The Christmas Eve Daughter - A Time Travel Novel: The Sequel to The Christmas Eve Letter

by Elyse Douglas

  Fifteen minutes before curtain, Duncan had still not appeared, and Irene was a nervous wreck. The rebellious, determined suffragette was suddenly replaced by a hand-twisting, anxiety-ridden woman, who paced back and forth like a high school girl on a first date, sure she was being stood up.

  “It is such an intimate affair,” Irene said, looking at Eve with big, worried eyes. “My family can never know about Duncan. You must never tell anyone. Please tell me I can trust you, and that you will not, not ever, tell my secret.”

  Eve thought Irene was as dramatic as anyone she was likely to see on the theatre stage.

  “Of course I won’t tell. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  Eve had worries of her own about seeing Maggie. She also began to pace.

  Irene strained her neck, searching the busy sidewalks. “I have not shared him with any of my other friends. You are the first. They would not understand him. They would not understand my affection for him. But I can trust you, can’t I? Please say, yes, Eve?”

  “Yes, Irene. I said I won’t tell anyone.”

  “He’s so pitiable in a way. Boyishly good and handsome, though. He’s a painter, and he is so very sensitive and so talented—but of course he has no money. But he has so much talent. You must come with me to Greenwich Village to see his paintings. I’m sure you’ll see how talented he is,” Irene said.

  She glanced left and right, searching the elegantly dressed theatre patrons who streamed into the theater, the women bedecked with blossoming hats, long luxurious gowns and woolen coats, the men in tuxedos and long cashmere coats and top hats.

  Eve was wearing another of Irene’s gowns, a velvety burgundy dress trimmed in white lace, with a long-tailored coat. It was surely the most expensive dress and coat Eve had ever worn. Her hat was crowned with colorful silk ribbons, and the long suede gloves added an extravagant look.

  Irene kept rattling on, nerves and apprehension beating away at her. “He has no money, Eve, but I make sure he has the money he needs for his studio and his paints. He’s from a good Boston family, you know. It’s just that they lost their money in bad investments and unfortunate speculation. They have even had to sell many of their rare paintings—works of art that had been in the family for generations. It’s such a sad story, really, Eve, but you’ll see what a dear boy Duncan is. What a special friend he is to me.”

  “Relax, Irene. You’re making me nervous,” Eve said, seeing an usher staring at them with stiff entreaty. “It’s getting cold out here, Irene.”

  “Oh, Eve, I’m despairing now. I am afraid Duncan has had a change of mind and he is not coming. Did I say that he is so very sensitive? He sees the world as such an unhappy place, and I fear he tends more toward the melancholy than the cheerful. I believe his mother has some Russian blood in her, poor thing. But I’m good for him that way, Eve. I am his muse, you know, and I help keep his spirits up. Oh, my, where is he? The curtain will rise in ten minutes.”

  And then Irene’s face lit up like Christmas.

  Eve turned to see a lumbering young man approach, picking his way through the crowds, dressed in an ill-fitted dark suit, a lopsided bowtie, mussed black hair and a long cape, flapping in the wind. He lifted a tentative hand and waved back to Irene with a sagging frown. Was he happy to see her?

  Duncan Beaumont was not at all what Eve had expected. He was tall, thin, nervous and shy. Irene hurried to him, she more breathless than he. Duncan’s features were delicate, his eyes startled, his face indeed boyish, but as white as a sheet. As a nurse, Eve thought his thin frame and pale skin seemed sickly for a man in his mid-twenties. She wondered if the man had a poor diet, or maybe he drank too much. Perhaps he had a virus. His eyes were vague and foggy as he stared off into the distance, as if Never, Never Land might be close by. Maybe the guy just needed some iron supplements. He just didn’t appear healthy, and Eve wondered if Irene was aware of his condition.

  Irene seized Duncan’s hand and tugged him toward Eve, flushed with excitement and pride.

  “This is Mr. Duncan Beaumont, Eve. Duncan, this is my new and very good and trusted friend, Mrs. Eve Gantly.”

  Duncan’s smile was strained, his eyes still holding that faraway look. He lifted a narrow, bony hand.

  “So good to meet you, Mrs. Gantly.”

  Eve took his cold, clammy hand. “And it is very good to meet you, Mr. Beaumont.”

