The Bracelet: A Novel

by Dorothy Love

  Celia glanced at the clock and rose. “It should be ready any moment. Papa, if you will excuse me, I’d like to change out of these riding clothes.”

  He waved her away. “I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”

  Celia picked up her hat and climbed the stairs to her room. She shed her alpaca riding skirt and blue bodice and left them on the back of a chair to air, changed her shoes, and donned a simple rose-colored day dress. She leaned toward the mirror to check her hair and saw a small wrapped package lying on her dressing table. When had it arrived? And who had put it there?

  She untied the string, unwrapped a small white box, and lifted the lid. A gold bracelet set with a quartet of square-cut jewels lay in a nest of cotton.

  She laughed. This must be the other surprise Sutton had mentioned the night of the masquerade. But how had he managed to get it into her room without her noticing? Perhaps he had conspired with Ivy or Mrs. Maguire to leave it where she would be sure to find it.

  She draped the bracelet over her arm. The jewels glittered in the afternoon light streaming through the window. Diamond. Emerald. Amethyst. Diamond.

  “Oh!” The bracelet slid to the floor. Cold fear spurted through her arteries.

  It was possible this was merely a harmless coincidence, that Sutton had sent it, unaware of the so-called language of the jewels. But if the bracelet was indeed the surprise he’d been planning for her, why would he not have enclosed a note?

  The room spun before her eyes. She pressed a hand to her midsection.

  If Sutton hadn’t sent it, who had?

  Who wanted to see her dead?

  10

  “CELIA?” IVY RAPPED SHARPLY ON THE BEDROOM DOOR.

  “Just . . . just a minute!” Celia quickly retrieved the bracelet and swept it with its box and wrapping paper into the drawer of her dressing table.

  Ivy hurried into the room. “Mrs. Maguire says to tell you tea is—oh, my goodness, what’s the matter? You’re pale as a fish. Shall I fetch the ammonia wine?”

  “No, I’m all right. I didn’t eat much for breakfast this morning, and I feel a bit faint.” Celia opened the window and gulped the cool October air, taking in the flower beds below and the gnarled tree that grew well past the second-floor balcony. Had someone climbed the tree and entered her room through the window?

  Ivy joined her at the window and put an arm around Celia’s waist. “Considering everything that has happened these past weeks, Mr. Channing’s antics and the masquerade ball and that silly note you found, plus Sutton’s proposal and the reception at his mother’s, it’s little wonder you’re overwrought.” She squeezed Celia’s hand. “A cup of Mrs. Maguire’s tea will set you to rights. Come on. Let’s go down.”

  Celia allowed her cousin to lead her down the stairs and into her father’s library, where he waited with a tea trolley laden with a silver service and platters of sandwiches, cake, and fruits.

  The Irish housekeeper looked up when they came in. “There you are, Miss.”

  Celia blew out a long breath and pasted on a smile. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  Papa closed his book and waved her into a chair. “I don’t mind, but Mrs. Maguire is eager to be away.”

  “Of course.” Celia perched on the deep-green velvet chair next to Papa. Ivy chose the settee. “Do forgive me, Mrs. Maguire. I know how much you look forward to your Sunday afternoons.”

  Mrs. Maguire poured tea and passed the platters. “Mrs. Reilly and I are off to a concert this afternoon. Haydn, I think she said. And an ice-cream party afterward—the last one until next spring, I expect.”

  Papa picked up the silver tongs and added sugar to his tea. “Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it after caring for me these past days.”

  “No trouble at all lookin’ after you, sir.” Mrs. Maguire rearranged the blue-plaid blanket covering his knees. “Sure and it does my heart good to see you lookin’ better.” She straightened and surveyed the room with apparent satisfaction. “If there’s nothing else you’ll be needin’ . . .”

  “We don’t need a thing.” Ivy made a shooing motion with her hands. “Have a lovely time.”

  Mrs. Maguire sailed out of the room. Moments later the door closed behind her.

  Ivy’s spoon clinked against her saucer. “Uncle David, did Celia tell you Cornelia Mackay is taking her shopping this week?”

