A Respectable Actress (39 page)
“Oh.” Miss Bryson edged toward the door. “I will think about it. And thank you, Miss
Hartley. You have been most helpful I am sure.”
In her haste, she caught a toe on the edge of the rug and went sprawling onto the
floor, her skirts flying up around her.
India rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”
“I . . . I think so.” Miss Bryson got to her feet and straightened her hat. “Please
excuse me. I'm late!”
India watched her through the window, then returned to her desk to find that the
bottom drawer was slightly ajar. India frowned. She hadn't looked in that drawer
in several days. She was certain she hadn't left it open.
Obviously, Victoria Bryson had been looking for something other than acting advice.
A
PRIL
14
The Chatham County Jail was the last place on earth India wanted to see again, but
another thorough look at Mr. Philbrick's bookkeeping had at last suggested a theory
as to why the theater
had earned so little last season. Unfortunately, the only one
who could confirm it was the jailed manager himself.
Following his confession in Judge Bartlett's chambers and his waiving of a jury trial,
India had supposed his sentencing would take place right away. But according to the
latest newspaper reports, Mr. Philbrick had decided to hire a lawyer after all, and
now the sentencing was delayed while the lawyer, a Mr. Thurmond who kept offices
in Reynolds Square, reviewed the case.
“Here we are, miss. The jailhouse.” The driver of the hired carriage opened the door
and offered India his hand. “You want me to wait on you?”
“Yes, please. I'll try not to be too long.”
He shrugged and tugged on his ear. “It's your money.”
India paused for a moment, gathering her courage. Just the sight of this foreboding
building set her heart to racing and jangled her nerves. The thought of stepping
inside made her want to turn and run. But Mr. Shakleford and Mr. Kennedy were depending
on her. She couldn't let them down.
She crossed the street to the door and stepped into the noise and smells of the busy
jailhouse, which on this day was crowded with the usual pickpockets, drunks, and
other miscreants. India made her way to the desk at the end of the hallway, where
a young officer sat writing out a report.
“Good morning, Officer.” India raised her voice to be heard above the noise of shouts
and clanging metal. “I'm here to see one of your prisoners.”
“Visiting hour is five to six,” he said without looking up from his writing.
“But this is important.” She clutched her reticule to keep
her hands from shaking.
Unfortunately even her stage training couldn't quell the nervous quaver in her voice.
He looked up at last and blinked. “Miss Hartley? Saints in a sock. I sure never expected
to see you darken our door again.”
“Nor did I. But I have business with Mr. Philbrick concerning the theater.”
He frowned. “I'm not sure it's legal for you to talk to him, seeing as how you are
a part of his case.” He glanced past her shoulder. “You shoulda brought that lawyer
of yours.”
“I would have, but he's on St. Simons, looking after his business interests there.
I'm not sure when he can return, and my business with Mr. Philbrick can't wait.”
“Why the hurry? I hear he ain't going anywhere till his fancy lawyer figures out
a way for him to beat the charges.”
“This won't take long,” India said. “Can't you give me ten minutes?”
He blew out a long breath. “I'll take you up to his cell, but if anybody asks me
how you got up there, I am going to plead ignorance. You understand?”
“Perfectly.”
He glanced around. “Come on then.”
He led her up the stairs and down the long corridor to a cell identical to the one
where she had been held. She suppressed another shudder.
The officer banged the metal bars with his nightstick. “Visitor for you, Philbrick.”
Cornelius Philbrick looked up from the book he was reading, his brow furrowed. “It
isn't time for visitors, and besides, I have nothing to say.”
“Suit yourself.” The officer shot India a hard look. “Ten minutes, and I'll be back
to escort you out of here. Sooner, if the officer in charge finds out you're breakin'
the rules.”
When the officer was out of earshot, India stepped closer to the cell. The smells
of urine, onions, mold, and cooked cabbage wafted up. “Mr. Philbrick. As you just
heard, I don't have much time. I've been going through the records at the theater
and preparing for our spring play, and I have a few questions for you.”
“I don't have to answer any questions. You ought to be grateful I saved your hide
and leave it at that.”
“I am grateful. Deeply so. But I'm managing the theater now, and in going through
the books I findâ”
“That the numbers don't add up.”
“Correct. But I'm sure you can explain.”
He laughed. “Don't try that ploy with me, Miss Hartley. You're a good actress, but
not that good.”
She stared at him through the cold metal bars. “I don't know what you mean.”
“Listen. I know you heard me arguing with Arthur Sterling at the opening-night party
last December.”
India had forgotten about that row until now. Mr. Philbrick was the excitable type,
unaccustomed to compromise and unafraid to browbeat anyone who opposed him. His
argument with Mr. Sterling that night had been unusually loud but not all that rare.
“Everyone heard. It would have been hard not to. Both of you were shouting.” She
paused. “Each of you must have cared deeply for Laura Sinclair. At least in that
moment.”
A piercing yell from another prisoner filled the air, and two uniformed officers
pounded up the stairs.
Cornelius Philbrick shook his head. “I never had you pegged for such a hopeless romantic.
You think Sterling and I were arguing over a woman?”
“Weren't you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Good gravy. How naïve can you be?”
“Miss?” One of the officers approached and crooked his finger. “You don't belong
up here. You'll have to come with me. You can come back this afternoon at five.”
“That won't be necessary, Officer,” Mr. Philbrick said. “I have nothing more to say
to this woman.” He retreated to the back of his cell and turned his back to her.
Dismissed.
India left the jail and waved to her carriage driver.
“Where to, Miss Hartley?”
“Back to the theater, please.”