  Irene turned sharply toward the theatre doors. They were the last ones outside.

  “Let’s get inside and check our coats, before the curtain rises,” Irene said, nearly dragging Duncan along.

  Eve watched them enter the lobby and whispered under her breath. “Well, opposites do attract.”

  As she entered the theater, Eve now realized that Irene was out to save the world. That was rarely a good thing. One was always disappointed by the outcome. The world had its own way of being, as Eve knew all too well, and maybe you could help it, but save it? But then, isn’t that what she and Patrick had set out to do? Try to save one person from her fate?

  Inside, the theatre was lavish with frescoes, ornate moldings and elaborate chandeliers. It was a fantasy palace detached from the world outside and more beautiful than any theatre Eve had ever seen in her time. The auditorium had a loosely-styled “Spanish-Moorish” motif, carpeted in royal blue, with wall panels of brocaded satin. As she sat, Eve calculated that the theatre held about a thousand patrons, and every seat was full. She sat in an aisle seat next to Irene, who sat next to Duncan. As the lights came down and the theatre fell into darkness, Eve stole a glance toward Duncan. His eyes were closed, and Irene was whispering something in his ear.

  The maroon curtain rose to reveal an extravagantly decorated drawing room with a love seat, floor plants and French doors that opened onto a flowering garden.

  A lone woman dressed in a long, flowing, white gown and a dramatic blue plumed hat, was gazing out above the audience, as if up into the sky. This was Maggie Lott Gantly.

  The audience applauded the star, welcoming an actress they knew and had seen many times before. Eve studied her. On stage, Maggie had allure, sensuality and poise. The blue and gold lights that bathed her made her appear angelic and otherworldly. She was a striking beauty, and Eve only wished Patrick was here to see her. He would have beamed with pride.

  When Maggie spoke, her voice was a lilting, resonate contralto, clear and warmly sexy.

  “My dear friends, I have recently discovered that my quixotic gentleman friend has many secrets. How do I know? He told me so, one gloomy, rainy day. I suppose he wanted to cheer my mood. He said lovingly, and somewhat fatuously, that I am his most auspicious, capricious, and adored of all his secrets. He said I am his favorite secret, his most delicious secret, and his dearest girl, without a flaw. It did have the efficacious consequence of cheering my mood. Well, it would cheer any lady’s mood, would it not?”

  Maggie held up a finger, cocking her head coquettishly to the right. She grinned, mischievously.

  “Of course, my dearest friends, I have many secrets as well, and being Rose Pepper, the guileless girl from Brooklyn, I will now tell you one of my little secrets.”

  She leaned toward the audience, cupped a hand to her mouth and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “Whenever my rich gentleman leans in for a little kiss, I sneak this dainty little hand,” she raised a white-gloved hand and wiggled her fingers, “into his pocket and carefully and swiftly draw out several folded greenbacks. My gentleman loves his little girl and her kisses, and I love his greenbacks. Oh, he is never the wiser, although I fear he is very much the poorer. Ha, Ha! But I? Well, I am always the wiser and the richer, am I not?”

  The audience burst into laughter. Just then, a short, middle-aged man entered stage left, looking very much like a millionaire right out of the board game Monopoly. His dark suit helped set off his impressive white mustache, bushy eyebrows, and large bold eyes. He peered at a gold watch through a monocle over his right eye. When
he finally snapped the watch lid shut, he dropped it back into his pocket and glanced around as if he were looking for someone.

  Rose Pepper again leaned toward the audience, grinning with satisfaction, whispering, “There’s my gentleman now, Lord love him. Let’s see now...” She raised a hand and began to tick items off on gloved fingers.

  “I need a new dress, a new hat, some shiny, glimmering diamonds and…let me see. Yes! I need a new little doggie. Don’t you just love kisses? Don’t you just love diamonds? Don’t you just love little white doggies that go Bow Wow! NOW, when I leave you here, promise me that you will not tell him my secret. It is just between the two of us, as indeed everything you will soon witness must also be a secret between just you…and me.”

  When her gentleman turned and spotted Maggie, the monocle dropped from his eye, as he robustly exclaimed with boyish eagerness, “Miss Pepper! Miss Rose Pepper! There you are! Come to me, my dear girl. Your naughty boy needs a little kissy wissy.”

