Chapter 23 Part II

A Lady out of Time

Link to Part I

“Philip, there isn’t an actual assassination plot against Mr. Lincoln?” she softly asked.  

“Half of Baltimore thinks evil of Mr. Lincoln,” Philip shouted. “The man who assassinates the bastard Lincoln would achieve such a stature in the South that would never be exceeded. Hah!” he exclaimed, nearly jumping out of the chair. “There’s a new Confederacy forming at this very moment! Justice is at stake here! Whatever happens to Mr. Lincoln is not of my concern! And as for that damn Swann, if he hadn’t been such a stupid boy…”

Mrs. Teackle Harwood appeared at the bedroom door.

Her blue evening dress stretched over large hoops, lined with yards of black cords, and with bishop’s sleeves trimmed in lace so deep that it dangerously threatened to collect any small objects in the way. Despite the voluptuousness of her fashions, she seemed to glide soundlessly and the thick rugs muffled her footsteps, so she often arrived without warning.  

“You look lovely tonight,” she said, coming into the room. “Why the frown, Miss Victoria?” 

“Matthew Swann,” Victoria said, wondering what now brought her mother upstairs. She stole a glance at her brother, who sulked further into the chair. 

“Who? Oh. The fat boy. Is he still missing?” said Adelaide Harwood as she readjusted the lace net containing Victoria’s hair. “Life is often unkind. It does not do to dwell on unpleasantness. Unfortunate things will always happen to others, and we must count our blessings that our lot in life should be so secure.”  

Her hands stroked Victoria’s shoulders and she admired both of their faces in the mirror. Their skins glowed in the gaslight. Great expense and time were devoted to acquiring the high forehead crowned by smooth hair demanded of fashion. In the mirror, she could see her future in Adelaide and took comfort in as her mother aged, her appearance became fragile rather than heavy. But such an appearance was highly misleading. If Adelaide allowed her looks to deceive people into thinking her a gracious matron, she was sharp in unexpected areas. She prided herself for commonsense, which merely rationalized her selfishness and lack of sentimentality.  

“You have so many curls, my darling, despite brushing it every night,” Mrs. Harwood commented. “If we didn’t, you’d be as nappy headed as a pickaninny.”  

“Mother!”