The Bracelet (19 page)

“You’re still up?” Celia said.

“It isn’t terribly late. Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“Don’t be coy. I saw the look you gave me at dinner tonight when you mentioned your visit to the Quartermans’.” Ivy pushed her hair off her face and got to her feet. “No doubt you know I wasn’t out with them last weekend.”

“I wasn’t deliberately trying to catch you out. Mary asked how you were and said she hadn’t seen you in a while.” Celia opened the door to her room and motioned Ivy inside. She slipped off her shoes and sat on her bed, tucking her legs beneath her.

Ivy perched on the edge of the little velvet-covered chair beside the window like a bird poised for flight. “I met someone,” she said.

“A man?”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Am I so unattractive you can’t imagine anyone being interested in me?”

“Don’t be silly. You don’t need me to tell you that you’re quite pretty. Who is he?”

“Michael Gleason.”

“Do we know his family?”

“See? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you and Uncle David about him. The only thing you care about is whether someone is from the right part of town.” Ivy fidgeted in her chair. “You don’t know him. He’s Irish. And a drayman.”

“A drayman?”

“He has his own horse and wagon, and he makes deliveries all over town. I met him at the asylum the first day I went to tutor Louisa. He was delivering kitchen supplies for the cook.”

“I see.”

“He’s very smart and kind, and he has a wonderful sense of humor. He asked me to walk out with him after church last week. I knew you and Uncle David wouldn’t approve, so I made up the story about visiting with Lucy Chase. Only it turned out Uncle David knew they weren’t in town, so then I said I was with Mary.”
Ivy gave a brittle little laugh. “I have the worst luck in the world. I can’t even tell a lie and make it stick.”

“Papa doesn’t harbor ill will toward anyone just because of their social class. And he wants only the best for you. Surely you know that.”

“Yes, but his idea of what is best for me isn’t always the same as mine.”

“Well, you’re twenty-five years old, capable of making your own choices. If your affections are settled upon this Mr. Gleason, then—”

“I do feel something for Michael, though we haven’t spent much time together. We think alike. We laugh at the same things. It’s as if we’ve known each other forever. But then I worry that he might turn out like my father.”

“In what way?”

Ivy waved one hand. “Don’t tell me you have forgotten the gossip when we were at school about how Father courted Mother only to prove that he could win the heart of a woman far above his own social standing.”

“But that’s all it was, Ivy. Just silly schoolgirl gossip. I don’t remember very much about Uncle Magnus, but I am sure he and Aunt Eugenia loved each other.”

Ivy’s face clouded. “Maybe he loved her at first. But later—” She shook her head. “Anyway, I hope Michael’s motives are pure. You won’t mention this to Uncle David, will you?”

“Just be careful to guard your heart and your reputation.”

“My reputation? What am I saving it for? I am officially an old maid, the spinster cousin of the beautiful and soon-to-be-wed Celia Browning. I doubt very much if anyone else in Savannah cares what I do.” Ivy got to her feet. “That’s all I wanted to say. Good night.”

12

S
UTTON HANDED
C
ELIA INTO THE CARRIAGE
,
THEN SETTLED
himself on the seat across from her and knocked on the door to signal his driver. As the carriage rolled down the street, Celia was filled with a sense of happy anticipation. She had always loved the theater. Stepping inside, settling into the darkness, was akin to entering another world, a world that allowed her to temporarily set aside her fears and worries. She snuggled into the warmth of her blue woolen cloak and watched the gaslights coming on. Tonight she would forget about Leo Channing, the anonymous notes, and the jeweled bracelet with its sinister message hidden in the bottom drawer of her dressing table.

“Warm enough?” Sutton smiled into her eyes and she felt the tension draining from her shoulders.

“Yes. It’s a bit chilly tonight, but I love November in Savannah.”

“Have I told you how lovely you look in that gown?” Sutton sniffed the air. “I can hardly smell the dead trout at all.”

She laughed. “Have you seen the program for tonight’s performance? I hope Mrs. Cushman reprises her role as Meg Merrilies.”

“
Guy Mannering
is one of my favorite plays too,” he said. “If only because it’s less complicated than Mr. Scott’s novel. I got
bogged down in that book more than once, trying to keep all the characters straight.”

“Mrs. Lawton told me that Mrs. Cushman’s singing voice failed and she had to quit her opera career.”

“Opera’s loss is theater’s gain.” Sutton fished his watch from his vest pocket and peered out the carriage window. “We’re going to miss the curtain if Steven doesn’t speed things up. Wonder what’s taking so—”

The sound of breaking glass startled them both. “What was that?”

Sutton peered out into the growing darkness. “There’s a group of men on the corner. Maybe one of them dropped his bottle of spirits.”

Then came the pop-pop of gunfire. The carriage wheels ground to a stop. Before Sutton could open the door, the driver jumped down and rapped on the glass. “Mr. Mackay?”

“What’s the trouble, Steven?”

“I don’t know, sir, but the street is blocked off up ahead. Looks to me like a mob, with they shotguns and such. What do you want to do?”

“Take Miss Browning home. I’ll go see what this is about.”

The driver shook his head. “Mr. Mackay, I been workin’ for your fambly since you was in short pants, and I ain’t leaving you to no mob. No, sir.”

Shouts erupted behind them in the street. Celia turned to look and saw another group of men, some white, some Negro, moving along Bull Street, their torches blazing in the darkness. Another carriage drew alongside Sutton’s. A man got out and rapped on the window.

“Alexander!” Sutton opened the door and moved over to make room for Mr. Lawton, a husky man with a neatly trimmed beard and kind eyes that just now were filled with worry.