  “She did. It’s generous of the Mackays, but unnecessary since I intend to provide Celia with a handsome dowry. And considering their present circumstances.” He smiled at Celia over the top of his china cup. “I know you’ll keep those circumstances in mind and refrain from choosing anything too extravagant.”

  “Of course.” Celia took a long sip of tea, willing the queasiness in her stomach to settle. She moved in a fog, removed from herself, like an actress in a play. She wanted nothing more than to escape to the privacy of her room to examine the bracelet more closely and to figure out what she should do about it. But if she left the room now, Papa would surely suspect something was wrong, and she didn’t want to worry him. “I asked Sutton this afternoon whether he had a preference, but he left it up to me.”

  “As he should.” Papa helped himself to another slice of sponge cake and refilled his tea cup. “China and such are a woman’s domain. So tell me, Ivy, what goes on with the Quartermans these days? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

  “Oh, you know, Uncle David. The usual.” Ivy laughed. “Nothing much changes in Savannah from one day to the next.”

  He smiled. “I suppose you’re right. I can imagine you young people long for less predictability to your days and more excitement. But when one reaches my age, one longs for peace and quiet.”

  “Well, there’s something to look forward to.” Ivy drained her cup, blotted her lips with her napkin, and rose. “If you will excuse me, I have some letters to write.”

  Papa nodded. “Of course. I suppose I should look over the report Mr. Shaw dropped off here on Friday. He’ll need my instructions first thing tomorrow.”

  Celia looked up with a start. Had Elliott Shaw sent the bracelet? He had been offended that she’d refused his gift unopened on the night of the ball. He had called her Miss High and Mighty. Maybe the bracelet was meant to bring her down a notch or two.

  Ivy patted her uncle’s cheek. “Don’t work too hard, and don’t upset yourself. You know what Dr. Dearing said.”

  “Bah. If he had his way, he’d wrap me in a bale of cotton and lock me in a padded room.”

  Ivy grinned. “We only want what’s best for you.”

  “What’s best for me is to get on with my work.”

  Celia stacked their cups and saucers onto the tea trolley. “Do you want anything else, Papa? Shall I leave this here?”

  He waved it away. “I’m full as a tick. Won’t need another bite till morning.”

  Ivy left the room and ran lightly up the stairs. Celia gathered their soiled napkins and folded the white damask cloth over everything.

  “Celia?” Papa placed a hand on her arm. “You’ve been preoccupied ever since you came down for tea. What’s troubling you?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. What a relief it would be to unburden herself and seek his wise counsel. But she wouldn’t risk his well-being. “Nothing, Papa. I’m all right.”

  His gray brows rose. “No trouble between you and Sutton?”

  “Oh, no. He’s wonderful. He’s off to Charleston on Tuesday, but only for a few days. I expect him back by week’s end.”

  “I hope you aren’t still stewing about that Channing fellow.”

  “I do wish he’d leave Savannah, but I’m relieved he hasn’t written any more newspaper stories of late. I sincerely hope he’s realized there’s really nothing to tell.”

  “What is it then?”

  “You worry too much.”

  “When it comes to my only daughter, I plead guilty.”

  “I got overtired at the racetrack this afternoon. Sutton and I rode for almost two hours.
I’m not used to such long rides anymore. I’ll admit I’ve had much to think about lately. But truly, I’m all right.”

  “If you say so.” He motioned toward his desk. “Could you bring that file? And my pen and ink?”

  She brought his things and lit the lamp beside his chair. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

  He nodded absently, already absorbed in his work.

  Celia returned to her room and locked the door. She closed the window, lit the lamp, and took the bracelet and its packaging from the drawer. Again, she checked inside the box for a note, for any clue as to who had sent it. She smoothed the plain, brown wrapping paper, matching the two sides of the tear she’d made in opening the package and discovered a handwritten message she’d previously overlooked: “Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.”

  Hands shaking, she fished the other note from her bag and compared the handwriting, but it was impossible to tell whether the same person had also written this one. Was it Leo Channing? He had warned her not to get in his way. But did he hate her enough to want her dead?

