Mary Stanton - Defending Angels

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Epilogue

How was your day? Antonia lay flat on the couch, raised both legs over her head, and lowered them.

Fine. Bree set her briefcase by the fireplace, bent to pet Sasha, and threw herself into the leather chair. Interesting.

Yeah? Antonia continued her exercises. She swore they kept her stomach flat. The parents got off okay after you left for the office. She swung her feet to the floor and sat up, her face flushed with effort. They came this close to pitching a fit over my staying on with you. She held her thumb and forefinger a scant eighth of an inch apart.

Im glad there wasnt too big a hoo-rah, Bree said.

So what did you do today?

Bree smiled at her. Won my case. Very satisfying. My clients in seventh heaven.

Is that a fact? Congratulations. You want to go down to the Shrimp Factory and celebrate?

Bree unpinned her braids and let them swing free. Lets do that.

A Note on the Origin of Angels

The cosmology created for Beaufort & Company is based on eleventh- and twelfth-century medieval theology. This was a time in the history of Christianity when influences from three of the worlds great religionsChristianity, Judaism, and Islambegan to show up in documents in Europes monasteries. The monks were especially fond of angels, and there are hundreds of them listed in these old manuscripts.

Many angels were assigned responsibilities for temporal phenomena, such as earthquakes, rain, moonlight, and sunshine.

The angels in Beaufort & Company benefit from contributions from several of the great Chinese religions; Mahayana Buddhism is one.

One

What hangs people... is the unfortunate circumstance of guilt.

The Wrong Box, Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne

Hanged by the neck until dead, every one of em, Lavinia Mather said with enormous satisfaction. Uh-huh. Got a pile of developers thatd give me a bundle for the place, if the Savannah Historical Society would ever let me dig em up. But nope, its the only privately owned, all-murderers cemetery in the state of Georgia and its smack on the Historical Register. Her soft white hair formed a wispy halo around her mahogany face and she gave Brianna a smile of angelic sweetness. Youre a lawyer, Ms. Winston-Beaufort?

Yes, maam, Brianna said.

Go on! Mrs. Mather shook her head in admiration. Ive got great-grandchildren older than you.

Brianna, whose Southern upbringing gave her an instinctive respect for the elderly, merely said, Surely not, maam. As for me, I passed the bar five years ago. Im twenty-nine.

If you say so, honey. Anyway. If you are a lawyer, maybe you could sue the pants off the Historical Society for me. You get those folks off my back, Ill give you a break on the rent. She twinkled roguishly.

Bree murmured an ambiguous Hmmm.

Shed tried not to let her dismay at the decrepit state of her surroundings be too obvious to the feisty Mrs. Mather. But the cemetery was a weedy mess. Not something you expected to find off the trendy West Bay Street area in Savannah. The sole magnolia tree was dead. The azaleas were undernourished. Pigweed obscured the headstones. The only horticultural reminder that this was part of the most beautiful city in Georgia was the live oak trees. The branches drooped with Spanish moss that hung silvery over the graves.

Shed thought shed misread the ad, at first:

For Rent. Prime Office Space. 600 sq. ft. Exciting Riverfront Area. $300 mo. 555-1225.

Shed only been in Savannah a week, but it hadnt taken her long to discover that six hundred square feet of office space, anywhere near the Savannah River, in any condition, would run four times the rent asked for in the ad. She needed to work somewhere until the renovations on her Uncle Franklins office space were finished. Shed called for an early appointment, and discovered the address was even better than shed hoped for; the building was between Mulberry and Houston, one block off East Bay. She could walk to work from her town house on Factors Walk to 66 Angelus Street.

Thing is, Lavinia acknowledged sadly, the cemetery kind of puts folks off. A breeze scented with the dank-water smell of the river stirred around them both. She shivered a little and drew her worn sweater tightly around her skinny frame. Might not be so bad if I had the git up and go to tidy the graves up a bit. But my motors kind of slow starting these days. She tugged at her lower lip a little sadly. I suppose youve seen all you want to see, now.

Bree put her own warm hand on the old ladys shoulder, and said tactfully, Nothing a few loads of mulch and a pile of azaleas wont fix. Id love to take a look at the offices. And I did tell you I wouldnt need the space for long? Six months, at most.

Mrs. Mather smiled that sunny smile. You might find yourself likin it a lot more than you think right now.

The space for rent was the first floor of a small house built in the early eighteenth century; a time when the streets of Savannah had been paved with mud and horse manure, and the air shrill with the cries of slave auctioneers. The house stood flat in the middle of a tiny cemetery of ill-tended graves. The general air of decay and dirt would put any prospective renter off, Bree thought. As for clientsPhew! A wrought-iron fence surrounded both house and cemetery; par for the course in a city where every house in the Historic District was wrapped with the stuff. The design of this fence was different from the usual magnolia or ivy leaves, though. Each panel was made of spheres so artfully created, they seemed to spin in the sunlight.

The house was sided in chipped, dingy clapboard that badly needed paint. But the roof was intact (or seemed to be) and the window and door frames were solid. Maybe the interior wouldnt be as moldy as she feared.

Bree kept a steady hand on Mrs. Mathers arm as the two of them negotiated the crumbling brick steps to the front door. The old lady fumbled successfully with the key and Bree followed her in to face a sudden burst of glorious color in the foyer.

I dont believe it! she said, startled into rudeness. She bit her lip. I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Mather.

Either Mrs. Mather was a little deaf, or she tactfully chose to ignore Brees outburst. They were in a tiny foyer with a well-polished pine floor. On the right, a steep staircase led up to the second story. Brightly painted medieval angels covered the risers. Deep purple ribbons twined through the vivid crimson robes. Stiff gold halos stood up behind their heads like half-risen suns. Silver-gilt hair flowed over their shoulders to their booted feet. The angels marched in a stately parade up the stairs to a short landing, and then disappeared around the turn. Bree had a sudden, fervent desire to see the rest of the frieze. The contrast between this and the weedy mess outside was astonishing. She was halfway up the stairs before Mrs. Mather called her to her senses.

Come on into the living room, honey.

Bree abandoned the beautiful stairway with reluctance and went through the foyer to a small, bare living room. A white painted brick fireplace sat against the far wall. The walls were paneled in beautifully polished oak.

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