There was a short mumbled argument, punctuated with curses, and uncertain feet ascended the stairs. In the doorway appeared Ashley, white faced, his head lolling, his bright hair tousled, his long body wrapped from neck to knees in Rhett’s black cape. Hugh Elsing and Rhett, none too steady on their feet, supported him on either side and it was obvious he would have fallen to the floor but for their aid. Behind them came the Yankee captain, his face a study of mingled suspicion and amusement. He stood in the open doorway with his men peering curiously over his shoulders and the cold wind swept the house.
Scarlett, frightened, puzzled, glanced at Melanie and back to the sagging Ashley and then half-comprehension came to her. She started to cry out: “But he can’t be drunk!” and bit back the words. She realized she was witnessing a play, a desperate play on which lives hinged. She knew she was not part of it nor was Aunt Pitty but the others were and they were tossing cues to one another like actors in an oft-rehearsed drama. She understood only half but she understood enough to keep silent.
“Put him in the chair,” cried Melanie indignantly. “And you, Captain Butler, leave this house immediately! How dare you show your face here after getting him in this condition again!”
The two men eased Ashley into a rocker and Rhett, swaying, caught hold of the back of the chair to steady himself and addressed the captain with pain in his voice.
“That’s fine thanks I get, isn’t it? For keeping the police from getting him and bringing him home and him yelling and trying to claw me!”
“And you, Hugh Elsing, I’m ashamed of you! What will your poor mother say? Drunk and out with a—a Yankee-loving Scalawag like Captain Butler! And, oh, Mr. Wilkes, how could you do such a thing?”
“Melly, I ain’t so very drunk,” mumbled Ashley, and with the words fell forward and lay face down on the table, his head buried in his arms.
“Archie, take him to his room and put him to bed—as usual,” ordered Melanie. “Aunt Pitty, please run and fix the bed and oo-oh,” she suddenly burst into tears. “Oh, how could he? After he promised!”
Archie already had his arm under Ashley’s shoulder and Pitty, frightened and uncertain, was on her feet when the captain interposed.
“Don’t touch him. He’s under arrest. Sergeant!”
As the sergeant stepped into the room, his rifle at trail, Rhett, evidently trying to steady himself, put a hand on the captain’s arm and, with difficulty, focused his eyes.
“Tom, what you arresting him for? He ain’t so very drunk. I’ve seen him drunker.”
“Drunk be damned,” cried the captain. “He can lie in the gutter for all I care. I’m no policeman. He and Mr. Elsing are under arrest for complicity in a Klan raid at Shantytown tonight. A nigger and a white man were killed. Mr. Wilkes was the ringleader in it.”
“Tonight?” Rhett began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he sat down on the sofa and put his head in his hands. “Not tonight, Tom,” he said when he could speak. “These two have been with me tonight—ever since eight o’clock when they were supposed to be at the meeting.”
“With you, Rhett? But—” A frown came over the captain’s forehead and he looked uncertainly at the snoring Ashley and his weeping wife. “But—where were you?”
“I don’t like to say,” and Rhett shot a look of drunken cunning at Melanie.
“You’d better say!”
“Le’s go out on the porch and I’ll tell you where we were.”
“You’ll tell me now.”
“Hate to say it in front of ladies. If you ladies’ll step out of the room—”
“I won’t go,” cried Melanie, dabbing angrily at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I have a right to know. Where was my husband?”
“At Belle Watling’s sporting house,” said Rhett, looking abashed. “He was there and Hugh and Frank Kennedy and Dr. Meade and—and a whole lot of them. Had a party. Big party. Champagne. Girls—”
“At—at Belle Watling’s?”
Melanie’s voice rose until it cracked with such pain that all eyes turned frightenedly to her. Her hand went clutching at her bosom and, before Archie could catch her, she had fainted. Then a hubbub ensued, Archie picking her up, India running to the kitchen for water, Pitty and Scarlett fanning her and slapping her wrists, while Hugh Elsing shouted over and over: “Now you’ve done it! Now you’ve done it!”
“Now it’ll be all over town,” said Rhett savagely. “I hope you’re satisfied, Tom. There won’t be a wife in Atlanta who’ll speak to her husband tomorrow.”
“Rhett, I had no idea—” Though the chill wind was blowing through the open door on his back, the captain was perspiring. “Look here! You take an oath they were at—er—at Belle’s?”
“Hell, yes,” growled Rhett “Go ask Belle herself if you don’t believe me. Now, let me carry Mrs. Wilkes to her room. Give her to me, Archie. Yes, I can carry her. Miss Pitty, go ahead with a lamp.”
He took Melanie’s limp body from Archie’s arms with ease.
“You get Mr. Wilkes to bed, Archie. I don’t want to ever lay eyes or hands on him again after this night.”
Pitty’s hand trembled so that the lamp was a menace to the safety of the house but she held it and trotted ahead toward the dark bedroom. Archie, with a grunt, got an arm under Ashley and raised him.
“But—I’ve got to arrest these men!”
Rhett turned in the dim hallway.
“Arrest them in the morning then. They can’t run away in this condition—and I never knew before that it was illegal to get drunk in a sporting house. Good God, Tom, there are fifty witnesses to prove they were at Belle’s.”
“There are always fifty witnesses to prove a Southerner was somewhere he wasn’t,” said the captain morosely. “You come with me, Mr. Elsing. I’ll parole Mr. Wilkes on the word of—”
“I am Mr. Wilkes’ sister. I will answer for his appearance,” said India coldly. “Now, will you please go? You’ve caused enough trouble for one night.”
“I regret it exceedingly.” The captain bowed awkwardly. “I only hope they can prove their presence at the—er—Miss—Mrs. Watling’s house. Will you tell your brother that he must appear before the provost marshal tomorrow morning for questioning?”
