Read Online Anything But Civil by Anna Loan-Wilsey - Free Book Online
Authors: Anna Loan-Wilsey
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suit. I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a crowd. Yet his countenance and manners were charming, as it was evident that he adored his wife. His eyes followed her every movement, even as he handed his coat, hat, and gloves to the butler, a tall, thin black man. Frederick hung on her every word and seemed unabashed at showing her affection in front of complete strangers.
“Oh, Frederick,” Adella said, ripping the paper from the book, Girl’s Winter in India . “Thank you, darling. Oh, forgive me. Frederick, this is Lieutenant Triggs and Sir Arthur Windom-Greene. Sir Arthur is writing a book about Papa. Lieutenant Triggs is a guest of Sir Arthur.” Frederick looked up questioningly at my approach. “And this is his secretary, Miss Davish.”
“Should’ve had you along, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said as way of introduction. “Mrs. Mahoud, the Grant home caretaker, gave us a most illuminating tour. Needed your pen. I won’t remember half of what she told us,” Sir Arthur said, half laughing, to the general.
“Yes, she is most kind,” Adella said. “When we toured the house, she went out of her way to show us the president’s personal belongings, including a satin mouchoir handkerchief case, a wooden tea caddy, and a mother-of-pearl cigar case, that were still in the house.”
“Yes, I think Sir Arthur’s favorite item was the .41-caliber Colt derringer on which Grant himself had carved ‘U.S. Grant 1863,’ ” Lieutenant Triggs said, smiling, as Sir Arthur nodded enthusiastically.
“It was brilliant,” Sir Arthur said. “It would be the crown jewel of my collection. If only the Grants would sell it.”
“Glad it was worthwhile,” General Starrett said. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook and I thought it might—” He stopped mid-sentence as Henry Starrett stomped down the stairs. His scowl hadn’t softened. “Well, hello, Henry. Haven’t seen you all day. Late night?”
Henry, ignoring his father, looked about the foyer, then focused his attention on Sir Arthur. “You get around, don’t you, Englishman? Well, you should keep a better leash on your girl. I’m sick of finding her underfoot in my own house.”
Sir Arthur’s face reddened as he took a step forward.
“Father,” Adella said, trying to ease the tension, “you haven’t met Lieutenant Triggs.”
“That’s all right, ma’am,” Lieutenant Triggs said, stepping next to Sir Arthur and laying a hand on his shoulder. It was the second time in less than twelve hours that a man had laid a hand on Sir Arthur and I anticipated that poor Lieutenant Triggs was about to have Sir Arthur’s fury flung at him. I was wrong.
“Thank you for tea, Mrs. Reynard,” Sir Arthur said calmly, removing Morgan Triggs’s hold on him. “And the tour, General. As I said, it was most illuminating.” Without another word to acknowledge Henry Starrett, Sir Arthur turned his back on us and left.
“Does he always leave a room like this?” Lieutenant Triggs asked me as we scrambled out the door to catch up with Sir Arthur.
“No,” I said, pondering the question I’d been asking myself. “Only when Henry Starrett enters it.”
C HAPTER 8
I ’d spent the entire evening and part of the night transcribing my notes from General Starrett’s interview. Sir Arthur’s disappointment for not having them in hand earlier in the evening had been assuaged by their sheer volume. He had graciously given me until morning to finish.
Well before sunrise, with the notes on Sir Arthur’s desk, I stood at the top of the Washington Street stairs, wearing my rubber boots, recently purchased from Strohmeyer’s, for the first time. Although I’d have little time to actually hike this morning, I was excited; it had snowed several inches during the night. Even in the faint light of the quarter moon, everything glistened. Snow crystals clung to the tree branches and the muddy street was sparkling white, a single wagon track running down the middle. The view from the
“Oh, Frederick,” Adella said, ripping the paper from the book, Girl’s Winter in India . “Thank you, darling. Oh, forgive me. Frederick, this is Lieutenant Triggs and Sir Arthur Windom-Greene. Sir Arthur is writing a book about Papa. Lieutenant Triggs is a guest of Sir Arthur.” Frederick looked up questioningly at my approach. “And this is his secretary, Miss Davish.”
“Should’ve had you along, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said as way of introduction. “Mrs. Mahoud, the Grant home caretaker, gave us a most illuminating tour. Needed your pen. I won’t remember half of what she told us,” Sir Arthur said, half laughing, to the general.
“Yes, she is most kind,” Adella said. “When we toured the house, she went out of her way to show us the president’s personal belongings, including a satin mouchoir handkerchief case, a wooden tea caddy, and a mother-of-pearl cigar case, that were still in the house.”
“Yes, I think Sir Arthur’s favorite item was the .41-caliber Colt derringer on which Grant himself had carved ‘U.S. Grant 1863,’ ” Lieutenant Triggs said, smiling, as Sir Arthur nodded enthusiastically.
“It was brilliant,” Sir Arthur said. “It would be the crown jewel of my collection. If only the Grants would sell it.”
“Glad it was worthwhile,” General Starrett said. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook and I thought it might—” He stopped mid-sentence as Henry Starrett stomped down the stairs. His scowl hadn’t softened. “Well, hello, Henry. Haven’t seen you all day. Late night?”
Henry, ignoring his father, looked about the foyer, then focused his attention on Sir Arthur. “You get around, don’t you, Englishman? Well, you should keep a better leash on your girl. I’m sick of finding her underfoot in my own house.”
Sir Arthur’s face reddened as he took a step forward.
“Father,” Adella said, trying to ease the tension, “you haven’t met Lieutenant Triggs.”
“That’s all right, ma’am,” Lieutenant Triggs said, stepping next to Sir Arthur and laying a hand on his shoulder. It was the second time in less than twelve hours that a man had laid a hand on Sir Arthur and I anticipated that poor Lieutenant Triggs was about to have Sir Arthur’s fury flung at him. I was wrong.
“Thank you for tea, Mrs. Reynard,” Sir Arthur said calmly, removing Morgan Triggs’s hold on him. “And the tour, General. As I said, it was most illuminating.” Without another word to acknowledge Henry Starrett, Sir Arthur turned his back on us and left.
“Does he always leave a room like this?” Lieutenant Triggs asked me as we scrambled out the door to catch up with Sir Arthur.
“No,” I said, pondering the question I’d been asking myself. “Only when Henry Starrett enters it.”
C HAPTER 8
I ’d spent the entire evening and part of the night transcribing my notes from General Starrett’s interview. Sir Arthur’s disappointment for not having them in hand earlier in the evening had been assuaged by their sheer volume. He had graciously given me until morning to finish.
Well before sunrise, with the notes on Sir Arthur’s desk, I stood at the top of the Washington Street stairs, wearing my rubber boots, recently purchased from Strohmeyer’s, for the first time. Although I’d have little time to actually hike this morning, I was excited; it had snowed several inches during the night. Even in the faint light of the quarter moon, everything glistened. Snow crystals clung to the tree branches and the muddy street was sparkling white, a single wagon track running down the middle. The view from the
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