Irene led an overwhelmed Eve toward the table and began her introductions.
“Mummy, this is my lovely new friend, Mrs. Evelyn Sharland Gantly.”
Katherine Casterbury was seated at the far end of the table, looking very much like a queen, dressed in a purple and violet gown, her neck and hands bedecked in jewels that Eve could only speculate were worth thousands.
She was not the matronly woman Eve had imagined. When she bowed her head, ever so slightly, Eve thought she appeared youthful, perhaps in her early 50s. Her features were well-defined and regal, and her silver-gray hair was combed neatly, sculpted into a kind of bun on top of her head. Her gaze was steely, her diamond-shaped face thin, her nose sharp, her mouth tight, but her overall demeanor one of polished sophistication, caution, and intelligence.
“I’m so happy you have come to dine with us, Mrs. Gantly,” Mrs. Casterbury said in a thoroughly British accent, every word perfectly and beautifully pronounced, as if she were quoting Shakespeare.
Eve involuntarily bowed, clearing her throat before responding. “Thank you, Mrs. Casterbury, for your kind invitation and generosity.”
“Not at all, my dear Mrs. Gantly. I look forward to learning more about you. My daughter is not often forthcoming in allowing me to meet her friends.”
Addison Casterbury had properly risen to his feet when Irene and Eve had entered, and he was waiting patiently, hands clasped behind his back. In his early thirties, wearing white tie and tails, he was tall, with a tight build, a clean jawline and fine broad shoulders. His dark, wavy hair was swept straight back, adding a stylish flair, but a stiff formality. There was an upper-class severity about him, with his sharp upturned nose and dark gray eyes that took in the world with an ironic slant, the mark of being his father’s only son, and the sole heir to a vast fortune.
To Eve’s surprise, Addison left his chair and approached her, reaching for her hand. She offered it and he kissed it gently, in a courtly way. And then he fixed her with his penetrating eyes. Eve was sure she saw a twinkle of ardent attraction in them, and that unsettled her. Did she imagine it?
“I am so happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Gantly,” he said, with superior, practiced protocol. Eve couldn’t place the accent. It sounded stiff and affected, not sincere.
“And I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Casterbury. Thank you for allowing me to join you for dinner.”
“It is all my pleasure, Mrs. Gantly.”
Eve noticed he didn’t say “our pleasure.”
In a swift side glance, Eve saw Irene staring at her brother curiously.
The under-butler, Mason, appeared, and he ushered Eve to her chair and held it, while the second butler did the same for Irene.
Mrs. Casterbury sat at the head of the table, her son to her left. Irene sat to her mother’s right, and Eve was placed next to Irene. The younger butler went to work pouring white wine, starting with Mrs. Casterbury, then Eve, Irene, and finally Addison. When Eve stared down at her place setting, she felt a hot catch of breath. What were all the knives and forks for? There were three glasses. She would have to approach each course slowly, and furtively watch Irene. Yes, she’d take her cue from Irene. Whatever Irene reached for, Eve would do the same.
After the soup was delivered and eating commenced, Mrs. Casterbury turned her attention on Eve.
“How have you found the weather today, Mrs. Gantly?”
Eve thought she saw Irene gently roll her eyes.
Holding her soup spoon over the turtle soup, Eve sat erect, chin tilted up, hoping to embody a woman of 1914 and not 2018.
“It was quite windy, Mrs. Casterbury,” and then Eve thought of a better word. “Blustery for most of the afternoon. The leaves have nearly all fallen from the trees. But overall, the weather was most pleasant.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Mrs. Casterbury said. “Although many of our friends despair of the coming of winter, I find all the seasons stimulating and necessary for good health.”
“Right you are, Mother,” Addison said, his eyes straying toward Eve.
Eve felt Addison’s eyes, and Irene noticed as well, again with a rising interest.
Mrs. Casterbury continued discussing the weather for a time, finally shifting the conversation toward art and the charitable works she was involved in.
“You know, Mrs. Gantly, in 1912, our children’s charity mailed cards to many of the City’s wealthiest residents, asking for donations to help fund a precious commodity. Of course, that precious commodity is the children of our City. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Eve answered, unsure if the question was rhetorical. Mrs. Casterbury nodded her approval and then continued.
