“There’s nothing there.”
“Of course there’s nothing. And you’re not taking my organ apart any more than that with Ash Wednesday coming up,” said Brother Joe. “Now help me put this back together.”
The Professor grumblingly obeyed and twenty minutes later, he, Miss Sanchez and Hazel were back in their coach. Hazel didn’t talk, as both adults were deep in thought.
When they arrived home, supper was nearly ready. Mrs. Washington had prepared a glazed ham with roasted carrots and green beans and a hot loaf of fresh bread with butter.
“Mr. Grey will be coming by after supper,” said the Professor to Hazel. “Would you like me to tell him your idea, or would you prefer to?”
So the Professor had noticed that she was uncomfortable around Mr. Grey. There was nothing wrong with the man, only the way he had looked at her the first time they had met still bothered her. It was as if he recognized her. Well, if he had recognized her somehow, it didn’t matter now. Everyone knew her name and that she was a girl. There was something else about him, but again, she felt like her brain wasn’t working fully. She couldn’t remember something.
“You can tell him,” Hazel said. “But I want to stay and listen.” She refused to let the Professor coddle her, and she intended to look Mr. Grey straight in the eye. Something about speaking to her uncle in that coach made her less afraid of things. She had faced the devil himself and had spat in his eye. She was still terrified of her uncle, but something in her had changed since then.
For some reason, she remembered the alfalfa seeds her mother had let her plant in a cup and set on the kitchen windowsill. For days, the dark earth had sat there, damp and empty. And then one day after lunch, she leaned over the sink to peek over the edge of the cup and a tiny green point, almost invisible, had appeared. Something had been happening under the soil all along, her mother had told her. But she had not believed it until she had seen the sprout.
“Oh, and Hazel,” said the Professor. “I sent a note off to the headmaster of St. Gerard’s to see about enrolling you. It’s only February, so you’ll have a few months to attend before you’re out for the summer. The school is only a few blocks away, and you can walk.”
Hazel had attended a school across town when she had lived with her aunt and uncle. A new school would mean new teachers and new children who didn’t know her and would not ask a lot of questions. Yes, a new school would do.
After the supper dishes were cleared and Mrs. Washington started the coffee, there was a knock at the front door.
“So Mr. Grey is using the front door now,” said the Professor, rising. “I may yet run a civilized household.” He gave Hazel a wink and went to answer the door.
“Hazel, would you lay these out?” asked Mrs. Washington. She had a few remaining butter cookies along with a quarter of an almond cake with sugar glaze. Hazel got to work arranging the items on a plate while Miss Sanchez set out the cups. Hazel noticed that she had included one for Mrs. Washington, though she would not be joining them in the front room. Working with the two women was pleasant, even if Miss Sanchez had trouble finding things or was so addle-minded that she didn’t know how to make coffee.
Not for the first time, she wondered about the world from which Miss Sanchez had come. Women could be doctors and do anything they liked. They didn’t even have to marry if they didn’t want to. That sounded good to her. Hazel imagined owning her own little white house with a vegetable garden in back and some pretty gingham curtains in the kitchen. Was that what she wanted? Something about it was unsatisfying.
She jumped when someone knocked at the back kitchen door. Miss Sanchez went to answer it.
“Mr. Grey! I thought you were at the front door,” Miss Sanchez said.
“Hazel,” said Mrs. Washington. “Would you please take that plate into the front room?”
Hazel took the plate through the kitchen door and was walking down the hall when she heard his voice. Her thoughts snapped into panic. Her uncle. He was here. She stood frozen, the plate of cookies and cake forgotten. She backed up and bumped into Mr. Grey who must have followed her.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry,” he said behind her. She spun around and watched his face change when he looked at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
Another thought slammed into her at his last word. The plate was gone from her hands, but she saw that Mr. Grey had taken it. Had she been about to drop it?
“He’s at the door,” she whispered.
Mr. Grey took off toward the door without a word. Hazel’s breath was coming hard and she felt sick to her stomach. Her armpits and palms were wet and cold. She stood in the hallway, straining to hear but couldn’t make anything out. The door to the front hallway was closed.
She could run back to the kitchen, back to Mrs. Washington and Miss Sanchez. They would comfort her. Or she could go see what the men were saying. She thought of the little green shoot in the cup and wiped her palms on her dress.
She pushed the door to the front hallway open a crack so she could listen. The door would be partially in her uncle’s line of sight, and she hoped he wouldn’t look too closely into the depths of the house.
“You need to leave immediately,” she heard Mr. Grey say.
“You’re threatening me with a plate of cookies in your hand?” said her uncle in a mocking voice.
“Not threatening, no,” said Mr. Grey.
“Well, I am threatening,” said the Professor. “I’ll stuff the cookies down your ugly gullet, shatter the plate on your head and slit your throat with the shards. Now get out.”
“A moment, please,” said Mr. Grey. His voice was cool and even.
