Celia Garth: A Novel (50 page)

She looked at Herbert and Vivian, standing side by side before Major Edmore. What dignity they had. Expecting nothing unusual to happen today, they were both plainly dressed. Herbert wore a suit of unbleached homespun; Vivian a white muslin house-dress and cap, her only ornament the silver filigree pin that held the cap to her beautiful blue-white hair. But they looked regal. Celia had never admired them as much as she did today. And she was glad, oh she was glad she belonged to them, could go where they went. The preacher spoke a few words, he wrote your name in a parish register, and what a difference it made!

Herbert was saying that with Major Edmore’s permission he would have the servants bring the trunks, so he and Mrs. Lacy could set about packing their clothes. Herbert spoke with icy calmness. There was a white line about his lips.

Major Edmore cleared his throat. He was doing his duty, but plainly he wished somebody else had to do it. He said Mr. Lacy need not call the servants to bring the trunks, the servants were—ah—upset. This could be done by some of the private soldiers. He would send for them at once.

But though Major Edmore was uncomfortable, Roy and Sophie were quite at ease. Roy was walking from window to window, surveying his new kingdom. Now he paused by the marble mantelpiece, running his hand over it as if calculating what it must have cost; now he lingered by a window to take a look at the oaks—Celia guessed, sick with anger, that he was counting what they would bring when cut for timber.

Sophie was fluttering about, noting the furniture, the rugs, the crystal vase that held the flowers. Clearly, both she and Roy considered that they were as much entitled to Sea Garden as if they had bought it in a broker’s office. They had no concern about the former owners.

Herbert said he would show the soldiers where the trunks were kept. Vivian went to lay out her clothes for packing. Celia went out after her, to do the same. As she left the parlor she heard Herbert asking if he would be allowed to take any of his books.

She went to her room. Opening her wardrobe, she began to lay her dresses across the bed.

She moved slowly. Her arms and legs felt heavy. She thought how Vivian had built Sea Garden with her dreams and her love. Every brick and board and pane of glass, every tuft of flowers, every wind from the sea, brought her dear associations. And now—why didn’t they cut off her right arm instead? It would hurt her less than this.

Celia thought of herself. In taking Sea Garden they had taken her own future. This was where she and Luke would have lived, where their children would have been born. She wondered what she was going to do now.

She heard a knock. Stiffening herself to meet the men with her trunk, she opened the door. But her caller was Vivian.

Vivian’s face looked like something cut out of a rock. Without speaking, she closed the door and turned the key. Taking Celia’s hand she drew her away from the door.

“Celia,” she said in a low voice, “you’ve got to stay here.”

Celia gave a start of horrified protest. Vivian went on.

“Luke doesn’t know Sea Garden has been taken! What if he came through the passage and met Roy instead of you?”

Celia gasped. Of course she had to stay. Luke would be taken prisoner, maybe shot as he tried to escape.

“I guess I was too shocked to think,” she said. “But—what will I do? I’m married to Luke. Won’t they expect me to go with you?”

But Vivian had thought quickly, and as usual her thoughts were practical. “They don’t know you’re married. Take that ring off until after we’re gone. When they saw you this morning they took it for granted that you were here as before, a dressmaker. Our servants will say something about your being married, but they’re so confused that they won’t say anything for a while. It won’t make much difference. Roy and Sophie think your husband is a fool clinging to a hopeless cause. When this is over he’ll have to dig ditches for a living, so you’re just a poor relation to be ordered about.”

Celia wet her lips. “Is it a hopeless cause, Vivian?”

“You know as much about it as I do,” Vivian returned crisply. “Now listen. Write a warning and put it in the letter box. If a scout comes by maybe he can get it to Luke.”

“I’ll do that,” Celia promised.

Vivian managed a little smile. “Thank God you have a steady head, Celia.”

Celia’s head did not feel steady. It felt dizzy. She swallowed hard, and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“Sea Garden!” Vivian said softly, and covered her eyes with her hand.

Celia’s throat had closed up. She could not speak, but she put her arms around Vivian and held her.

Vivian shook her head. “Don’t give me any sympathy, Celia. I can’t bear it right now.” But she stood there, her head on Celia’s shoulder, fighting for self-command.