Back to the beginning.
A
PRIL
17
“M
ISS
B
RYSON
,
WOULD YOU PLEASE COME IN FOR A
moment?” India waved the actress into her office. In the days since her visit to Mr. Philbrick, India had turned his words over and over in her mind. If he and Mr. Sterling had not been arguing over Laura's affections and Mr. Sterling's callous treatment of her, then the only other possibility was money. According to the ledgers, Mr. Sterling had been paid handsomely for his services to the Southern Palace. But India had the strong feeling that she still didn't know the whole story, and now that Laura was gone, the truth would prove even more elusive.
Victoria Bryson entered the office, a frown creasing her pale brow. “What is it,
Miss Hartley? Not a problem with the play, I hope.”
“No.”
“If it's about last Saturday's rehearsal, I know I missed a cue, but I promise it
won't happen again.” Miss Bryson fluffed the feathers on her pale yellow hat. “I
want to give a wonderful performance, and I just know I can. I need more practice,
that's all.”
“Sit down, Miss Bryson.” India closed her office door and leaned against it.
The young actress perched on the edge of her chair. “What is it?”
“I want to know why you were pilfering my office last week. What were you looking
for?”
“I . . . I wasn't. I don't know what you mean.”
“When I came in, you were standing beside my desk with a small blue book in your
hand. After you left, tripping on your own feet in your haste, I might add, I found
a desk drawer standing open.”
“I'm sorry. The book was a gift from Mr. Philbrick. When he was taken to jail, I
realized I had left it here. I wanted it back. I admit I looked in the desk, but
it wasn't there. I finally found it behind the bookcase.”
“You could have asked me about it.”
Miss Bryson shook her head. “It's private.”
India folded her arms. “Don't tell me that you and Mr. Philbrick wereâ”
“No. Nothing like that. I was in love with Mr. Sterling.” The girl's blue eyes filled.
“I guess a part of me always will be. Oh, I know he was faithless, and a liar to
boot, but stillâ”
“And Mr. Philbrick?”
Miss Bryson went still. “Am I in trouble, Miss Hartley?”
“I don't know. Are you?”
The girl burst into tears. “Oh, more trouble than you can ever imagine.”
India crossed the room and sat behind her desk, waiting for Miss Bryson to compose
herself. At last she said, “Maybe you should begin at the beginning.”
Miss Bryson sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I didn't mean to do anything wrong. Right
after I started working at the theater, I was assigned to the odd jobs, helping with
the scenery and keeping up with costumes and such. Hoping for my big chance to actually
be in a play. Finally, last spring, Mr. Sterling noticed me and asked Mr. Philbrick
to give me a small part in
King Lear
. You know that play?”
India smiled. “I do. Go on.”
“Well, I took sick, and Mr. Philbrick replaced me. I know he had to. The show must
go on and all that. But I was heartbroken at missing my chance. I couldn't stay away
from the Southern Palace. It's like a home to me, you know? I feel dead inside when
I'm not here. So I started helping Mr. Philbrick in the office. Just to be a part
of it.” Miss Bryson hiccupped. “Then one day I heard Mr. Philbrick and Mr. Sterling
arguing. I was in the hallway, so I could hear most of what was said. Mr. Sterling
was angry because Mr. Philbrick had charged some expensive dinners against the house
receipts, and Mr. Sterling denied ever having attended them. He was afraid the theater
owners would fire him for being too expensive, and he threatened to tell the owners
what he knew.”
“That Mr. Philbrick was falsifying the expense reports and keeping the money for
himself.”
Miss Bryson bobbed her head. “And then the door flew open unexpectedly, and Mr.
Philbrick caught me with my ear pressed to the wall.”
“I see. Then what?” India had a good idea of what had transpired next, but she wanted
to hear it from the girl herself.
“Mr. Philbrick threw me out. He told me never to set foot inside the theater again.
But I couldn't do that. The theater is everything to me. So we made a deal.”
India recalled the girl's expensive reticule, her outrageous hats. The money for
such fine things had to come from somewhere. “Mr. Philbrick agreed to pay you for
your silence.”
“Yes. I know it was wrong, but he gave me no choice.”
“We always have choices, Miss Bryson. We might not like them, but there they are,
all the same.”
The young woman drew the small blue book from her reticule. “It's all here. The
amounts he paid to me and the dates. When he went to jail, I got scared. That's why
I came here to find it. Mr. Philbrick might seem like a good man, at least some of
the time. But he will stop anyone who gets in his way.” She paused. “What happens
to me now, Miss Hartley? Will I go to jail?”
“I don't know. But I do know you are going to need a good lawyer.”
“Will Mr. Sinclair help me? I suppose he's just about the best there is.”
“I'll send word to Indigo Point. We'll see what he says.”
“All right.”
“In the meantime, we will carry on.”
“You're not firing me?”
“I don't approve of blackmail. But you are young, and I can see how this happened.
For now it's best if you don't say anything to anyone. Not until we hear from Mr.
Sinclair.”
Miss Bryson rose unsteadily and released a shuddering sigh. “Thank you, Miss Hartley.
And I'm sorry for the things I
said at the trial. And for what I said to you, about
being old, and such.”
India saw her out, then returned to her desk and collapsed into her chair. She needed
to inform Mr. Shakleford about Mr. Philbrick's embezzlement, and she needed to compose
a letter to Philip. It was still early enough that the letter could leave on this
evening's steamer. If he received it tomorrow morning, she might possibly receive
a reply by Wednesday. The whole thing was worrisome, but not as disturbing as the
new, darker suspicions rising to the surface of her mind.
