“Placide has instructed us all to testify to the fact that there was a band of Negroes near the stage entrance, brandishing torches.”
“Earlier this afternoon, I saw three Negro men arrested,” says Green. “Does that have anything to do with this?”
Jack recalls what Ritchie said this morning, about Negroes from across the city being rounded up and thrown into the birdcage. “Most likely, yes.”
Green looks uneasy. “So, we’re just going to let Richmond’s colored folks take the blame for this?”
This is the opening Jack’s been waiting for, and he takes it. “Maybe if you talked to Ritchie, you could tell him…”
“Tell him what?”
Jack hesitates. “The truth.”
“You want me to turn on Placide?”
“Nothing as severe as that.”
Green studies him closely.
“You don’t even have to address the cover-up,” says Jack. “For all Ritchie knows, Placide’s right, and there really was some unrest that night.”
“I’m confused.”
“If you just tell him what you know—how I forgot to put out the chandelier and that you gave the order to raise it, without fully understanding what it would mean to do so—he’s sure to be sympathetic. At the very least, he’ll have no choice but to call off the arrests Kemp’s men are making.”
“What makes you think I’m not going to go tell Placide that you’re over here, trying to convince me to turn on the troupe?”
Jack’s breath catches in his throat. “I’m not. I mean, I thought, with Nancy…”
The smile slips off Green’s face at the mention of his daughter’s name.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Relax, Gibson,” says Green. “I’m not going to tattle on you. You’re a good boy, even if you are a bit daft.”
He drains his beer and pushes himself onto his feet.
“So, you’ll talk to Ritchie?”
Green tosses a few shillings onto the bar. “I will, but you’re not going to like what I say.”
SALLY
After Elliott takes off, Sallyand Maria and a few of the house servants help get Mr. and Mrs. Price inside. A woman named Rosie offers to take Mrs. Price upstairs, and Mr. Price’s manservant guides Mr. Price into his study, where he collapses on the settee. Outside in the yard, a few of the slaves work to untie Della and see to her wounds.
Sally inspects the Prices’ injuries. Mrs. Price has a bruised tailbone and maybe a broken rib—injuries she will be able to hide when it is time to be seen in public or receive visitors. Mr. Price’s injuries are harder to cover up. He has a split lip that could probably use a few stitches, and his right eye is already starting to swell. It’s horrifying to think that their own son is the cause of their suffering, but they seem resigned to it.
“I told you,” says Maria to Sally as she walks her to the door. “He’s cruel.”
Sally makes Maria promise to take care of herself and to find an excuse to get out of the house if Elliott does not, indeed, follow through on his plan to wed. “You can come visit my mother and me at Hunting Tower, in Buckingham, this spring. I’ll be there once Margaret has recovered.”
“I will,” says Maria as she hugs Sally goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”
They are on the porch when they spy a woman in a canary-yellow dress getting out of a hired chaise. The woman has a mountain of red hair piled atop her head, and when she draws closer, Sally notices that her face is so heavily made-up she can have only one occupation.
“May we help you?” asks Maria.
“Yes,” says the woman, who smells strongly of vanilla and cloves. “I came to see Elliott Price Junior.”
