The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (21 page)

Albert stared at her, incredulous.  “A boarding house?  Looking for work?  What does this mean?”

“Yes, sir,” Eve said, meeting his astonished eyes.

He faced Helen for answers and when she didn’t lift her eyes from the carpet, he returned his attention to Eve. 

“I simply don’t understand.  Have we insulted you in any way, Miss Kennedy?  Have we been inhospitable or unkind?”  And then he glared at Helen, who refused to look at him.

“Oh, no, Mr. Harringshaw.  Miss Price has been…” and now Eve gulped a little, “…like a sister to me.  I am greatly indebted to her and to you, Mr. Harringshaw.  But it is natural and it is for the best that I move on with my life now.”

“Have you sufficiently recovered your health, Miss Kennedy?”

“Oh, yes, completely.”

Albert narrowed his eyes on her.  “So your memory has returned in its entirety?”

For a moment, Eve felt cornered, but she quickly found a way out.  “I have recalled enough of my memory to be able to function sufficiently in day-to-day matters, Mr. Harringshaw.”

Eve saw he was displeased.  “So then you are quite resolute in this course of action, Miss Kennedy?”

Eve licked her lips.  “Sir, I have been a burden long enough.”

Albert wrinkled his brow.  “I must admit, Miss Kennedy, I do not think it is for the best.”

And then—right out of the blue—Eve recalled a Jane Austen quote from
Mansfield Park. 
“‘We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.’  Don’t you think so, Mr. Harringshaw?”

Eve watched Mr. Harringshaw consider her words.  Surely, he had never read Jane Austen.  His right eyebrow lifted, almost imperceptivity. 

Helen Price’s eyes lifted, carefully scrutinizing Eve’s face, as if suspecting something.  But she couldn’t quite grasp it. 

Eve stood ruler straight.

Albert pursed up his lips and lifted his chin, like a king about to make a proclamation.  “Well, Miss Kennedy, your independent nature may be seen as admirable by some, but I deem it potentially dangerous in a woman.  Although there are women who pretend courage and independence, I have found, through experience, that most need and indeed want the emotional and physical strength and protection of a man.  Nonetheless, as I see that you have made up your mind in this matter, there is little else to be done.”

Eve let out a little trapped air through her nose. 

He clasped his hands together.  “Now, I think a celebration is in order.  Ladies, powder your noses and wear your finest.  Tonight we dine at Delmonico’s.”

Eve opened her mouth to protest, but then quickly shut it.  She would not win this battle and she knew it.  She would have to move first thing in the morning.

Albert Harringshaw’s graceful, black carriage drew up to the Fifth Avenue and 26th Street Delmonico’s Restaurant at 8’o clock.  The liveryman dropped down to open the carriage door, and Eve and Helen emerged, followed by the proud and kingly Albert Harringshaw.

They entered the first-floor public dining room with its glittery chandeliers, hearing the lilting music of a string quartet and seeing the white table cloths and large gilded mirrors.  Mr. Harringshaw was greeted by the effusive maître d’, a thin man in white tie and tails, who swiftly tucked three menus under his arm and led the way to a table in the most fashionable part of the room.  Eve smelled the perfumed air and tried not to gawk at the bejeweled women and their full, opulent gowns of buttery yellows, burgundy and deep pleated purples.  They sat with their cigar-smoking tuxedoed men, all dining in supreme elegance.

As Albert passed several tables, men acknowledged him with a little head bow, while nearly all the women ignored him, their expressions icy, eyes averted, whispering.  Albert seemed to enjoy the attention, as he enjoyed the covert, envious glances of men who watched Helen and Eve drift by, both captivating beauties.

They sat at a round table, with Albert facing out, flanked by his two lovely ladies.  As they were presented menus, Albert waved them away, ordering Delmonico steaks for everyone.

Helen sat in a pride of silence, boldly glancing about the restaurant, recognizing the Astors, Miss Edith Fish and Mrs. Daniel E. Fearing, all the cream of society.

Eve took it all in, mesmerized by the magnificent spectacle and the extravagant designs and theatrical performances of these society-conscious people. 

Albert was bantering on about the latest theatre, and about all the items on the menu he had tried, while Eve was preoccupied, unable to pull her eyes from the waiters dressed in black suits, white ties and long white aprons, gliding across the floor; the graceful turn of a lady’s hand as she talked; the shimmering jewels around necks, on fingers, and in hair; the beards on nearly every man in the room, and the sheer opulence and regal bearing of these fabulously wealthy people.