  Maggie pivoted and frolicked over to her gentleman for a kiss. As she leaned in toward him and puckered her lips, her left leg hitched back, theatrically, and she slipped her right hand adroitly into his pants pocket. Seconds later, she carefully removed a hand full of greenbacks. As the kiss lingered, Rose Pepper held up the greenbacks for the audience to see. There was a roar of laughter.

  The play continued with the same general theme: a supposedly innocent gold-digger fooling a clueless old man, who at the end of the play did not notice Rose sneaking off with a handsome young man, waving greenbacks high above her head.

  Eve didn’t think it was a particularly good play, but the audience snickered and applauded, and Maggie was a good actress and comedian. Even Irene laughed, turning to Eve several times to say, “Isn’t Miss Gantly a darling actress? She is so full of pep.”

  Whenever Eve ventured a glance toward Duncan, he seemed bored and tired. His head bobbed several times, as if he were fighting sleep. Eve was concerned. Toward the end of the play, he was slumped and listless. Irene didn’t seem to notice. She was fully involved in the naughty comedy.

  By the play’s conclusion, Eve had decided how she would approach Maggie. From what Irene had told her about Big Jim Clancy, she knew she wouldn’t have much time with the actress, so she decided to be blunt and honest.

  After the final curtain call, Irene turned to Eve. “You go ahead backstage. I’m going to stay with Duncan. He is quite dispirited. I must try and cheer him up.”

  Eve hesitated because she was concerned about Duncan. Then she decided to go, feeling this might be her only chance to meet Maggie, and Maggie was the sole reason Eve had risked her life to come to this time.

  Eve got up and started down the aisle toward the stage. It was just at that moment that she suddenly had the odd feeling that Patrick was somewhere close by, watching her. The sensation was so strong that she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She stopped and glanced about, blinking, expectant, but didn’t see him anywhere in the departing crowd.

  Eve sucked in a breath and marched forward.

  CHAPTER 15

  A thin, gray-haired theatre usher stopped Eve from entering the house door that led backstage. He was a weary, stooped-shouldered man, dressed in a loose-fitting navy-blue jacket with brass buttons, a white shirt and drooping bow tie.

  “You cannot enter here, madam. The public is not allowed.”

  “But I want to see Miss Gantly, to congratulate her on her performance.”

  “She’s not seeing anyone tonight. If you wish, you can wait outside the stage door. She might exit the theatre that way. Maybe not. Sometimes she waits until everyone has left.”

  Eve thought fast. “But I’m a relation, sir.”

  His gray eyebrows lifted a little. “A relation? Well, does Miss Gantly know you’re here?”

  “No…”

  The experienced usher looked doubtful, especially as other theater patrons were lining up behind Eve.

  “I’m sorry, but…”

  Eve charged on. “Well, you see, it is a surprise. I know she’ll want to see me. I’m sure of it.”

  The man scratched his patchy gray hair, twisting up his mouth in thought. He leaned, addressing the five people that were standing behind Eve. “I am very sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but Miss Gantly will not be seeing anyone backstage tonight. If you wish, you can wait for her to exit the stage door outside.”

  Disappointed, the little crowd mumbled and moved away.

  “As I said, madam, I have strict instructions not to let…”

  Eve cut him off. “…My name is Eve Gantly, sir. Maggie Lott Gantly and I are related, and if you ask her, I am sure she will want to see me. Tell her that I am a friend of her father.”

  His eyebrows lifted again. He was dubious and conflicted. He sighed. “Please wait here. I’ll ask the stage manager.”

  Eve waited, turning around to see Irene link arms with Duncan and help him up the aisle toward the exit doors. There was definitely something wrong with that man, Eve thought. He should see a doctor. Eve would recommend it when she rejoined them.

  The usher reappeared, his face softer. “This way. I will escort you. Please watch your step.”

  Backstage, Eve stepped over cables and around boxes and a row of stage lights. She looked left to see a circular, wrought-iron staircase leading up to rows of theater lights above. On stage, a man was sweeping the stage carpet, and a sturdy woman was removing the fresh flowers.

  Near the rear of the theatre, the usher indicated toward a partially opened door. On it was printed in embossed gold letters MISS MAGGIE LOTT GANTLY.

