A Respectable Actress
Page 33
But he took both her hands in his, a solemn expression in his eyes. “Perhaps this isn’t the best time to declare my intentions, but—”
“Intentions?” Joy flooded her heart as she searched his face. “By all means, Mr. Sinclair, if you have intentions, do tell.”
He laughed softly and tucked away his sodden handkerchief. “All the time I was at Indigo Point, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Missing your presence in that old wreck of a house. Hearing your laugh at the dinner table. I realized that I didn’t want to face the prospect of a future without you.”
She thought of the day he had saved her from the water snake. She pictured him as he’d looked kneeling in the dirt at the deserted plantation trying to nurture a single, straggling rose. The heat and intensity of their first kiss. His boyish delight in bringing her those plum puddings. The extraordinary risks he’d taken to win her freedom. She swallowed. “Oh, I—”
“I realize I haven’t been the kind of attentive suitor most ladies dream of. I’ve been removed at times and slow to declare my feelings. But I had to be certain that my past was truly in the past. That I had let it all go. It wouldn’t have been fair to you otherwise.”
She found that her heart was so full she couldn’t speak. So she merely nodded.
“Ah. Does that mean, ‘Yes, Mr. Sinclair, you may court me’ or ‘Leave me in peace, you quailing, boil-brained fool’?”
She laughed. “Somebody has been reading Mr. Shakespeare again.”
“Brushing up before opening night.”
He drew her closer, and she leaned into his embrace. This was where she belonged. Of course there would be obstacles ahead. For both of them. To some in Savannah, there was no such thing as a respectable actress. Certain doors would remain closed to her. But Celia Mackay was a powerful ally. As were Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Shakleford. She wouldn’t think of any of it right now. For now there was only a rush of wordless joy and the sense of having come home at last. Philip was right. From the ruin of her old life had come this love, this priceless treasure.
Philip released her and smiled into her eyes. “Did you save me a seat?”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “What do you think?”
CHAPTER 36
OPENING NIGHT, APRIL 22
TEN MINUTES TO CURTAIN, AND THE THEATER VIBRATED with the nervous energy of cast and crew. Mr. Quinn’s assistant, Alexander Hatcher, had fallen ill, and India had had to press one of the minor players into service to help Mr. Quinn move the scenery and take charge of the limelight. The actor playing the part of Dromio of Ephesus was late, and the girl playing the spherical Nell was crying quietly into her handkerchief, apparently devastated by the way her costume accentuated her shape. Fabienne was standing with an arm around the unhappy player, murmuring soothing words in her own unique mix of English and French. Victoria Bryson had arrived at the theater two hours early, in costume, and had spent the time pacing the hallway, muttering her lines to herself.
Miss Sawyer, the seamstress, was acting as prompter this evening. She stood at the ready, her spectacles perched on the end of her nose, an open script in her hands.
Riley Quinn found India in the wings. “Everything’s ready, Miss Hartley. Lime’s heating up real good, the mirrors are all in place, and the first flat is safe and secure, center stage, just like you wanted.”
“Good.”
“Me and Alexander did a fine job painting the Duke’s palace. Not that I’ve ever been inside such a place, but I reckon it looks like the real thing. At least from a distance.”
“Thank you, Mr. Quinn.”
“No, ma’am. I figure it’s us ought to be thanking you.” He grinned. “I took a peek out front just now. The place is packed.”
“Then perhaps we’ll make some money tonight.”
“I sure hope so,” said a booming voice behind her.
She turned. “Mr. Shakleford. I wasn’t expecting to see you until after the show.”
“I wanted to wish you good luck, Miss Hartley. And to thank you for uncovering the embezzlement scheme. I should have kept closer watch on the books, but I was away most of the season, and I trusted Philbrick. Misplaced, as it turns out.”
“I’m sure to make mistakes along the way, but I can promise you they will be honest ones.”
“I have no doubt of that.” Mr. Shakleford craned his neck to take a look at the stage where the players were assembling. “It looks to be a handsome production. Well done.”
India felt her nerves unwinding, replaced by the old anticipation she always felt on opening night. “I hope you still feel that way after the final curtain.”
He took off his spectacles and polished them on his sleeve. “I ought to find my seat. Don’t want to miss anything.”
He left and India quickly counted heads, making sure all of the players were in their proper places for the opening scene: the duke, the merchant of Syracuse, the jailer, and the attendants.
A church bell down the street tolled the hour. The crowd settled. Murmured conversations, the rustling of silks, and the tread of boots gave way to hushed anticipation. India briefly closed her eyes and blew out a long breath. At her signal, the curtain rose, and the theater reverberated with the sound of applause.
“Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall . . .” the first player began.