When the steaks came, Eve ate voraciously.  It was a scrumptious piece of meat, one of the best, if not
the
best, she’d ever tasted. 

For dessert, Albert ordered Baked Alaska for all. 

“The Baked Alaska is a wonder,” Albert said, with proud enthusiasm.  “Please tell the ladies, Andre, how the Baked Alaska is prepared.”

The waiter, Andre, wore a thin black mustache, and he reminded Eve of Agatha Christies’ Detective Hercule Poirot.  His hands became animated as he spoke with a fluid French accent.  “The nucleus is an ice cream.  So
tahstee! 
That is surrounded by an envelope of
zee
fluffy meringue.  Just before they serve it, it is placed under
zee
influence of a red hot salamander.”

“And what is a salamander?” Eve asked.

“That, madam, is a kitchen tool used to warm and brown the tops of food dishes. There is a round disk in the wire that the chef holds over your dish to brown
zee
tops of your Baked Alaska.  Trust Mr. Harringshaw, madams, it is an exquisite dessert.”

Just as Andre retreated, Eve saw a dark shadow pass across Albert’s face.  She followed his gaze.  When she saw whom Albert saw, she froze.  She recognized him immediately.  It was John Allister Harringshaw!  He was with a woman, and they were being escorted to their table by the maître d’.  She was a tall, willowy brunette, wearing a gold satin gown with lace trim.  Eve’s first impression was that she was not a beauty.  She had a long face, an aggressive jaw, and dull, evasive eyes.

John Allister Harringshaw, on the other hand, was strikingly good looking.  Just before he sat, he caught a glimpse of his brother.  He stiffened, and each held the other’s uncomfortable gaze. 

Eve’s pulse surged.  She sat bolt erect, feeling hypnotized by the impossibility of the moment.  There he was, in the flesh.  The man who had written the Christmas Eve letter, that heartfelt and achingly personal letter to Evelyn Sharland.  Was he the reason she had been transported back to this time?  Eve had dreamed of this moment and now that it was here, it seemed strangely chilling.

She studied him—every inch of him.  He was indeed tall, taller than most men of his time, and he was handsome, remarkably handsome, with piercing dark eyes, clean chiseled features and the fine sharp nose of an aristocrat, just as she’d seen in his sepia photograph on Wikipedia.  His dark suit had four buttons and high lapels and he wore a stand-up wing collar and a black tie with a glossy gold stick pin.  His shoes were high, black and buttoned.  There was a natural authority and a stern dignity about him that was both attractive and disconcerting, as if he were not completely comfortable in his own skin.

His eyes left his brother’s and traveled first to Helen, where Eve saw disapproval, and then they settled on Eve.  Eve’s heart pounded in her ears.  She sat rigid, her eyes meeting his.  Somehow, she thought he might recognize
her
.  It was irrational, of course, but Eve stared back in anticipation.  In his eyes, Eve saw first surprise, then questions, and then indifference.

John Allister gave his brother a polite bow, and then he turned and sat down with his back facing them.  Albert reached for his coffee cup and laughed mirthlessly.  “My boring brother,” he said to Eve.  “His fiancé is a silly, unattractive, superficial sparkle.  I am sure they will be very happy together.”

Eve took in a quick breath.  She knew her cheeks were flushed and she saw Helen looking at her, questioningly.

“Do you find Albert’s brother attractive, Miss Kennedy?” she said, with a little sneer.

Albert threw Eve a hard glance.

Eve straightened her shoulders.  “I find that both the Harringshaw brothers are attractive, Miss Price.  Both are truly fortunate men in that regard.”

Albert considered Eve’s statement.  He liked it, and he smiled his satisfaction.  “But of course, Miss Kennedy, I contest that I am more attractive than my brother.  Do you not agree?”

Eve recalled a phrase her mother used to quote, again by Jane Austen. 
Vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief
.  But once again, Eve held her tongue. 

“You do have fortunate qualities, Mr. Harringshaw, manliness and generosity being chief among them.”

That pleased him immensely, and then, thankfully, the Baked Alaska arrived.

