CHAPTER XV
THE HOUSE ON CHURCH HILL
As Socola left his room at the Spotswood the following night, a stranger met him at the turn of the dimly lighted corridor.
"Signor Socola, I believe?"
"At your service."
"I know some mutual friends in Washington connected with the Sardinian Ministry--"
"I'm just starting for a stroll through the city," Socola interrupted. "Will you join me?"
"With pleasure. As I am well acquainted with the streets of Richmond, allow me to be your guide."
Socola followed with a nod of approval. Their walk led to the highest of the city's seven hills. But few were stirring at this hour--half-past seven. The people were busy at supper.
The two men paused at the gate of a stately, old-fashioned mansion in the middle of a spacious lawn. The odor of sweet pinks filled the air. The rose trellis and elaborate scheme of flower beds and the boxwood hedges told the story of wealth and culture and high social position.
"I wish to introduce you to one of the most charming ladies of Richmond," the stranger said in quick, business-like tones, opening the gate as if he were used to the feel of the latch.
"Certainly," was the short reply.
In answer to the rap of the old-fashioned brass knocker, a quaint little woman of forty opened the door and showed them into the parlor.
The blinds were closed, and the room lighted by a single small kerosene lamp.
With quick precision the stranger presented his companion.
"Miss Van Lew, permit me to introduce to you Signor Henrico Socola of the Sardinian Ministry. He is the duly accredited but unofficial agent of his Majesty, Victor Emmanuel, and is cultivating friendly relations with the new Government of the South."
Miss Van Low extended her hand and took the outstretched one with a warmth that surprised her visitor beyond measure.
"I recognized him at once," she said with emotion. "Recognized me?"
"Your dear mother, sir, was my schoolmate in Philadelphia. I loved her. How alike you are!"
"Then we shall be friends--"
"We shall be more than friends--we shall be comrades--"
She paused and turned to the stranger:
"You can leave us now."
With a bow the man turned and left the room.
Socola studied the little woman who had deliberately chosen to lay her life, her fortune and her home on the altar of her Country. He saw with a glance at her delicate but commanding figure the brilliant, accomplished, resolute woman of personality and charm.
She took the young man's hand again in hers and led him to a high-backed mahogany settee. She stroked the hands with her thin, cold fingers.
"How perfect the image of your mother! I would have known you anywhere. _You_ must know and trust me. I was sent North to school. I came back to Virginia a more determined Abolitionist than ever. Our people have always hated Slavery. I made good my faith by freeing mine. We're not so well-to-do now, my mother and I."
She paused and looked wistfully about the stately room.
"This house could tell the story of gay and beautiful scenes--of balls--receptions and garden parties in bowers of roses--of coaches drawn by six snow-white horses standing at our door for the start to the White Sulphur Springs--"
She stopped suddenly, mastered her emotions and went on dreamily:
"Of great men and distinguished families our guests from the North and the South--Bishop Mann, Chief Justice John Marshall, the Lees, the Robinsons, Wickhams, Adams, Cabells,--the Carringtons--Fredrika Bremer, the Swedish novelist, visited us and wrote of us in her 'Homes in the New World.' Jennie Lind in the height of her glory sang in this room. Edgar Allan Poe read here aloud his immortal poem, 'The Raven.' You must realize what it means to me to become an outcast in Richmond--"
She drew from her bosom a newspaper clipping and handed it to Socola.
"Read that paragraph from this morning's editorial columns--" The young man scanned the marked clipping.
RAPPED ON THE KNUCKS
"One of the City papers contained on Monday a word of exhortation to certain females of Southern residence (and perhaps birth) but of decidedly Northern and Abolition proclivities. The creatures, though specially alluded to, are not named. If such people do not wish to be exposed and dealt with as alien enemies to the country they would do well to cut stick while they can do so with safety to their worthless carcasses--"
"And you will not 'cut stick'?"
"It's not the way of our breed. I've been doing what I could for the past year. I have sent the Government at Washington letter after letter giving them full and accurate accounts of men and events here. I have made no concealment of my principles. We are Abolitionists and Unionists and they know it. These Southern men will not lift their hands against two helpless women unless they discover the deeper plans I've laid. I've stopped them on the streets and openly flung my sentiments into their faces. As the excitement has increased I have grown more violent and more incoherent. They have begun to say that I am insane--"
Socola lifted his hand in a quiet gesture.
"Good. You can play the part."
A look of elation overspread the thin, intellectual features.
"True--I'll do it. I see it in a flash. 'Crazy old Bet,' they'll call me--"
She sprang to her feet.
"Come upstairs."
He followed her light step up three flights of stairs into the attic. She pushed aside an old-fashioned wardrobe and opened a small door of plain pine boards about four feet in height which led to the darkened space beneath the roof.
She stooped and entered and he followed. A small, neat room was revealed eight feet high beside the inner wall, with ceiling sloping to three feet on the opposite side. An iron safe was fitted into the space beside the chimney and covered skillfully by a door completely cased in brick. The device was so perfect it was impossible to detect the fact that it was not a part of the chimney, each alternate layer of bricks fitted exactly into the place chiseled out for it in the wall of the chimney itself.
Socola examined the arrangement with care.
"A most skillful piece of work!" he exclaimed.
"I laid those bricks in that door casing with my own hand. The old safe has been there since my grandfather's day. This is your room, sir. That safe is for your important papers. You can spend the night here in safety when necessary. My house has been offered to the Government as the headquarters of its secret service. I have in this safe an important document for you."
She opened it and handed Socola a sealed envelope addressed:
"Signor Henrico Socola,
Richmond, Virginia."
He broke the seal and read the order from the new Bureau of Military Information placing him in command of its Richmond office.
He offered the paper to the little woman who held the candle for him to read.
"I know its contents," she said, observing him keenly. "The Government has chosen wisely. You can render invaluable service--"
She paused and looked at Socola with a curious smile.
"You know any girls in Richmond?"
"But one and she has just arrived with the Presidential party--Miss Jennie Barton--"
"The Senator's daughter?"
"The same."
"Wonderful!" the little woman went on eagerly. "Her father is on the staff of Jefferson Davis. Old Barton is a loud-mouthed fool who can't keep a secret ten minutes. You must make love to his daughter--"
Socola laughed. "Is it necessary?"
"Absolutely. You can't remain in Richmond indefinitely without a better excuse than your unofficial connection with the Ministry of Sardinia. You are young. You are handsome. All Southern girls have sweethearts--all Southern boys. They can't understand the boy who hasn't. You'll be suspected at once unless you comply with the custom of the country."
"Of course. I needn't actually make love to her--"
"That's exactly what you must do. Make love to her with all your might--as if your life depends on her answer and your stay in Richmond can be indefinite."
"I don't like the idea," he protested.
"Neither do I like this--" She swept the little attic room with a wave of her slender hand. "Come, my comrade, you must--"
He hesitated a moment, laughed, and said:
"All right."