Silence stretched on until Hazel’s curiosity was driving her mad. She had not heard the front door close. Did she dare to open the door further and peek out? She counted to three, and then pushed it open, darting sideways around a corner and out of view of the front door. It was light in the front hall and she heard street sounds, which meant the front door was still open. She got down on all fours and peeked around the corner near the ground. She knew from her time sneaking around abandoned buildings that people, adults especially, tended to look right at their eye level for other people. Staying low could mean the difference between discovery and staying hidden.
Out on the front walk, Mr. Grey and her uncle were speaking. Her uncle looked furious. Mr. Grey had his back to her and still held the plate of cake and cookies. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought they were neighbors, having a chat about a broken fence or a loose pet. The Professor walked back toward the house, scowling. He slammed the door behind him and muttered Gaelic curses.
Hazel got up and stepped out. He caught sight of her.
“So, you listened in? Is this going to become a habit with you?” he asked.
“It was my uncle so I’m allowed to listen. And I didn’t hear anything anyway. Only you telling him you’d cut his throat with a cake plate.”
“But that I could, lass. But that I could.”
The Professor ran his hands through his hair, turned toward the staircase and sat down on the second step. He leaned his head forward into his hands.
“What is it?” asked Hazel.
“Nothing of your concern.”
“Yes it is. It has to do with me, so it’s my concern.”
“You’re a fierce little thing, but I can handle this.”
“My uncle said something, didn’t he? Did he threaten you? He’s a lawyer and he said that with grease in the right hands, you can make anything happen.”
“I think you mean if you grease the right palms.”
“Fine, palms. What did he say to you?”
“Let it be, child,” he said. He refused to answer any of her questions and just sat, periodically glancing at the door. Finally, the
front door opened and he jumped up.
“He won’t come back,” Mr. Grey said to both Hazel and the Professor.
“What did you say to him?” she asked.
Mr. Grey didn’t answer, but looked down at the plate of cake and cookies. “Where should I put this?”
The Professor waved his hand to indicate that he didn’t care where the plate went. “Hazel, you need to go back to the kitchen for a few minutes.”
“I will not. I have a right to hear this,” said Hazel. She wasn’t about to let the adults talk about her situation without her.
“I said, go back to the kitchen.” The Professor turned toward her and pointed at the kitchen door. “Now.”
“I’m staying.”
The Professor took a step toward her, his face dark with anger at being defied, but she knew better than to think he would strike her. He might physically drag her to the kitchen, but she’d take her chances.
“If you live in my house, you will do as I say. And I say that I need to talk to Mr. Grey alone for a minute. You’ll go to the kitchen immediately.”
“Like hell, Professor.”
Mr. Grey was shaking, and when Hazel glanced at him, she saw he was laughing. She had never seen the man smile, and his face was so different. All of a sudden, he looked pleasant and alive. The Professor turned to him.
“Is this humorous to you, Mr. Grey?”
“Leave him be,” said Hazel. “It’s my fault that my uncle is here. I did something inexcusably stupid. I said your name when he came to get me at the hospital. That’s how he found you. It was the stupidest thing I’ve done.”
“No, the stupidest thing is not listening to me. Now give me a moment with Mr. Grey.”
The Professor was not going to budge. She decided to try a different tactic.
“Mr. Grey. What time are you from? Somewhere near Miss Sanchez’s time?”
Mr. Grey had only just stopped laughing, but for some reason, her words made him laugh again. Even stranger, he looked as if he was proud of her.
Chapter 28
The next night, Felicia laid her new ball gown across her bedspread and pulled at it until it was straight. The fabric was a rich cream satin with coordinating lace trim. It hadn’t been exactly what she had wanted when she went to the shop, but once again, she was rushed to find a dress and she took what the dressmaker was able to finish up on short notice.
Her mobile phone had been sitting dead on her nightstand for days, but she wasn’t ready to put it in a drawer just yet. It made her room feel more like home. She could no longer listen to the messages from her mother and sister, nor could she view the pictures she had taken of her family and friends. Everything was gone. All she had left were her memories.
Were her mother and father worried, crying, wondering if their daughter was kidnapped or murdered? Was her nephew getting worse, or was he already dead? The thought took her breath away. The loss of her nephew and her own disappearance would devastate the entire family. She wondered if anyone had called the police yet to report her missing.
She cursed herself. If only she had told someone about the Brazilian doctor’s treatments, then someone could put him in touch with Nathan’s mother. Or she could have told the doctor her nephew’s name and his hospital. But no, she had wanted to protect her family from false hope, and now they would pay the price for her excessive caution.
Her purse lay on the floor beside the bed, and she dug around until she found her makeup. A little black mascara, some powder on her nose and a little rose-colored lipstick and she felt more prepared.
She wished she had paid more attention to history and to Doug and his science fiction movies. She wondered if her old housemate would have any ideas about time travel. She knew that Einstein had an idea about time passing more slowly when you travel near the speed of light, but she had never understood the theory of relativity, even when a friend in class had attempted to explain it to her. The human nervous system, organs and skeletal structures made sense. They were concrete things.
