Orry strove to introduce himself pleasantly and stated his hope for a good working relationship. The provost wasn't interested.
"I know your boss is a friend of Davis, but so am I. We'll get along all right if you follow two rules: don't get in my way and don't question my authority."
Less friendly, Orry said, "I believe the secretary also has rules, General. In matters that affect the army in any way, I am instructed to make sure proper procedure is fol —"
"Hell with procedure. This is war. There are enemies all over Richmond." Eyes like those of some ancient turtle fixed on Orry. "In uniform and out. I shall uproot them and not care a damn about procedure. I'm busy. You're dismissed."
"Your servant, General." He saluted, but Winder had already bent over a file and didn't acknowledge it. Red-faced, Orry stalked out.
Work had emptied the department offices of everyone except a few clerks, Jones among them. Orry described his meeting, and Jones sneered. "Typical behavior. There isn't a man in the government I detest more. You'll soon feel the same way."
"Damned if I don't already."
Jones sniggered and returned to writing in some kind of journal. Sometime later, Orry saw Jones return the book to a lower desk drawer with a surreptitious look around. Does he keep a diary? Better watch what I say in front of that fellow.
Still reacting to Winder, he felt in need of a drink when the day ended and he started home through the December dark. He stopped at a rowdy, cheerful place called Mrs. Muller's Lager Beer Saloon. With a schooner in front of him, he leafed through the Examiner, which was once again excoriating the Davis administration, this time for the state of the South's rail system. The paper denounced it as incapable of moving large numbers of troops between the east and the Kentucky-Tennessee theater.
The complaint was not an unfamiliar one. Orry knew the South's rolling stock was old and many sections of rail worn out — and there was no manufactory in the South capable of replacing either. It was Cooper Main's decade-old warning about the inadequacy of Southern industry coming true. Davis's journalistic foes were now saying it might doom the war.
He finished his beer and with a touch of guilt called for another. He wanted to forget the work Benjamin had given him. Here he was, a trained soldier, assigned to spy on another soldier. He supposed he had accepted the possibility of rotten duty when he took the commission. There was nothing to be done except carry out orders.
The longer he stayed at the crowded bar, the more depressed he became. He overheard conversations full of gloom and invective. Davis was a "damned dictator," Judah Benjamin a "pet of the tyrant," the war "fool's business." No doubt many of these same men had cheered the news of the bombardment of Sumter, Orry thought as he left.
A more positive air pervaded the Saturday-night dinner party at the home of Navy Secretary Stephen Mallory. A Floridian born of Yankee parents, Mallory had the good luck — or the misfortune, depending on how you looked at it — to head a department that Jefferson Davis ignored almost completely. The secretary quickly made his strong views known to his guest.
"I never regarded secession as anything but a synonym for revolution. But now that we're fighting, I intend to extend myself and my department to beat the enemy, not win his approval or his recognition of our right to exist as a nation. On that and many other matters, the Chief Executive and I differ. Another julep, Colonel?"
Orry's head was already whirling from the first one and from the glitter of the gathering. The brightest jewel was Mallory's Spanish wife, Angela, a gracious and gorgeous woman. She praised Cooper — she kept track of navy matters — and introduced Orry to her little girls before bundling them away to bed.
During the superb meal there was much toasting of the Confederacy, and especially, its imprisoned representatives, Mason and Slidell, both favorites of the archsecessionist faction. So was Benjamin, Orry discovered after some table conversation. Orry admired the sleek little man's aplomb but wondered about the sincerity of his convictions; he struck Orry as more of a survivor than a zealot. Still, the secretary brought wit and jollity to the gathering. The table was so amply supplied with fine food and drink and china and crystal that Orry had trouble remembering it was wartime. For a very short while he even forgot how much he missed Madeline.
As the party broke up, Benjamin invited him to come along to one of his favorite haunts: "Johnny Worsham's. I like to go against his faro bank. Johnny runs a fine place. A man can find the sporting crowd there and test himself against lady luck, but he can also be sure of discretion about his presence and an honest deal."
Benjamin said he liked a vigorous stroll in the night air, and Orry didn't object. The secretary sent his driver ahead to Worsham's; Orry had come to Mallory's in a hack. They set out and were just passing the Spotswood when they encountered some noisy people leaving another party. Someone accidentally bumped Orry.
"Ashton!"
Because he was startled, his exclamation sounded friendlier than it might have otherwise. His sister clung to the arm of her porcine husband and gave him a smile with all the warmth of a January freeze. "Dear Orry! I heard you were in town — married, too. Is Madeline here?"
"No, but she'll join me soon."
"How splendid you look in your uniform." Ashton's smile for the secretary was noticeably warmer. "Is he working for you, Judah?"
"I am happy to say he is."
"How fortunate you are. Orry, my dear, we must take supper when all of us can find time. James and I are positively dizzy with the social whirl. Some weeks we scarcely have five minutes to ourselves."
"Quite right," Huntoon said. His glasses steamed in the cold; the two words were his contribution to the conversation. Ashton waved and flirted with her eyes at Benjamin as her husband helped her into their carriage.
"Attractive young woman," Benjamin murmured as they moved on. "I was charmed the moment we met. It's pleasant for you to have a sister in Richmond."
No point hiding what would eventually be public knowledge. "We are not on good terms, I'm afraid."
"Pity," said Benjamin, with a smile of condolence that was small, perfect, and hollow. I am sailing with a master navigator of the political seas, Orry thought. He knew he would never hear from Ashton about supper. That suited him perfectly.
"Ashton?"
"No."
Turning away from his hand and his pleading whine, she moved her pillow to the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible. She puffed the pillow and buried her left cheek in it. Just as delicious thoughts of Powell stole into her head, he bothered her again.
"Quite a surprise, seeing your brother."
"An unpleasant one."
"Do you really plan for the three of us to dine together?"
"After he banished me from the home where I was raised?" A contemptuous monosyllable answered the question. "I wish you'd be quiet. I'm worn out."
Worn out with him, anyway. Of Powell she could never get enough — not enough of his skilled lovemaking or his decidedly unconventional personality, which she was beginning to discover and appreciate.
Ashton saw Powell at least once a week, twice if Huntoon's schedule worked in her favor. The assignations took place on Church Hill. Although there was still risk in going to his front doorstep, she preferred it to sneaking in through the back garden. In fact, she rather liked the danger of arriving on Franklin Street in the daylight; once inside, she was completely safe, which wouldn't have been true at some tawdry rooming house.