  Celia woke with a start. Since Sunday she’d slept fitfully, the old nightmares of her childhood invading her dreams. Downstairs the back door opened and closed as the hired laundress delivered her usual Wednesday load of cleaned and pressed linens.

  Wednesday. Celia sat up in bed. Today was the day of her shopping trip with Mrs. Mackay. But instead of a bride’s happy anticipation she felt nothing but dread. The bracelet and the two anonymous notes sat like loaded weapons in the bottom of her bag, ready to blow her world to smithereens.

  She rose, drew on her dressing gown, and went downstairs. Mrs. Maguire met her in the dining room.

  “I thought I heard you a-stirring.” The housekeeper poured coffee and set down a plate of sausages and eggs. “Is Miss Ivy awake?”

  “I don’t know. Her door is still closed.” Celia sipped her coffee. “Where is Papa?”

  “Gone to Commerce Row, against all my advice.”

  “I knew he couldn’t stay away from his office for long, no matter what the doctor says. He is the most headstrong person I know.”

  Mrs. Maguire smiled, one brow raised. “The acorn falls not far from the tree.”

  “I suppose so. Has the paper come?”

  “It has, but your father took it with him.”

  Celia frowned. Usually he left it for her.

  Ivy’s footfalls sounded along the upper hallway. In a moment she swept into the room, her hair perfectly dressed, her cheeks pink.

  “Going somewhere?” Mrs. Maguire asked, pouring Ivy’s coffee.

  “Calling on Mrs. Dillon. She promised to lend me a book I’ve been dying to read.” Ivy dug into her eggs and chewed with gusto. “And then I’m off to the asylum to read with Louisa. Though I think the girl would be just as happy to abandon her studies altogether.”

  Mrs. Maguire began collecting the breakfast dishes. “Will either of you ladies be back for lunch?”

  “I won’t.” Ivy set her napkin on her plate. “Mrs. Clayton will give me tea after Louisa’s lesson.”

  “And I’m to have lunch with Mrs. Mackay,” Celia said. “If there’s time afterward, I want to call on the ladies who are donating Christmas things for the hospital. Mrs. Lawton is keen to have everything done as soon as possible.”

  An hour later Celia was dressed and ready to go. She knocked on Ivy’s door, then peered into the room. Two dresses and two pairs of shoes lay in a heap on the unmade bed. Ivy sat at her dressing table, fiddling with her hair. She set down her brush and smiled at Celia in the mirror. “I can’t decide what to wear today.”

  “Louisa won’t notice,” Celia said.

  Ivy rose and picked up a deep-green dress with lace-trimmed sleeves and a ruffled hem. “This one will do. Can you hand me that lace handkerchief on the table?”

  Celia retrieved the handkerchief and handed it to her cousin.

  “Help me with the buttons.” Ivy stepped into the voluminous skirt and slipped her arms into the sleeves.

  Celia obliged, and Ivy tucked the handkerchief into her sleeve and bent to fasten her shoes. She pirouetted before the mirror. “How do I look?”

  “Much too elegant to be giving a reading lesson at the asylum.”

  “Mrs. Clayton says we are to be an example to the young women in all things.” Ivy retrieved her reticule and shawl. “Ready?”

  Together they descended the staircase. Joseph delivered Ivy to Mrs. Dillon’s house on Reynolds Square, and soon Celia was on her way to the Mackays, determined to put aside her worries and enjoy the day.

  “There you are, my dear,” Cornelia Mackay said when Celia was ushered into the Mackays’ parlor. “I’ve sent for our carriage. It won’t be a moment. Oh, I am excited about today. This is so much more enjoyable than shopping for myself.”

  “It’s very generous of you. And quite unexpected.”

  “I realize your father will provide you with whatever you need, and no doubt you’ll have your mother’s lovely things, but I want to contribute something too. After all, Sutton is my only living child.” Mrs. Mackay laughed, her cheeks pinking. “At my age I’m not likely ever to be a mother of the bride. And I wanted to do something for Francesca. Your mother would dearly have loved being a part of such happy preparations.”