“Over a thousand little white hearses passed through the streets of New York City in the summer of 1912. Did you know, Mrs. Gantly, that one-eighth of the 123,400 babies delivered in 1912 died before they were twelve months old?”
Eve answered again, sincerely. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“One of the causes of this appalling infant mortality rate was a lack of access to clean, fresh milk among New York’s poorest families. Well, our charity was responsible for raising thousands of dollars that went solely toward providing clean milk to the poor, and I am proud to say that for the first time in many years, the infant mortality rate in this City has finally fallen.”
“Well done, Mother,” Addison said.
“That is wonderful news, Mummy,” Irene said.
Mrs. Casterbury continued deliberating about other charitable works, while the butlers worked the table, serving on the left side and taking away used plates from the right, always in a quiet manner, without disturbing the guests or interrupting conversations.
“And now this dreadful war in Europe is turning all our ready energies to supporting the war effort. I do hope that this war will not be a long one.”
“Mother,” Addison said, a glass of red wine poised at his lips, his expression that of a man about to profess a profound truth to the ignorant masses. “I am afraid that at the start of every war, many well-meaning but poorly informed people believe it will be a short one. I do not believe it. There are too many European alliances and too many pompous hotheads over there.”
Mrs. Casterbury shook her sorrowful head. “It is a pity, Addison. Such a pity. My dear sister in London is simply fraught with despair over it.”
Irene spoke up. “Let us not become morose, Mother. We do have a guest.”
“Quite right,” Addison tossed. “Quite right you are, Irene.”
Eve lowered her head, carefully tasting the main course, mutton cutlets. Mrs. Casterbury leveled her eyes on Eve.
“Mrs. Gantly, will we be meeting your husband in the near future?”
Eve shot Irene a glance.
“Mrs. Gantly’s husband is away on business,” Irene interjected.
Mrs. Casterbury turned her cool eyes on her daughter. “And what business would that be, Mrs. Gantly?” Mrs. Casterbury continued, not removing her reproachful eyes from her daughter.
Irene stared back at her mother, as if in a challenge. It was easy to see that this mother and daughter relationship was not an easy one.
Eve’s mind was thrashing about, struggling to come up with an answer, when once again, Irene came to the rescue.
“Mrs. Gantly’s husband works for the government, Mummy.”
Addison turned a sharp eye toward Eve, lighting up. “The government? What specific branch of the government does Mr. Gantly work in, Mrs. Gantly? We have several steel contracts with the government. Perhaps I know him.”
Eve opened her mouth to speak, but Irene was ready with the answer. “I do think it is rude of us to continue with these incessant, personal questions pointed at Mrs. Gantly. She must feel as if she is being cross-examined on the witness stand.”
Addison glared at his sister. “I hope and trust that Mrs. Gantly does not believe us to be rude in any way. On the contrary, we are delighted to have Mrs. Gantly in our company and we simply hav
e the polite inclination to know Mrs. Gantly a little bit better.”
Irene glared back at her brother. “Mrs. Gantly’s husband is in Washington, D.C. on government business of a somewhat sensitive nature and, as such, I invited Mrs. Gantly to stay with us for a few days until his return.”
Mrs. Casterbury spoke up. “And, of course, that was a kind and proper thing to do, Irene. But when Mr. Gantly does return, I do hope, Mrs. Gantly, that you will feel comfortably inclined to introduce your husband to us.”
Eve managed a smile. “Yes, Mrs. Casterbury, I would like that very much.”
Mrs. Casterbury’s icy stare fixed on her daughter, who obviously felt the coldness, but refused to look up from her mutton cutlets.
Mrs. Casterbury spoke in the sweetest of voices, with no hint of animosity.
“Perhaps it would be unobjectionable, Irene, if you were to tell your brother and me where you and Mrs. Gantly met?”
