Chapter 18
Eighteen
Kate slides the cut-throat razor through my damp hair, neatening the layers and shingling the nape. When she’s finished, she smooths my waves with a bit of whale oil pomade, combs everything into place, then plants a kiss on my forehead. “There, sweetling. Have a look.”
I eye my reflection in the mirror and decide there isn’t much my lover can’t do.
I no longer look like a ragamuffin, but a polished young gentleman.
Though the cut is fetching, emphasizing my high cheekbones and pointed chin, I miss having long hair.
As a girl, it was one of my few vanities and, along with my eyes, the only mark of beauty I inherited from my mother.
The day I arrived at City Jail, a guard pushed me into a chair, gathered my thick chestnut locks in his hands, and sawed through them as if he were threshing hay.
I was “deloused” with harsh, lye soap that made my sensitive skin burn, then given a scratchy gray woolen gown.
My bombazine mourning dress, which I’d worn only three times, was taken out to the prison yard, added to a heap of clothing, and burned.
There was no room for vanity at City Jail.
I shove aside my bleak memories, lower the mirror, and smile at Kate. “It looks wonderful.”
“Well. You resemble a boy, as much as you can.” She takes my chin in her hand, turning my head from side to side as she studies her work.
Later that evening, Kate dresses as Varina and then helps me bind my breasts with lengths of muslin.
I don one of her Alexander Mayhew suits that we’ve altered to fit my petite frame, and she drips belladonna into my eyes to disguise their color.
We decide that if anyone asks who I am, she’ll tell them I’m her nephew, visiting from the countryside.
As the sun sets, we row downriver to Mount Pleasant in silence, passing the stand of trees where I once made camp.
I think once more of the pouch of jewelry and coin I buried beneath the roots of the sycamore tree but say nothing of it to Kate.
I’m anxious about tonight. Afraid. But I’m excited to prove myself to her and use my skills again, all the same.
Mount Pleasant, removed as it is from the panic in Charleston, could be our salvation.
The wealthiest members of Charleston society live in the city proper, but there’s money to be had in Mount Pleasant, too.
The party is at a raised Palladian home nearly the size of the Gibbes mansion.
I recognize a few faces, but not nearly as many people as at the Kincaid party—something that helps me relax into my role a bit more.
As I prowl through the reception hall, looking for easy marks while Kate sings, I tune my ears to the gossip around me.
I learn Arabella’s funeral is to be held on Monday in a small, intimate ceremony at Saint Mary’s.
There will be no wake. The Meades have drawn the curtains and are refusing callers.
As I eavesdrop, I pilfer a diamond bracelet, three liberty heads, and two silver dollars within the first hour.
By the end of the night, my pockets are obscenely heavy with jewels and coin, and I’ve learned that while there have been no more murders since Arabella, the killer is still on the loose, the Calhouns have canceled their spring ball, and some of the most illustrious among the chivalry are planning to summer in Mount Pleasant, where it’s safe.
Back at Angel’s Rest, I empty my pockets. Twenty dollars in coins and a ransom’s worth of jewelry. I smile at Kate, biting my lip. “I told you I was good,” I say proudly.
“You are. And so am I. I received another commission—a party next week near Fort Moultrie. Say you’ll come with me?”
“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” I say. “From what I heard tonight, Mount Pleasant will be quite the social hive come summer.”
“Yes. There’s a rumor the ‘vampire’ can’t cross water.” Kate laughs. “Whether that’s true or not, I’m anticipating many more opportunities for commissions.”
I clutch a handful of jewelry. “And many more opportunities to steal. Perhaps we can use some of this to help Ruby and Noah. Or others like them. Help them buy passage north. Have you heard of the Underground Railroad?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“My father . . . he told me about it. It’s a network of safe houses, mostly owned by free Negroes, but some are white abolitionists.
They call themselves agents. They help enslaved people escape to the North, on hidden trails, river crossings, and such.
