Secret Service

  CHAPTER VII

  WILFRED WRITES A LETTER

  Half an hour is a short or a long time, depending upon the individualmood or the exigencies of the moment. It was a short half hour toCaptain Thorne--to continue to give him the name by which he wascommonly known--out in the moonlight and the rose garden with EdithVarney. It was short to him because he loved her and because he realisedthat in that brief space must be packed experience enough to last himinto the long future, it might be into the eternal future!

  It was short to Edith Varney, in part at least for the same reason, butit was shorter to him than to her, for at the end of that period theguilt or innocence of the man she loved and who loved her would beestablished beyond peradventure; either he was the brave, devoted,self-sacrificing Confederate soldier she thought him, or he was a spy;and since he came of a Virginia family, although West Virginia hadseparated from the Old Dominion, she coupled the word spy with that oftraitor. Either or both would be enough to condemn him. Fighting againstsuspicion, she would fain have postponed the moment of revelation, ofdecision, therefore too quickly passed the flying moments.

  It was a short half hour to Thorne, because he might see her no more. Itwas a short half hour again to Edith because she might see him no more,and it might be possible that she could not even allow herself to dreamupon him in his absence in the future. The recollection of the womanwould ever be sweet and sacred to the man, but it might be necessary forthe woman to blot out utterly the remembrance of the man.

  It was a short half hour to young Wilfred in his own room, waitingimpatiently for old Martha to bring him the altered uniform, over whichCaroline was busily working in the large old-fashioned kitchen. She hadchosen that odd haven of refuge because there she was the least likelyto be interrupted and could pursue her task without fear of observationby any other eyes than those of old Martha. The household had beenreduced to its smallest limit and the younger maids who were stillretained in the establishment had been summarily dismissed to theirquarters for the night by the old mammy.

  Now that Wilfred had taken the plunge, his impatience to go was at feverheat. He could not wait, he felt, for another moment. He had spent someof his half hour in composing a letter with great care. It was a shortletter and therefore was soon finished, and he was now pacing up anddown his room with uneasy steps waiting for old Martha's welcome voice.

  It was a long half hour for little Caroline Mitford, busily sewing awayin the kitchen. It seemed to her that she was taking forever to turn upthe bottoms of the trouser legs and make a "hem" on each, as sheexpressed it. She was not very skilful at such rough needlework and hereyes were not so very clear as she played at tailoring. This is noreflection upon their natural clarity and brightness, but they werequite often dimmed with tears, which once or twice brimmed over anddropped upon the coarse fabric of the garment upon which she worked. Shehad known the man who had worn them last, he had been a friend of hers,and she knew the boy who was going to wear them next.

  If she could translate the emotions of her girlish heart, the new wearerwas more than a friend. Was the same fate awaiting the latter that theformer had met?

  The half hour was very long to Jonas, the old butler, trembling withfright, suffering from his rough usage and terror-stricken withanticipation of the further punishment that awaited him.

  The half hour was longest of all to Mrs. Varney. After her visit toHoward, who had enjoyed one of his lucid moments and who seemed to be alittle better, she had come down to the drawing-room, at Mr.Arrelsford's suggestion, to see that no one from the house who mighthave observed, or divined, or learned, in any way what was going onwithin should go out into the garden and disturb the young couple, orgive an alarm to the man who was the object of so much interest andsuspicion, so much love and hatred.

  About the only people who took no note of the time were the busysempstresses in the room across the hall, and the first sign of lifecame from that room. Miss Kittridge, who appeared to have beenconstituted the messenger of the workers, came out of the room, wentdown the hall to the back of the house, and presently entered thedrawing-room, by the far door.

  "Well," she began, seeing Mrs. Varney, "we have just sent off anotherbatch of bandages."

  "Did the same man come for them?" asked the mistress of the house.

  "No, they sent another one."

  "Did you have much?"

  "Yes, quite a lot. We have all been at the bandages, they say that thatis what they need most. So long as we have any linen left we will workat it." She turned to go away, but something in the elder woman's faceand manner awakened a slight suspicion in her mind. She stopped, turned,and came back. "You look troubled, Mrs. Varney," she began. "Do you wantanything?"

