Next, the merchant reached to his left for a magnifying loupe. Both women watched, rapt, as the merchant held the loupe up to his face so that the first knuckle on his thumb was firmly pressed against his cheek and the glass was positioned directly over his left eye.
He began to hum, a low, almost inaudible hum, a tuneless hum. Eve wished she and Patrick had had the ring appraised before their time travel trip—and they had intended to—but then time ran out and Patrick had been anxious to go. What if the eBay ring wasn’t worth seventy thousand dollars or even fifty thousand by 1914’s rates.
With his other hand, the merchant moved the ring to within one-half inch of the lens. He held the loupe steady, as he studied and hummed.
Finally, he lowered the loupe, his gaze calm, his smile fatherly.
“May I ask where you purchased this ring?”
Eve thought fast. “It was a gift.”
He nodded.
Eve spoke up abruptly, as if to plead her case. “I was told that it was worth about seventy thousand dollars.”
The merchant didn’t bat an eye, and his expression didn’t change.
“It is a curious ring, madam. The ruby has inclusions; a dark spot inside the stone.”
Eve’s shoulders sank. “Oh… so that’s not good then?”
“Not so bad. Most real stones have flaws, so the ruby is a natural one. I do, however, see clouds and twinning wisps in the diamonds.”
The merchant held Eve in his inquisitive gaze. “But what I find most curious is that the cut quality of the stone—that is, the facets, alignment, and proportions—show wear. The entire ring itself shows years of wear, and yet from the cut and style of the ring, I’d say that it has only recently been fashioned. Can you tell me the age of the ring, madam?”
Eve stammered. “Well… let’s see. My grandmother gave it to me. She said it had been in the family for a while.”
The merchant’s eyes lowered on the glass countertop, avoiding Eve’s eyes. “You will forgive me, madam, but I don’t believe that this ring is so very old, and yet as I said, it is curious that it reveals years of wear… Years of gracing the hand of some fortunate woman.”
There was a brief silence while Eve’s mind locked up, and Irene’s gaze swung from the merchant to Eve, as she tried to decipher what was truly being implied.
The merchant nodded a little. “Well, I suppose there are many such mysteries in this world.”
“Where did you get the ring, Eve?” Irene asked.
Eve grew defensive. “As I said, from my grandmother.”
The merchant sought to placate his client. “Your grandmother, or perhaps the man who gave it to her, obviously had good taste in jewelry. Yes, I can see that.”
And then the merchant pursed his lips in thought. “It is interesting that I have seen a similar ring to this only recently. Its artistic style was first created in 1912.”
He held the ring up into the light once more, stroking his beard with his free hand. “Yes, this is not an old ring, and yet,” he raised his eyes and lifted his shoulders. “…and yet this is an old ring. Isn’t it curious?”
Irene spoke up. “Then its worth should be substantial.”
The merchant’s pleasant expression remained, but his voice deepened. “Although the ring does have value, I’d say that the apparent age of this fascinating piece diminishes its value considerably. The ring is an antique, but it should not be so, and I have no explanation for that. Perhaps you do, madam?”
Eve blundered on. “But you said the ruby is genuine, and the diamonds…” Eve sputtered, excitedly.
The merchant decided to end the speculation. “I can offer you fifty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents for the ring, madam.”
Eve felt a tremor of disbelief and distress. “Fifty-nine dollars?”
The merchant nodded with a gentle smile. “A fine piece. A curious piece. A wondrous piece. A good price, madam.”
Eve struggled to do the math conversion in her head. She and Patrick had practiced conversions in their heads as a game, often over dinner. She shut her eyes and fought to control her spinning mind. The best she could come up with was fifty-four dollars had the buying power of about one thousand three hundred dollars in 2018. Not at all the seventy thousand dollars she was hoping for.
She shook her head. “No, no, that’s impossible. I know the ring is worth more than that.”
“Of course it is,” Irene chimed in, seized by auction fever. “It is a beautiful ruby. A one of a kind. Sir, that is not a fair price for a one-of-a-kind ring.”
Eve shot her a look. She didn’t want her overplaying the scene.
