A Respectable Actress (20 page)

“Yes. Thank you.”

She turned from the window, relieved that Philip no longer seemed angry with her.
On the drive to the landing this morning he had been polite, if reserved. She longed
to recapture the closeness that had sprung up between them during their visits to
King's Retreat, but perhaps he had moved now into his professional role as her attorney.
He came in with two steaming mugs and handed her one.

“How are you holding up?”

“All right, I guess.”

They took the two chairs flanking the cabin's single window.

“Captain Mooreland says we'll arrive a bit early into Savannah this evening,” he
said. “If the Mackays' carriage is not there when we dock, you'll stay aboard until
it arrives. I don't want the papers getting wind of our return before Monday.”

“All right.” India's benefactor, Mrs. Mackay, had offered India a room in her home
until the trial opened, but Philip had explained that at the end of the day on Monday,
India, like any other defendant, would be returned to the Chatham County Jail until
testimony resumed the next morning.

In the meantime, he had arranged with Mr. Philbrick to visit the theater on Sunday
afternoon. An armed policeman would accompany them in case, India assumed, she tried
to make an escape.

India sipped her tea. “How long do you think the trial will take?”

“It depends on how many witnesses the prosecutor wants to call. We're sure to hear
from the policemen involved. The doctors who treated Mr. Sterling. The coroner.”
He turned his tea mug around and around in his slender fingers. “It sounds like a
lot, but in cases such as this, where so few facts are in dispute, things tend to
go quickly. I'd say a day or two for the prosecution, and perhaps the same for our
side.”

“So it might be over in a week's time?”

“Barring any delays.”

“And after that?”

His eyes held hers. He knew what she was asking.

“A sentence is usually carried out within a month or two. But India, you mustn't
think about that. Truth is on our side.”

“But will it be enough? I'm the outsider, accused of murdering one of their own.
And you said yourself the judge is not—”

“Listen. Even if we lose the first round, I will find some reason to file an appeal.”

“Which will only prolong the dread.”

“It will also give us more time to find out what really happened that night. Since
the authorities seem disinclined to continue the investigation.”

She wrapped her hands around her teacup. “They have no intention of continuing an
investigation. They have already decided I'm guilty.”

Philip didn't deny it. “The prosecutor will be brutal. He will say the worst things
he can say to denigrate you, to convince the jury of your guilt. He will give them
half-truths wrapped in speculation. To which I will object at every opportunity.
But you
must not show any reaction, no matter what the prosecutor says. No anger,
no outbursts. Nothing that could reinforce the perception that you are an angry
woman capable of violence.”

India realized she was crying. She fumbled for her handkerchief.

He patted her hand. “You're a strong woman. And you're an actress, accustomed to
controlling your expressions, your voice, your gestures. Consider this the role of
a lifetime, and we'll be all right.”

He glanced out the window. “Looks like the weather is improving. Want to go out on
the deck for a while?”

He proffered his arm, and they went onto the narrow deck. The two Frenchmen had brought
their argument outside. They continued speaking in low, urgent voices that mingled
with the noise of the engine, the churning of the water, and the cries of geese winging
overhead.

“You're awfully quiet,” he said at last.

“I can't stop thinking about Mrs. Catchpole. She wasn't the most welcoming woman
I've ever met, but I am concerned about her. I can't forget the wild look in her
eyes when she found me in that room. And the time she deliberately steered me wrong
when I wanted to bake your chess pie. It's as if she wanted me to fail. To make you
unhappy.”

“She was never the same after Laura died.” Philip braced both hands on the rail and
stared out at the water. “She got it into her head that Laura would somehow come
back if only she believed hard enough. If she kept Laura's room just as it was. Even
though she was the one who found Laura's reliquary necklace in
the ashes.” He shrugged.
“Perhaps Amelia and I were wrong to indulge such fantasies, but we are her only family.”

