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

by Elyse Douglas

  Addison stared at her, as if trying to understand. “Is this Mr. Beaumont a friend or a relative, Mrs. Gantly?”

  “No, he isn’t. I just met him tonight, but…”

  He cut her off. “…Then I don’t understand. Why do you feel responsible? Why are you remaining here in this unsavory edifice, in the depths of the night, to learn of his condition? I can assure you, Mrs. Gantly, that Irene has a penchant for getting involved in lost causes, picking up every stray cat or dog, and trying to save them. I have warned her of such things many times, but alas, to no avail. I fear that someday her wayward tendencies will get her into real trouble.”

  Eve was about to ask if she was also a lost cause but thought better of it. After all, he was the man who would be able to help her open a bank account.

  “Mr. Casterbury, Mr. Beaumont is a man, sir, and a very sick one.”

  “And he is none of our concern, Mrs. Gantly.”

  Eve was about to tell him to leave when he glanced past Eve’s shoulder toward the reception nurse.

  “However, Mrs. Gantly, if it will please you, I will inquire about Mr. Beaumont’s condition.”

  He inhaled an impatient breath and marched to the reception desk with a posture and expression indicating that he was the lord of the manor.

  “Nurse, will you please find the doctor in charge of Mr. Beaumont and tell him that Mr. Addison Casterbury would like to speak with him about Mr. Beaumont’s current condition, and I would like to speak with him now.”

  To Eve’s surprise and irritation, the woman’s face melted into angelic worship.

  “Of course, Mr. Casterbury. I will find Dr. McGrath right away,” she said, snatching up the phone to find the doctor.

  Eve shook her head, turning away in disgust.

  It was a miracle. In less than three minutes, Dr. McGrath came striding down the hallway toward them. He was the same short, serious middle-aged male doctor Eve had met earlier. The same doctor who had basically discounted anything she had to say.

  Now, he was all smiles and cordiality. Eve started toward both men, but Addison passed her a cool, halting glance, and she came to full stop.

  That’s right, Eve thought. This is a man’s world, and she is not invited.

  She watched with half-hooded eyes as the men spoke in confidential tones, gesturing and nodding agreement and smug satisfaction.

  Minutes later, Addison shook Dr. McGrath’s hand, bid him farewell and started back to Eve. With straight-back aplomb, he leveled his eyes on her.

  “Dr. McGrath assures me that Mr. Beaumont is receiving the best of care.”

  “What is his diagnosis?” Eve asked.

  “Mrs. Gantly, you do not need to concern yourself with that.”

  Eve hated this man’s patronizing attitude, but again, she held her tongue. She would blast him later, once she had her money.

  “I would be grateful to know, sir. Is it pneumonia?”

  He stared at her, again showing impatience. “Yes, Dr. McGrath informed me that Mr. Beaumont has pneumonia. May we please leave this place now, Mrs. Gantly? Tomorrow will be a particularly busy day for me, and I must have my rest. I will be speaking at two events tomorrow at the Hotel Astor, where I will be offering a few enthusiastic words for The American Women’s War Relief, and some inspiring words for a most worthy cause for children, the Santa Claus Association.”

  Eve watched him pull on his leather gloves, the gleam of pride all about him.

  “You see, Mrs. Gantly, I hope to run for Manhattan Borough President at the next election. After that, who knows? Perhaps I will seek the office of the Mayor and become the next young Mayor, just as John Purroy Mitchel has done. I’ve been told I’d make a good Mayor. And then conceivably I could run for Governor of New York. And why not?”

  Eve’s smile was contrived. “Why not indeed, Mr. Casterbury.”

  The limousine drove away from the hospital in a rumble of gears and motored uptown in the rain. Addison sat on the far right and Eve on the left. Neither spoke for a time, Eve feeling drained and sleepy and Addison sitting erect and distant.

  Finally, Addison cleared his throat and turned toward her.

  “Mrs. Gantly, where did you say you are from?”

  “Ohio…”

  “Ah, yes, Ohio. Are you from a small town in Ohio?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “I see. You have family there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why did you come to New York?”

  “To see friends.”

  “And your husband? Did he also come to see friends?”

