1862

Valerie laughed. “Once again, who said anything about a husband? Regardless, we shall ensure that the next time you take a man to bed with you, you are well prepared and knowledgeable. You will have to learn at almost thirty years of age what most Frenchwomen know at fifteen. I was taught by a friend of mine at that age. She was very helpful. I learned from her how to both give and receive pleasure.”

She? Rebecca was astonished. “Valerie, you're not one of those women who prefer women, are you?”

“Of course not, although I admit to having tried it a couple of times. I vastly prefer men, even the inferior ones. I was talking about imparting knowledge through specific experiences. Surely you're not afraid of a little knowledge, are you?”

Rebecca laughed and blushed. “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, isn't it?”

Valerie laughed and the two women headed back to the French embassy, where they would have tea. She was intrigued and delighted that Rebecca hadn't rejected her suggestion. Poor little Rebecca Devon was growing up. This, she decided, could be very interesting. Their mutual love of art would be a begi

Perhaps, Valerie thought, working with paints and charcoal would be a conduit to liberating the passionate creature Valerie thought lurked beneath Rebecca's exterior. If nothing else, it would be an interesting adventure.

As Nathan Hunter entered his darkened bedroom, he noticed a bulge behind one of the drapes. He forced himself to act normal while keeping an eye on where it looked like an intruder might be hiding. He thought about leaving the room but he was alone in the house. General Scott was visiting friends with Sergeant Fromm and it was Bridget's night off. No, he would stay and surprise the person by becoming the aggressor.

Nathan carefully laid his dress gloves on the bed and moved to rest his cane against a dresser. As he did, he pushed a release and the bottom of the cane dropped off. In the same motion, he quickly wheeled and jabbed the short sword into the bulge.

“Jaysus Christ that hurts!” a man's voice howled, and a body fell in front of him. Nathan planted his foot on the man's chest and placed the sword, really a modified bayonet, against the intruder's throat. The man's shirt was sliced at his belly, but there was only a little blood. Nathan had intended to shock, not kill.

“Just lie there,” Nathan said angrily. “Move and I'll run this through your throat till it sticks into the floor. You're not dying, not even hurt. I barely broke the skin. Do you understand me?” “Marvelously well, kind sir, and I have no intention of moving without your permission. And probably not even then.”

Nathan paused and took in his captive. The man was short, thin, and in his mid-forties. By the accent, the man was Irish. He was, however, well-dressed and, since Nathan hadn't killed him outright, was rapidly losing any fear he might have felt at having a sword at his belly and then at his throat.

“Now, what were you doing hiding in my room? Looking for valuables, I don't doubt.”

“Actually, kind sir, I was looking for you. That is, if you are Mr. Hunter?”

Surprising and interesting, Nathan thought. How did the man know who he was? “If that is the case, may I ask why you didn't make an appointment, or even knock?”

“I thought the subtle way was best. If nobody sees me, then maybe no lies are necessary to deny any conversation. By now you should realize that it's the way things are done in this pigsty of a town.”

With one quickly moving hand, the intruder swept Nathan's sword away and, with the other, sent Nathan off him and rolling across the floor. In an instant, the Irishman was on Nathan's chest, but it was just a half second too late. The knife from Nathan's boot was against his throat.

“Jaysus,” the intruder gasped again. “You're very religious,” Nathan said. “How many more of those bloody damned things do you have?”

“Enough. I was taught that trick by an Apache scout. Do you want to see what else he taught me?” The intruder shook his head. “Then move back slowly and we'll both get up. Then you'll tell me just who the devil you are and what you want?”

Both men cautiously got to their feet. Nathan retrieved the bayonet sword without removing the knife from the other man's throat. “Start.”

“My name is Attila Fly

Nathan should not have been surprised that this refugee from Ireland knew all about his mission, but he was. Once again, Nathan accepted the fact that there were no secrets in Washington.

“Mr. Fly

Fly

Nathan relaxed with the knife and gestured Fly

“No, not yet. But with the cooperation of the United States, I might be. I am a Fenian. Have you heard of us?”

The Fenians were a society of radical Irishmen dedicated to freeing Ireland from England. They had been founded a couple of years earlier. While they had a sympathetic following among the Irish community who had migrated by the hundreds of thousands from famine-ravaged Ireland, they were not a force to be reckoned with-yet.

“What can the Fenians do for the United States?” Nathan asked.

“Why, dear sir, with our help, you can raise an army to fight England and emasculate that of the Confederacy’s. Are you interested?”

Nathan was. He put his knife back in his boot. “Tell me.”

Ha

But not quite yet.

It took time for news to reach nearby Vicksburg, Mississippi, and longer still for it to get to what Mr. Farnum called his plantation and others called a dirt-poor shit farm. Farnum had five slaves, one of whom was Ha

Ha

But then had come the news that the Confederacy had not only beaten the North in a major battle, but that Lincoln had done nothing regarding the Negroes in the South. When news came that the South had a major new partner in their rebellion, some far-off place called England, Ha

So Ha