by Dorothy Love
Smoke curled from the chimneys, giving off the odors of grease, ashes, and roasting sweet potatoes. Though it was barely past noon, groups of men, black and white, gathered near the drinking establishments. Two women in fancy dresses and plumed hats strolled past to the sound of whistles and catcalls. Ragged children kicked a stick along the unpaved street lined with horses, wagons, and buggies. A young man in a brown tweed coat lifted his hat and stared at them as they rolled past.
Spotting the jeweler’s sign in a dirty window, Celia said to Finn, “Stop here.” The groom halted the rig near the door, and she hurried inside.
The shop was barely large enough to accommodate the scratched wooden counter, upon which rested two small glass cases displaying rings, earbobs, and necklaces. The entire place smelled of unwashed bodies, rancid food, and tobacco.
Celia leaned against the counter. “Mr. Ryan?”
“That’s me. Help you, Miss?” The jeweler, an imposing man with a ruddy complexion and a shock of white hair, set aside his pipe and hooked his spectacles over his ears.
Celia took the bracelet from her bag and laid it on the counter. “Someone told me you might have made this.”
Mr. Ryan studied the bracelet. Held it up to the light. “’Tis my handiwork, to be sure.” He shook his head. “Too bad I wasn’t able to use real jewels instead o’ paste, but ’tis the intent behind the gift that’s the important thing.”
“That’s true.”
“Don’t be too hard on the lad what gave it to ye. When it comes to matters of the heart, we do the best we can.”
“So it was a young man who ordered it?”
“Aye. Paid in advance too. He was a shy one. Hardly more than a boy, that one. Didn’t want to give his name. Just told me where to send the bracelet when it was finished.”
“I see.” Celia tried to control the quaver in her voice. Now that she was getting somewhere, she realized that solving this mystery had become about much more than proving Leo Channing wrong. More even than figuring out who was out to harm her, though that was a nagging worry. She wanted to know the truth about her past—the whole truth, before her marriage to Sutton. There would be children one day. She wanted them to grow up without the nagging questions and the empty spaces that were part and parcel of her own childhood.
And yet she feared the very answers she was seeking. She had developed an attachment to the story of her own life as she knew it, and a part of her didn’t want that story challenged. What if, in solving the mystery of the bracelet, she discovered things she didn’t want to know? Things that might alter her feelings for those she loved most? You can’t unring a bell, Papa often reminded her.
Mr. Ryan handed her the bracelet. “I hope you enjoy the bauble, even though it ain’t real. ’Cept for the diamonds the boy brought in with him.”
Obviously the jeweler hadn’t heard of the language of the jewels either and saw nothing sinister in the arrangement of the stones.
Celia tucked the bracelet away. “I wonder—do you happen to have the address he provided?”
“I imagine I’ve got it here somewhere, but my customers depend on me to keep their secrets. They may be poor, but they fall in love same as the fancy gentlemen and the lady mucks living in the mansions down from here.” Mr. Ryan tapped his chest. “The feelin’ inside here is just the same, whether you’re a pauper or a prince.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“’Tis not so unusual for a man to keep secret the name of his beloved. Or to want something special for her birthday, without her finding out ahead of time.” He peered at her over the top of his spectacles. “Back in Waterford, my old man had a sayin’: Melodious is the closed mouth. I try to remember that.”
“You came from Waterford.”
“Long time ago, Miss. I came to Savannah more’n thirty years ago—aboard a ship loaded with Paddies and Bridgets, as they say.”
“I have a dear friend from Waterford. She’s been here a long time too. Tell me, do you make barmbrack for All Hallows’ Eve?”
His whole face lit up. “Barmbrack—haven’t thought of it for years. I loved that cake when I was a lad. Loved me colcannon too.”
Celia nodded at the mention of the mashed potatoes with cabbage and butter that Mrs. Maguire made on All Hallows’ Eve. “Mrs.—that is, my Irish friend, still makes it every year.”