She pulled the dress over her head and left it untied. Then she called for Mrs. Washington to tighten her corset and then fasten the row of tiny white pearl buttons up the back of the dress.
Felicia had learned a lot about the role of servants during her stay, and had noticed how the housekeeper kept to herself and rarely chatted unless Felicia started the conversation. Mrs. Washington was smart, and certainly knew that something strange was going on in the house, but she asked no questions and even seemed to actively remain ignorant by slipping out of the room during spots in the conversation when either Seamus, Hazel or herself said something strange.
“It’s a little low, don’t you think?” Felicia asked Mrs. Washington after she was laced and fluffed. She tugged at the bodice of the dress which was too low cut for comfort. The corset pushed her breasts up and together, creating some impressive cleavage, but a few inches of her skin were covered with only a thin rectangle of lace. She was technically decent, but the dress seemed racy for this time, she thought. It was racy for her own.
Mrs. Washington moved around to look at Felicia from the front and chewed her lower lip. Felicia knew that she would give her honest opinion, and she was grateful for it.
“It is a tad low, but you’d be surprised what some of these society types wear. If a woman of my station showed that much flesh, we’d be called a name. But let the rich ladies do it, and it’s fashionable and daring.”
“I don’t know if I like it,” said Felicia. She tried to push the corset up and wiggle her chest to get more of herself covered.
“No, no leave it. McCullen might like it.”
“I’m not interested in impressing McCullen.”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean that,” said Mrs. Washington. “I know he’s an odious man. Only, you two aren’t going to McCullen’s ball for a lark, I know that. I know you are a good girl, but a woman can sometimes use what the good Lord gave her. You know what I mean?”
“I suppose,” said Felicia.
“Here, let me fix your hair,” said Mrs. Washington.
Felicia had always despised the idea of dressing provocatively to get men to pay attention to her or to manipulate them. But then, if she wore this dress and McCullen was somehow charmed by her, he just might listen to sense and stop selling the engines. Or she could find out what he was up to with the Mardi Gras festivities.
When Mrs. Washington finished, Felicia’s hair was held up with a number of pearl-topped pins. A cameo pendant dangled from a cream ribbon and modest pearl earrings hung from her ears. The light dress made her skin look darker in contrast, but then, if she was going for daring, she didn’t want to look like all of the fair Southern belles anyway.
She turned, feeling the sway of the heavy skirt as it moved side to side with its own inertia. The bodice of the dress, aside from the lace trim, was relatively plain. The skirt, however, was covered in lace and flounces and had bows held up gathers of material, exposing triangles of the layer of lace lining beneath. Was it meant to look like she was showing her crinolines? She sighed. Since when had she become so modest in her appearance? She had walked down the streets in blue jeans and now worried about the modesty of a floor-length dress.
She went downstairs and found Seamus beside the stairs, kneeling over a leather case, sorting through various mechanical devices.
“Ah Miss Sanchez,” he said, looking up. “I uh. I wanted to ask—” He stared at her with embarrassing intensity, and then looked back down at his case. “I er, wanted to make sure you had enough money with you if we happen to be separated.”
“Oh, let me grab my purse.” She hurried back to her room and grabbed the tiny satin purse that she had bought with the dress. It hung from a ridiculously thin string and a little metal clasp held it closed. It was for formal use only, but even ladies in
the past needed to have a few things for a ball. She tossed in her lipstick and compact and headed back downstairs.
Seamus had finished with his little devices, and his closed case rested on the claw-footed entryway table. He stood, and Felicia paused to get a good look at him. He looked pleasantly unfamiliar in his fine clothing. This was more than his Sunday best; this must be the finest clothing he owned. He was in a black tuxedo with a silver cravat tied in some kind of elaborate rectangular design. His coat had tails, and the lean cut of it emphasized the width of his shoulders and his slim hips, as well as his height. Being indoors, he was hatless, and his hair was slicked back with pomade. It still curled up in an unruly fashion along his collar, and Felicia thought that she would have preferred his usual mussed and wild appearance to this formal one. But since when did she have any opinion on the Professor’s hair?
“You look very nice,” he said, inclining his head slightly and a tad too formally. He handed her a few folded bills and she thanked him and slipped them into her purse. It galled her to take money, like a kept woman, but she had enough sense not to dwell on it.
Mr. Grey pulled a wheeled trunk down the front hall. Hazel trailed behind.
“If you won’t tell me what you said to him, at least tell me why you talked to him at all,” said Hazel. She was dressed in her boy clothes and Felicia had to admit to herself that the girl looked much more natural and comfortable that way.
“Because I need your help today,” said Mr. Grey. “And it wouldn’t do to have you shut away in that man’s house across town.”
“I said I’d help you already, and now you need to do something for me and tell me,” Hazel said and then she spied Felicia. “Oh, that reminds me!” The girl rushed off.
“What do you have planned for her?” Felicia asked Mr. Grey. “Nothing dangerous, I hope.”
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 22