  "No, nothing, thank you."

  "Is there anything I can do or anything any of us can do?"

  "Not a thing, my dear," answered Mrs. Varney, trying to smile andfailing dismally.

  "Is it Howard?" persisted the other, anxious to be of service.

  "He seems to be a little better," returned the woman.

  "I am glad to hear it, and if there is anything any of us could do foryou, you would certainly tell me."

  The elder woman nodded and Miss Kittridge turned decisively away andstepped briskly toward the door. On second thought, there was somethingshe could do, reflected Mrs. Varney, and so she rose, stepped to thedoor in turn, and called her back.

  "Perhaps it would be just as well," she said, "if any of the ladies wantto go to let them out the other way. You can open the door into the backhall. We're expecting some one here on important business, you know, andwe----"

  "I understand," said Miss Kittridge.

  "And you will see to this?"

  "Certainly; trust me."

  "Thank you."

  Mrs. Varney turned with a little sigh of relief and went back to herplace by the table, where her work basket sat near to hand. No woman inRichmond was without a work basket with work in it for any length oftime during those days. The needle was second only to the bayonet in thesupport of the dying Confederacy! She glanced at it, but, sure evidenceof the tremendous strain under which she laboured, she made no motion totake it up. Instead, after a moment of reflection, she crossed to thewall and pulled the bell rope. In a short time, considering her bulk andunwieldiness, old Martha appeared at the far door.

  "Did you ring, ma'am?" she asked.

  "Yes," was the answer. "Has Miss Caroline gone yet?"

  "No, ma'am," answered Martha, smilingly displaying a glorious set ofwhite teeth. "She's been out in de kitchen fo' a w'ile."

  "In the kitchen?"

  "Yas'm. Ah took her out dere. She didn't want to be seed by no one."

  "And what is she doing there?"

  "She's been mostly sewin' an' behabin' mighty strange about sumfin agret deal ob de time. She's a-snifflin' an' a-weepin', but Ah beliebshe's gittin' ready to gwine home now."

  "Very well," said Mrs. Varney, "will you please ask her to come in herea moment before she goes."

  "Yas'm, 'deed Ah will," said old Martha, turning and going out of thedoor through which, presently, Caroline herself appeared.

  She looked very demure and the air of innocence, partly natural butlargely assumed, well became her although it did not deceive Mrs. Varneyfor a moment, or would not have deceived her if she had had any specialinterest in Caroline's actions or emotions. The greater strain underwhich she laboured made the girl of small moment; she would simply useher, that was all.

  "Caroline, dear," she began immediately, "are you in a great hurry to gohome?"

  "No, ma'am, not particularly, especially if I can do anything for youhere," answered the girl readily, somewhat surprised.

  "It happens that you can," said Mrs. Varney; "if you can stay here a fewminutes while I go upstairs to Howard it will be a great help to me."

  "You want me just to wait here, is that it?" asked the girl, somewhatmystified.

  Why on ear
th anybody should be required to wait in a vacant room wassomething which Caroline could not understand, but Mrs. Varney's nextwords sought to explain it.

  "I don't want you merely to wait here but--well, in fact, I don't wantanybody to go out on the veranda, or into the garden, from the front ofthe house, under any circumstances."

  Caroline's eyes opened in great amazement. She did not in the leastunderstand what it was all about until Mrs. Varney explained further.

  "You see Edith's there with----"

  "Oh, yes," laughed the girl, at last, as she thought, comprehending,"you want them to be left alone. I know how that is, whenever I am--whensome--that is of course I will see to it," she ended rather lamely andin great confusion.

  "Just a few minutes, dear," said Mrs. Varney, smiling faintly at thegirl's blushing cheeks and not thinking it worth while to correct themisapprehension, "I won't be long." She stepped across the room, butturned in the doorway for her final injunction, "Do be careful, won'tyou?"

  "Careful!" said Caroline to herself, "I should think I would be careful.As if I didn't know enough for that. I can guess what is going on outthere in the moonlight. I wouldn't have them disturbed for the world.Why, if I were out there with--with--Wil--with anybody, I wouldn't----"

  She stopped in great dismay at her own admissions and stood staringtoward the front windows, over which Mrs. Varney had most carefullydrawn the heavy hangings.