She waited, hoping the conversation and the mention of home would change the jeweler’s mind. But when he offered nothing more than a benign smile, she left the shop and returned to Finn O’Grady’s waiting buggy.
What young man could have commissioned the bracelet? Besides Sutton, she knew of no admirers apart from her father’s clerk. Given the bracelet’s poor quality, she doubted now that it was the expression of Mr. Shaw’s infatuation. But Mr. Ryan’s refusal to provide the delivery address put her at another dead end.
“Ready, Miss?” Finn handed her into the buggy.
The door to the jewelry store opened and Mr. Ryan hurried out, a piece of paper in his hand. “Wait!”
He hurried across the street, scattering another group of hollow-eyed children, and handed her the paper. “I don’t know why I’m doin’ this, goin’ against my own rules, but—”
Celia read the address scribbled on the gray paper, and hope soared again. “Thank you, Mr. Ryan.”
“See you keep it to yourself. I got to keep me customers’ trust, ye know.”
“I will. Thank you again.”
“Back to the stables, Miss Browning?” the groom asked as Mr. Ryan returned to his shop.
Celia checked the watch she wore on a chain around her neck. “Yes, please. Joseph will be returning to the track to drive me home.”
Finn glanced at her. “Looks like you got what you came for.”
“What?”
“That piece of paper. You’re holdin’ onto it for dear life.”
Celia tucked the paper away and tried to focus on the passing scenery. But she could hardly wait to visit the address on Liberty Street.
Dressed in a deep purple frock, Ivy swept into Celia’s room, her cloak draped over her arm. “Aren’t you ready yet, Cousin? The lecture starts in less than an hour and you know how crowded it will be.”
“In a minute.” Celia finished pinning her hair and turned from the mirror. Normally she enjoyed the readings, lectures, exhibits, and concerts at the Chatham Literary and Art Society, but this afternoon she was too nervous to think of sitting through a talk about the writings of Miss Jane Austen. She was counting on the large crowd and the celebrity of the lecturer to hold Ivy’s attention while she, Celia, slipped away. The address Mr. Ryan had provided was only a short walk from the lecture hall. With any luck, she would be back before the program ended and Ivy discovered her absence.
“I wish Uncle David were coming with us.” Ivy picked up a book from Celia’s night table and put it down again. “I fear he’s working too hard these days.”
“I agree. He needs a diversion, but Papa is not one for the writings of a romantic like Miss Austen.” Celia picked up her cloak and reticule. Her puppy scampered from beneath her writing table, his little rump in the air, his tail moving back and forth like a metronome. She smiled and bent to scratch his ears. “No, Maxwell, you cannot come with me. But I promise we’ll walk in the garden when I get back.”
The puppy grabbed a shawl from the back of her chair and dragged it across the floor. She chased him until she cornered him. He yipped and looked up at her, his eyes bright, as if his antics might persuade her to change her mind. She took the shawl away from him and hung it in the clothespress. “I must go now. You behave yourself.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he understood every word and will behave perfectly in our absence.”
“He understands more than you think.” Celia tossed the puppy a scrap of old linen to play with before following Ivy down the curving staircase to the foyer.
The door to Papa’s study was ajar. He was bent over his books. A wispy
wreath of smoke from his pipe curled toward the ceiling.
“We’re off to the Austen lecture, Papa.”
He nodded and waved one hand without looking up.
“Don’t work too long. Promise?”
He grunted and looked up at her, his blue eyes alight with love. “Stop fussing over me, Celia. I’m all right.”
“You should rest this afternoon.” She stepped into the room. “You’re far too busy these days.”
He set down his pen. “I might say the same for you, my dear. I hardly see you anymore.”
“Oh, I know it. Between wedding plans and organizing my reception for the Female Asylum and spending time with Zeus and Maxwell, I have hardly a moment to myself.”
“How goes the fund-raising?”