Irene chewed slowly, eyes focused ahead. It was obvious to Eve that Irene enjoyed tantalizing her mother and brother with her rebellious spirit. There was more to Irene than met the eye, and Eve wondered what behind-the-scenes mysteries this young woman was hiding. Mrs. Casterbury surely speculated that Irene’s life was filled with shadowy secrets, which, in turn, almost certainly made Eve suspect in the woman’s eyes.
As the chilly silence stretched out, and as James, the head Butler, now poured red wine, Eve felt dribbles of sweat running down her chest and back. How she wished she could escape upstairs, yank off the gown and corset, and dash around that large suite stark naked and free. The dinner couldn’t end soon enough.
“Mother,” Irene said, with an imperious lift of her head. “Eve and I met at The Society for the Relief of Half-Orphan and Destitute Children.”
Mrs. Casterbury’s eyes drifted toward Eve. “How fortunate for those poor children to have your good counsel and practical Christian help, Mrs. Gantly. Have you been involved with the society for a long period of time?”
Once again, Irene had the ready answer. “No, Mother, not long.”
Mrs. Casterbury could barely hide her mounting irritation. “I am confidently sure, Irene, that Mrs. Gantly has the ability and ready vocabulary to answer for herself.”
The tension in the room grew electric, and as if the mother and daughter skirmish weren’t enough, Eve kept noticing Addison’s eyes stealing furtive glances her way. Didn’t Irene say he would hardly notice her? And no, Eve was not imagining it.
“If I may interject, ladies,” Addison said, with a slight sniff. “I would like to offer a toast to our most mysterious and lovely guest, Mrs. Gantly.”
He held his wine glass high as he met Eve’s nervous eyes. “Further, Mrs. Gantly, I would like to add the hope, and indeed the wish, that you will feel comfortable staying at the Casterbury Mansion for as long as you wish.”
The darting glance Irene shot her brother was filled with surprise and suspicion.
Mrs. Casterbury, too, seemed to be shaken off-balance for a few brief seconds by her son’s interest and declaration. She recovered swiftly, with a sweet, practiced smile.
“Why, yes, Addison. How rude of me not to have toasted our guest from the outset of dinner. Of course, Mrs. Gantly, you are welcome to stay as long as you may wish to stay.”
Eve’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. It was obvious to all that this short statement from the aloof and withholding Addison was unusual and telling. It was certainly a flirtation.
After the toast, the table fell into a confused silence, and by the time the candied fruit and port arrived, the conversation had fallen back into the prosaic talk of weather, women’s fashion and art.
After Mrs. Casterbury excused herself, Addison arose and bowed to Eve. With his coy eyes gleaming, he said, “I hope we will see you again, Mrs. Gantly. If you have need of anything while you are our guest, I hope you will not hesitate to let me know.”
Irene snapped, “If Mrs. Gantly needs anything, Addison, I will ensure that she gets it.”
Addison’s easy stare remained on Eve. “As you say, sister dear,” he said, his voice dripping with sweet disdain.
Irene led Eve into the drawing room for coffee. As they sat near the crackling fireplace, Irene lifted her troubled head, looking directly at Eve.
“Do you find my brother attractive, Eve?”
Eve set her coffee cup down on the pedestal table beside her, her eyes filling with annoyance. “Irene, I am a married woman who is very much in love with my husband, and I have no interest, whatsoever, in your brother.”
Irene’s expression didn’t change. “It’s curious, isn’t it? I have never seen Addison so blatantly taken by a woman. Do not mistake me, Eve, you are very lovely, but tonight, my brother has revealed a part of himself that I simply find disturbing. If I were you, Eve, I would avoid him.”
Eve sat up straight. “Irene, I don’t plan to stay here. I plan to leave in the morning.”
Irene appeared wounded. “I hope that is not true, Eve. I feel as if we could become…well, kind of sisters. We could confide in each other as we are doing right this very moment. We could gossip, and you could tell me truly who and where your husband is and,” Irene lowered her voice to a whisper. “…I could share with you my own true love, that no one must ever know about.”
Eve shut her eyes for a moment of escape. She had to flee this place and the sooner the better. If she didn’t, she feared she’d be pulled into a family disaster.
Two hours later, Eve lay in the luxurious bed under a warm comforter. Although she was exhausted, her eyes were wide open, staring into the darkness. When they filled with tears, she turned over on her side and shut them.