  Presently her curiosity got the better of her sense of propriety. Shewent to the nearest window, pulled the curtains apart a little, andpeered eagerly out. She saw nothing, nothing but the trees in themoonlight, that is; Edith and Captain Thorne were not within view norwere they within earshot. She turned to the other window. Now that shehad made the plunge, she determined to see what was going on if shecould. She drew the couch up before the window and knelt down upon it,and parting the curtains, looked out, but with the same results asbefore. In this questionable position she was unfortunately caught byWilfred Varney.

  He was dressed in the grey jacket and the trousers which she hadrepaired. She had not made a skilful job of her tailoring but it wouldserve. The whole suit was worn, ill-fitting, and soiled; but it waswhole. That was more than could be said of ninety-nine per cent. of theuniforms commonly seen round about Richmond. Measured by these, Wilfredwas sumptuously, even luxuriously, dressed, and the pride expressed inhis port and bearing was as complete as it was naive. He walked softlyup the long room, intending to surprise the girl, but boy-like, hestumbled over a stool on his way forward, and the young lady turnedabout quickly and confronted him with an exclamation. Wilfred came closeto her and spoke in a low, fierce whisper.

  "Mother isn't anywhere about, is she?"

  "No," said Caroline in the same tone, "she's just gone upstairs to seeHoward, but she is coming back in a few minutes, she said."

  "Well," returned Wilfred, throwing his chest out impressively, "I am notrunning away from her, but if she saw me with these on she might feelfunny."

  "I don't think," returned Caroline quickly, "that she would feel veryfunny."

  "Well, you know what I mean," said Wilfred, flushing a little. "You knowhow it is with a fellow's mother."

  Caroline nodded gravely.

  "Yes, I have learned how it is with mothers," she said, thinking of themothers she had known since the war began, young though she was.

  "Other people don't care," said Wilfred, "but mothers are different."

  "Some other people don't care," answered Caroline softly, fighting hardto keep back a rush of tears.

  In spite of herself her eyes would focus themselves upon that littleround blood-stained hole in the left breast of the jacket. She had notrealised before how straight that bullet had gone to the heart of theother wearer. There was something terribly ominous about it. But Wilfredblundered blindly on, unconscious of this emotion or of its cause. Hedrew from the pocket in his blouse a paper. He sat down at the table,beckoning Caroline as he did so. The girl came closer and looked overhis shoulder as he unfolded the paper.

  "I have written that letter," he said, "to the General, my father, thatis. Here it is. I have got to send it to him in some way. It is allwritten but the last words and I am not sure about them. I'm not goingto say 'your loving son' or anything of that kind. This is a man'sletter, a soldier's letter. I love him, of course, but this is not thetime or the place to put that sort of a thing in. I have been tellinghim----" He happened to glance up as he spoke and discovered to hisgreat surprise that Caroline had turned away from him and was no longerlooking at him. "Why, what's the matter?" he exclaimed.

  "Nothing, nothing," answered the girl, forcing herself to face him oncemore.

  "I thought you wanted to help me," he continued.

  "Oh, yes! I do, I do."

  "Well, you can't help me way off there," said Wilfred. "Come closer."

  He spoke like a soldier already, thought the girl, but she meekly, forher, obeyed the imperious command. He stared at her, as yet unconsciousbut strangely agitated nevertheless. The silence was soon insupportable,and Caroline herself broke it.

  "The--the----" she pointed at the trousers, "are they how you wantedthem?"

  "Fine," replied Wilfred; "they are just perfect. There isn't a girl inRichmond who could have done them better. Now about the letter. I wantyour advice on it; what do you think?"

  "Tell me what you said."

  "You want to hear it?" asked Wilfred.

  "I've got to, haven't I? How could I help you if I didn't know what itwas all about?"

  "You're a pretty good girl, Caroline. You will help me, won't you?"

  Her hand rested on the table as she bent over him, and he laid his ownhand upon it and squeezed it warmly, too warmly thought Caroline, as sheslowly drew it away and was sorry she did it the moment she had done so.