Celia thought, Vivian is losing Sea Garden; she doesn’t know how Burton is faring in St. Augustine; she doesn’t know what’s happening to Luke. How much do people have to put up with in this world?

Vivian raised her head. “I’m all right now.” She straightened her shoulders and looked around. After a moment she kissed Celia quickly, as if a long embrace was more than she could bear. “Good-by, dear girl.”

Celia said, “Good-by.” She could say no more.

Vivian went to the door and unlocked it, and went through without looking back. Celia heard her footsteps dwindling off, down the hall.

C
ELIA HAD HEARD THAT
the real trials of life are not the great tragedies. Not these, but the small vexations that come back over and over till you think that one more day like this will turn you into a screaming maniac.

She had heard it. After a month with Roy and Sophie at Sea Garden she knew what it meant. Ever since Aunt Louisa had told her she had no dowry, Celia had trembled at the thought of living on Roy’s charity. Now the fate she dreaded had caught up with her.

Here at Sea Garden she was the poor relation, allowed to stay here because of course, as Sophie explained to her friends, Roy wouldn’t be unkind to his own kinfolks. Naturally, since they were giving her a home, they expected her to show some gratitude. In fact, they thought she should be
glad
to help around the house a little.

“Celia, you won’t mind darning the stockings. You haven’t anything to do.”

“Celia dear, you’ll take care of the baby today, won’t you? I want the nurse to help with the ironing.”

“Celia, Sophie has some gauze that she bought in Charleston for caps and kerchiefs. I’m sure you’ll make them for her.”

Day after day, Celia did as she was told. She did it grimly, and usually in silence except to say, “Yes, Sophie.” “Yes, Roy.” “Certainly, I’m glad to help.” “No, I don’t mind at all.”

Day after day, she reminded herself that this was how she guarded her husband’s life. She had tried to warn Luke about keeping away from Sea Garden. But he had not received her warning—the letter she had written was still in the secret letter box. Whether or not Vivian had managed to reach him she could not tell. All she knew was that she had to stay here, to meet him if he came in, and tell him what had happened. The only way she could be sure of staying was to make herself the meekest and most useful servant on the place.

Vivian had been right—Roy and Sophie had forgotten about her and had been surprised to find her here. Celia said she had thought they meant for her to stay. She had no claim on Eugene Lacy, and she was Roy’s cousin.

Roy, in the midst of his new wealth, was in a genial mood. Yes, yes, he said, glad to have her. But when Sophie told him her maid had heard from one of Vivian’s maids that Celia was married to Luke and Luke was with Marion, Roy became stern. He ordered Celia not to embarrass him by speaking of this. He was expecting some friends, officers who had been ordered from Georgetown to Charleston and were going to stop here on their way. He would introduce Celia as Mrs. Ansell, but if anyone asked where her husband was, he would say Mr. Ansell was with the Tory troops. She was to do the same. Was that clear?

Celia doubled her fists and hid them in the folds of her skirt. She replied, “Yes. Quite clear.”

She foresaw that she was not going to have much chance to say anything, one way or the other. A poor cousin like herself was kept in the background. Celia got used to hearing Sophie say, “I do think you’ll be more comfortable if you don’t come to table this evening, Celia. The ladies will be elegantly dressed, and I know you haven’t anything—I mean—”

Celia said, “I understand. I won’t come to table. No, I don’t mind at all.”

She preferred staying away from the dinner-parties. It made her sick to watch Sophie preside over Vivian’s silver while Roy poured Herbert’s wine.

The guests came and went: Aunt Louisa, Roy’s silly sister Harriet and her rich husband who looked like a fish; Sophie’s rich family, other rich Tories, and of course, redcoats. Celia stayed in her bedroom—luckily this room was so small and dark they were glad to have her keep it. Or she sat in one of the back rooms with a book, or with the sewing they were always giving her to do; or she took long walks, taking care to go by the boat-house where the letter box was.

But the box still held her own letter, placed there for any scout who might come by. She had written: “Give this message to Captain Luke Ansell,” and followed with a statement of what had happened at Sea Garden. Then she added, “This letter written by Mrs. Ansell. Whoever takes this, please leave a line telling me how Captain Ansell is but do not leave any more messages after that. Not safe.”