  “Yes. When I was very young my mother and I once held a pretend wedding in the garden. With an imaginary groom.” Celia smiled at the bittersweet memory. Neither of them could have known that the make-believe ceremony would be the only one they would ever share. She shook off her melancholy and smiled at her hostess. “I assume Sutton is still in Charleston.”

  “He is,” Mrs. Mackay said. “I don’t mind telling you, my dear, that I am not at all in favor of this blockade-running scheme he is so intent upon. But once that young man gets something into his head, he’s stubborn as a dog with a bone.” Mrs. Mackay peered out the window. “Here’s the carriage.”

  A short drive brought them downtown. At midmorning the streets teemed with people headed to the markets, with shoppers darting in and out of stores, policemen on horseback, and groups of children and stray dogs dodging the rigs and carriage wheels.

  Inside the china shop, Celia pored over delicate translucent cups trimmed with bands of gold, platters decorated with turkeys and landscape scenes, ivory plates rimmed with borders of deepest blue. After much discussion—and a discreet inquiry as to price—she decided upon a blue and gold pattern embellished with tiny red flowers. Mrs. Mackay added a graceful little chocolate pot and eight matching cups, a silver coffee urn, and a dozen pairs of ivory-handled grape scissors.

  Leaving their purchases to be boxed and delivered later, they crossed the street to Mrs. Haverford’s linen shop where Celia chose sheets and duvets of warm ivory and left instructions for monogramming. Then she and Mrs. Mackay walked to the Pulaski Hotel for lunch.

  “Mrs. Mackay.” The head waiter’s mouth formed a tight line. “It has been awhile since you and Mr. Mackay joined us for dinner.”

  “Yes, it has been longer than we like. I’m afraid business has taken up so much of my husband’s time, and we’ve been busy since our son returned from Jamaica.”

  “His reception here certainly was well attended. It seems all of Savannah is happy to have him home. You and Mr. Mackay most of all.”

  “We are indeed. I’m sure you know his intended, Miss Browning.”

  The waiter’s eyes flickered briefly before he bowed. “Of course. Miss Browning. We at the Pulaski wish you every happiness.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Mackay surveyed the room. “We’d like our usual table by the window, please.”

  “That table is spoken for, Mrs. Mackay.”

  “But how can that be? I reserved it two days ago.”

  He shrugged. “An unfortunate misunderstanding, I’m afraid. The only table I have open at the moment is this way. Please follow me.” He led them across the busy dining room
and seated them at a table partially hidden behind an enormous potted palm. “Perhaps you will be more comfortable here anyway. This table is much more private.”

  Celia’s face burned. She knew exactly why he had seated them out of sight of the other patrons. She was about to protest when Sutton’s mother slid smoothly into her chair and met the waiter’s haughty gaze. “What do you recommend today?”

  “The soup is very good today, ma’am.”

  They ordered and he disappeared. Mrs. Mackay pulled off her gloves and set them on a vacant chair. “Well, my dear,” she said with a determined smile, “I think we acquitted ourselves quite well this morning.”

  Celia toyed with her heavy silver spoon. How like Mrs. Mackay to ignore the unpleasantness to spare her future daughter-in-law embarrassment. “I’m sorry about this—”

  “It isn’t important. Small-minded people always need someone else to look down upon, whether or not it’s warranted. Now, let’s speak no more about it. Didn’t you think the linens at Mrs. Haverford’s were exquisite? I think the ivory you chose is just right.”

  “Yes. I hope Sutton approves.”

  “He’s much like his father. Easy to please in such matters.” Mrs. Mackay’s blue eyes were full of affection. “Sutton loves you so. I doubt any decision you make will meet with his displeasure.”

  “Oh, I hope you’re right. I couldn’t bear it if I disappointed him.”

  “Tell me. Have you two discussed a date for the wedding? I can’t get a word out of him about that.”

  “No. Everything has happened so quickly, and he has been so intent upon his boatbuilding venture that we’ve had little time to consider it.”

  The soup came, steaming and redolent with sweet onions and melted cheese. Celia picked up her spoon and broke the crusty top. “I pray we can avoid war. But Sutton has made it plain that if war comes, he will do whatever it takes to defend Savannah and the South.”