The Bracelet: A Novel

by Dorothy Love

  By the time she was finished it was past four o’clock. She sat at the dressing table and gathered her hair into a fall of curls anchored in place with two jet combs. She dabbed perfume onto each wrist, added a bit of rice powder to her nose and some clear pomade to her lips.

  “Celia?”

  She opened the door to find Mrs. Manigault standing there, her eyes bright with tears. “Oh, my dear, may I come in?”

  Celia stepped aside and fell into the older woman’s powder-scented embrace.

  “There now, it’s all right.” Mrs. Manigault patted Celia’s shoulder. “I don’t blame you for those tears, but you don’t want to go downstairs with your eyes all swollen.”

  Celia pulled away and gulped air. “No, I suppose not.”

  Mrs. Manigault crossed the room, poured water into the basin, and handed Celia a wet cloth. “Here. Bathe your eyes, and then we’ll see about getting you buttoned into that gown.”

  Celia pressed the cool compress to her eyes and a few minutes later stepped into the gown. The older woman’s fingers were surprisingly nimble at the buttons. Soon Celia was dressed and standing before the cheval glass adjusting her mother’s veil.

  Mrs. Manigault smiled into the mirror. “Sutton will never forget the way you look just now. Even when you are my age, in his eyes you will look just the same.”

  “A lovely thought anyway.” Celia turned from the mirror to place a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “Thank you for helping me to dress. I was wondering how I’d manage all those buttons.”

  “Mrs. Maguire arrived just after we did and offered to come up, but I asked for the honor for myself.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “This hurried-up wedding is not what you wanted. But just now this house is filled with those who love you most and long only for your happiness. And isn’t that the purpose of a ceremony anyway? To send two people off on a new life together, surrounded by love?”

  “Of course. But you know Savannah. As soon as word of this gets out, people will start speculating on the reasons behind it.”

  “True. Some will be unable to refrain from questioning the timing. But one thing I’ve learned in my long life is that people are not nearly as interested in others as they are in themselves. Soon enough they will return to their own little dramas. And you and my handsome grandson will be the brightest young couple in town.” Mrs. Manigault patted Celia’s hand. “Now you wait here, and I’ll go see whether your father is ready.”

  “Has the rector arrived yet?”

  “Sutton reports that Mr. Clark is away for the rest of the day visiting his family, but his assistant, Mr. Soames, is here.”

  Celia suppressed a sigh. She had known the rector ever since his arrival at St. John’s. He had dined in her home on occasion. He and Papa were friends. Mr. Soames was new. A stranger.

  “Now don’t fret,” Mrs. Manigault said. “Mr. Soames is just as qualified as Mr. Clark to read the marriage ceremony, and he is the very soul of kindness.”

  Celia nodded. “Please be careful on the stairs.”

  “Sutton is stationed in the foyer, waiting to assist me on the way down.” Mrs. Manigault kissed Celia’s cheek. “Be happy, Celia. Be kind to my grandson. He loves you so.”

  Celia swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “I will do my best.”

  “Mrs. Maguire will let you know when to come down.”

  Waiting for her cue, Celia closed her eyes and prayed for peace. For her father. For her future with Sutton. “Make me a worthy wife, pleasing to you and to Sutton.”

  “Miss Celia?” Mrs. Maguire bustled in, her face pink, eyes bright. “If this turn of events don’t take the rag right off the bush, I’m sure I don’t know what would! Gettin’ married on Christmas!”

  “I’m just as surprised as you, but it’s what Papa wants.”

  “I know it. And judgin’ from the way he looks just now, I’d say you made the wise decision. I just wish I’d had some warning, so I could have made a decent wedding supper.”

  “There are only us and the Mackays. And Mr. Soames, if he wants to stay. Whatever we have will be all right.”

  “But Mrs. Hemphill was so excited about baking that fancy wedding cake we ordered.”

  “We’ll serve it at a reception later on, if Papa is up to it.”

