It’s such a simple explanation, but maybe Ritchie’s right. Maybe one mistake—even a mistake that killed their only child—doesn’t erase every good feeling she’s ever had for him. At least not entirely. “All right,” says Jack, “but that doesn’t explain not outing me.”
“She knows you wouldn’t have raised the chandelier if not for Green,” says Ritchie.
Jack is indignant. “I might have.”
“Are you hearing what I’m telling you?”
“I could have held my ground.”
“Listen to me, Jack,” says Ritchie. “Mrs. Green was letting you off the hook.”
GILBERT
By the time Gilbert slipsinto the barn, Cecily and Samuel are talking like they’re old friends.
“You made it,” says Cecily, who looks like she’s about to fall over with relief when he greets them both. “I got so scared when that man stopped you.”
“Just a customer, is all. He’d heard about Dr. McCaw.”
“What happened to Dr. McCaw?” she asks.
“Nothing,” he says quickly.
“Your uncle’s being modest,” Samuel says to Cecily. “He and the good doctor saved about a dozen women the night of the fire.”
“Really?” she says, and the way she says it, Gilbert can tell she’s genuinely awed.
“The God’s honest truth,” says Samuel. “But enough about him. Let’s talk about you.”
Samuel shows them a one-horse chaise that sits near the door of the barn. It’s a two-seater, with an enclosed coupe and a boxed seat, up front, for the coachman. “This is the carriage I’m delivering to Alexandria. I don’t know how much your uncle’s told you, but I can get you as far as Washington. From there, provided these papers your uncle is writing are as good as he says they’re going to be, you should be able to catch a stagecoach to Baltimore and eventually to Philadelphia.”
Gilbert forgot he needs enough money to buy Cecily a stagecoach ticket for the second leg of her journey. “Samuel, I got to take the price of the stagecoach ticket out of the seventy-three dollars.”
Cecily looks confused, and Samuel waves him off. “We’ll work it out.”
Gilbert is in no position to push, but he has a feeling that “working it out” means he’ll be paying for that ticket one way or another.
“When do we leave?” Cecily asks.
“Funeral’s tomorrow at ten,” says Samuel. “I’m aiming to have this carriage leaving town a few minutes beforehand. We want everyone looking the other way.”
“And you think it’ll work?” Cecily asks, crossing her fingers on both hands.
Samuel shrugs. “I’ll be honest. I liked the plan a little better when the funeral was going to be at Henrico Parish Church.”
“Where’s it going to be now?”
“There’s talk they’re moving it to the theater green.”
“Oh,” says Cecily, who’s clearly taken aback by the idea.
“The green’s only a few blocks from here,” says Samuel, “but it shouldn’t make too much of a difference. We’ll take I Street to the turnpike, and avoid some of the crowds.”
“You won’t be taking anything anywhere,” says Gilbert, “if I don’t get to work on those papers.”
“Agreed,” says Samuel as he removes a document from a metal box on his workbench. He hands it to Gilbert.
Gilbert hasn’t ever seen a set of free papers before, much less held them, and his hands tremble as he unfolds the document.
