Secrets and Lies

One

Two months earlier

Nicole Bastian jiggled the doorknob to the study, and at the same time, strained to listen to what was happening down the hallway. It was early in the evening, and the bulk of the guests for the masked ball had yet to arrive at General Babcock's residence in Staten Island. While the family greeted guests and the staff readied last minute details, Nicole took the perfect opportunity to sneak around his study.

Grumbling under her breath, she gritted her teeth. The locked door wouldn't budge.

Not to be deterred, she reached into her styled hair for the extra pins she had placed in her mass of waves just for this very occasion. As she pulled one out, her knuckles bumped against her mask, making it tilt on her face. Quickly, she adjusted the black, silk cover over her eyes, and then pulled free the second hairpin. She artfully, stuck the pins into the lock and maneuvered them slowly. Her father, Conrad Bastian, had taught her this trick at a very young age, and she had quickly mastered the skill.

The latch finally popped and Nicole opened the door. She took one last peek down the hallway. Closer to the ballroom there was more light, but on this side of the house the lamps were dimmed. Only shadows played with her now—shadows and sounds. After stepping into the room and easing the door shut, she let her hearing take over where her vision failed in the darkened room.

She stood by the door and waited until her eyes adjusted. A window hung like a picture on the far wall, and nearly as lovely. The lanterns from outside peeked through the slits of the thin, white curtains, showing her the way. Slowly, she slid her feet across the carpet, feeling for any obstacle that might alert someone to her presence. A clock ticked noisily somewhere close by, and her fast beating heart was nearly as loud.

The window grew closer until she was able to touch the curtains and part them open. The light trickled in, and she swung her head, scanning the room carefully. She was only after one item. A journal. Unfortunately, as the shadows in the room changed into actual shapes, she noticed General Babcock's study was filled with a vast collection of books.

Inwardly, she groaned. Locating the journal among his personal library could take all night! She didn't have all night. Her brother, Gordon, waited outside at the carriage for her to pass him the journal so he could take it straight to President Grant. Not only that, General Babcock's wife and daughters might become concerned to why their guest's niece had suddenly disappeared. Nicole couldn't allow her aunt and uncle to have any kind of suspicion put upon them because of her.

The heat inside the room was insufferable. She pushed open the window and peeked outside. She flattened herself next to the wall, hiding in the shadows. Satisfied she wouldn't be seen, she leaned her face out into the cool, night air. Rose scent infused the air from the bushes just under the window.

Laughter from the side of the yard erupted, and she quickly pulled back against the wall. She sneaked peeks to the courtyard below, searching for the people who'd made the noise. A boisterous couple walking through the gardens gradually made their way to the front of the house. Nicole released a relieved sigh and turned back to the room.

The large oak desk sat near the hearth, and one sofa leaned against the wall. The rest of the room was occupied by several shelves full of books. She sighed. Indeed, this would take her more time than she liked, but she was determined to find it.

After aggressively searching for a few minutes, she stopped and blew out a frustrated breath. There had to be an easier way. Think Nicole. You can do this! Closing her eyes, she cleared her mind. If she were trying to keep something hidden, where would she place it for safe-keeping?

Once more, she scanned the room, slower this time. The most logical choice would be in the desk, which was what some people might think, but because that location was too obvious, she knew it would not be there. Now she needed to decide where the least obvious hiding spot was in the study.

She took careful steps to the far wall. A small table stood, holding a filled decanter of liquid and two glasses. She took a deep sniff. It was brandy. General Babcock was known to enjoy his brandy late in the evening before going to bed. Would he keep his important papers nearby his favorite drink? Crouching, she looked around the area, on the floor, and behind the table. From the corner of her eyes, she spotted something odd. As she studied the wooden chair near the desk, there was an item stuck to the bottom of the seat.

She moved closer and inspected the piece of furniture more thoroughly, reaching beneath the seat and running her hand across the wood. Immediately, her fingers connected with a book. In her haste, she turned over the chair. A journal—exactly like what her father had described to her—had been purposely fastened to the bottom with ropes. Grinning, she maneuvered the booklet out of the bindings and rose to her feet. She carefully set the chair upright before hurrying to the window where there was more light.

Nicole held up the journal and opened it. After flipping through a few pages, she saw the important ledger, which was the proof she needed. Several whiskey-ring distillers, chiefly in Chicago and Milwaukee, were listed on the pages as was the purchases for each sale. In her hands, she held the very evidence the Secret Service needed to have General Babcock arrested.

At long last, relief was only days away. She and her brother had been working long and hard on this case, and they'd traveled from St. Louis to Milwaukee, trying to track down the journal, but it had always seemed to pass from one hand to another. Everyone involved tried to keep the journal a secret. She and her brother had followed their leads, and that is what brought them here. It was Nicole who figured he'd keep this book in the study where only he resided in the evening as not to make his wife suspicious. In her gut, she knew Babcock would keep the book away from his wife and in his study. Nicole was relieved that her instincts were correct once again.