  Mrs. Maguire sniffed, and the tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks. “Oh, my Celia. I’ve looked after you all your life. Made plenty o’ mistakes with you, I am sure. But I’ve done my best by you. And now, in the twinkling o’ my eye, ’tis all over.”

  “I’ve no complaints, Mrs. Maguire.” Celia regarded the housekeeper with deep affection. “Or very few anyway.”

  Mrs. Maguire turned away and tightened the straps on Celia’s small leather trunk. “At least you’re already packed.”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure where we’re to go after the ceremony.”

  “The Pulaski Hotel, Mr. Mackay says. I’m surprised there was a vacancy, it bein’ Christmas.” Mrs. Maguire patted Celia’s hand. “’Tis a fine place for settin’ sail on the seas o’ matrimony.”

  Remembering the waiter’s snub when she and Mrs. Mackay had stopped there for lunch last fall, Celia hoped that tonight she might find a warmer welcome.

  “Your da is waitin’ for you at the bottom o’ the stairs. Let me go first so’s I don’t spoil your big entrance.”

  Celia reached out to embrace the housekeeper, but Mrs. Maguire shook her head and pulled away. “If I don’t get out o’ here this very minute, I’ll be floodin’ the whole place wi’ tears.”

  Celia waited five minutes, opened the door, and stepped into the hall. Her mother’s veil fluttered as she passed the Butler and Browning portraits lining the gallery. Below, Papa stood, shoulders back, beaming up at her, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. She lifted the hem of her heavy gown and started down the stairs.

  “My dear.” Papa’s voice when she reached him was barely a whisper. “For a moment it was as if I was seeing your mother again. You are beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m the one who should thank you, for changing your plans for me.”

  He clasped her hands. She felt faint, overcome with love for him and with sorrow for all that would never be. There could be no Christmases with grandchildren on his knee, no summer outings to Isle of Hope, nor a hundred other memories that might have been made if not for his illness. This moment, fragile as a moth’s wing, would have to sustain her in the long years ahead. There was so much she wanted to say, but emotion stopped her words. She embraced him, her head resting on his shoulder. A sob caught in her throat. “I love you, Papa.”

  “I have never doubted that for a single moment. You have been the joy of all my days.” He straightened and offered his arm. “Shall we go?”

  She took his arm and felt it tremble. They crossed the foyer and entered the library. Mr. Soames was already in place, his back to the fireplace, the prayer book in his hands. Sutton, resplendent in a new gray wool suit, white shirt, and light-blue cravat, stood next to the minister. He caught sight of her, and his face opened with a delight so palpable that she felt a rush of warmth to her face.

  Mrs. Mackay and Mrs. Manigault occupied the settee. Mrs. Maguire stood behind them, her careworn hands clasped tightly at her waist. Mr. Mackay and Papa took the two chairs opposite.

  Celia noticed that Mrs. Maguire had set out even more candles. Their light reflected in the bowls of oranges and cinnamon decorating the end tables, the flames burning as steadily as her love for the man she was about to marry.

  She caught the housekeeper’s eye and whispered, “Where’s Maxwell?”

  “Safe in the garden with a ham bone to bury. Didn’t want him whining to go outside in the middle of the I-dos.”

  “Miss Browning. Mr. Mackay.” The young minister began the marriage service, his voice as solemn as the expression on his face. “Is it your wish, entered into freely and in the spirit of love, to be married?”

&nb
sp; “It is.” Celia and Sutton spoke as one.

  “Then let us begin.”

  The rest of it happened as in a dream. Celia heard her own voice and Sutton’s repeating the timeless vows, but everything seemed far away. As they knelt for the final blessing, she turned her head to look at her father, who was weeping openly, a handkerchief pressed to his eyes.

  Then the Mackays surrounded her and Sutton, each of them pressing kisses on her cheek. Mrs. Maguire hurried to the kitchen and soon announced a light supper. Mr. Soames offered his congratulations but made his excuses and left. After the makeshift meal, they returned to the library for coffee, the Mackays keeping up Papa’s spirits with memories of the old days and with reports of the goings-on down on Commerce Row.

