarely in front of the bedroom door, the revolver still hidden. If the bastard tried to gain entrance, Braham would shoot him. “Ye’re not getting in to