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And here she was.
Still wearing her plain linen uniform, but covered with a winter cloak and a bag slung across her chest, Betsey stood before him. Eyes downcast, but flickering surreptitiously around the office. Back and forth between Julia and Grant, the rows of books, and the shimmering fixtures. Back and forth between the door and the windows, and at Andrews, until he left them there alone.
Julia, always the savior of such moments, set her sewing aside. “Betsey—that’s your name, isn’t it, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said clearly, but quietly.
“We appreciate you coming, and we know that it’s a risky thing you’ve done,” Julia warmly assured her. “I understand that your employers might look askance at this, even with the president’s permission. ”
“Insistence, really,” he corrected his wife. “Do you have the folders I asked for?”
The girl nodded, pulled the bag’s strap up over her head, and stepped forward to deliver it into his hands. “I picked up the two with that name on it—the one you told me, I mean. And another one I found nearby. I thought it might be important. ”
“Hmm. ” He opened the bag and saw the neatly bundled papers, only a little mussed from the covert trip. “Thank you,” he said, even though he wasn’t altogether pleased that she’d read the files. He hadn’t even known she was literate, but she must be, if she’d realized any other material was pertinent. But there was nothing he could’ve done to stop her, and if he couldn’t rely on her silence now, he was damned regardless.
He’d relied on plenty of politicians over the last decade and change, and it had never worked out very well. Now he’d try his luck with another class—a better class, if you asked him, though he might change his mind when he considered the sentiment sober. People were only people, and some were more easily compelled by power than others.
Fine, then. He’d use his power where it actually worked, instead of boardrooms and war rooms where he was treated as a friendly pawn, and see if that panned out any better.
When Betsey had been sent on her way, Ulysses Grant carried her clandestinely delivered package toward the liquor cabinet out of pure habit.
“It isn’t dark yet,” his wife noted.
“She was early. And if ever any reading on earth required a drink, I believe this might be it. ”
Fresh drink in hand, he dropped himself heavily into the chair Katharine Haymes had taken the week before. He retrieved the first file—MAYNARD—and opened it up, taking a hearty swallow from the beverage before he began to read
.
“It can’t be that bad, can it, dear?” Julia asked. She didn’t pick up her sewing again, instead stuffing it into her kit and folding her hands.
“That bad and worse. There’s nothing I’d put past this woman,” he said, skimming for the important words. He saw mostly things he already knew on the first page. “She’s a regular Lilith. Put her and Fowler together, and they’d end the world for giggles on a weekend. ”
“You don’t really believe that. ”
“You haven’t met her. It’s like sitting across the table from a snake. ”
Julia frowned, very faintly. “Would you say she’s any worse than any of the men you’ve dealt with?”
“Worse,” he said firmly, eyes still fixed on the pages in his lap.
“Truly your greatest adversary yet? Or worst simply because she’s a woman?”
“A little of both,” he murmured.
She sighed. “You’re making her sound like a monster. ”
“You haven’t met her,” he repeated.
“She’s not a witch or a demon; she’s a person. She’s only different from what you commonly see, and the people you commonly fight. ”
“Dearest,” he said, fluttering the pages in a pointed fashion, “now is not the time. ”
But Julia persisted. “You behave as if you can’t possibly comprehend her motives. When I asked last night what she wanted, you said it must be blood, souls, or a spot at the devil’s right hand. ”
“Anything’s possible. ”
“No. ” She shook her head. “Only the usual things are possible. She wants a long life, power and money, freedom and respect. Just like any man you ever met. She’s only beyond your ken because you allow her to be. ”
