The Bracelet (29 page)

“Yes, you’re just in time.”

Celia took his arm as they returned to the parlor. “Aside from the delayed shipment, how are things on Commerce Row?”

“Perking along. This morning I went over the books with Elliott Shaw. Barring any disasters, we should have a record profit this season.” He paused. “There is one bit of news. Mr. Shaw has given his notice. He intends to leave by the end of the month. He’s going back to his sister’s in Cassville.”

“But why? I realize his sister has been ill recently. But Mr. Shaw has been your clerk forever.”

“I asked that very question and he said, ‘Ask your daughter.’ ” Papa removed his coat and shook it out. “Has something happened that I ought to know about?”

“Mr. Shaw turned up uninvited at the masquerade ball with a gift for me, which naturally I refused.”

“I see.”

“And then he showed up on the waterfront the night Sutton and I went to see the new ship. He said he’d been working late on some report you wanted. But I’m not sure I believe him. I—”

“Mr. Browning.” Mrs. Maguire placed a brimming teacup on the small table next to Papa’s chair. “I’ve made your tea the way you like it, and there are cookies on the tray. But I can make something more substantial if you like.”

“This will be plenty, Mrs. Maguire. I had lunch at the club and ate more than I should have.” He picked up a cookie. “Besides, I don’t want to spoil my appetite for whatever you are planning for dinner this evening.”

Mrs. Maguire’s eyes widened. “Oh, my faith! In all the excitement I forgot all about my pork roast and cabbage. If I don’t get them in the pot soon, you won’t have any dinner till midnight.”

The housekeeper hurried out. Papa looked from Celia to Ivy. “Excitement? What happened?”

“Nothing really,” Celia said quickly. “I was up in the attic, and the wind blew the door closed. Ivy and Mrs. Maguire rescued me.”

Papa helped himself to more tea. “I’ve been meaning to clean out that attic, but somehow I never get around to it. What were you doing up there?”

“Just poking around,” Celia said. “The weather was too disagreeable for visiting or for walking Maxwell in the park.” She smiled at him and shrugged. “A girl can read only so many books on a day like this.”

He laughed. “I suppose that’s true.”

“I found some of mother’s watercolors. Would you mind if I had them framed? I might like to have them in my dressing room when Sutton and I are married and living on our own.”

“Of course, darling. Take whatever you want. I’d forgotten how fond your mother was of painting. She never wanted me to see her work, though.”

Maxwell woke, stretched, and padded across the room to nudge Papa’s hand with his nose. “Hello, my man.” Papa stroked the puppy’s head. “Ivy? You’ve been quiet. What did you do today, apart from rescuing your cousin from the attic?”

“I had a letter from a school friend. Leticia Hopewell. She’s living in New York now and has invited me to visit. I’m thinking of going.”

“Not before Celia’s wedding, surely.”

Ivy’s eyes went bright with sudden tears, but she managed a smile. “No, of course not, Uncle David. Not before then.”

He finished his tea and got to his feet. “If you ladies will excuse me, I think I’ll lie down for a while before dinner. It isn’t often I get a chance to come home early for a rest.”

He kissed Celia’s cheek. “You could do with a rest, too, my dear. You’re very pale. Are you quite sure you’re all right?”

“I had a bad dream last night, that’s all. But a nap sounds
like a good idea.” She picked up Maxwell and turned to her cousin. “What about you, Ivy?”

“I want to finish my tea and write a letter to Leticia. I’ll see you at dinner.” She smiled. “Let’s hope Mrs. Maguire has the roast in the pot by now.”

Celia followed her father up the curving staircase. At the top of the stairs they parted, and she went into her room and closed the door.

She removed her dress and lay down on the bed. She closed her eyes but she couldn’t shake the awful image of the frayed noose in the carriage house. She’d always thought the death of the laundress had been an accident. But how did a person accidently die by hanging?

She didn’t believe that, any more than she believed that a sudden draft had caused the attic door to slam shut. Even if it had, it wouldn’t have locked all by itself. Mrs. Maguire had had to open it with a key.

Her eyes flew open, and she sat upright in bed as another realization dawned. Ivy had claimed not to know about the secret passageway leading to the carriage house, yet she had perfectly described the door that led to the stairs adjoining it.

Ivy could have locked the door, but surely she was past such childish mischief. And it was unthinkable that Mrs. Maguire would have locked her in.

Or was it?

Maxwell jumped onto the bed and licked her face. Celia tucked him beneath her arm and tried to think. But the harder she worked to understand the puzzle of the bracelet, the strange anonymous messages, the diary, and the attic and how they all fit together, the more confused and afraid she became.

“Miss Browning, will you kindly hold still.” The dressmaker scowled as Celia shifted from one foot to the other.

Celia returned the woman’s frown. How could the pinning of a single sleeve take so much time? Mrs. Foyle might be the most sought-after modiste in Savannah, but she was slower than the hands on a schoolroom clock. “Are you almost finished?”

Mrs. Foyle spoke around a mouthful of pins. “Not too much longer.”

She pinched the fabric at Celia’s waist. “You’ve lost weight since our last fitting.”

“Too many things on my mind these days. They have stolen my appetite.”

