A Libertine?

     A story line for a future novel has a researcher working for the bestselling author Barbara Ann Cartwright. While doing some research on torching a car for Ann Charles I had a line pop into my head involving an ancestor of Barb’s and the word “Libertine”. I don’t have any idea how the concept of Libertine and cars burning have in common, but why not, I’ll take the inspiration where ever I can find it, plus, when I said it in my head it just sounded good to my mind’s ear. Later that evening while not quite paying attention to the TV I wrote up a good chunk of what follows on my blackberry.

     Barbara-Ann Cartwright’s great, great grandfather (her maternal grandmother’ s grandfather) was a spy for the North in the Civil War. Barb remembers her grandmother telling stories about his time during the war. A favorite is one about when Charles Cartwright (his stories are the reason she uses his name as a pen name) was captured in Atlanta.

      Grandma used to start the tale with telling Barb how her Gramps would tell and retell the story whenever any of the grandkids asked him. Then after many cries of “Grandma, tell the story.” (Barb wasn’t the only one that liked to hear the story) she would begin:

      In 1863, Charles Cartwright was working in Atlanta as a lawyer. For two years he had been handling the legal affairs of the Confederate Army’s gentleman officers. Every day he handled wills and contracts for plantations and estates from one officer to another, and every day he wrote the details of the transactions in another ledger. Not a big leather bound tome, that he wrote all the business dealing of the Georgian Captains, Colonels and Generals, but a small, brown, plain leather covered notebook. And in this notebook, Charles wrote in a special code.

      One fine May morning, a gentle breeze blew through the open windows of Charles’ office, keeping the mounting humidity at bay. Charles sat at his desk beneath the open window, his back to the breeze, copying the details of his last appointment from one ledger to the other, his long fingers of his left hand tracing the figures as the quill in the right inscribed the numbers and names in a code. It was at that point that the office door burst open.

      “Mister Cartwright, I beg your pardon,” the intruder called out as he strode into the room. “I seem to have left my riding gloves in the chair.” Two strides and he was at the desk, it was only then that Charles noticed his presence, so deep was his concentration as he encoded the ledger. Standing over him was Colonel Andrew Longfield, a man notorious as a master interrogator. A man of average build, of middle age and no truly memorable features, it was said that he could melt into a group and pass almost unnoticed.

      “Ah, there they are, a gift from my wife, it would not do, at all, to lose them.”

      Charles looked up from his work, a panicked look crossed his face, as what he was doing would be quite obvious to the other man. “Colonel, I must apologize, my mind was occupied, I did not hear your knock.”

      “What is it that could have a man so well occupied?” the interrogator asked as he leaned over and peered at the notebook. “Sir, is that a code? For what purpose does a lawyer employ a code?”

      “For safe guarding the private contracts of my clients,” stammered Charles, his mind reeling, between him and the door and any possibility of escape was an armed Confederate officer.

      “In such a non-descript ledger? I think not.” The colonel’s right hand now rested on the butt of his revolver. “I have seen similar work and that was the work of a spy.” With that he snatched the ledger from the desk top and drew the Single Action Colt from its weather beaten holster.

      Cartwright was dumbfounded. Of course the possibility of capture had crossed his mind, it is never far from thought for any man in his position, but in his own office in broad daylight, that was almost unthinkable. His own pistol was neatly tucked away in a drawer in the sideboard clear across the office, he would have no other choice that to comply with Longfield’s orders, whatever they were.

—

      The interrogation had been going on all day, through the afternoon and on past the dinner hour. Throughout all of it Colonel Longfield had barely raised his voice beyond what was needed to summon an aide from across the chamber at Army Headquarters. Where some interrogators of either the South or the North would resort to violence to gain information, Longfield used the one thing that made him stand out from the crowd. His memory was without peer. He extracted confessions by remembering every element of every conversation he had during an interrogation. Eventually, he would catch the lie.

     Longfield asked Charles about the true ledger, the ledger in code, why were there two ledgers. He even went as far as to ask where they had been purchased. Cartwright’s ancestry, politics, religion, opinions on popular card games, all of these were questioned several times, and with each asking, the order changed as the Colonel dug for the lie he knew had to exist.

     Crossing the room to the sideboard, upon which a platter of refreshments rested complete with a large ceramic pitcher of lemonade, Longfield poured a glass and drank it down in one long pull. Turning to Cartwright, motioning towards the closed door-the door that may well still lead to freedom, said, “Mr. Cartwright, I do so hope that our conversation soon draws to a close, the evening grows late and I should like us to be able to dine as gentleman.” He looked up to a clock on the mantle as if to confirm his concern.

     “I too should like this affair to be in the past, Colonel. We have both lost the best part of a day to this untidiness,” Charles countered. His mind was racing. Was this a sincere statement, or merely another move in the game of interrogation that Longfield, from his reputation so dearly enjoyed?

     “Well, then Charles, if may I call you Charles, as I believe the events of today have us acquainted well enough now to put formalities of address behind us, I have only one more question for you,” he stated, striding back to the center of the room in front the chair that held Cartwright captive.

     “Please Andrew, ask of me your final question.”

     Longfield stood, a tall commanding presence, hands behind his back, not a thread of his uniform out of place before the prisoner’s chair. Charles waited for the Colonel’s next words, the pause seemingly endless. The interrogator’s gaze fixed on his eyes, looking for any hint of falsehood that may come.

     “Charles, are you a Libertine?” was the final question.

      “A Libertine?” Charles voice was strong and steady and climbing in volume. He sat up tall and proud in his chair and in all seriousness he said, “A Libertine? Sir, I am no Libertine, I am a gentleman, I take my coffee black.”

     Longfield’s face was as if carved from stone as he heard Charles’ reply. Cartwright sat stock still, hardly daring to draw a breath. The only sound to be heard in the room was the ticking of the clock.

     Without warning, the widely feared interrogator, breaker of men, burst out laughing. A deep hearty laugh and a complete shock to Charles.

     “Charles, why the shocked look? If there is one thing in this world that I cannot abide by it is a man of unrestrained morals,” Longfield laughed, “Come, now I have full vetted you, we must dine and discuss the busy I wish you to conduct for me as my lawyer.”

     “Your lawyer?” the shocked Charles Cartwright stammered, “I don’t understand.”

     “You don’t really believe I thought you a spy do you?” the Confederate Colonel asked, now leaning back against his desk, “I only needed to know that you would live up to your reputation when handling my business.” He motioned to the door. “Come now, a fine roast dinner awaits us, where we can discuss business in a civilized manner.”

     And with that, Charles Cartwright, lawyer and spy followed Andrew Longfield, colonel and interrogator to dinner, where he was sure he would glean more information for small, plain brown notebook.