  Eve hesitated. She had to stop this questioning. She’d learned from her last time travel adventure in 1885 that the fewer people knew about her the better.

  “These are personal questions, Mr. Casterbury.”

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Gantly. It’s just that… well, if you will permit me to say so, I perceive in you something of the unusual.”

  Eve looked away. “Well, since you already said it, Mr. Casterbury, I suppose I will permit it.”

  He stiffened at her remark, not used to be addressed so frankly by a woman. He cleared his throat again.

  “Like my father, Mrs. Gantly, I pride myself on being an observant man. If I may say so, I see in you something that does not quite fit with—how shall I say it—the overall portrait of you. You are like a painting, a fortunate work of art, hanging in an exquisite gallery. When one passes and observes that painting, one is caught by mystery, grace and allure.”

  Eve’s mind worked to find a way to change the subject. “You flatter me too much, Mr. Casterbury.”

  “Shall I be bold, Mrs. Gantly?”

  “Perhaps you should not,” Eve responded.

  “Then I shall modify my words and my observations, Mrs. Gantly. I find it fascinating that you appear in our home quite suddenly, accompanying my sister, who is notorious for finding intrigue. You are a woman, apparently, without a home or lodgings, which suggests a lack of funds. You say you are married and yet, your husband is curiously absent. And he does not appear to be out searching for you.”

  Eve turned to stare out the window, willing Addison to stop talking. He didn’t. What he said next chilled and paralyzed her.

  “Mrs. Gantly, since you have come under our roof and have thusly been put in our charge, I feel personally responsible for you. Irene confessed to me that you have obviously fallen on hard times, reduced to selling a quality family heirloom so that you can subsist. I cannot allow you to do that, Mrs. Gantly.”

  Eve whirled to protest. “It was not a family…”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “I will be happy to accompany you to the same merchant who bought the ring and buy it back from him at whatever the cost.”

  Eve became flustered. “Thank you for your kind offer, sir, but I don’t want to buy it back. I want to go to the bank and open an account. Irene suggested you might be willing to accompany me there.”

  “It is my feeling, Mrs. Gantly, that you need some protection. I do not believe you have ever visited New York, and I can assure you, without protection, it can be a vicious and dangerous place.”

  Eve was too astonished to speak.

  Addison set his chin. “Therefore, Mrs. Gantly, do not worry about funds. While you wait or search for your husband, I will see to it that you are given all the necessary funds to purchase all the practical necessities of life, and you will live well in Casterbury Mansion. You will dwell in the comfort and safety of our home and, of course, you can come and go as you wish.”

  Eve stared, dumbly.

  “May I also be so bold as to ask you to dine out with me, perhaps tomorrow night? Afterward, I would enjoy showing you some of the more cultural parts of our lovely city. I’m sure your husband will not mind our innocent little excursion, Mrs. Gantly, because, frankly, I do not believe you have a husband.”

  Eve felt some of the life drain from her body.

  CHAPTER 18

  Early Thursday morning, December 3rd,
Eve crept out of the Casterbury Mansion alone, found a cab and told the driver to take her to the St. Regis Hotel, which was only a few blocks away on Fifth Avenue and 55th Street. Fortunately, Irene usually slept late, and Addison had already left for his Wall Street office.

  Eve forced herself to formulate goals, keep her mind busy, and keep her emotions in check. It was the only way she could deflect her mind from Patrick, and Addison’s goal of keeping her caged in the Casterbury Mansion.

  She had to push away any despair about Patrick and what had happened to him. There was absolutely nothing she could do to search for him.

  Eve also had to face the fact that unless, by some miracle, she could locate the lantern that had been left behind in 1885, she would have to live out the rest of her life in this time.

  Eve had two goals, and both were risky. Her primary goal was to get out of that house and away from Irene and Addison Casterbury as fast as she possibly could. Addison had made it abundantly clear that he wanted a relationship with her, and she was having none of it. He had the kingdom, the power and the money to get whatever he wanted, and he was no doubt used to getting his way one way or the other.

  Eve knew what his plan would be. He would set her up in a gorgeous brownstone with lavish furnishings and give her a generous allowance, and then he’d drop in at his convenience for her “favors.” She’d had a similar offer back in 1885, and she wasn’t about to get herself tangled up in that vicious web again.