India drew her shawl around her shoulders. Something inside hurt her every time Philip
spoke Laura's name. She had no right to feel betrayed that he had kept this part
of himself from her for so long. But the abiding affection she'd felt for him almost
from the beginning had only deepened since their kiss. In the deepest recesses of
her heart there burned a spark of hope that he might return her feelings. But he
was still in love with Laura, and there was no competing with the dead, who, because
of their absence, were often crowned with virtues they lacked in life.

Philip was studying her intently. She looked past his shoulder to the noisy Frenchmen,
afraid that he would read her feelings in her eyes.

“I was wrong not to have told you about Laura sooner,” he said. “I thought about
it more than once, but somehow the time never seemed right.”

“You're like me. A private person.”

“Sometimes too private. But I wish—”

“Mr. Sinclair?” Captain Mooreland appeared on deck. “You asked me to let you know
when we got close to Savannah. We'll be arriving soon.”

“Thank you.” Philip returned India to her cabin. “Try to relax until I come for you.”

He left her there. Too anxious to sit still, she paced the small space and tried
to calm her thoughts. Darkness was falling, and the gaslights along the waterfront
were just coming on as the
Neptune
nosed into her berth. India waited until Philip
returned to her.

“The other passengers have gone,” he said. “And the Mackays' carriage has arrived.”

Taking his arm, India stepped off of the steamer and into her uncertain future.

C
HAPTER
16

F
ROM THE CARRIAGE WINDOW
, I
NDIA WATCHED AS THE
winter twilight deepened the shadows and softened the hard angles of the handsome homes on Madison Square, the outlines of graceful columns and elaborate iron gates blurring in the glow of the gas lamps lighting her way. Though the gardens were dormant now in the middle of winter, the shutters fastened against the winter winds, and the shops closed for the evening, Savannah beguiled her with its quiet elegance.

Even General Sherman, upon capturing Savannah near the end of the war, had been so
arrested by her beauty that he'd made an exception to his murderous scorched-earth
policy that had laid waste to most of Georgia, and spared Savannah from destruction.
It wasn't hard to see why Celia Browning Mackay loved it so. Why she had extended
such extraordinary generosity to India in an effort to protect her native city's
good name.

The harness jangled as the carriage rocked to a stop at the entrance to the Mackay
home on Bull Street. Philip hustled India from the carriage to the front door and
rang the bell.

A woman in a maid's apron and cap motioned them inside.
“Miss Celia's waitin' for
you all in the parlor,” she said. “Just go on in.”

“This way.” With one hand at the small of her back, Philip guided India across a
wide entry foyer. It was dominated by a magnificent staircase leading to a long second-floor
gallery lined with portraits. A marmalade-colored cat, busily engaged in licking
his paws, lay stretched out on the bottom stair. He blinked solemnly as they passed.

At the open door to the parlor, Philip paused. “Mrs. Mackay?”

“Philip! You're here at last.” The voice was rich and warm as honey. The woman to
whom it belonged appeared at the doorway. Petite and curvaceous in a fitted dress
of apricot silk that set off her dark hair and violet eyes, Celia Mackay took both
of India's hands and drew her into the room. “My dear. I'm pleased to meet you at
last, but sorrier than words can tell for the circumstances.”

“Thank you. I'm grateful for your help. I don't know what I'd have done without Mr.
Sinclair's assistance.”

“He's the best lawyer in Savannah,” Mrs. Mackay said, motioning them to chairs before
the fire. “It's the least Sutton and I could do for so celebrated a visitor. I hope
you won't judge all of Savannah in light of this grievous misunderstanding.”

India took in her surroundings—the black marble fireplace, the graceful chairs upholstered
in fine leather, a glass-fronted bookcase filled with volumes bound in red leather.
The room radiated comfort, serenity, safety. It felt like home.

“Are the two of you hungry?” Mrs. Mackay directed her
question to Philip, who sat
nearest the fire, hands clasped loosely between his knees.

“I am.” He smiled at India. “It's been a long time since breakfast at the Point.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and the white-haired carriage driver poked his
head into the room. “Beggin' your pardon, Miss Celia. I brought in your comp'ny's
trunks. Where you want 'em?”