While she ate, Eve couldn’t help stealing glances at John Allister.  She was so close to him and yet so far away.  If she could just get him alone she’d ask him if he knew where Evelyn was.  Perhaps there was still time to help save her life or, at the very least, Eve could make her more comfortable with care and treatment.  And then there was the issue of the lantern.  When Eve found it, would it perform as it had before, and send her back to her own time?

CHAPTER 18

Eve spent the next few days settling in at the boarding house and looking for Evelyn, venturing out on day trips to visit the various infirmaries and charitable hospitals Dr. Long had written down for her.  She took the Second Avenue El north to the Knickerbocker Hospital in Harlem, but Evelyn Sharland was not a patient there, nor had she ever been a patient there, nor at any other hospital, clinic or infirmary Eve searched.  The task made Eve especially grateful for 21
^st
century technology like the telephone.

During her travels, Eve often glanced back over her shoulder to see if Detective Sergeant Gantly was in sight, but he wasn’t.  She paused in doorways and searched for him.  She sat on benches and looked for him.  Riding on the El train she stole furtive glances, but he wasn’t there.  Had he abandoned her?  Was he “following” her and not observing?  Had he been fired and put on another case?  She simply didn’t know.  But she was disappointed.  Greatly disappointed.

Detective Sergeant Gantly had agitated her emotional landscape, leaving her with a swelling discomfort, a tickle of desire, and an unwanted attraction.  He’d given her a pure emotional high that had surprised and unnerved her, and she couldn’t shake it loose.  In that first meeting, the man had moved her like no man had ever moved her before and she began to wonder if it was simply the weird circumstance of her being in another time… and so lonely. 

The night they met, she had a sexy dream about him.  He’d come up from behind, seized her hand and yanked her into a darkened alleyway.  He’d pressed her against a wall and kissed her, long, wet and warm.  When Eve had awakened, she was perspiring and wanting—wanting more.  Much more.  She’d shut her eyes, longing to return to the dream—to him, to his strong hands, to his wall of a chest, to his firm, commanding kiss. 

After that dream, Eve considered searching the local precincts to try to find him, with the pretense of returning the ten-dollar bill, but she didn’t know if that was something a woman would do in 1885.  She suspected it wasn’t.  Would his fellow detectives get the wrong impression if she showed up, a ten-dollar bill in hand?  Yeah, of course they would, because even in the 21st century they’d probably get the wrong impression.  And even if they didn’t, Detective Sergeant Gantly would suffer many unpleasant jokes and end up despising her for it.

The other reason she didn’t search for him was simple: she needed the money.  She was running low and she’d need money to survive until she could find some sort of job. 

Albert had offered her more money, and to put her up in a fine apartment near Madison Square, but Eve had refused, politely but firmly.  Albert didn’t like being rebuffed, but he’d accepted it, with reservation, probably feeling certain Eve would soon run out of money and become desperate.  He was waiting, patiently. 

Eve had hoped that Detective Sergeant Gantly would have appeared by now, and her instincts had told her that he’d procure her a diploma if he possibly could.  Apparently, she’d been wrong.  The ten-dollar gift was most likely a polite send-off: “Goodbye and good luck, strange lady from another planet.”

Millie had come for a visit over the weekend and they had gone shopping, with Millie escorting Eve to a few less expensive shops.  Millie also knew a good, inexpensive seamstress and Eve was finally about to have one dress of her very own. 

At the fitting, the seamstress had argued for a narrow look for Eve.  From neck to knee the dress would be straight.  Below the knees the skirt would flare out and form a shallow train.  The dress still required a bustle, but it would be moved to a lower position.  The narrow dress would also demand a correspondingly small hat that the seamstress had in stock, for a much cheaper price than they charged at the stores on the “Ladies Mile.” 

On Monday afternoon, November 2
^nd
, under a cold, gray metallic sky, Eve was returning home from the seamstress.  As she approached Gramercy Park, she saw him.  Detective Sergeant Gantly was sitting on a park bench, long legs crossed, reading a newspaper.  He was dressed as before, with heavy overcoat and bowler hat.  He glanced up over the paper and acknowledged her with a touch of a hand to the brim of his hat. 

Eve stopped, staring, breathing, her pulse escalating.  She stood proudly erect, determined not to fall into sensual dreaminess over this man, because it was simply not in her nature.  So she stood there, waiting, and then their eyes met and there it was, an unmistakable spark.  Despite herself, a new and insistent burn flared through her body, and there was a tender sweetness about it that melted her.