She ran her thumbs over the old, brown edges of the journal. Now it was in her responsible hands. Men would kill for this evidence. Already people had died trying to find it. Some public officials were defrauding the federal government of taxes from the liquor sales. Naturally, they wouldn't want this book to be discovered.

Footsteps in the corridor clipped on the wooden floor in a hurried pace. Gasping, she swung toward the door, knowing that she had to hide quickly. A wardrobe was nearby. She rushed to it, opened the doors and tried to fit inside. As she squeezed in, shelves and hooks jabbed at her head and back. Squishing herself any closer was impossible, but she'd try, nonetheless. Just as she pulled the door mostly shut, General Babcock strolled into his study.

Thankfully, she was able to spy on him through the open slit. He took two steps inside the study and stopped. He swung his attention toward the window. His gaze narrowed. Silently, she scolded herself for not closing the window curtains before hiding.

The man grumbled aloud and marched to the window. She tilted her head to follow his actions, but a hook caught in her hair and yanked it. Gritting her teeth, she tugged on the strand to free it.

As the general pulled the windowpanes closed, he paused and stared at something down below. "You! Down there," he barked. "What are you doing?"

Nicole's heart sank. Had someone been outside this whole time and had seen her through the window? Oh, she hoped not.

"Are you lost, man?" the general demanded loudly.

"I'm not lost, sir. I'm actually waiting for my friend," the other man's voice called from outside.

Groaning, she squeezed her eyes closed. Why hadn't she detected someone down there? Fervently she prayed that this man had not seen her in a room where she didn't belong.

"Come inside," the general said. "I cannot have you standing so near to my wife's precious rose bushes." Babcock flipped his hand. "Move away now."

"Yes, sir."

She opened her eyes again just as the general closed the windows and pulled the curtains together. He turned and walked toward his desk. She held her breath, clutching her fingers tighter around the book. Please don't look for the journal!

He shuffled through the papers littered on the top of the desk. Huffing his breath, he moved to the side drawers, pulling them out one at a time.

"Ah, there it is." He reached into a drawer and withdrew a canary-yellow mask. Thankfully, it matched well with his bright, obnoxious costume. Chuckling, he placed it over his eyes and tied it behind his head. He glanced in the mirror hanging on the wall, making certain everything was in order.

As he left the room, Nicole blew out a nervous sigh. Slowly, she crept out of the wardrobe and glanced at the book still in her hand. She slid the journal in the secret pocket she'd sewn in her gown last night for this very occasion. The wide skirts of the gown helped to hide the bulk of the object. Now all she needed to do was to sneak back downstairs and go outside to her brother who waited, without anyone becoming suspicious of her actions.

With her hand on the door handle, she cracked the door open and peeked up and down the hallway. No one else lurked in the passageway. Satisfied she was alone, she casually walked out, and as she headed down the hall, she linked her hands together behind her back as she pretended to study each picture hanging on the wall.

She made it to the grand stairs without a cry of alarm. Slowly, she glided down the carpeted steps. She scanned the crowd gathering in the ballroom. More people had arrived while she'd been in the general's study, but she didn't recognize anyone...except of course for her aunt, uncle, and cousin, Emily. The family who took better care of her than her own father, in fact.

The three stood near the potted plants on the far side, chatting with other guests who all wore masks. Nicole visited her relatives often, but she still didn't know all of their friends and associates—unless she was investigating them for one reason or another.

Nearing the bottom of the stairs, she still worried that the man who'd been outside the window had seen her. She'd worn her mask and doubted he'd recognize her. She should be able to get the journal outside to her brother and then return to the party without raising anyone's suspicions.

From the corner of her eyes, something caught her attention. A man watched her as he stood near the wall by the stairs. Had he been there a moment ago? If so, why hadn't she noticed him? Once her gaze latched onto his, he moved closer to the railing. His interest in her was obvious by his growing smile. Why was he looking at her in such a way? Cautiously, she reached up and patted her hair, and then slid her hand down to make sure her mask was in place once again. He couldn't possibly recognize her.

He was tall with raven hair; his mask matched the color of his hair perfectly. A dark blue frock coat with gold tassels molded to his broad shoulders, and medals lined his chest perfectly. A gold sash draped from his left shoulder across his wide chest, coming together at his right hip. His costume was made for a prince.

She didn't know if she'd ever met him before, and with his black mask hiding the top half of his face, he didn't look familiar in the least. But he watched her descend the stairs in such a charming way that it made her insides flip. Right now, she couldn't tell if her stomach acted this way because of his smile or because she worried that he'd somehow seen her come out of the general's study. She hoped it wasn't the latter.

Not paying attention to where her feet went, she reached the bottom, and the heel of her shoe caught on the edge of the step. She stumbled, and gasped. On instinct, she grabbed the railing with one hand and held tighter to the journal hiding in her pocket with the other. She didn't care how injuring herself, as long as the journal didn't make an appearance.