Twelve
In the end, Annabelle couldn’t do it. By the time the carriage arrived at Gray’s townhouse, there was only an hour before she needed to escort Elaine home, and she seized on the excuse to delay the inevitable task of spying.
It meant that she arrived at the Library of Congress with plenty of time to spare, so she headed upstairs to the blind reading room, where two actors were performing a reading from a Shakespeare play. She spotted Elaine, who looked entranced while listening to the actors perform the classic banter of Benedick and Beatrice fromMuch Ado About Nothing.
Close to a hundred people, both blind and sighted, had gathered to listen to the performance. From the back of the room, Annabelle had a good view of Elaine. It had been years since she’d seen her sister look this happy. As the actors came to the end of the reading, the crowd showered them with applause, and Annabelle wended her way toward Elaine, who was taken aback by the sound of her voice.
“Annabelle! I didn’t expect you up here.”
“My work finished early.”
Elaine was strangely flustered as she adjusted the cuffs at her wrists. “Oh. Well! I’d like to introduce you to some people.This is Harry Talbot, the soldier I’ve told you so much about. And this...” She fumbled, and an older man grasped her hand. “This is Walter, his father. And Margaret and Sally, his sisters. The Talbots always come for the Tuesday readings. The actors are from the National Theatre company, so it’s a real treat.”
“I can see that. And it’s very nice to meet you all,” Annabelle said with a nod to the father.
Apparently the Talbots were a large family, for in addition to his daughters, Mr. Talbot introduced her to an assortment of cousins and uncles who’d also come to the performance.
“Are there always so many people?” Annabelle asked as she and Elaine settled onto the streetcar bench for the ride home.
“We’re like a family there,” Elaine said. “I thank God for the gift of being able to find meaningful work. They’ve asked me to take on another student, but I’ll keep working with Harry, because he’s made so much progress and I can’t step back. Even if I weren’t blind, I would want to work here.”
The satisfaction in her sister’s voice confirmed Annabelle’s need for a solid job in Washington, for returning to the yawning emptiness of the farm was no longer a possibility for Elaine.
Annabelle’s newfound resolve wavered as she mounted the steps to Gray’s townhouse the following morning, dreading what she was about to do. Treason was a hanging offense. If she found evidence of it, could she turn him in?
She clutched a copy ofSense and Sensibilityas she stood on his front stoop, waiting to be let inside. The novel was a masterpiece of family dynamics, and Gray did remind her of Colonel Brandon, a character who had fascinated her since she first read the novel years ago. Colonel Brandon could never be guilty of treason, and in her heart, she didn’t believe Gray could either.
“How is Mr. Delacroix feeling today?” she asked when Mr. Holder opened the door and beckoned her inside.
“No better, but he’s agreed to stay in bed today. He told me you are to be granted the run of his library. I’ll fetch Otis to let you in.”
“You don’t have a key?” she asked.
Mr. Holder delicately cleared his throat, as if somewhat embarrassed. “Mr. Delacroix is very particular about who may enter the study. Only he and Otis have a key.”
For a man to be so paranoid about the security of his office did not bode well. A headache began gathering, and she just wanted this day to be over.
She managed a pleasant expression and extended the book to Mr. Holder. “Will you give this to Mr. Delacroix? I’m sure it’s difficult for a man of his temperament to be confined to bed. Perhaps this will help.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
The butler carried the novel up the staircase, and she longed to follow and beg Gray to tell her that all this espionage suspicion was pure foolishness. Instead she had to snoop through his files in search of information that could hang him.
Two minutes later Otis arrived, his face curious as he escorted her to the library, a set of keys in his hand. “You’ve got to tell me how you persuaded him to give you access to his sacred space,” he teased.
“A shared fascination with Tahitian orchids,” she said in an off-handed voice.
The keys rattled as Otis unlocked the door and let her into the dimly lit, book-lined office. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, and three sides were lined with bookshelves and filing drawers. Maps covered one wall, and a standing globe stood in one corner.
“These three shelves document Africa,” Otis said. “This entire wall is the Far East and the Spice Islands. And these are Central and South America. The filing drawers are all correspondence with American distribution companies, so I doubtyou’ll find much of interest there. The antique chest is mostly old family papers and letters. Probably best that you stay out of those.”
“And what is that?” she asked, nodding to an apparatus the size of a shoe box on a separate table beneath the room’s only window.
“That’s the telegraph machine,” Otis said. “The Delacroixs have always been very private about their business dealings, so I send all their messages rather than use a public line at the local post office.”
“You know Morse code?” she asked.
“Learning Morse code was the first request old Mr. Delacroix ever had for me. I think it was the reason he hired me in the first place,” Otis said. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need help with anything, just holler.”
