A Respectable Actress (35 page)

India could hardly blame Laura for her eagerness. Who wouldn't want to marry Philip
Sinclair? “But she said she was not your wife.”

“After our session in the judge's chambers, Laura left a note for me at my office.
Her story was that she found out her husband
was alive and had been released from
a prisoner of war camp just before our wedding, and she didn't know how to tell me.
Or how to stop the elaborate plans she'd made. So she went through with the wedding
and hoped neither he nor I would find out.”

He stared out at the gently rolling surf. “She hated everything about Indigo Point.
She didn't know how to work with the blacks. She hated the heat and the tedium of
daily life here. She was terrified of water snakes and alligators. That was when
she learned to use a gun. She couldn't make friends with the other women on the island.
I thought all she needed was time to adjust. I thought that because she cared for
me, she would learn to love Indigo Point. But she never did.”

“I'm sorry. I know that must have hurt you.”

He shrugged. “She thought the other planters were vapid and cruel and ignorant. Some
were, of course. But she never appreciated the beauty of this island. Or the courage
some people showed during the war when the chips were down.

“The irony is that I was the one who first invited Arthur Sterling to visit the Point.
Laura enjoyed the theater, and I thought having him here might make her feel less
isolated. She saw him as an escape from her life.”

India thought of the final entry in the lost letter book. The PS didn't stand for
“post script.” It stood for Philip Sinclair.
PS: I think he knows
. But he hadn't.

She reached for his hand as he continued. “After the fire, I thought my life was
over and that nothing would ever be right again. For months after the funeral I didn't
leave the plantation. I handed off my court cases to another lawyer and holed up
with my grief. I hardly slept. I barely ate.”

“But you survived.”

“Yes. I finally made peace with what she had done, and with myself. I had my law
practice, my plans for the Point. My workers were depending on me. So I went on
with life. Then you found the necklace and the letter book. I should have given more
credence to your theory earlier than I did, but I didn't want to believe Laura felt
nothing for me. That she was capable of such terrible things.”

India saw that his words, so harsh and unsparing, cut straight to his own heart.
Truth was the sharpest knife for such a procedure.

“People believe what they need to believe,” she said quietly, “in order to keep going.”

He tipped his head so that it rested against hers. They sat in silence listening
to the calls of the seabirds and the gentle whoosh of the outgoing tide.

“Anyway,” Philip said finally, “I'm sorry I didn't believe you.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her. She went into his arms, and they clung
together like survivors in an open sea, two people who had been torn from all they
knew and loved.

Something alive and gossamer as a moth's wing hovered in the air between them. She
felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the faint pulsing of his heart through
the fabric of his shirt. She thought this might be the beginning of their future.
Certainly he was capable of living alone, but he needed someone. He needed her.
And she longed to make whole again what Laura's shameful treatment of him had broken.

The moment passed and he released her. “We ought to go. Amelia will wonder what became
of us.”

He closed the boat shed, and they retraced their steps along the beach.

“I hope I haven't burdened you with my sad tale,” Philip said as they reached the
house.

“Not at all. I'm glad you trusted me with it. But it's in the past now. Over and
done.”

“Almost,” he said as Amelia stepped onto the porch to greet them. “There's one more
thing I have to do.”

C
HAPTER
32

M
ARCH
12

I
NDIA SMOOTHED THE SKIRT OF HER BEST DRESS AND
watched from the corner of her eye as Celia Mackay settled into her family's pew and opened her prayer book. The stillness of St. John's settled around them, bringing a rare had it been since she sat in absolute quiet, her mind emptied of its myriad worries? She could not remember.

Like India's schooling, her religious training had fallen by the wayside after her
aunt's death, and now she was uncertain of the order of the service and of the responses.
She could only follow Celia's lead and hope not to embarrass herself by speaking
or kneeling at the wrong time.