From her place in the wings, India whispered the opening lines to herself. The actor delivered them flawlessly, but India, too nervous to stand in one place through the play’s five acts, made her way down the spiral stair and along the dimly lit corridor to her office. She turned up the gas lamp and sat behind her desk, feeling grateful and more than a little stunned at how her life had changed, how it had come full circle since that strange and awful night last December.
Yesterday she had been so busy with final rehearsals and last-minute details that there hadn’t been time to ask Philip what had happened at his meeting with the prosecutor. Perhaps Mr. McLendon would give credence to her suspicions, or perhaps he would decide that Mr. Philbrick’s punishment for the death of Arthur Sterling—however it had happened—added on to the embezzlement charge would be enough. She worried about what would happen to Victoria Bryson and hoped the girl would be shown mercy, but Philip was right. The entire situation was out of her hands.
A burst of applause and the rumble of scenery being moved signaled the end of the first act, and then later, the theater exploded in laughter as the cases of mistaken identity and the outrageous dialog that formed the backbone of the story reached a fever pitch.
India relaxed at last. She had been right to choose The Comedy of Errors. After the events of the past months, everyone associated with the Southern Palace needed a reason to laugh.
Sometime later, Riley Quinn stuck his head into her office. “Final curtain in five minutes, miss. Everybody’s askin’ for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Quinn.” India rose and followed him up the stairs to the wings.
The last lines were spoken, and the players exited the stage. A moment of silence ensued as the audience emerged from the world of fantasy and returned to the present. The applause and cheers were enthusiastic and prolonged, swelling anew as each of the players returned to the stage for a final bow.
“Come on!” Her eyes luminous with triumph, the girl tugged India onto the stage, then led another round of applause. Moving as one, the players took a step back, leaving India alone in the dazzling limelight.
She looked out at the packed house. Philip sat in the front row to the left of center, flanked by Mr. Shakleford and Mr. Kennedy. Philip blew her a kiss, and she briefly bowed her head, both hands clasped to her chest.
Across the aisle sat Celia Mackay with Frannie and an attractive man India realized must be Celia’s husband, Sutton, returned from his travels at last. From their places in the wings, Riley Quinn, Miss Sawyer, and Fabienne were clapping wildly, tears running down their faces.
India’s eyes welled up as the applause washed over her, a wave of affection that filled her heart to bursting. Life was lived on an ever-turning wheel that sooner or later brought a person back to her truest self. She thought of everything she had lost and gained. Everything she had been through that had led her here.
Someone tossed a bouquet of jonquils onto the stage. She retrieved it and pressed the blossoms to her nose. She thought of her father, that dear, flawed man whose faith in her had never wavered. She could almost feel his presence on the stage beside her, his favorite line from King Lear a whisper in her ear.
The wheel is come full circle. I am here.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Readers,
This novel, like all of my others, is inspired by the life of a real nineteenth-century woman. A Respectable Actress owes its beginnings to Frances “Fanny” Anne Kemble, one of the most famous and beloved actresses of her day and the inspiration for my fictional actress India Hartley.
Born into an English family of actors that included her aunt Sarah Siddons, Fanny made her London stage debut as Juliet at age nineteen and was an immediate sensation. She often acted with her father, Charles, a Shakespearean actor who managed the Covent Garden theater. As her fame grew and his popularity waned, she found herself the family’s major breadwinner.
In 1832, after three dazzling seasons in London, Fanny traveled to America with her father, in part to help pay for her father’s increasing debts. Accustomed to acclaim everywhere they went, the Kembles were surprised to find the American aristocracy suspicious of theater people. The majority of native-born actors and actresses were from the lower social classes. But Fanny’s opening-night performance and many that followed enchanted the critics and soon made her a celebrity. University students cut classes to attend her matinee performances. Women copied her hairstyle, and garden clubs named flowers in her honor.
During a tour in Philadelphia, Fanny met Pierce Butler, scion of a wealthy Georgia plantation owner. Though he was engaged to another woman, Butler began courting Fanny. They married in June of 1834, and two years later Pierce Butler inherited the second largest slaveholding empire in Georgia.
Fanny was horrified. She began keeping a journal during her time at Butler’s Island, which is part of St. Simons Island, where my fictional hero Philip Sinclair has his plantation, Indigo Point. Fanny’s journal details her discomfort and unhappiness among the slaves, snakes, and plantation families of the island, but more importantly her journal is a commentary on slavery, race, and the rights of women. It was published in 1863 as Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation, and it became a popular argument against slavery. Some historians have speculated that some of the details she supplied in her journal may have been exaggerated, though there is no doubt the slaves were subjected to inhumane treatment before Butler sold them in one of the largest auctions of human beings ever recorded. I used Fanny’s journal in creating my character Laura Sinclair, whose distaste for plantation life at Indigo Point leads to dire consequences.