It’s very secretive, but Papa told me the Gullah Geechee know about it and they’re a part of it. ”
“I can pawn some of this,” Kate says, sorting through our quarry. “Take the money to the Gullah elders, to distribute how they see fit. And we’ll save the rest.” A gleam shines in Kate’s eyes. “I have big dreams for the future. For our future.”
“You do?” I say, with a teasing smile.
“Indeed, my delectable little crumpet.”
I tilt my chin up, and she kisses me ravenously, then takes me to bed, where she makes love to me the whole night through. We’re now partners in every sense of the word. Bound by our secrets. Bound by our contempt for the chivalry. Bound by our forbidden love.
But as I drift off to sleep, satiated and heavy-limbed in Kate’s arms, I can’t help but think about the bloodthirsty killer still prowling the streets of Charleston—a killer everyone now believes to be me—and that our bliss is on borrowed time.
As we prepare for the next party, Kate’s mood is somber. “There will be officers from Moultrie at the party tonight,” she says. “Do your best to fade into the shadows, Lil. Don’t take any foolish chances.”
Officers. I immediately think of William, and a pit of dread lodges in my belly.
Last I knew, he was garrisoned at Sumter, not Moultrie, but the two forts are close enough together that anything is possible.
What would I do if I saw him? Hide my identity, like I hid from Dr. Broadbent at Barbara Kincaid’s party?
Little good that did me. Broadbent saw right through my disguise.
If I encounter William, surely he will, too.
But all the same, the thrill of stealing—the rush it gives me—is too undeniable to avoid.
I have very little agency in my new life, and taking this risk is worth it, to prove that my life still has purpose and meaning.
Not only do I feel the need to earn my keep, but the thought that we could use some of the chivalry’s stolen wealth to help those in need—people like Ruby and Noah—feels a lot like justice, underscored with spite.
The planter aristocracy turned their backs on us.
Ruined my family financially. Only the Quakers, a smattering of Jewish merchants’ wives, and a handful of sympathetic friends would trade with my father after his secret identity as L.
M. Pilco was revealed, thanks to that scoundrel Leroy Burrows and his lurid journalism.
That evening, we row out again at sunset.
Spring has come in full bloom to the marshes.
Loons cry from the spartina, which ripples like an undulating, green ocean as our skiff parts the waters.
The air is fresh with tender promise. We haven’t seen Ruby or her father for more than a week.
As I scan the horizon from the bow, I wonder where they’ve gone. Wherever they are, I pray they’re safe.
The steam ferry from the city is making port at Haddrell’s Point when we arrive. Well-dressed ladies and several men in uniform disembark on the quay. I instinctively duck my head as we pass the dock site.
“Some of our guests tonight, I’d imagine,” Kate says. “This is a big party, Lil. A proper ball. There’ll be an orchestra coming later. We’ll stay until the reception is over, and then we’ll head home. I don’t want to linger.”
The mansion is large and imposing, its entry gate guarded by two grand palmettos, the gardens beyond lit with oil lamps.
I follow Kate inside, where the butler takes her card, then ushers us into a receiving room.
I hang back as she greets the lady of the house—a tall woman with a regal bearing, who looks vaguely familiar.
Kate introduces me as her cousin from Greensboro, and the lady—Mrs. Henrietta Cole—gives me a tight, dismissive smile.
It’s not until Kate begins performing in the front hall that I recall why our hostess is familiar to me.
She’s William’s maternal aunt and the widow of the naval captain who recruited William into the Citadel.
He’ll be here tonight. I’m certain of it.
A social event of this magnitude would demand his attendance.
My skin prickles with anticipatory dread as I move among the guests.
The belladonna in my eyes makes them sensitive to the blaze of lights inside the mansion.
The wall sconces bloom like overblown roses.
As a result, I blink constantly, my eyes watering.
Still, I manage to steal a pocket watch within my first half hour .
. . and an emerald bracelet off one unsuspecting lady’s wrist. Though I’m tempted by the glittering necklines all around me, I check my ambition. All will be for nothing if I’m caught.