The service began with the ringing of a bell that echoed throughout the opulent space.
During the general confession, she heard a booming voice just behind her left shoulder.
She turned around and saw a bear of a man with a red beard and a shiny bald pate
looking right back at her, his bright blue eyes friendly and curious.

India quickly faced the front again. Surely this was Mr. Kennedy, the co-owner of
the theater. Celia had looked for him
when she and India and Frannie entered the
church, but the pew was half empty. Now that the introductions were forthcoming,
India worried that despite everything, Mr. Kennedy might blame her for the tragedy
that had taken Mr. Sterling's life. He might think her too young for the responsibility
of managing such an important theater. He might not think any woman capable of the
task. And his partner in the enterprise would no doubt have ideas of his own.

“Psst!”

India looked to her right to see that Celia was kneeling and Frannie was motioning
India to follow. India hastily knelt and winked at the little girl, who clapped one
hand over her mouth to smother a giggle.

At last the rector pronounced the benediction in a sonorous voice that seemed to
beam straight from heaven itself. People filed from the pews and headed for the doors.
Celia wasted no time in making the introductions. She tapped Mr. Kennedy's sleeve.

“Good morning.”

“Mrs. Mackay. Good to see you.”

“You, too, sir. It has been too long. How is Mrs. Kennedy?”

“About the same, I'm afraid. She misses coming to church. She will be pleased to
know you asked after her.”

“Tell her I hope to call on her when she feels up to receiving visitors.”

“I will.” He turned his blue eyes on India. “This, of course is the fair Miss Hartley.”

India inclined her head. “Mr. Kennedy.”

“I saw you on the stage once in Boston. It must be nigh on to
five years or more.
A memorable performance it was, alongside your father. I was most grieved to hear
of his death last spring.”

“Thank you.”

A couple of people stopped to chat with Celia. She made quick introductions and sent
Frannie out to play in the churchyard, then turned her most dazzling smile on Mr.
Kennedy.

“I'm glad you've seen Miss Hartley's work. I don't have to tell you what an asset
she would be to the Southern Palace.”

“As a player, absolutely.” He frowned. “But managing a theater calls for a boatload
of skills besides acting. As I'm sure you know.”

India could feel her heart kicking inside her chest. “Mr. Kennedy, my father owned
a touring company that he hoped one day to leave to me. For years I assisted him
in every aspect of managing it. Of course it isn't precisely the same thing, but
I'm certain I can manage the Southern Palace and make it profitable.”

The church had emptied. Mr. Kennedy offered an arm to Celia and the other to India.
“Shall we?”

They went out into the pale March sunshine. Rigs and carriages lined up along the
street as the worshippers headed home. Frannie played with a small group of children
on the gray stone steps, her thick dark braid hanging loose over one shoulder.

“Miss Hartley has much more in mind than merely making a profit,” Celia said, taking
up the conversation again. “Tell him, India.”

The wind gusted up. India clamped her hand to her hat to keep it in place and brief
ly explained her wish to use the theater for education as well as for entertainment.
“Besides bringing culture and knowledge to the young people, such a program encourages
the next generation to become theatergoers. It ensures that the Southern Palace can
stay profitable into the future.”

“I think India's idea is wonderful,” Celia said. “And a useful complement to the
men's library you helped us open last fall. The library is already helping to keep
the working-class men of Savannah away from the grog houses and . . . other undesirable
pursuits. Just think of how much more we could elevate the culture of the city if
we had India's program in place at the theater.”

Mr. Kennedy said, “I'm all for helping the city move forward, but I'm not sure it
can work.”

“One thing I've learned in life is that nothing is assured,” India said. “Everything
we do, from crossing a street to visiting the dentist, is a calculated risk. But
the possibility of catastrophe doesn't prevent us from going ahead, does it?”

“No, I suppose not,” Mr. Kennedy mused.