Fanny and Pierce Butler had two daughters, born on the same day three years apart. When the Butlers divorced in 1849, Sarah Butler sided with her mother and eventually married Owen Jones Wister, a wealthy physician. Their son, also named Owen Wister, was the celebrated author of The Virginian, widely acknowledged as the first cowboy novel. The Butlers’ other daughter, named Frances but called “Fan,” supported her father and after the war attempted to salvage his plantations on Butler’s Island. It is this daughter who has an offstage role in A Respectable Actress as friend to my fictional Amelia Sinclair.
Indigo Point is entirely fictional, but it’s modeled after King’s Retreat, a large plantation on the southern tip of St. Simons Island. In the 1870s and 1880s, Anson Dodge and his business partner at King’s Retreat operated a lumber mill that grew to be the third largest in the country. In creating Indigo Point, I relied upon the collected letters of Anna Matilda Page King, who inherited King’s Retreat from her father and reared her ten children there, managing it during her husband’s long absences.
Modern readers may wonder how India’s murder trial could have lasted for only a few days. And they may wonder about India’s escape to the Isle of Hope. Both of these events are taken from the pages of history. In creating India’s trial, I read the handwritten records of murder trials of the mid-to late nineteenth century, many of which lasted only two to three days. One record describes the trial of a Missouri slave woman accused in the death of her master. Known only as “Molly,” she was convicted in two days’ time on the testimony of a handful of witnesses and swiftly sentenced to death by hanging. While she was in jail awaiting the results of her appeal, someone who was never identified spirited Molly out of the jail and hid her in a place of safety until her appeal was processed. Of course it was denied, and Molly was subsequently hanged.
The interested-party rule that Philip Sinclair mentions was indeed a rule that prevented the accused from testifying on their own behalf.
Readers of The Bracelet will recognize the main character from that story, Celia Browning Mackay. I loved Celia so much I couldn’t leave her behind, and since St. Simons Island is so close to Savannah, it was easy to bring her back into this story as India’s champion and benefactor. I hope fans of Celia’s story will enjoy catching up with her ten years after she set sail for Liverpool with her new husband.
The Southern Palace Theater and all other characters in the novel are fictional.
A Respectable Actress is a story of love and betrayal, of courage and hope, and a window into the world of the nineteenth-century theater and the history and beauty of St. Simons, one of the loveliest places I know. It is surely deserving of its nickname as a “golden isle.”
San Antonio, March 2015
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. How does the notion of “respectability” affect the way in which India sees herself? How does it color her perception of her relationship with Philip?
2. India’s nomadic lifestyle causes her to long for a real home—a refuge no theater can provide. What is your definition of home?
3. India suffers the effects of being thought of as an outsider. Have you ever felt that way about yourself? How did it influence your choices?
4. What do you think acting means to India? How do her skills influence the outcome of the story?
5. Were you surprised by the outcome of India’s trial? Why or why not?
6. What did you
think of Philip’s decision not to tell India about his past until he was forced to do so? How would his revelations have altered the story and their relationship?
7. If you have read The Bracelet, what did you enjoy most about this glimpse into Celia Mackay’s life ten years later? Were you surprised that she took up India’s cause?
8. What role do the two islands—St Simons and Isle of Hope—play in the story? What do they mean to Philip? To India? To Amelia?
9. Toward the end of the story, Philip tells India to let go of her worries about Mr. Philbrick and his crimes. What do you think will happen to Mr. Philbrick?
10. Imagine India’s and Philip’s lives ten years later. What are they doing? Where do they live? How have their triumphs and tragedies shaped their lives?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
BEGINNING WITH THE WONDERFUL PUBLISHING TEAM at Thomas Nelson who takes such great care of me and my work, Becky Philpott and Erin Healy. Your careful reading and insightful comments make my work better. Kristin Ingebretson, thank you for another stunning book cover. I appreciate your talent more than words can say. To my copy editors and marketing and sales teams and all who work behind the scenes to bring a book to completion, thank you so much.
Natasha Kern, thank you for your wisdom and kindness. Working with you is a joy.
I’m indebted to the authors of several books I consulted regularly as I worked on this novel including Fanny Kemble’s Civil Wars by Catherine Clinton; Anna, The Letters of a St. Simons Island Plantation Mistress by Anna Matilda Page King (edited by Melanie Pavich-Lindsay); Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation in 1838–1839 by Frances Anne (Fanny) Kemble, and Within the Plantation Household: Black and White Women of the Old South by Elizabeth Fox-Genovese.