  Darkness fell, and the sound of Christmas revelry on the streets outside filtered into the house. Policemen on horseback patrolled the noisy crowd. Carolers sang. Fireworks popped and whined, sending Maxwell into an excited frenzy at the door. Mrs. Maguire let him in, and he made straight for Celia, his little body trembling with excitement. Celia picked him up and nuzzled his face, oblivious to his dirty paws.

  Mrs. Maguire produced a towel and laid it over Celia’s gown. “You’ll be wanting that dress for your own daughter someday, and it won’t do to have it ruined.”

  Celia set Maxwell at her feet. “Stay there.”

  The pup obeyed, but he kept one eye trained on her as if he knew something extremely important had happened while he was in the garden.

  An hour later, after a second round of coffee and pie, Mr. Mackay rose. “Cornelia, Caroline, we ought to go home and let David rest. I’m sure the newlyweds are tired too.”

  “I’m not tired.” Sutton winked at Celia, and her face heated.

  Mrs. Manigault rose and pinned Sutton with her flinty gaze. “You’ve married the finest girl in Savannah. I expect you to remember that.”

  “It isn’t likely I’ll forget, Grandmother. But you’re here to remind me, should I ever be remiss.”

  “Nobody lives forever,” she said tartly, “not even us Manigaults. Now, fetch my wrap please, dear boy. And find my cane. I seem to have misplaced it.”

  When the Mackays’ carriage disappeared into the crowded square, Mrs. Maguire took charge. “Miss Celia and Mr. Mackay, you head on down to the hotel whenever you’ve a mind to. I’ll look after Mr. Browning, see he gets his medicines and such.”

  “Yes, Celia,” Papa said, his expression tender. “You two go on along. I’ll be fine.”

  “We’ll be back tomorrow, Papa.”

  “I’ll look forward to it. For now, though, I am worn to a nub. Sutton, could you help me with the stairs? Suddenly I’m weak as water. Too much happy excitement, I expect.”

  Sutton helped him up the stairs and retrieved Celia’s valise from her room. They made the short drive to the Pulaski Hotel, the carriage following slowly behind groups of raucous sailors, excited children, and pink-cheeked carolers.

  Sutton lifted Celia from the carriage and escorted her inside. The hotel lobby was dressed for Christmas with crystal bowls of greenery, masses of candles on the fireplace mantel, and a beribboned nosegay of mistletoe suspended above the deserted reception desk.

  Sutton rang the little silver bell. Presently the sleepy-eyed night clerk appeared, one suspender falling off his shoulder.

  “Oh, yes. Mr. and Mrs . . . Mackay.” The clerk nodded. “I have your reservation right here. Oh dear, where did I put that key?”

  Sutton let out a long sigh. “Is there a bellman about?”

  “Sorry, sir. We’re a bit shorthanded tonight. Most of the staff has gone home to celebrate Christmas—what’s left of it. Now just a minute. I know I have that key around here somewhere.”

  Sutton turned to Celia. “I’ll bring the bags in. I won’t be long.”

  “All right.” Suddenly she was exhausted. She took a chair by the window and watched the noisy celebration, the crowds pulsing along Bryan Street. It was a wonder any of the hotel guests could sleep with the incessant popping of fireworks, the shrieking of policemen’s whistles, and the rumbling of carriages.

  “Here it is.” The desk clerk held up the room key. “I knew I’d find it. Now where is your mister?”

  “Getting our bags.” Celia went to the door. What was taking Sutton so long? Cupping her hands, she peered into the darkness. The carriage had disappeared. And so had Sutton.

  25

  “MA’AM? MA’AM, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

  Celia blinked, surprised to find herself in a half-sitting position on the hotel settee, a small wooden stool beneath her feet. “What happened?”

  “You fainted, I reckon.” The night clerk pressed a glass of sherry into her hands. “This will revive you.”

  She took one sip and handed it back. “Has my husband returned?”

  “Not yet, but I imagine he’ll be back in a minute. Most likely he’s having a hard time finding someone to look after his horse and carriage. Livery closed up at six o’clock, tight as a clam.”