  “She is waiting for you, madam.”

  Eve thanked him and approached the door gingerly, licking her dry lips and straightening her shoulders, hoping to look confident. She was a mass of nerves as she knocked lightly. She heard a low, female voice from inside.

  “Come in…”

  Eve gently nudged the door open and stepped into a much smaller room than Eve had expected. On the left was a rack of gowns, to the right a sagging old couch. The room was filled with fresh flowers, mostly roses and lilies. Eve also caught a whiff of makeup.

  Maggie was seated in an upright chair, facing a vanity makeup mirror surrounded by light bulbs. She was dressed in a skimpy, pink lace dressing gown that revealed the creamy tops of her ample breasts. Her hair was pulled back from her face, twisted up and tied with a red silk scarf, and she was applying cold cream to remove her stage makeup. Maggie looked at Eve through the mirror. It was a bland stare, with no real interest or curiosity.

  That puzzled Eve.

  “Welcome to my little prison,” she said, reaching for a clean cloth to wipe the makeup from her forehead.

  Maggie continued. “Everyone thinks theatre dressing rooms are exotic places, filled with glory and wonder—a place of romance and status. Well, look at this place. It’s a dingy cell carved into the wings of this sooty brick building, with a dirty bathroom. I call all dressing rooms glorified prison cells.”

  Eve remained quiet while Maggie rubbed off the makeup.

  “Would you like some Champagne?” Maggie asked. “It’s in a bucket over there near the couch. The ice is mostly melted, but it should still be chilled enough.”

  “No, thank you,” Eve said.

  “Would you mind pouring me a glass then? There are two flutes around here someplace. One might be a bit soiled. I drank two glasses during intermission and I don’t remember where I put the glass. Oh, yes, there it is,” Maggie said, pointing at the couch. “It has fallen like a good soldier to the back of the couch. Rest in peace, my good soldier Champagne glass.”

  Eve found a clean crystal Champagne flute on the end of the makeup table, grabbed the neck of the Champagne from its silver wine bucket and drew it out. The ice had melted. Eve poured a foaming glass full. When she handed the glass to Maggie, Maggie didn’t take it. She took Eve in fully, and Eve felt the weight of her stare.

  Maggie turned a little and rested b
ack in her chair. “Well, aren’t you quite the attractive girlie girl? Keep that glass for yourself. Pour mine in the dead soldier glass. I’ll resurrect him like Lazarus.”

  Eve obeyed, pouring the Champagne and delivering it to Maggie’s poised, waiting hand.

  “I don’t like to drink alone,” Maggie said. “Of course I will, as a last resort, but I don’t like to.”

  Maggie appraised Eve again. “Sit down on the couch and relax. We don’t have a lot of time. My gentleman friend will be here soon. He doesn’t like me to have visitors. Truth be told, he doesn’t like me to do much of anything. He’s funny that way, except that he doesn’t have a good sense of humor, and that in itself is kind of funny. But I suppose funny is not the right word to describe any part of him.”

  Maggie lifted her glass. “A toast to whoever you are and whatever it is that you want.”

  Their glasses chimed. Maggie drank half of hers and set the glass down. “All right, Miss, or is it Mrs?”

  “It’s Mrs. Gantly.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “Oh, so you are standing by your creative theatrical story. Well brava, Mrs. Gantly, but let me stop this before it goes any further. I cannot help your career. Yes, you are pretty and yes, the rich men will like you, and yes, from the looks of you, you probably can act a little, but I am just not the one to help you. Not now. Maybe a few years ago I could have helped you, but not anymore. Frankly, I have grown weary of this whole circus. I’d like to run away to the West—maybe to California—or even further north. Maybe to Canada. I hear Canada is a lovely and a friendly country. I could use a place like that. Well, anyway, I congratulate you on your originality. A friend of my father? Very good, Mrs. Gantly… Is it truly Mrs. Gantly?”

  Maggie faced her mirror again and went back to work, removing makeup.

  Eve stiffened. “Yes, I am Mrs. Patrick Sharland Gantly. And I am a friend of your father. Now I know we don’t have much time here today, but I would like to meet with you somewhere in private soon, so we can talk. It’s very important that we talk.”