  Even if she never saw Patrick again, and that thought sickened her, Addison Casterbury, despite his wealth, political ambitions and royal good looks, did not attract her in the least. Eve sensed cold calculations going on behind his dark gray eyes; a man who weighed everything by value, ownership and control. Undoubtedly, most women found him irresistible—and Eve was certain that he found himself irresistible, and in turn, he was baffled at her hesitancy to fall for him. No, she would never fall for him. But there was still a dark cloud hanging over her head: how could she avoid his dinner invitation?

  On Wednesday, Eve had used a headache as a reason not to emerge from her room to see Irene or meet Addison for dinner. That morning, she’d sent a note to both Irene and Addison with her apologies that she was ill and would, therefore, need to spend the day and evening alone to recover.

  But true to his word, Addison had sent money in a private envelope, through Mary. Eve wanted to refuse it, but she had no choice. She needed it to escape the man.

  On Wednesday evening, she devised a plan, and now she was ready to implement it.

  In the taxi, Eve opened her purse to ensure that the check for the pawned ring was there. It was. Her first goal was to visit Maggie Gantly. When she’d spoken to Maggie backstage at the theatre on Saturday night, Eve had seen the interest in Maggie’s eyes. And when Big Jim Clancy entered the room, Eve had also seen fear rise in those same beautiful eyes. It was clear that Maggie feared the man, and she saw no way out of the relationship, short of risking violence on herself. Big Jim was a violent man. In a few weeks, just before Christmas, if Eve couldn’t get Maggie away from Big Jim, he’d kill her.

  The eighteen-story, lavishly Beaux-Arts styled St. Regis Hotel loomed ahead. Eve had read in the Sunday paper that the hotel was cited as “offensive” in a report of the City’s Heights of Building Commission, because of its Fifth Avenue location.

  The hotel still stood in 2018, but this 1914 building loomed tall and imposing against the shorter, less impressive architecture of this time. The St. Regis Hotel was definitely a standout.

  Eve paid the taxi driver and swung out. She advanced toward the front doors in the cold December chill, and a tall, uniformed doorman was ready with an opened door. Inside, Eve felt expanded as she took in the marble floors, the Louis XV furniture from France, the Waterford crystal chandeliers, the ornamental ceilings and the antique tapestries and oriental rugs.

  As she strolled toward the brown-marble lobby desk, she looked left to see two beautiful, fifteen-foot burnished bronze entrance doors parted to reveal an inner spacious library.

  At the lobby desk, a stiff but smiling clerk wearing a dapper dark suit addressed her. His face was shiny and pleasant, his manner formal.

  “Could you please call Miss Maggie Gantly, sir?”

  “Is she expecting you, madam?”

  Eve lied. “Yes, she is.”

  “May I ask your name, madam?”

  “Eve Gantly.”

  He blinked, the name catching him off guard. He quickly recovered.

  “Yes, Mrs. Gantly. One moment.”

  He reached for a clunky black telephone while Eve waited nervously, watching the parade of guests going and coming, the women bedecked in jewels, wearing colorful dresses with tunics and tucked waists, made of silks, cotton and lace. The hats with plumes were ever on display, and Eve was reminded of an article she had read in 2018. It discussed the cost of looking fashionable at the turn of the 20th century. It stated that by the early 1900s, the commercial plume trade had decimated many bird species to the point of near extinction, inspiring early environmentalists—many of them women and New Yorkers—to champion the protection of endangered birds.

  The hotel clerk’s voice brought her back to the present.

  “Mrs. Gantly, Miss Maggie Gantly asks that you give her the courtesy of twenty minutes before visiting.”

  “Yes, of course,” Eve said.

  After all, it was only a little after nine o’clock in the morning and Maggie worked in the theatre.

  Twenty minutes later, Eve tapped on Maggie Gantly’s fourth-floor apartment door. When it opened, Maggie stood in a modest pink chiffon dress that Eve would have called a Maxi dress, with sheer long sleeves. Maggie’s hair was twisted up and piled on her head, with loose tendrils dripping from either side of her face.