  "Yes, I will help you," she said. "But about the letter? You will haveto hurry. I am sure your mother will be here in a short time."

  "Well, that letter is mighty important, you know. Everything dependsupon it, much more than on mother's letter, I am sure."

  "I should think so," said the girl.

  She drew a chair up to the table and sat down by the side of the boy.

  "I am just going to give it to him strong," said Wilfred.

  "That's the way to give it to him," said Caroline. "He's a soldier andhe's accustomed to such things."

  "You can't fool much with father. He means business," said Wilfred; "buthe will find that I mean business, too."

  "That's right," assented Caroline sapiently, "everybody has got to meanbusiness now. What did you say to him?"

  "I said this," answered the youngster, reading slowly and with greatpride, "'General Ransom Varney, Commanding Division, Army of NorthernVirginia, Dear Papa'----"

  "I wouldn't say 'dear papa' to a General," interrupted Carolinedecisively.

  "No? What would you say?"

  "I would say 'Sir,' of course; that is much more businesslike andsoldiers are always so awfully abrupt."

  "You are right," said the boy, beginning again, "'General Ransom Varney,Commanding Division, Army of Northern Virginia, Sir'--that sounds fine,doesn't it?"

  "Splendid," said the girl, "go on."

  "'This is to notify you that I want you to let me join the Army rightnow. If you don't, I will enlist anyway, that's all. The seventeen callis out and I am not going to wait for the sixteen. Do you think I am adamned coward'----"

  Wilfred paused and looked apprehensively at Caroline, who nodded witheyes sparkling brightly.

  "That's fine," she said.

  "I thought it sounded like a soldier."

  "It does; you ought to have heard the Third Virginia swear----"

  "Oh," said Wilfred, who did not quite relish that experience; but hewent on after a little pause. "'Tom Kittridge has gone; he was killedyesterday at Cold Harbor. Billie Fisher has gone and so has CousinStephen. He is not sixteen, he lied about his age, but I don't want todo that unless you make me. I will, though, if yo
u do. Answer this rightnow or not at all.'"

  "I think that is the finest letter I have ever heard," said Carolineproudly, as Wilfred stopped, laid the paper down, and stared at her.

  "Do you really think so?"

  "It is the best letter I----"

  "I am glad you are pleased with it. Now the next thing is how to endit."

  "Why, just end it."

  "But how?"

  "Sign your name, of course."

  "Nothing else?"

  "What else is there?"

  "Just Wilfred?"

  "No, Wilfred Varney."

  "That's the thing." He took up a pen from the table and scrawled hisname at the bottom of this interesting and historical document. "And youthink the rest of it will do?"

  "I should think it would," she assented heartily. "I wish your fatherhad it now."

  "So do I," said Wilfred. "Maybe it will take two or three days to get itto him and I just can't wait that long."

  Caroline rose to her feet suddenly under the stimulus of a bright ideathat came into her mind.

  "I tell you what we can do."

  "What?"

  "We can telegraph him," she exclaimed.

  "Good idea," cried Wilfred, more and more impressed with Caroline'swonderful resourcefulness, but a disquieting thought immediately struckhim. "Where am I going to get the money?" he asked dubiously.

  "It won't take very much."

  "It won't? Do you know what they are charging now? Over seven dollars aword only to Petersburg."

  "Well, let them charge it," said Caroline calmly, "we can cut it down toonly a few words and the address won't cost anything."

  "Won't it?"

  "No, they never charge for that," continued the girl. "That's a heap ofmoney saved, and then we can use what we save on the address for therest."

  Wilfred stared at her as if this problem in economics was not quiteclear to his youthful brain, but she gave him no time to question heringenious calculations.

  "What comes after the address?" she asked in her most businesslikemanner.

  "'Sir.'"

  "Leave that out."

  Wilfred swept his pen through it.

  "He knows it already," said Caroline. "What's next?"

  "'This is to notify you that I want you to let me come right now.'"

  "We could leave out that last 'to,'" said Caroline.

  Wilfred checked it off, and then read, "'I want you--let me come rightnow.' That doesn't sound right, and anyway it is such a little word."