The merchant’s smile grew tired. “My final price is ninety-five dollars. I am sure, madam, you will not find a better price in all of New York. I am confident of that.”
Eve thought fast. It would give her a little over two thousand dollars. Not seventy, but not bad. Should she take it? Just as she opened her mouth, Irene spoke up again.
“We’ll go somewhere else. Thank you, sir.”
The merchant nodded, still staring longingly at the ring. “In all honesty, madams, I have offered you a competitive price. Please do take the ring to others, but I believe in the end you will return to me, finding that my price is a fair one. You see, I find this ring extremely fascinating. I have seen much jewelry and many stones in my forty-five years in business, but I say to you, truly, that this ring appears to have come from another world or perhaps another time. My price is fair, and just to show you how much I am taken by this ring, I’ll offer you one hundred and thirty dollars, and that is my absolute last offer.”
Eve and Irene exchanged glances.
CHAPTER 13
The rest of Monday morning was spent at a bank, where Eve tried to open a bank account. When she presented the check from West’s Jewelers for $130, about $3,300 in 2018 currency, the bank manager stiffly informed Eve that since she had no permanent address nor husband nor father to cosign the account, her request would have to be denied.
Frustrated and incensed by the obvious discrimination, Eve told the manager he was “an ignorant jerk,” to which Irene, in solidarity, gave a firm nod and a bit of a snort, and then the women marched out.
Back in the limo, Irene turned to Eve. “Well done back there, Eve. Well done. Now you see why we must march for women’s rights. But don’t have a worry about setting up an account. I will talk to Addison about it. He will be more than happy to accompany you to the bank and co-sign the account. You will have available funds post haste.”
Eve turned, alarmed. “Oh, no, I don’t want to get Addison involved in this. I mean, I don’t want to bother him. I know he is a very busy man.”
“He won’t mind a feather, Eve. Actually, I think he was somewhat taken with you. I’ve not heard him talk so much over dinner in months. But I wouldn’t flirt with him, if I were you, even though I’m told women find him attractive. But you know how men can be.”
“I didn’t flirt with him, Irene,” Eve said, forcefully. “I didn’t even look at him.”
Irene turned, her eyes enlarging. “Eve, it is quite all right. I understand. We women have to play the man’s game to get what we want. Let’s face it, attractive women always have the advantage in this man’s world, if we play our given role just right. The trick is not to let them know we are beating them at their own game. Women are stronger, wiser, more well-rounded and much more intelligent. So it is all right if you find Addison attractive, as long as you play the cupid game just right.”
Eve turned away, rolled her eyes and gazed out the window at the carriages and cars; at the newsboys and crowds; and at the green canvas awnings covering the windows of buildings.
“Now we will go to lunch,” Irene declared.
She leaned forward so William could hear. “William, take us to Café Martin, Fifth Avenue and 26th Street.”
“Very good, Miss Casterbury.”
As Irene eased back, Eve’s thoughts circled and returned to Patrick, as th
ey always did. Eve played and replayed the events of their time travel from the time she and Patrick first sat on the bench, with the lantern between them, until the time she’d first seen Irene.
Why hadn’t she and Patrick traveled to 1914 together? They had traveled together the last time, when they went from 1885 to 2017. What was the difference? Had they held hands? Had they touched? Was that it? In 1885, when Patrick was near death from a gunshot wound, she had wrapped him with her arms and held on to him tightly. Was that the difference? She had meant to take his hand. They had planned to join hands, but she couldn’t recall whether they had or not.
Eve let out a low, troubled sigh. Had she lost her Patrick forever?
They ate an elegant lunch at a popular restaurant for the rich, but Eve’s mind was distracted and flooded with confusion. As she pushed grilled lamb chops and peas around with her fork, she studied the plumes, feathers, and crepe on the ladies’ elaborate hats. She tried to eavesdrop on the gentle murmur of conversation at a nearby table, and she watched tuxedoed waiters pouring reds into wine glasses. And then she gazed with humor and amazement at Irene, who was cutting into smoked ox tongue, forking delicate pieces into her mouth and chewing with energetic vigor.