“Better than I expected, given that some on the board of managers oppose any efforts to equip the girls for anything except sweeping floors and polishing silver. Most of the ladies I’ve talked to have pledged generous sums, and I expect a reasonable turnout for the reception, despite the crowded calendar this time of year.”
“Celia!” Ivy shouted from the foyer. “Come away this instant, or I shall leave without you.”
“Your cousin sounds perturbed.” Papa turned back to his ledgers. “You’d better go.”
Celia followed Ivy out the door and into the waiting carriage. Soon they joined a line of other conveyances slowly making their way toward the society’s lecture hall. Ivy fussed with her hair and fidgeted in her seat. “Now we’re going to be late. I hate being late.”
“We’ve plenty of time. You know these things never begin promptly.”
“This one will. Nobody would dare keep Dr. Sharp waiting.”
Ivy had been enamored with Dr. Elizabeth Sharp since reading an article about her in the Home Journal magazine. Not only was Dr. Sharp a leading scholar of English literature, she had also traveled all over the world and was a poet in her own right. Some said her visit to Savannah was the most important literary event since Mr. Thackeray’s tours years earlier.
At last the carriage came to a halt. Joseph helped Celia and Ivy out of the carriage, and they joined the swarm of ladies and a few well-dressed gentlemen pressing toward the door. When they entered, Celia saw that the lecture hall was already half full. Mrs. Lawton and Mrs. Gordon were sitting together in the second row, the brims of their hats touching as they talked.
Celia looked around, hoping to find Sutton’s mother similarly engaged. As the time of her wedding approached, Celia was growing even more fond of Mrs. Mackay. She’d rather not be forced into making an excuse for choosing to sit apart from her future mother-in-law.
At last she saw Cornelia, dressed in a cobalt-blue dress and matching hat and conversing with Mrs. Stiles. She seemed to have no idea Celia was even there. Good. It would be easier to sneak away if she was never spotted in the first place.
Celia and Ivy found seats near the back. Celia hung back for a moment to allow two other women to occupy the seats between hers and Ivy’s. Ivy sent her a questioning look, and Celia responded with a slight shrug. She waited impatiently as the gas sconces along the walls were dimmed, leaving the lectern at the front of the room bathed in light.
The president of the society took the stage to make the introduction. Then Dr. Sharp, dressed in a suit of deep violet trimmed in black lace, rose from her chair behind the lectern and acknowledged the applause. She took her time putting on her spectacles and opening her notes. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”
Celia smiled at the opening line from Pride and Prejudice and listened raptly as Dr. Sharp began her lecture. She hated to leave what promised to be a lively discussion, but she had to know the identity of the young man who had sent her the bracelet. She waited until Dr. Sharp reached the end of a longer passage, when another burst of applause masked the sounds of her departure from the lecture hall.
Outside she spotted her carriage waiting in a long line of conveyances. Joseph, pipe in hand, was deep in conversation with a group of fellow carriage drivers. She checked the address Mr. Ryan had given her, though it had fairly burned itself into her brain, and set off on foot for Liberty Street.
Situated across from the old cemetery, the white clapboard house was plain and small. A deep porch wrapped around three sides. Dark-green paint peeled from the shutters of narrow windows flanking the door. A crack in the fanlight above the entry fractured the late afternoon sunlight spilling across the porch. Celia crossed a patch of lawn bordered by pride-of-India trees. Mounting the steps, she lifted the brass door knocker and let it fall.
Presently a woman who seemed neither old nor young opened the door. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry to arrive unannounced. I’ve come to speak to a young man who sent a gift to me a while back and didn’t reveal his name. I was told he lives here.”
“Whoever told you that told you wrong,” the woman said. “I’ve had only one boarder the past few months, and he is clear on the far side of young.”
Celia checked the paper the jeweler had given her. Unless he had made a mistake, this was the right house. The woman stood back and began to close the door.
“Wait.” Celia glanced around. “Perhaps I was given the wrong address after all. Do you know, is there anyone nearby who might have sent a—”
“What’s the trouble, Mrs. Adams?”