  "Yes, but it costs seven dollars just the same as a big word," observedCaroline.

  "But it doesn't sound right without it," argued the boy; "we have got toleave it in. What comes after that?"

  Caroline in turn took up the note and read,

  "'If you don't, I'll come anyhow, that's all.'"

  "You might leave out 'that's all,'" said Wilfred.

  "No, don't leave that out. It's very important. It doesn't seem to be soimportant, but it is. It shows--well--it shows that that's all there isabout it. That one thing might convince him."

  "Yes, but we've got to leave out something."

  "Not that, though. Perhaps there is something else. 'The seventeen callis out'--that's got to stay."

  "Yes," said Wilfred.

  "'The sixteen comes next.' That's just got to stay."

  "Of course. Now, what follows?"

  "'I'm not going to wait for it,'" read Caroline.

  "We can't cut that out," said Wilfred; "we don't seem to be making muchprogress, do we?"

  "Well, we will find something in a moment. 'Do you think I am'----" shehesitated a moment, "'a damned coward,'" she read with a deliciousthrill at her rash, vicarious wickedness.

  Wilfred regarded her dubiously. He felt as an author does when he seeshis pet periods marked out by the blue pencil of the ruthless editor.

  "You might leave that out," he began, cutting valiantly at his mostcherished and admired phrase.

  "No," protested Caroline vehemently, "certainly not! That is the bestthing in the whole letter."

  "That 'damn' is going to cost us seven dollars, you know."

  "It is worth it," said Caroline, "it is the best thing you have written.Your father is a General in the army, he'll understand that kind oflanguage. What's next? I know there's something now."

  "'Tom Kittridge has gone. He was killed yesterday at Cold Harbor.'"

  "Leave out that about"--she caught her breath, and her eyes fixedthemselves once more on that little round hole in the breast of hisjacket--"about his being killed."

  "But he was killed and so was Johnny Sheldon--I have his uniform, youknow."

  "I know he was, but you don't have to tell your father," said Caroline,choking up, "you don't have to telegraph him the news, do you?"

  "No, of course not, but----"

  "That's all there is to the letter except the end."

  "Why, that leaves it just the same except the part about----"

  "Yes," said Caroline in despair, "and after all the work we have done."

  "Let's try it again," said Wilfred.

  "No," said Caroline, "there is no use. Everything else has got to stay."

  "Well, then we can't telegraph it. It would cost hundreds of dollars."

  "Yes, we can telegraph it," said Caroline determinedly, "you give it tome. I'll get it sent."

  "But how are you going to send it?" asked Wilfred, extending the letter.

  "Never you mind," answered the girl.

  "See here!" the boy cried. "I am not going to have you spend your money,and----"

  "There's no danger of that, I haven't any to spend." She took the letterfrom his hand. "I reckon Douglass Foray'll send it for me. He's in thetelegraph office and he'll do most anything for me."

  "No," said Wilfred sternly.

  "What's the reason he won't?" asked the girl.

  "Because he won't."

  "What do you care so long as he sends it?"

  "Well, I do care and that's enough. I'm not going to have you makingeyes at Dug Foray on my account."

  "Oh, well," said the girl, blushing. "Of course if you feel that wayabout it, I----"

  "That's the way I feel all right. But you won't give up the idea ofhelping me, will you, because I--feel like that?"

  "No," answered Caroline softly, "I'll help you all I can--about thatletter, do you mean?"

  "Yes, about that letter and about other things, too."

  "Give it to me," said the girl, "I will go over it again."

  She sat down at the desk, and as she scanned it, Wilfred watched heranxiously. To them Mrs. Varney entered. She had an open letter in onehand and a cap and belt in the other. She stopped in the doorway andmotioned for some one in the hall to follow her, and an orderly enteredthe room. His uniform was covered with dust, his sunburned, grim facewas covered with sweat and dust also. He stood in the doorway with theease of a veteran soldier, that is without the painful effort to beprecise or formal which marks the young aspirant for military honours.

  "Wilfred," said Mrs. Varney, quickly approaching him, "here is a letterfrom your father." She extended the paper. "He sent it by his orderly."