  She sat up. “But if that were the case, why wouldn’t he have brought our bags in first?”

  The clerk shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  The door opened and a gray-haired man came in, accompanied by a much younger woman in a tight crimson dress and a feathered hat.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” the clerk said. “I need to tend to these customers, but I can give you the key to your room if you want to go on up. It’s getting awfully late.”

  “I’d rather wait here if you don’t mind.”

  “Suit yourself.” He returned to the desk.

  While the clerk spoke to the man, the woman crossed the lobby and plopped down in a chair next to Celia, sending the scents of whisky, tobacco, and perfume wafting into the air. She smiled at Celia. “Mercy, there’s a commotion in the street. People yelling and running ever’ which away. Carriages are backed up all the way from here to the waterfront.”

  Celia looked up. Sutton had been gone a long time, but perhaps the clerk was right and Sutton had merely been delayed by the crowd.

  “Policemen are everywhere,” the woman went on. “One of the brutes almost ran me down. But lucky for me, that nice gentleman over there came to my rescue.”

  Undoubtedly, the woman was quite capable of looking after herself, but Celia nodded.

  “If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, that’s some fancy dress you’re wearing.”

  Celia was not in the mood for conversation. But she couldn’t remain mute either. “Thank you.”

  “Some special occasion?” the woman asked. “Besides Christmas, I mean.”

  “My wedding dress. I was married this afternoon.”

  “Well now, that was not the smartest decision you could have made. From here on out, you’ll get one cheap present meant for both Christmas and your anniversary.”

  “I’m not worried about that.”

  The woman stood. “Looks like Romeo has finally got us a room. I’ll be seein’ you.”

  Celia watched the pair ascend the staircase, the woman’s hips swaying beneath her tight gown.

  Tamping down her impatience, she got to her feet and went outside. The crowd had thinned, but several conveyances still lined the street. There was no sign of Sutton.

  She had turned to go back in when someone slammed into her so hard she nearly fell. Before she could catch her breath, strong arms lifted her off her feet. She caught a whiff of spirits, tobacco, and ashes.

  “Who are you? What do you want? Let me go!”

  Celia squirmed in the viselike grasp as the kidnapper unceremoniously dumped her into a cramped carriage. Wedged between his dark-clad, hulking form and the door, she couldn’t move. The carriage gathered speed as it turned up one street and down the other, bouncing as it hit bumps and holes in the unpaved road.

  Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Who was this man, and what did he want with her? She had heard of a wedding-night prank called a shivaree. But shivarees were mostly a custom of
country people. If this was meant to be a joke, it was not in the least amusing.

  Through the small window, Celia caught a glimpse of moonlight lying on the river. They must be near the wharf then. She could find her way back to the hotel from here.

  She elbowed the man. “Stop this carriage at once.”

  He didn’t answer.

  A moment later the carriage slowed, and the smell of burning timber filled her nose. Now they were surrounded by policemen on horseback and groups of men shouting and running back and forth in the street, dodging carriages and buggies that seemed to be going in all directions. A faint orange glow illuminated the darkness, casting the shapes of the buildings along Commerce Row into sharp relief.

  The carriage jerked to a halt. The door opened. The kidnapper jumped out, then reached for her and set her on her feet. “This way.”

  There was no mistaking that rough voice. In the midst of the surrounding chaos, Celia went still. “Mr. Channing?”

  “I’ll explain later.” He took her arm and made a path through the crowd of men standing on the waterfront. Now she saw flames leaping from one roof to the next and men fighting to control the blaze.

  At the far end of the row where a building had partially collapsed, a group of men bent over the still form of someone lying on the ground.

  Celia felt her knees give way. “No!”

  Shaking off Mr. Channing’s arm, she pushed her way to Sutton’s side and knelt on the muddy ground. “Someone call a doctor!”

  “Celia.” Sutton stirred and reached for her hand. “Thank God. I was afraid I wouldn’t—”

  She was too frightened to cry. “Darling, what happened?”

  Mr. Channing reached them and dropped to the ground on Sutton’s other side.