“What the devil is happening here?” Sutton asked.

“Word just came that Charlie Lamar has returned from Africa in the
Wanderer
with his load of slaves. More than four hundred of
them, if the report is accurate.” Mr. Lawton glanced uneasily out of the carriage’s back window. “He is to blame for this unrest.”

“Surely he hasn’t brought the Negroes here to Savannah.”

A brick sailed through the air and shattered the window of Mr. Lawton’s carriage. Sutton’s horse shied in its traces, and the carriage lurched.

“No, he’s put them ashore on Jekyll Island.” Mr. Lawton let out a gusty breath. “The Irish and the free Negroes have joined in protest. The police are out to restore order, but we ought to get off the street as soon as we can.”

“Agreed.”

Celia peered out the window. The crowd seemed to be growing larger by the minute. Men stood five and six abreast in the street, packed as densely as cordwood, their voices like a chorus of angry bees. Bull Street was rapidly becoming impassable.

Sutton turned to Celia. “We’ll have to walk home. Can you manage?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mr. Lawton said. “My carriage can’t move either.” He shook his head. “Sarah was disappointed at the thought of missing the theater tonight. But our boy is sick, and she didn’t want to leave him with the nurse. I’m thankful now that she is home and safe.”

Mr. Lawton pushed open the carriage door, got out, and held his hand out to Celia. The drivers abandoned the carriages and pushed through the crowd.

Celia stepped into the packed street, Sutton close behind. Walking between the two men, she concentrated on taking one step, then another. Shouts, sporadic gunfire, and the sound of breaking glass erupted around her. The mob surged, their faces in the torchlight glowing with fervor and excitement. Sutton drew her close and pressed on through the crowd.

At last they reached her gate. Sutton and Mr. Lawton hustled
Celia up to the door, and the three of them rushed inside. Lights blazed in the library where Papa and Mrs. Maguire sat, their expressions anxious, their cups of tea untouched.

“Sutton—thank God!” Papa rose to greet them. “Are you all right, Celia?”

“Fine, Papa. Sutton and Mr. Lawton kept me safe.”

Papa nodded. “Hello, Alexander.”

“David.” Mr. Lawton removed his hat.

“What’s happened?” Papa asked. “I heard gunfire on the street.”

Briefly, Mr. Lawton recounted the news of the
Wanderer
’s return and the resulting unrest.

Behind his gold-rimmed spectacles, Papa’s blue eyes were worried. “Our old city is in deep trouble, my friend.”

“I fear so, yes, though I don’t expect Georgia planters will buy Lamar’s slaves. He’ll have to sell them farther north if he can find buyers at all.”

“Well, the whole enterprise was ill-advised from the beginning.” Papa’s shoulders drooped. “I suppose Thompson over at the newspaper is happy. He was all for Lamar’s scheme.”

“I’ve known Mr. Thompson for years,” Mr. Lawton said, “and I always thought he was a reasonable man. But lately he has been on the wrong side of several issues. I don’t—”

“Where is Ivy?” Mrs. Maguire shot to her feet.” I thought she was with you, Celia.”

Celia shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

“I thought she was goin’ with you to the theater. But it seems I’m mistaken.”

“Are you certain she isn’t in her room?”

“I’m sure. Unless she’s just come in through the window.”

Well, that was a possibility, since more than likely Ivy had sneaked away with Michael Gleason. “Perhaps she’s with a friend, waiting out this disturbance.”

Mrs. Maguire rolled her eyes. “That Ivy Lorens will be the death o’ me, sure as I’m standin’.” She motioned Sutton and Mr. Lawton to sit. “I’ll just go get some more cups. You gentlemen are bound to be here for a while longer.”

“No tea for me, Mrs. Maguire, thank you.” Mr. Lawton caught Papa’s eye. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of spirits though, if the ladies will indulge us.”

Papa went to the side table and poured a bit of bourbon into a cut crystal glass. “How about you, Sutton?”

“Yes, thanks.”

The three men clinked glasses and sipped. Celia helped herself to a cup of lukewarm tea and stared into the fire cracking in the grate. Another hour passed. A police wagon clattered along the street, setting off a chorus of barking dogs.

A short time later, the doorbell sounded. Mrs. Maguire hurried to the door, Sutton and Mr. Lawton in her wake. Sutton’s driver, Steven, stood at the door. Beyond the gate stood Sutton’s carriage and Mr. Lawton’s.

Steven snatched his cap off his head and nodded to Mrs. Maguire. “Evening, ma’am. Is Mr. Mackay still here?”

“I’m here, Steven,” Sutton said, “and so is Mr. Lawton. Are you all right?”

“Yessir, we fine. The horses is kinda spooked, and the carriages are a little the worse for wear, but I expect I can fix yours up good as new. Mr. Lawton’s going to need hisself some new glass, though.” The carriage driver paused. “The po-lice done got everything under control. Took some folks to jail, I reckon. Anyway, the streets is all clear now, Mr. Mackay, if you and Mr. Lawton want to go home.”

“We do,” Sutton said. “It has been quite a night.”

Sutton and Mr. Lawton said their good-byes and soon were on their way.

And still Ivy had not appeared.

“I suppose I should go look for her,” Papa said.

Celia shook her head. If Ivy wanted to risk her good name and her very life, that was her business, but it wasn’t Papa’s responsibility to save her cousin from her own poor choices. “Where would you look, Papa? She could be anywhere.”

“True. But still I—”

“I’m sure she’s safe with one of our friends. I’ll wait up for her if you like, but I won’t have you going out in the dark to search for her. She should have told us where she was going.”