The voice was unmistakable. Celia froze as a man appeared in the narrow entry hall, one finger marking his place in his book. Finally she said, “Mr. Channing.”
The reporter stared at her in genuine surprise. “Miss Browning. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. And I must say the feeling is mutual. You cost me my job, and now you’re disturbing my Saturday afternoon with Mr. Shakespeare.”
“I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Mrs. Adams looked first at Celia and then at Mr. Channing. “Seems you two know each other, so I’ll leave you to your bibble-babble. I’ve got a pie in the oven, and it’s about to burn.”
As his landlady hurried away, Leo Channing swept one arm toward the parlor. “I believe the polite thing to do is to invite you inside.”
“No, thank you. I haven’t much time, and this won’t take long.”
He leaned against the door frame and clutched his leather-bound book to his chest. “I’m all ears.”
“Someone sent a bracelet to my house. Anonymously. And then I found out—”
“You’re complaining?” He laughed. “Girls like you live for the admiration of men. But I can assure you, as much as I wanted to interview you, I am not the one who sent it.”
“I know that. As I was saying before you interrupted, I have learned that a young man ordered it and asked that it be sent to this address. I came here today to find out who he is and why he sent it.”
“Indeed.” Leo Channing’s eyes lowered to half mast. It was like being observed by a coiled cobra. She took a step back, causing the wooden porch to creak.
“I might know something,” he said. “But I want something in return.”
“I told you before. I was a child when the accidents occurred. I remember very little. I don’t know anything that has not already been reported, and even if—”
“Yes, I know all that. Even if you did know, you wouldn’t say anything to sully your precious family name. Or jeopardize your marriage to the dashing Mr. Mackay.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you ever find the diary?”
“I never heard of it. I have no evidence it ever existed. But if I should find it, I wouldn’t give it to you. Nor divulge its contents.”
“Of course not.”
“I thought you’d have left Savannah by now. You did say you have family waiting in Baltimore, and since you’re no longer at the newspaper—”
“I was able to come up with the funds to stay on here a while longer. I haven’t given up on writing a book about the house of love and
grief.”
“Well, nobody will read it since it will have absolutely no relationship to the truth.”
“If you are so sure of that, then why go to such lengths to stop me?”
She sighed and glanced down the street. Dr. Sharp’s lecture would end soon. And there was no point in continuing this conversation.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed your reading.” She turned on her heel.
“Wait.” He came out onto the porch and leaned against a railing. “You might not believe this, but despite your appalling naïveté, I can’t help admiring you, Miss Browning. Such loyalty to your father—and to your dear cousin. But are you certain it’s warranted?”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind.” He seemed to be enjoying this little torment. Like a cat with a mouse.
“I must go.”
“Without finding out what I know about the bracelet? Come on. Be a good sport. As a sign of good faith, I’ll go first.”
Though she couldn’t imagine what bit of information he would demand in return and where she would get it, she waited, both hands clutching her reticule.
“Shortly after the masquerade party you threw for your intended, I received an anonymous note at the newspaper office. I was asked to provide an address where a gift—I assume now it was your bracelet—could be delivered to me. It was such a curious request that I agreed. I left my reply at the newspaper office, and it was picked up while I was in the archives, reading up on your family.”
And stealing the copies of the paper in the bargain. “What about the man who came to retrieve the bracelet from you?”
“I never saw him. When the package arrived here, I took it to the office like I was asked to do, and it was picked up while I was trying to track down Charlie Lamar. I wanted to talk to Lamar before he sailed the Wanderer for Africa, but I never could get hold of him.” Channing shook his head. “Somehow the big stories always get away from me.”
Celia released an exasperated sigh. All this planning, all this time wasted, and she was no closer to learning the identity of the man who had sent the bracelet. “Well, whoever he is, he certainly went to a lot of trouble to keep from being discovered.”