“At least.” Ridley needed the profits far more than his older brother, which was why he had been so happy to return to Richmond, where he could not only make money, but also be free of Anna’s cloying affections. He told himself that marriage would surely make things easier between himself and Faulconer’s daughter, and that once he had the security of the family’s wealth behind him he would not so resent Anna’s petulant demands. In affluence, Ridley believed, lay the solution to all life’s griefs.

Belvedere Delaney also liked affluence, but only if it brought power in its wake. He checked his horse to watch a company of Mississippians march by; fine-looking bearded men, thin and tanned, but all armed with old-fashioned flintlocks like the ones their grandfathers had carried against the redcoats. The coming war, Delaney hoped, must be brief, because the North would surely wipe away these enthusiastic amateurs with their homely weapons and gangling gait, and when that happened Delaney intended to realize an even larger profit than the paltry dollars he now made from equipping Washington Faulconer’s Legion. For Belvedere Delaney, though a southerner by birth and breeding, was a northerner by calculation, and though he had not yet become a spy he had quietly permitted his friends in the northern states to understand that he intended to serve their cause from within the Virginian capital. And when that northern victory came, as it surely must, then Delaney reckoned that the southern supporters of the legitimate federal government could expect a rich reward. That, Delaney knew, was a long view, but holding the long view while all around him fools gambled their lives and property on the short gave Belvedere Delaney an immense amount of satisfaction. “Tell me about Starbuck,” he suddenly asked his brother as they walked their horses about the Fair Grounds perimeter.

“Why?” Ridley was surprised by the abrupt question.

“Because I am interested in Elial Starbuck’s son.” In truth it had been thoughts of southerners supporting the North and northerners fighting for the South that had made Delaney think of Starbuck. “I met him, did you know?”

“He didn’t say anything.” Ridley sounded resentful.

“I rather liked him. He has a quick mind. Much too mercurial to be successful, I suspect, but he’s not a dull young man.”

Ethan Ridley sneered at that generous assessment. “He’s a goddamn preacher’s son. A pious son of a Boston bitch.”