  Wilfred stepped closer to the elder woman while Caroline slowly rosefrom her chair, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Varney.

  "What does he say, mother?" asked Wilfred.

  "He says----" answered his mother with measured quietness, andcontrolling herself with the greatest difficulty, "he tells methat--that you--are----" in spite of her tremendous effort, her voicefailed her. "Read it yourself, my boy," she whispered pitifully.

  The letter was evidently exceedingly brief. A moment put Wilfred inpossession of its contents. His mother stood with head averted. Carolinestared with trembling lips, a pale face, and a heaving bosom. It was tothe orderly that Wilfred addressed himself.

  "I am to go back with you?"

  "General's orders, sir," answered the soldier, saluting, "to enter theservice. God knows we need everybody now."

 
"When do we start?" asked Wilfred eagerly, his face flushing as herealised that his fondest desire was now to be gratified.

  "As soon as you are ready, sir. I am waiting."

  "I am ready now," said Wilfred. He turned to his mother. "You won'tmind, mother," he said, his own lips trembling a little for the firsttime at the sight of her grief.

  Mrs. Varney shook her head. She stepped nearer to him, smoothed the hairback from his forehead, and stretched out her arms to him as if she fainwould embrace him, but she controlled herself and handed him the cap andbelt.

  "Your brother," she said slowly, "seems to be a little better. He wantsyou to take his cap and belt. I told him your father had sent for you,and I knew you would wish to go to the front at once."

  Wilfred took the belt from her trembling hands, and buckled it abouthim. His mother handed him the cap.

  "Howard says he can get another belt when he wants it, and you are tohave his blankets, too. I will go and get them."

  She turned and left the room. She was nearly at the end of her resistingpower, and but for the welcome diversion incident to her departure, shecould not have controlled herself longer. The last one! One taken, onetrembling, and now Wilfred!

  The boy entered into none of the emotions of his mother. He clapped thecap on his head and threw it back.

  "Fits me just as if it were made for me," he said, settling the capfirmly in place. "Orderly, I will be with you in a jiffy."

  Caroline stood still near the table, her eyes on the floor.

  "We won't have to send it now, will we?" he pointed to the letter.

  Caroline, with a long, deep sigh, shook her head, and slowly handed theletter to him. Wilfred took it mechanically, his eyes fixed on the girl,who had suddenly grown very white of face, trembly of lip, and teary ofeye-lashes.

  "You are very good," he said, tearing the letter into pieces, "to helpme like you did."

  "It was nothing," whispered the girl.

  "You can help me again, if you want to."

  Caroline lifted her eyes to his face, and he saw within their depthsthat which encouraged him.

  "I can fight twice as well, if----"

  Poor little Caroline couldn't trust herself to speak. She nodded throughher tears.

  "Good-bye," said Wilfred, "you will write to me about helping me tofight twice as well, won't you. You know what I mean?"

  Caroline nodded again.

  "I wouldn't mind if you telegraphed me that you would."

  What might have happened further will never be determined, for at thisjuncture Mrs. Varney came back with an old faded blanket tied in a roll.She handed it to the boy without speaking. Wilfred threw it over hisshoulder, and kissed his mother hurriedly.

  "You won't mind much, will you, mother. I will soon be back. Orderly!"he cried.

  "Sir."

  "I am ready," said Wilfred.

  He threw one long, meaning look at Caroline, and followed the soldierout of the door and across the hall. The opening and closing of anoutside door was heard, and then all was still. Mrs. Varney held herhand to her heart, and long, shuddering breaths came from her. He mightsoon be back, but how. She knew all about the famous injunction of theSpartan woman, "With your shield or on it," but somehow she had had noidea of the full significance until it came to her last boy, and for amoment she was forgetful of poor, little Caroline until she saw the girlwavering toward the door, and there was no disguise about the real tearsin her eyes now.

  "Are you going, dear?" asked Mrs. Varney, forcing herself to speak.

  Caroline nodded her head as before.

  "Oh, yes," continued the older woman, "your party, you have to bethere."

  At that the girl found voice, and without looking back she murmured,"There won't be any party to-night."