“I'll show you!” A little girl of about ten years of age appeared at his side. “Mama
told me where Miss India is 'sposed to sleep.”

“Frannie, please don't stand there and shout,” Mrs. Mackay said. “Come in and say
hello to our visitors.”

The girl danced into the room, her blue skirt belling about her ankles. She was Mrs.
Mackay in miniature, down to her small frame, her cloud of dark hair and extraordinary
eyes. She made a little curtsy. “Hello.”

Despite her worry and fatigue, India was charmed. “Hello yourself. What a pretty
dress.”

“Do you think so?” Frannie spun around. “I wanted a green one with a satin sash,
but Mama said this one was better.”

“It's very charming.”

“That's what Miss Arnoult said. She's my music teacher.”

“Miss Arnoult has very good taste.”

Frannie peered into India's eyes. “My papa says you were framed. I thought he meant
like a picture, but you look like a regular person.”

India laughed.

Philip said, “Come and give me a hug, Little Bit. I haven't seen you in a coon's
age.”

“How many years is that?”

“I have no idea.”

Frannie skipped across the room and leapt into his arms. “Guess what, Uncle Philip.
Papa said if I do well on my studies this spring, I can go with him and Mama to Europe
this summer.”

“That sounds like a fine trip to me,” Philip said with such gravity that India's
heart turned over. What a wonderful father he would make.

Mrs. Mackay said, “Frannie, please do show Micah where to leave Miss Hartley's things.
And then you may retire to your room. I'll be up later to hear your prayers.”

“Yes, Mama.” Frannie slid off Philip's lap. “Papa promised to read another chapter
of
Mary West, Prairie Girl
when he gets home. It's very exciting.”

She planted a swift kiss on her mother's cheek and raced to the hallway.

India watched her go. “What a beautiful child, Mrs. Mackay.”

“We lost our first child, a boy, to a bout of fever. Francesca seems like a special
gift. It's difficult not to spoil her silly.” Mrs. Mackay smiled. “Not that my husband
tries all that hard.”

The maid came in and announced dinner. Mrs. Mackay rose. “I'm sorry Sutton isn't
here. He had to go to Charleston to see about the repairs on one of our ships. I've
asked Lucinda to prepare a buffet. I hope that's all right.”

“That's kind of you.” Philip offered one arm to their hostess and the other to India.

In the spacious dining room, they filled plates with ham and beaten biscuits, savories,
and small apple tarts glistening
with sugar. While they ate, Mrs. Mackay entertained
them with news of the city. The new library for men that had opened last September
to divert men from drinking and brawling seemed to be working, and now the Sons of
Temperance were leading the movement to form a statewide organization.

“Of course the men aren't the only ones who have trouble with strong drink,” Mrs.
Mackay said, setting down her crystal water glass. “Poor Mary Murphy can't seem to
break the habit no matter how she is punished.”

Philip nodded. “I was in the Exchange one day last fall for some business in the
municipal offices, and there was Mary Murphy, scrubbing out the place in lieu of
another thirty days in jail, but I heard later she was arrested yet again.”

Mrs. Mackay sighed. “People like her need help. Not only for their sakes, but my
goodness, the reputation of our city is at stake too. Tourists certainly don't want
to have to step over drunkards on the streets in order to go shopping or take in
a play.”

“We can't expect much improvement until we solve the employment problem,” Philip
said, helping himself to another biscuit. “Until we overcome the idleness forced
upon men, black and white, by the seasonal nature of our economy, we can expect such
difficulties to remain.”

India finished her apple tart and relaxed into her chair, content to listen to the
conversation.

“At least the river port is thriving again,” Philip continued. “From what I hear,
this year ought to be the best ever.”

“Sutton is counting on it,” Mrs. Mackay said. “It's no secret we nearly lost everything
during the war.” She studied Philip over the rim of her coffee cup. “The legal profession
ought to do well,
too, now that so many of our black citizens are filing claims for
property they lost to the Union army.”