The dressmaker pinned the waist and held up a length of lace that would eventually be attached to the gown’s voluminous overskirt. “With your wedding only weeks away, I’m sure I don’t wonder at it. But you’ll want to keep some flesh on those bones between now and then if you don’t want to look like a refugee on your wedding day.”

Mrs. Foyle stood back to admire her work. “That’s all for today. Please bring your mother’s veil as soon as you can so I can adjust the length for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Celia said. “I meant to bring it sooner, but it slipped my mind.” She ducked behind the screen in the corner of the dress shop and changed into her simple violet and cream day dress. She had done her best to emulate the best qualities her mother was said to possess: graciousness, discretion, charity, piety. But the compounding mysteries surrounding the bracelet, the diary, and the anonymous notes, coupled with the incident in the attic, had stretched her self-control to the limit.

Never had she felt so alone. She couldn’t burden her father or Sutton with her worries; they had troubles of their own. Mrs. Maguire seemed to get angry whenever Celia brought up the
subject of her aunt and the laundress. And both Mrs. Maguire and Ivy, for whatever reason, had lied to her yesterday. Clearly, Celia was on her own.

Celia finished doing up her buttons, retrieved her hat and cloak, and headed for the door just as Ivy rushed in, her light-blue eyes shining. “Thank goodness I’ve caught you. I was afraid you might have gone by now.”

“We’ve just finished her fitting,” Mrs. Foyle said. She waved them out the door.

On the sidewalk, Ivy took Celia’s arm. “I’ve a tremendous favor to ask. I’ve just come from the circulating library, and there’s wonderful news. The Georgia Historical Society has invited Mr. Thoreau to Savannah, and it’s rumored he will accept. Mr. Truesdale at the library has asked me to help plan the occasion. He has called a meeting for noon today, and now I haven’t the time to read with Louisa. She’s doing so well lately that I hate to disappoint her.”

Two gentlemen approaching on the street tipped their hats as they passed. Celia dipped her head in return. “And you’d like me to go in your place.”

“Would you? After all, I took your turn when you went shopping with Mrs. Mackay.”

They reached the carriage where Joseph waited to drive them home. Celia sighed. Working with Louisa was a trial, and yesterday’s events had left mistrust and anger simmering in Celia’s heart like soup on a fire. But Ivy was right. Celia did owe her the favor.

Joseph jumped off the carriage and opened the door. “Going home, Misses?”

Celia sighed again. “Take me to the Female Asylum, please, Joseph. And then deliver my cousin to the library. I shall be ready to return home at noon.”

“All right, Miss.” The carriage driver helped the cousins inside
and closed the door. “You two surely must be the mos’ busy ladies in all of Savannah.”

Minutes later they drew up at the asylum. Ivy leaned forward to place a hand on Celia’s arm. “Be patient with Louisa. I know she can be stubborn and prickly, but she’s really a lovely girl when you get to know her. And we must remember that she has had no one except Mrs. Clayton and Miss Ransom to guide her.”

The carriage rocked as Joseph got down to open the door.

“There’s a Christmas tea at the library a week from Saturday,” Ivy went on. “Mr. Truesdale and Miss Bole are soliciting donations to purchase more books for our collection. I told him he could count on us to help.”

“I’m sure it will be wonderful, and of course I want to support the library. But you should not have spoken for me. I already have plans.”

“Here we are, Miss Celia.” Joseph opened the door and offered her his hand.

“Sutton and I are planning an outing on that day.” Celia couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. Sutton had been so busy the past two weeks that they’d barely seen each other.

“An outing?” Ivy frowned. “In the middle of December?”

“It shouldn’t be
that
cold,” Celia said as Joseph helped her out of the carriage. “And you know what they say: Love warms the hands as well as the heart.”

Celia waved to Ivy, ran lightly up the steps to the asylum, and rang the bell. Red-haired Annie Wilcox answered the door, a beribboned bonnet in her hands.

“Hello, Annie,” Celia said. “You’re working on a new hat, I see.”

“Yes’m. It’s meant to be a Christmas present for Mrs. Clayton’s sister.” Annie stepped back to allow Celia into the hallway. “I’ve been working on it every chance I get.”

Celia smiled. “But not neglecting your reading and writing, I hope.”

“Oh, no. Miss Ransom would have a conniption fit if I was to stop my reading and such. Do you know I am the only girl in here who can work out long division?”

“You have a fine mind, Annie. I won’t be surprised if you become a very famous businesswoman one day.” Celia looked around. “I must go. I’m here to read with Louisa.”

“Louisa? Then you’d better come into the parlor, Miss Browning. I’ll fetch Mrs. Clayton.”

19

K
NEELING NEXT TO
I
VY IN THE
B
ROWNINGS
’
USUAL PEW
, Celia closed her eyes and murmured a prayer for her father, who had not felt well enough to attend church. Celia had left him propped on his pillows with his books and a breakfast tray. He tried to make light of his weakened condition, but his pallor and the circles beneath his eyes told a different story. Yesterday Dr. Dearing had called to check on what he called Papa’s “pleural effusions” and to leave a bottle of Sydenham’s laudanum. The powerful concoction was made of opium mixed with saffron, bruised cinnamon and cloves, and a pint of sherry wine. Nothing could stop the deterioration of Papa’s heart, but at least the laudanum would keep him more comfortable.