“All I'm asking is a chance to try it,” India went on. “If it proves unsuccessful
or unworkable, then—”

“Mr. Kennedy! There you are.” India's understudy, the blond Miss Bryson, came tripping
across the churchyard, an obviously new and expensive reticule dangling from one
arm. If she regretted her testimony at the trial, she didn't show it. She barely
glanced at India. “Mr. Kennedy, I've heard the theater is about to reopen, and I
wanted to offer my services in whatever production is—”

“That news is a bit premature, Miss Bryson. There is much to be done before we're
underway again. When the time comes, you're welcome to audition for any suitable
role.”

“Audition? But—”

Celia stepped closer. “Please excuse us, Miss Bryson. We
were just in the middle
of an important discussion. I'm sure you understand.”

The girl looked flustered. “Oh. Of course.”

She turned on her heel and entered a waiting carriage.

India pressed a hand to her forehead. Miss Bryson aspired to be a great actress,
but she lacked the skill to conceal her unbridled ambition. If India did become
manager of the Southern Palace, she would have to find some way to deal with the
budding actress. The world of the theater was a small one. Word got around—good
or bad—and the last thing any manager needed was a player with an inflated opinion
of her own worth.

Mr. Kennedy turned back to India. “I must be getting home. My wife is expecting me.
I will give some thought to your proposal and discuss it with Mr. Shakleford when
he returns from Charleston. I couldn't make a decision without consulting my partner.”

“Of course not. I wouldn't expect you to.”

“He's the one who put up most of the money to build the theater. I'm just the idea
man. If he's interested, he will want to speak to you himself.”

“I'll look forward to it.”

He bobbed his head. “Good day, ladies.”

Celia called to Frannie, who joined them as they headed for Madison Square.

“Well,” Celia said to India, “All in all, I think that went very well.”

“What went well, Mama?” Frannie caught her mother's hand and skipped along the street.

“Nothing of interest to you, my sweet. Just a discussion
about the theater. Grown-up
stuff. Very boring.” Celia tugged on her daughter's messy braid. “What happened to
your hair?”

“Charlie Stiles pulled out my ribbons, and then the pins fell, and I couldn't find
them. I told him he was being mean, but then Bessie Frost told me when a boy pulls
your hair that means he likes you. Is that true?”

Celia laughed. “In my experience, yes, it's true. But you are too young for boys.
Your papa would have a fit if he thought you were interested in Charlie Stiles.”

“I'm trying to get older,” Frannie said. “And anyway, Papa fell in love with you
when you were twelve. I'll be twelve in four more years.”

They reached the Mackays' house and went inside. Mrs. Whipple served lunch. Frannie
went to her room for a nap, and Celia and India settled into the parlor.

“Don't worry about what Mr. Kennedy's partner will say,” Celia said. “Mr. Shakleford
is not the type to question Mr. Kennedy's decisions. If Mr. Kennedy decides in your
favor, Mr. Shakleford won't stand in the way. I only hope he returns from Charleston
soon.”

“Oh, I hope so too. And I can't thank you enough for the introduction. And for your
hospitality. But it's high time I found somewhere else to hang my hat. I've depended
upon your good graces far too long.”

“Nonsense. I've enjoyed your company. But I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to find
someplace quieter.” Celia laughed, crinkling the corners of her violet eyes. “Frannie
and Maxwell and the cat can be too much at times. You might find the hotel a more
tranquil place.”

“Until I find a position of some kind, I can't afford it. And I won't take another
penny from you. So don't even suggest it. There must be less expensive lodgings somewhere
around here. A boardinghouse, perhaps, or a ladies' hotel.”

Celia frowned. “Boardinghouses. Yes, but not at all suitable for someone like you.”

“I don't need anything fancy. I'm quite accustomed to less than luxurious accommodations.
After all, I spent three nights alone in a fish camp on a practically deserted island.”

Celia inclined her head. “I still don't understand how Philip managed that. Or how
he found Laura. Not that it's any of my business. I'm only glad you are free.”