Читать книгу Dearest Enemy - Nan Ryan, Nan Ryan - Страница 16

Suzanna had declared a strong alliance with the Union, and no one doubted her sincerity. A small number of friends and acquaintances she'd known prior to the war had stayed on in Washington because their loyalties lay solidly with the North. They took it for granted that the same was true of her. There was no reason for them to suspect otherwise.

Suzanna easily insinuated herself into the social crowd of Washington. After attending only a couple of Mattie Kirkendal's soirees, she was added to the guest lists of other noted Washington hostesses. They jealously vied for her, insisting that she attend their gatherings. All agreed that Suzanna LeGrande was an asset with her beauty, charm and wit. Her mere presence ensured a lively party, with the gentlemen officers being entertained and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Suzanna played her part well. But it was not easy. Many times it was extremely difficult to act as though she were delighted with news of the war's progress. Such as on the hot, hot summer evening of July 4,1862.

Suzanna was at a crowded soiree when a beaming Union officer strode into the great hall, leaped up onto the orchestra platform and raised his hands for silence.

Then he eagerly shared this message. “Good news, my friends! The Confederate general Robert E. Lee has suffered a terrible defeat at Malvern Hill!”

Suzanna was heartsick on hearing of Colonel Lee's defeat at the hands of the Union's Major General George McClellan. But she concealed her anguish. All around her whistles and shouts rang out from the joyous crowd, and many of the guests happily embraced. When the orchestra again struck a chord, the smiling Yankee captain who'd delivered the message stepped down off the platform and came straight toward Suzanna.

She found herself swept up into his arms as he stated with a pleased grin, “McClellan's a military genius, no doubt about it.”

“Indeed,” she managed to reply, smiling up at him. “Did General McClellan thoroughly trounce Lee then?”

“Handed traitor Lee a crushing defeat! The Johnny Rebs suffered more than five thousand casualties without gaining a single inch of ground!”

“Ah, that is wonderful! A stunning victory for us,” she stated, hoping she sounded genuinely joyful.

“Yes, yes it was, miss.”

“After the victory, did…?”

“McClellan wisely retreated to the James River. He's encamped at Harrison's Landing.”

“Oh? Is it safe for his men there?”

“Couldn't be safer. They're under the protection of the big guns on all those navy warships anchored there.”

“Thank goodness.”

Throughout the summer and fall of 1862 and on into the New Year, Suzanna attended a neverending round of receptions and parties and balls, where she met and charmed her share of Union officers and sympathizers. She flirted and teased and promised more than she ever aimed to deliver. And she gleaned as much information as possible from the captivated officers.

Suzanna pretended nonchalance and lack of interest when the conversation was of the war. But she hung on every word spoken regarding the conflict's progress, troop movements and coming battles. She memorized each place name, each mention of a direction or objective. She carefully committed to memory the names of men she'd not yet met, but whose daring deeds peppered the conversations of the officers with whom she danced. Such names as the well-regarded Captain Dan Stuart. Brigadier General Samson Weeks. Major General Skillman Bond.

And Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley.

The admiral's name kept coming up in conversation, the officers eagerly exchanging stories of Longley's heroic exploits. Suzanna learned that Rear Admiral Mitchell Longley was highly respected for his brilliance and his bravery. It was said that he was fearless and cunning and as cold as ice. Confident to the point of arrogance, having no need of acclaim or accolades. A laconic loner who disdained social gatherings.

Suzanna was just as glad the lauded admiral didn't bother coming to the galas when he was in the Washington area. Such a man couldn't be counted on to share tidbits of valuable information; therefore, she had no desire to meet him. She was interested only in those officers who became amazingly loose-lipped after a few glasses of champagne.

Suzanna invariably sipped her own wine very slowly, but she often laughed and behaved as if she were tipsy. Those gentlemen she charmed would never have believed that, unfailingly, Suzanna was as sober as a judge. Or that on those occasions when she excused herself to freshen up, she immediately went in search of a private spot to write down anything of interest that had been carelessly disclosed. She was extremely careful and if she could find no privacy, she silently repeated the tidbit to herself, over and over, memorizing what she had heard.

When she did reduce an item to writing, she used a code concocted by one of the trusted couriers she and Mattie used to slip through enemy lines to deliver messages to the Southern commanders.

Suzanna had quickly learned what she was to be on the alert for. Always get the name of the military unit and commander. Find out, if possible, where the officer and men expected to be sent. The place from which they had arrived. Which scouts they had and the scouts' whereabouts. And to never be caught with a message that would give her away and endanger the troops.

She'd had a couple of close calls. Once, she was holding a hastily scribbled note in her hand when an officer came up from behind, surprising her. She had managed to shove the damning scrap of paper into her bodice before turning to smile at the man. On another occasion, when she'd volunteered to carry a missive through the Union lines herself, since a courier was unavailable, she had carefully concealed the paper in her hair, intricately dressed atop her head, with large curls circling her crown. Stopped by an armed picket on the outskirts of the city, she was forced to hand over her cape and reticule and bonnet, all of which were thoroughly searched, then handed back.

The missive had remained safely hidden in her hair.

Suzanna was proud of her modest accomplishments. She felt she was doing something constructive, contributing in some small way. She had received the gratitude of more than one Southern commander who had acted on gathered intelligence to save precious lives. Success spurred her on. She had become adept at drawing out the Union officers. More than one was guilty of disclosing information that should never have been shared with her. And she had managed to give nothing in return other than a few harmless kisses, which had been decidedly distasteful, but had had no lingering adverse effects.

Anyone who saw her at one of the glittering gatherings would have sworn Suzanna had not a care in the world.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.