A/N There was no organization during the Civil War called the Special Intelligence Service. The closest historical entity was the Bureau of Military Information, which did not come into existence until early 1863. I have created this forerunner of the Agency strictly for this story. However, details about the Girard House and the Continental Hotel in Philadelphia are accurate to the period.

Chapter 12

The letter came in the morning mail the next day. In it, Colonel Thornton told them that Orton Rosemont was nowhere to be found and that he had been all but ruled out as the suspect in the shooting, but that new evidence had come to light pointing to Daniel Macklin as the brains behind the whole incident, though he hadn't fired the shot himself. "It seems that the major is serious financial difficulties due to heavy gambling losses. He planned to marry Mrs. Bishop so he could have control of her money and property, according to Kurtz, the man who fired the shot. Macklin didn't want to get his hands dirty," Matthew read. "We're looking for Macklin now; as soon as we find him and arrest him, it will be safe for you to come back."

"Matthew, the man's insane! What would make him think that, once you were dead, I'd immediately fall into his arms and agree to marry him?" Amanda asked. "What if Kurtz had hit me instead of you?"

"I agree; the balance of his mind is definitely disturbed, and he may end up in an institution for the criminally insane rather than prison. Well, it seems our time here will be extended, but I think it's safe to leave the house again. Shall we go for a walk?"

"I would love to go for a walk. I'll go get my cape and bonnet."

Their walk took them past the most exclusive hotel in town, the Continental, just about noon. "Shall we see if we can get a table in the dining room?" Matthew asked. "We can call it our farewell to Philadelphia, since we may be leaving tomorrow."

"I think we should. I'm glad I wore the gray taffeta."

"Anything you wore would be perfectly suitable even for this place, my sweet."

Although they didn't have a reservation, they learned that a table would be available in about twenty minutes. "If you and your wife would like to have a seat in the lobby, Major, we'll page you when your table is ready," the maître d' hotel told them.

"Thank you. Major and Mrs. Matthew Davis," Matthew said, with a smile at Amanda that could only be called 'mischievous.' "Perhaps those chairs over there, my love?" he suggested.

"Those chairs would be perfect, Matthew darling," Amanda replied. He patted the hand she'd tucked into the crook of his arm and escorted her over to the chairs he'd indicated, saw her settled in one of the chairs, and took the one beside her.

"I'm going to have to take my gloves off to eat, Matthew, and someone's going to notice that I'm not wearing a wedding ring," she pointed out.

"No one would ever think that you were anything but the most respectable lady, my sweet. If you aren't wearing a ring, it's because you have a good reason for it. However, there is a solution." He removed the signet ring from the little finger of his right hand and passed it to her unobtrusively. "When you feel a need to visit the ladies' withdrawing room over there, you can put it on under your glove, signet side in, of course."

"Of course. In fact, I think I shall go now."

He stood up and assisted her to her feet, kissed her hand, and watched her glide across the lobby, only resuming his seat when she disappeared into the ladies' room.

When Amanda entered the ladies' room, the attendant stood up. "Morning, ma'am," she said. "My name's Delia. If you need something, just let me know."

"Thank you, Delia," Amanda said, thankful that she always carried enough silver to tip the young woman. She used the lavatory facilities, slipped Matthew's ring onto her left hand, and came out to wash at one of the ornate china bowls provided for the purpose. As Delia handed her a clean linen towel, another young woman of color came hurrying into the room.

"Sally, what you doin' here?" Delia asked. "They find out you lef' your post they fire you sure."

Instead of answering, Sally spoke to Amanda, "Ma'am, is your man an officer in th' army?"

"Yes, he's a major. I'm Mrs. Davis," Amanda said, surprised at how easily the words came to her lips. "What's wrong, Sally?"

"Oh, ma'am, there's two men in yonder sayin' they goin' to blow up the Girard an' kill all the sojers there."

The Girard House, until the war began a rival to the Continental Hotel, was now under War Department control as a factory for union uniforms and as a barracks. Matthew had told her about it when they walked past it only a short time before.

"Sally, you did the right thing to come and find me. Is anyone else in there?"

"No, ma'am. They's the only ones, and they's talking like I'm deaf, dumb and blind."

"To men like that, Sally, you are. Thank goodness they're that stupid. Now, I want you to go back in there and wait for them to come out. When they do, we'll be waiting for them. I'm going to go find Major Davis."

"Yes'm."

Amanda divided her store of coins between the two young women, accepted their thanks, and went to find Matthew. He rose to meet her and took her hands when she put them out toward him. "Kiss me as if you didn't just see me ten minutes ago, and on the lips," she whispered.

"With pleasure." He drew her toward him, bent to kiss her lightly, and said, " My love, you are always well worth waiting for. Did you have a successful shopping trip?"

"Oh, yes, darling, very successful. I've found ever so many things we don't have in our shops at home," she said aloud. In an undertone, she said, "We need to go over toward the entrance to the men's room. The attendant there has overhead details of a plot to blow up the Girard House." In a louder voice, she said, "I simply must go and smooth my hair."

"Of course. I'll wait for you outside."

They reached the short hallway that led to the men's and women's lavatories just as two men came out, one of them none other than Orton Rosemont. She stepped to one side, out of the line of direct fire, but also so she could cover Matthew, and slowly took the Baby Dragoon out of her purse, concealing it behind her back.

Matthew stepped forward, the sidearm he always carried in these perilous times drawn. "I'm Major Matthew Davis, War Department Special Intelligence Service. You're both under arrest. Come with me and don't make a scene."

"This is an outrage, sir!" Rosemont said. "How dare you infringe on our civil rights for no good reason! No, we will not come with you; in fact, I demand to speak to your commanding officer."

"You'll have a chance to do that in due time. Right now, you're coming across the street to the Girard House with me."

"Like hell we will!" the other man said, and tried to rush past Matthew, only to find himself confronted by Amanda's Baby Dragoon.

"I'd put my hands up and come quietly, if I were you," she said pleasantly. "You too, Rosemont."

"How do you know my name?" Rosemont blustered.

"We have our ways."

"Who are you?"

"When last we met, Mr. Rosemont, I introduced myself as Mrs. King."

"What? How?"

"We'll ask the questions, Rosemont. Let's go," Matthew said.