She quaked lest Roy find the letter box. He had ridden over the place and looked into every building, including all the boat-houses, but he had not opened the tool compartments. Some day he would examine the property more carefully, but right now he was busy being a host.

He had been at Sea Garden a month when he demanded her emerald necklace. He had an imposing group of visitors just now: the Torrances, a number of redcoat officers, and some pretty girls with their Tory parents. This evening there would be dancing—no longer was the ballroom shrouded with canvas. Emily Torrance was going to wear a set of pearls, heirlooms in the Torrance family. Sophie said she had nothing to wear that would impress her relatives, then she remembered. “Roy darling, hasn’t Celia been keeping a necklace that really belongs to me?”

Roy sent a maid to summon Celia. He did not say what he wanted, but merely that she was to come upstairs at once.

Roy and Sophie occupied the master suite on the second floor front. They were now in the little boudoir next to the bedroom. Vivian had designed this suite, and as Celia opened the door of the boudoir she could see Vivian’s taste in every detail, so clearly that she almost expected to see Vivian herself. But instead she saw Sophie, in a robe of apple-blossom pink, reclining on the long chair with Roy sitting beside her.

Standing in the doorway, Celia said, “You sent for me, Roy?”

Bluntly, Roy told her he had sent for her because he wanted the emerald necklace.

Expecting this, Celia had hidden the necklace in the passage, behind the secret panel in her room. “I won’t give it to you,” she retorted.

Roy was astonished at her manner. When she had lived in Uncle William’s home, Celia had talked back to Roy, but here at Sea Garden she had been so docile that he thought she had at last learned her place. However, though he was surprised he was not daunted. He told Celia sternly that her impudence would do her no good. He wanted the necklace. Now.

“I won’t give you that necklace,” Celia returned. “I mean it.”

Sophie began to cry.

Roy’s dark eyes narrowed. He set his well-shaped lips in a line of exasperation. Handsome and angry, he told Celia he had been patient about this. He had wanted to give her a chance to do right, and return the necklace of her own accord. But she had not done so, and his patience was at an end.

Celia said nothing. Sophie gave a little sob, and Roy patted her gently. He asked, “Where is that necklace, Celia?”

“It’s put away,” she said.

Sophie sobbed louder.

Roy was angry. He intended to impress Sophie’s rich brother. If Leon Torrance could give his wife heirloom pearls, then Roy Garth could give his wife heirloom emeralds. Roy stood up.

“Celia, if you don’t bring that necklace here at once, I’m coming down to your room. I’ll tear your bed apart, empty every bureau drawer, shake out every garment you own, until I find it.”

Suddenly Celia began to tremble. When she put the necklace into the passage she had felt confident. But now, her thoughts were ticking as if there was a clock in her head. They were saying, Give it up. Give it up. Suppose he finds the passage.

It could happen. Roy was mad. He would tear up her room like a pig rooting in a potato patch. He might, he just accidentally might, stumble against that brick in the fireplace and see it move. Or, suppose his heel struck the panel and he noticed a hollow sound. He would not hesitate to knock a hole in the wall. Sea Garden belonged to him. He could do anything he pleased here.

And if Roy found the passage, and then if Luke came here to see her, he would never get safely away.

Roy was standing over her, glowering. Celia said, “All right, all right. I’ll bring you the necklace.”

Sophie looked up eagerly through her tears. For a terrifying instant Celia thought Roy might say he would come downstairs with her, but he sat by Sophie again, putting his arm around her as if to assure her that this was only one more example of how he was seeing her through the troubles of the world. Turning to Celia he said, “I’ll wait fifteen minutes. Right here.”

Celia went to her room, locked the door, climbed on a chair and drew the curtains over the high little windows. Opening the passage, she brought out the purple velvet case that held the necklace.

She closed the passage and took the necklace upstairs to the boudoir. The door stood ajar, and she pushed it open. Roy and Sophie were sitting together on the long chair, Sophie cuddled against him while he played with her soft light brown hair.

Celia walked over to them. “Here it is,” she said.