Where was Patrick? How she missed their home, and their sweet, passionate and loving life.
CHAPTER 11
On Sunday, Eve awoke early, just as the sun leaked in from under the cream and burgundy pleated draperies. She sat up, feeling lethargic and slightly depressed. As she scanned the room, she awakened again to the fact that she was living in 1914, and she was without Patrick. While she was in this negative frame of mind, she could not make an appearance. She’d have to rest, gather her wits about her and start again on Monday morning. She would make excuses to Irene.
When she dropped back into the pillow, she fell immediately into a deep sleep.
On Monday, November 30th, she awoke rested and surprisingly alert, ready to solve problems. It was clear she had to take some action. She and Patrick had tried to plan meticulously for all possible contingencies, just in case something like this happened, in case they were separated or sent to different times. They had spent nights brainstorming all the things that could go wrong.
Tossing off the quilt and swinging her feet to the soft, deep carpet, Eve walked to the closet and opened the door. The gown she’d worn on her journey to 1914 now stared back at her and seemed almost alive, as if to say, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Eve nodded. “Yes, I know,” she said out loud. “You’re a costume from 2018, pretending to be from 1885, and I’m a woman from 2018, trapped, pretending to be a woman living in 1914, who has no idea where Patrick is or how I’m going to get back home.”
Eve reached, touching the pleated side of the dress, feeling for it—feeling for the hidden pocket that had been sewn into the dress. Eve knew it was there. She’d felt it yesterday. Thank God the ring had time-traveled with her.
It was an antique English 18k gold ruby and diamond 5-stone ring that she and Patrick had found on eBay and paid over three thousand dollars for. The historical currency calculator revealed that in 1900-1915, the ring would be worth somewhere between sixty and seventy thousand dollars. That would be enough to keep them financially secure for a long time, if they lived moderately.
It was an advantage knowing you were about to embark on a trip to the past, giving you time to plan and strategize, unlike the first time she’d time traveled to 1885, unprepared, confused, with no idea what she was going to do.
Eve and Patrick had researched possible historical periods that they might find themselves in: 1885, 1910, 1920, even further back to 1850. They had learned that in the early 1900s, the average income for men was between $500 and $600 a year. For women, that number had to be cut in half.
There was no federal minimum wage in 1910. Only a few states were experimenting with it, and then it was only for women and children.
Eve figured that purchasing a house in 1914 would probably cost a little over $3,000, so she could live well with seventy thousand dollars.
Eve removed the gown from the hanger and carried it to the bed, laying it down. She located the pocket, and with a fingernail, she dug into the loosely sewn seam until she sliced open the pocket. As she reached in and drew out the ring, Eve sighed with relief. Smiling, she held it up into the light, staring at the pink-red rubies and diamonds that danced with fire.
Now all she had to do was borrow an outfit and a little money from Irene, and make her way down to Nassau Street, where the jewelry district and some pawn shops were located.
Mary Foster arrived promptly at 8:30, holding a striking brown pleated day dress, with lace collar and cuffs. Mary had also brought gloves, shoes, undergarments, and a purse.
“Miss Casterbury asked me to bring these to you, Mrs. Gantly. She’s confident they will fit, as you are both about the same size. She also requested that you join her in the breakfast room at 9:30.”
As Mary crossed the room to hang the dress in the closet, Eve thanked her and asked her where the breakfast room was. Mary said that Mason, the under-butler, would come by at 9:30 to usher her to the breakfast room.
Mason opened the door to the breakfast room and Eve entered, the lovely fitting dress brushing below her ankles. Again, Eve was taken by the extraordinary size of the room, with its gilded framed landscapes of hunting scenes and 18th-century portraits hanging on English walnut walls. An opulence of light streamed in through tall windows, partially covered by pleated, royal blue draperies. The generous stone fireplace caught Eve’s attention for several moments. It was flanked on either side by marble Corinthian columns, which added to its regal quality.
The Christmas Eve Daughter - A Time Travel Novel: The Sequel to The Christmas Eve Letter Page 8