When Irene’s startled eyes lifted, and she stopped eating in mid-chew, Eve followed Irene’s gaze. She saw a tall, broad, meaty man with football shoulders and a blunt sour face being ushered across the room by the aloof, sharp-chinned tuxedo-dressed maître d’. Trailing behind the big man was a young, strikingly attractive woman, wearing a long, muted-blue dress with cream lace and short sleeves, and long, soft-gray gloves, fastened with a row of buttons. Her lavish broad-rim hat was topped dramatically with ostrich plumes, and a long pin was pushed through the hat to anchor it to her brown curls and opulent hairstyle.
Eve was captivated by the woman’s sensual body; she moved with a regal quality and voluptuous grace. There was a shell-like transparency to her skin, and her luminous red cheeks heightened her beauty and radiance.
“That’s Maggie Lott Gantly,” Irene said, at a whisper, “And that brute of a man with her is the same man who yanked her away from me the night I met Miss Gantly backstage at the theatre.”
As the big man and Maggie sat in a private booth, all eyes in the room ventured coy glances, while mouths made little whispers.
Eve felt a shiver. There was something strange, unnerving and unnatural about the moment. But then, of course, it was unnatural. She was seeing Patrick’s daughter in the flesh, as she had been in the past, and Patrick was nowhere around. Only a few short days ago, Eve didn’t even know this woman existed. But there she was, and Eve couldn’t help but stare. Unless Eve could find some way to stop it, Maggie would be murdered by the man who sat next to her, undoubtedly Big Jim Clancy.
Without Patrick, what was Eve supposed to do? What could she do? She felt an unexpected and irrational spike of irritation. She hadn’t wanted to time travel again. She didn’t want to be here, and she was angry at Patrick for suggesting it and angry at herself for agreeing to it. They’d had a perfect, loving life in 2018. How dare he risk that? Why had she listened to him? She should have refused to use the lantern again, no matter how good and noble the reason was.
For the second time in nearly a year, her life was in jeopardy. She was trapped in 1914, alone and scared, and her marriage with Patrick was probably over. She would most likely never see him again. Had coming back to save Maggie Gantly been worth all that?
Eve’s eyes narrowed on Maggie. If only Patrick had never found that article on his laptop.
“Is everything all right, Eve?” Irene said, concerned. “Your face has flushed red. Your eyes are burning.”
Eve inhaled a breath to cool her churning mind and emotions. She wasn’t ready to talk to Irene. She turned away.
There it was, the nagging and panicky thought: how in the world would she ever get back to her own time? At least the last time around she knew that if she found Evelyn Sharland’s lantern, it would most likely send her back home. At least she had some hope of returning. This time, she had no idea where the lantern from 1885 was.
What had John Harringshaw’s Christmas Eve letter of 1930 said? Eve had memorized most of it. In the letter, he’d spoken about the lantern.
All that was ever found was a lantern on a park bench in Central Park, but then even that promptly disappeared and it has never been found or accounted for. As I recall, one of the ambulance drivers who worked at the hospital admitted that he and another employee had driven you out to the park and deposited you and Detective Sergeant Gantly on a park bench. This ambulance driver was questioned relentlessly, but nothing ever came of it. He simply stated that you and Detective Sergeant Gantly vanished into the night.
Irene spoke up. Eve flinched at the sound, startled. Her eyes flipped open. “What?”
“I said, are you ill?” Irene asked.
“No, no… Not that. I guess I’m just…”
Irene finished Eve’s sentence in a sugary sweet voice that further irritated Eve. “You are missing your husband, aren’t you, Eve?”
Eve fought the urge to tell Irene to shut up. Instead, her attention turned again to Maggie. She favored her father—the same sensual lips, high cheekbones, and self-assured look out of her almond eyes, although Eve thought Maggie’s eyes were a bit glassy and unfocused. It was unnerving how much she favored Patrick, and it was clear that she was his daughter.
Eve studied the man with the menacing eyes, Big Jim Clancy. His thick, tawny hair was combed back tightly from his forehead, and it gleamed with pomade. His chipped green eyes were fixed in a challenge as he glared out into the faces of the fascinated diners. Big Jim’s eyes were prowling with superiority, opportunity, and advantage.