  Maggie stood staring, her soft hazel eyes intensely serious, inspecting Eve up and down.

  “I should have told the hotel clerk to throw you out,” Maggie said in a low voice, still rusty with sleep.

  “Why didn’t you?” Eve countered.

  “I don’t know.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Maybe because there’s something about you that scares me a little, and that interests me a little. Notice I said a little and not a lot.”

  “I’ll take a little.”

  Maggie didn’t move. “At first I thought you might be goopy. Now, I am not so sure.”

  “Goopy?” Eve asked, not understanding.

  “Stupid. Okay, I saw you weren’t so goopy, but then I thought maybe you were a hawkshaw.”

  “I don’t know that word either.”

  Maggie narrowed her eyes on her. “Where have you been living, among the high rollers? A hawkshaw is a kind of detective. Big Jim has his ways of tracking me. He uses hawkshaws. But then I saw the way he looked at you. He’d never seen you before. He didn’t like you. Maybe that’s why I did like you. But I’ve got to be careful with Big Jim. So maybe now you’ve got to be careful with Big Jim, too.”

  Eve held her gaze. She could see Maggie still wasn’t certain whether she should let Eve in or not.

  “Yes, well, Big Jim is, well, big, and not so friendly,” Eve pattered on, hoping Maggie would finally invite her in.

  Maggie laughed. “Not so friendly? Ha! I like that one. Do you think Big Jim is pug-ugly?”

  “Not so ugly. Scary.”

  Maggie’s face fell into apprehension. “Yes, well, I thought he was keen at first. I don’t know. Who remembers these things? Men come, and men go, like evening breezes. Like bubbles in a glass of Champagne. So, why are you here, whoever you are, and what do you want from me?”

  “Can I please come in?” Eve said, glancing about the empty corridor.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Because I don’t want to tell you who I am and why I came while standing out here in the hallway. I’m sure you can understand that. Maybe there’s a hawkshaw lurking around somewhere.”

  Maggie took a breath, shrugged, and reluctantly stood
aside, hanging her head in resignation. Eve entered.

  The room was immense, with white marble floors, rich oriental rugs and a black and gold marble fireplace, with an immense gilded mirror above. Eve loved the glistening chandelier, the burgundy Victorian furniture, and the view of Fifth Avenue from the bank of windows. Shoulder-high palms and ferns filled the corners of the room. Large vases of fresh flowers sat on the tables, filling the room with their fragrances. Eve could only wonder how much a suite like this would cost in her time.

  “Have a seat, Mrs. Gantly,” Maggie said. “Biddy is around here someplace. She’s not used to me being up so early. She’s probably passed out in a bedroom, or maybe the bathroom. It’s big in there and the bathtub is nice. I found her asleep in there once.”

  Maggie turned and bellowed. “Biddy!”

  “Biddy is seventeen years old, from Dublin. She is a good worker, but a bit batty about the lads. I think she has two. One at the theatre. That’s why you didn’t see her the other night. She confessed she was with him.”

  Maggie called again. “Biddy!”

  A few moments later, a thin, sleepy-faced girl scampered in, wearing a white-apron and white-cap, a bit askew. Her eyes darted about, seeing Eve. She bobbed a bow.

  “Were you dreaming about him?” Maggie said, with a warm grin.

  “Sorry, Mum… I was… I was cleaning the back bathroom.”

  “Sure you were, Biddy. Polishing the tub with your round apple-bottom you mean. Would you please bring some tea, bread and butter? And bring a bottle of Champagne. I need something that bubbles and makes me happy.”

  Maggie turned to Eve. “Do you like things that bubble, Mrs. Gantly?”

  At the name Gantly, Biddy’s startled eyes swung to Eve.

  “Why not, Miss Gantly. I think we’re both going to need it.”

  Maggie’s eyes changed, and she suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  “I dare say that is true, Mrs. Gantly.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Maggie languished on a burgundy velvet sofa, staring across at Eve, who had settled in a pink satin parlor chair. Each continued to size the other up, letting the silence gather between them. They ignored the silver tray of buttered bread and tea, but sipped Champagne from long-stemmed coupe glasses.