butler answered the bell. Suzanna handed him a note of introduction from one Dr. Milton Ledet.
“If you'll kindly wait in the drawing room,” the butler instructed, taking Suzanna's fur-lined cape.
He directed her into a spacious parlor where expensive oil paintings hung on silk-covered walls, and overstuffed chairs and sofas of shimmering brocade faced a blazing fire in the huge, marble-manteled fireplace. Suzanna moved toward the blaze, stretching her cold hands to its warmth.
“Miss LeGrande?” A throaty female voice soon came from behind her, and Suzanna turned to see a short, stout, handsomely dressed, gray-haired woman whose round face immediately broke into a wide smile. Hands extended in greeting, the woman eagerly bore down on Suzanna, saying, “My dear, welcome to my home. I'm Mattie Kirkendal.”
“Suzanna LeGrande, Mrs. Kirkendal,” she answered, taking the soft, plump hands.
“My, my, aren't you a lovely little thing! Absolutely exquisite!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kirkendal,” Suzanna said, embarrassed by the flattery.
“Call me Mattie. Now come, Suzanna, let's you and I sit and get acquainted. Dr. Ledet's note gave me very little information other than the fact that he has been your family physician and friend for many years. He gave no hint as to why you would want to meet me. So tell me about yourself. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure on such a cold afternoon?”
As the two women settled themselves on one of the brocade sofas, a servant appeared bearing a silver tray with a china plate of golden-brown croissants and two steaming cups of a dark, thick beverage.
“Half coffee, half cocoa,” Mattie Kirkendal pointed out. “You'll find it quite delicious, I believe.” She reached for a cup. “I've served this particular blend of hot chocolate since the days I first tasted it as a young, carefree girl on holiday in Paris. It brings back so many fond memories and…and…”
Mattie Kirkendal caught the wistful expression that crossed Suzanna's face at the mention of Paris, and was puzzled. “My dear, what is it? Have I said something to upset you? Did you have an unpleasant experience in Paris?”
“I've never been to Paris, Mrs. Kirkendal.” Before the older woman could respond, Suzanna said, with a decisive shake of her head, “It's nothing. Nothing is wrong. Really.”
But while Mattie Kirkendal gingerly sipped the rich chocolate, Suzanna never touched hers.
Without preamble, she declared with fervor, “Mrs. Kirkendal, I desperately want to do something—anything—to aid in the war effort and to help the South defeat the Yankees. I will not be content until every last one of the blue-coated devils has gotten what he justly deserves! Therefore I am here to offer my services if you have any need of me.”
Mattie was surprised and delighted that such a young, beautiful belle would be willing to aid in the Cause. At the same time she was skeptical.
“And why, pray tell, are you sharing this dangerous desire with me?”
“I know, Mrs. Kirkendal. I know all about you. Dr. Ledet told me, but please don't get angry with him. Your secret is safe with me and I admire you for what you're doing to help the South. I want to be a part of it.”
“I see. And just what has happened in your young life to cause such fierce passion where the Yankees are concerned?”
Her blue eyes narrowing, Suzanna said, “They have taken everything from me. Everything. My sweetheart. My brother. My livelihood.”
The thoughts and words coming in a rush, Suzanna talked of her handsome blond fiancé and her strong, dependable brother. She revealed how her storybook world had been forever altered. She confided that she had been left alone to care for a sickly mother and that the once great LeGrande fortune, which had been carefully amassed by her deceased father, was rapidly dwindling away due to the destructive war. Dry-eyed, she made her case, demonstrating her resolve.
When at last she fell silent, Mattie Kirkendal said softly, “You've suffered far too much for one so young. I can understand your fierce need to make the Yankees pay for your misfortunes. But I am not convinced that you are up to the task of spying for the Confederacy.”
“Yes, I am,” Suzanna stated with calm authority.
“You can't possibly comprehend what you'd be getting yourself into. I can't allow—”
“Allow? Allow! Mrs. Kirkendal, with all due respect, it is not up to you to allow me to do anything I've set my mind to. If you refuse my services, that's fine with me. I will find someone else who is eager for my help.”
Mattie Kirkendal exhaled heavily and set her china cup aside. Frowning, she said, “If you are bound and determined, then…” She shrugged chubby shoulders. “But I must warn you, Suzanna, what you're volunteering to do will be neither easy nor pleasant.”
“I never supposed that it would be.”
Mattie spent the next half hour explaining to Suzanna exactly what would be expected of her. “You realize that you will be called on to dance with, flirt with and butter up the very men you so despise.”
Undeterred, Suzanna assured Mattie that she was up to the challenge. “I can and will be of invaluable assistance, Mrs. Kirkendal. I have spent many years socializing with friends and acquaintances who have chosen to remain with the Union. I can easily convince them that I have as well. I will spy for the Cause and no one will suspect me.”
“Bless you, my child,” exclaimed Mattie at last, keenly aware that a beautiful young lady like Suzanna would be an invaluable asset to the Confederacy. “How soon may I expect you to begin to help us?”
“Today. Now. This afternoon.”
Mattie laughed heartily and patted Suzanna's knee. Then she sobered and said, “Are you aware of the punishment for spying on the Union?”
“Death,” Suzanna stated without emotion. “By hanging.”
“You are willing to take such a risk?”
“Yes, I am.”
Suzanna could not be talked out of the perilous scheme. She regretted that she couldn't share her thrilling secret with her mother, but she didn't dare confide in the frail Emile, who, if she knew of her daughter's intention, would surely weep and worry and beg her to reconsider.
So Suzanna kept the truth a secret. She mentioned casually that she had been invited to a social gathering at a Mrs. Mattie Kirkendal's and that she wanted to attend.
Emile agreed that it was a good idea. “Darling, you deserve an evening out occasionally. I hope you enjoy yourself.”
“I will, Mother,” Suzanna lied. “And you're not to worry.”
But when, just forty-eight hours later, Suzanna came into her mother's bedroom to say good-night before going out, Emile gazed at her strikingly beautiful daughter and became uneasy.
Buelah, Suzanna's stalwart maid and the only female servant still at Whitehall, was trailing after her charge, grumbling, “You got no business going out dressed like that, Miz Suzanna. This is not decadent Europe. It's Washington City and folk'll think you are a loose woman.”
Emile, in bed despite the early hour, tossed back the covers and rose to her feet with effort.
“Suzanna, perhaps Buelah is right, dear. Don't you have something else you could wear, something more appropriate?”
“I tried to talk her out of it, Miz Emile,” Buelah said, hands on her hips. “I did my best.”
“You may go now, Buelah,” said Suzanna. The servant turned and left, still muttering under her breath.
On this cold winter night, Suzanna was going to a glittering reception at Mattie Kirkendal's. It was the first of many such social gatherings she would be expected to attend, a gala where there would be a host of prominent guests and a number of