VIII

Adam and Sibella rode in silence for over a half-hour; they would be home in another twenty and all Adam desired was to take some laudanum and escape in sleep. Better to clear the air now than to hear about the evening from an aggrieved Sibella who would keep him from sleeping.

"Okay, Sibella, let's hear it."

She gazed out into the surrounding darkness. This was what she had been waiting for, for Adam to ask her why she was angry – as if he didn't know. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please – don't play this game with me. You're angry. Now, pour out your wounded feelings and let's get it over with."

"What wounded feelings?"

"Fine. Stay silent and pout but that won't solve anything."

Sibella turned on him like a cat, her eyes dark with anger. "Fine! You want to hear it? Here goes - you're absolutely right - I'm mad! I'm furious! How could you, Adam? How could you?"

Adam shook his head with a small laugh.

"And don't do that! Don't patronize me like you do a child! I have every reason to be upset with you. You ogled Fanny Fitzhugh! One would think you'd never seen a woman's breasts before! And she flirted with you in front of everyone and all you did was…was…nothing! You did nothing!"

"Sibella, what should I have done – in your opinion, of course? Insulted Fanny Fitzhugh in my father's home?"

"No, of course not, but you toasted her during dinner. Raised your glass to her."

"She raised her glass to me. I only gave the polite response. Would you have me ignore her – sneer at her? Embarrass everyone at the table with an act of rudeness? Behave like a cad?"

Sibella was raised and tutored with proper manners and although she rebelled in many ways from the staidness of her parents' generation, she was inherently a lady and try as she might, the manners of society were inculcated so deeply she couldn't behave otherwise.

"Well, maybe not but…" Sibella was confused. She had so carefully planned what she was going to say to Adam and then he went and turned everything around. "You looked at her bosom! When she bent down in front of you, you looked!"

Adam grinned. "Looking in the shop window doesn't mean I'm going to buy."

"Oh!" Sibella was angry and frustrated; this was not going as she had planned. "You don't take any of this seriously."

"Sibella, it's not serious. Look, Fanny flirted with me and with Archie and I'm sure she'll aim those breasts at my father tomorrow. She's quite a beautiful woman for her age but I'd say she's a pathetic, frustrated woman. Seems the Colonel has become a lush and I think she's unhappy and needs male attention, craves it."

"Oh, is that what you think?" Sibella didn't know what else to say. Her mind raced trying to think of a comment that would make Adam feel guilty. As it was, he was presenting his acts as charitable. He always did that to her, raced ahead of her and she never quite caught up with him. One day, maybe one day, she'd not only catch up with him, but overtake him.

"Yes, I do think that. She must be in her late 40's and, admittedly, she's starting to run to fat, but she's still quite an attractive woman. Some women depend on the admiration of men to feel worthwhile and she seems to be one of them."

"She's…she's…well, you may think she's attractive, but all that hair isn't hers, you know. Those thick curls hanging about her neck - a scalpette!" Sibella felt victorious, very satisfied with herself.

"A what?"

"A scalpette. A frizette. False hair."

"False hair?" Adam looked at Sibella. The wind had picked up and although Sibella wore the hood up of her cape, small wisps of hair blew around her face; she looked like a young girl.

"Yes. You attach them to your own hair with a comb and pins or they're attached by a net, and it makes a woman look as if she has a cascade of lush curls. Madame Adair tried to sell me one a few months ago, a fringe for my forehead. She wore a frizette – it covered the roots as her hair grew out - and took off her own to show me how they could be attached in only a few minutes. I almost bought one – those fringed bangs are nouveau chic – all the French women are wearing them. And something else; when I saw Fanny Fitzhugh up close, when she was toying with you, I saw she had wrinkles about her eyes. Didn't you notice?"

"I wasn't looking at her eyes." Adam smiled to himself as Sibella huffed and sputtered and looked away as they turned up the familiar drive that led to their home.

~ 0 ~

Waiting until Adam returned from the kitchen where they kept the amber, glass bottle of laudanum, Sibella made a show of tossing her things about the room, her earbobs clunked into the crystal cache bowl, her petticoat practically flying across the room. But he seemed not to notice, just disrobed and crawled between the sheets. He lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the light.

Why wasn't Adam more uxorious? He took her for granted, that was why. He should be begging her forgiveness, repeating over and over that he would never look at another woman again! That was what Sibella wanted. She wanted him to beg her mercy so she could deny him, so she could keep him dangling until finally, maybe in a day or two when he pulled her to him and began the slow warming of her desires, she would give in to him. But not until she had thoroughly punished him.

Sibella sighed as she glanced at the bed. He wasn't even watching her as he usually did, waiting for her as she brushed her hair and then opening his arms to welcome her into his embrace. All those coy tricks and manipulations she had used on her past swains had never worked on Adam and what made her think they would work now? After all, what had he really done? Been polite? And when he had removed Fanny Fitzhugh's hand from his neck, he had reverted to her formal title – not "Fanny" anymore. But still.

Slipping her sleep gown over her head, Sibella slid into bed and turned her back to Adam as she reached over to snuff the lamp, darkness overtaking. Sibella lay still, listening in the darkness, Was Adam asleep yet? She felt the bed shift and one of Adam's arms slid under her waist and pulled her to him. Adam's breath warmed her neck as he kissed it.

"Goodnight, my love," Adam whispered.