How did Maggie manage to hook up with him? Eve thought.
Irene returned to her smoked tongue, but Eve slid her plate aside, mind working, body alert.
“I have to meet her,” Eve said, abruptly.
Irene looked up with a knowing grin. “Based on our breakfast conversation, Eve, I was certain that you would want to. How serendipitous that Miss Gantly just happened to show up here for lunch. Well, maybe not so serendipitous. I’ve read that she often lunches here. That’s why I decided to bring you.”
Eve stared at Irene with new respect and new annoyance. This girl was just too much.
“Is she starring in a play now?” Eve asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, she is starring in Rose Pepper at The Harris Theatre. It is supposed to be quite good, and Miss Gantly is said to be both suggestive and funny.”
“Can you get tickets for tomorrow night’s performance?”
Irene studied Eve closely. “Eve, you are impulsive, and I must confess that I find it a thrilling trait, and going to tomorrow night’s performance is an exciting idea. The problem with tomorrow night is that Mummy will want me to accompany her to one of her charitable events.”
Irene made a sour face, her voice low with distaste. “I hear there will be opera scenes performed from Lucia di Lammermoor. If I am subjected to that mad scene once more, I believe I shall go mad.”
“Can you make an excuse? Perhaps you can tell her that I need assistance?” Eve said, hopeful.
Irene placed a thoughtful finger at her cheek. “Yes, well, since you must now stay with us until Addison can accompany you to the bank, I believe that might just do the trick. I’ll tell Mummy that I want you to meet some of our friends or something… No, even better than that, I’ll tell her we must attend some sort of event at The Society for the Relief of Half-Orphan and Destitute Children. Yes, that should do splendidly.”
Eve maneuvered a side glance toward Maggie. “I’d like to meet her backstage after the play.”
“Well, that should be interesting,” Irene said in a girlish, sweet tone.
Eve looked at her, carefully. Irene’s smile held secrets.
“You know, Eve, I will have to bring my gentleman. I want you to meet him. And anyway, two wom
en attending the theatre must be accompanied by a gentleman.”
Eve saw a devious twinkle in Irene’s eye. The sooner I can escape from this girl the better, she thought.
CHAPTER 14
On Tuesday evening, December 1st, Eve and Irene traveled down Broadway toward The Harris Theatre at 254 West 42nd Street. Eve was glued to the window like a little girl at Disney World, viewing the scintillating world of 1914 drift by in a magic of dazzling iridescence.
As the limousine passed the streetcars on 46th Street, Eve was enthralled by the lights of Times Square. Although it was nothing like the frantic blast of light and blazing neon color in 2018 Times Square, where Eve felt as though she was caught in a video game, this Times Square was still alive with exuberance and possibility.
The electric billboard signs seemed to sing out the lights of Fisk Tires, Squibb’s Dental Cream, Maxwell House Coffee and Chevrolet. There were the dazzling theatre lights of the Palace Theater, the Columbia Theatre, and the Astor Theater, its flashing yellow and white running lights blazing out THE BROADWAY MELODY.
The chauffeured car bounced over streetcar tracks, motoring through a zone of excitement, elegance and class, where New Yorkers were richly dressed for a night at the theatre or dinner and dancing at a nightclub. No one was in casual attire as they were in Eve’s time. There were no shorts, jeans, sneakers or t-shirts. No sweatshirts or sandals or ball caps, ski caps or LL Bean jackets. This world was all about high society style and class—a fashionable world that glimmered like diamonds. It was a thrill to experience this great city in the past, so shimmery and full of the high life.
As the car approached The Harris Theatre, Eve felt a touch of fear and apprehension. She peered out to see the bold theatre marquee:
MAGGIE LOTT GANTLY
In the Smash Hit
Rose Pepper!
Eve swallowed. She was about to meet Maggie Gantly, Patrick’s daughter, and it felt surreal, dreamlike and just weird.
Minutes later, William held the door while Eve and Irene exited the limo, and then he watched attentively as they walked to the theatre entrance to wait for Irene’s gentleman.
The Christmas Eve Daughter - A Time Travel Novel: The Sequel to The Christmas Eve Letter Page 10