What a dilemma! Sibella wanted to pull away, to ask him how he could behave that way while she was so angry! And he hadn't yet apologized! But his embrace was so warm and his arms so protective and she knew he loved her…

"Goodnight," Sibella said and turned in his embrace to lay one arm across his chest while he held her against him. She sighed. The man was infuriating! But he loved her – that she knew. And she adored him. The tension in her body dropped away and she melded into her place beside him, soon asleep.

And Mme. Adair's letters and the tintype remained in the jacket pocket – unread and forgotten.

~ 0 ~

The sun was rising and Sibella rolled over in bed, stretching her arms above her head. Suddenly she remembered the previous evening and that she was angry with Adam. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked about. Adam wasn't there and his suit was gone from the valet stand. Sibella swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slid her feet into the waiting slippers, and pulled on her wrapper, glancing at the clock. It was 7:42 and unless Adam had headed to the office early, he should still be home. She could smell hot coffee and bacon as she headed downstairs. Sibella decided she would be cold and distant to Adam. After all, she was still angry at him, granted, not as much as she had a right to be, but still angry. But that tactic had never worked with Adam. When she was cold, he behaved normally, as if he noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

Well, there was another tactic; she would turn away his romantic advances the next time he pulled her to him and lifted her gown. But that had never worked either; in the past, he had merely kissed her and then rolled over and gone to sleep. She considered she should have married a man who worshipped at her feet, who would do her bidding gladly. But no, she had to marry a hard-headed, self-contained man who saw through her efforts to manipulate him to do her bidding and thwarted them.

The two men in her life, Noah and Adam sat at breakfast, Noah in Mrs. George's lap. "Mama, Mama!" Noah grinned, waving about his spoon, oatmeal on his cheeks, his bib and the tabletop.

"Morning, Missus," Mrs. George said. "Noah seems to have more food on his face than in his stomach."

Adam, who had Mme. Adair's letters on the table top and was holding another one, stood and kissed her on the cheek and with a grin, he said in a low voice, "Still angry with me?"

"Absolutely," Sibella said, refusing to smile. She felt one large hand lightly caress her derrière and jumped a bit. "Let me take Noah," Sibella said to Mrs. George. "I'll finish feeding him. And would you bring me some coffee?"

With Noah on her lap and reaching for her coffee placed far enough away from Noah's grasp, Sibella sat in silence, watching Adam read. She couldn't bear anymore. "What do the letters say?"

"What? Oh. They're letters from her brother, at least that's my conclusion."

"Her brother?" Noah banged on the table top with his spoon and Sibella, held onto his plump arm, "Stop that, sweetheart. Here." She gently pulled the spoon from his hand and gave him a piece of cold toast which he immediately put to his mouth. "What are they about?"

"These were written during the war. His name is Declan and he closes all of them with, 'Ever your most devoted brother, Declan'. They're addressed to a Harriet and the return name on the envelope is Cpl. D. S. Griffith – not a French name by any stretch – and the recipient's name is Miss H. Griffith of Macon, Georgia – all but two and those are addressed to Miss H. Griffith of Carson City, Nevada. But the last one, it's short and desperate, telling her it will be his last letter and that by the time she receives it, he'll be dead – shot for being a traitor to the Confederacy."

"You think they're written by the young corporal in the tintype."

"Yes – to his sister, Harriet"

"Then they aren't to Madame Adair. So why would she have them?"

"Maybe they are to her, Sibella. I only spoke to Mme. Adair once – about a year ago – and she spoke with a French accent. Did she always, I mean, did she ever lapse in her accent? Was there ever a time when she spoke without one?"

"Not that I recall? What are you thinking, Adam?" Sibella was puzzled.

"Well," Adam rubbed one earlobe while he scanned the letter he held. "Maybe Mme. Adair wasn't French."

"But she was – at least she sounded French. She even spoke the language."

"Conversationally or did she just use French phrases?"

"Well…yes. I mean she would say, 'tres bien', and 'mais non', 'plus jolie', little things like that. I only know a bit of schoolgirl French so I never held a conversation with her in French, but I never doubted she was." Noah threw the gnawed toast down on the table and then fussed, arching his back to be put down. Sibella wiped his hands and his mouth while Noah protested and pulled his head away from the napkin, throwing out his arms to push her hand aside. "Have your way then," Sibella said and set Noah down. The child toddled off while she watched and then plopped down to throw about the building blocks lying on the rug, the ones Adam had kicked out of his way last night.

Adam folded the letter, placing it back in the envelope. "You said that she wore a…what was that word for artificial hair? A frizz…"

"A frizette – an artificial fringe. What of it?"

"You said it covered the roots of her hair, that she tinted her hair so I assume she wasn't naturally a brunette. What color were her roots?"

"Oh…" Sibella's face lit up. "The roots were a dark blonde – like the corporal. Oh, Adam, he must be her brother."

"Right. And Mme. Adair is Harriet Griffith. Now I have to find out why she changed her identity and if it has anything to do with her death."

Sibella eagerly leaned forward. "But it has to, Adam!"

"No, Sibella, it doesn't have to. Almost everyone has a secret to hide but it doesn't mean it leads to their death."

"I don't have any secrets to hide," Sibella said, sitting up straight. She reached for her coffee cup and politely sipped. She felt extremely superior and believed she was transparently upright.

Adam grinned. "Oh, Sibella - nothing?" and gave a low, throaty laugh that caused a thrill up her spine. She blushed deeply, suddenly filled with horror at the memory of all she had done to please her husband on so many nights and had behaved in ways no lady ever should.

"Well," Sibella said, looking into her coffee cup, "maybe a few."