He knew the effect he was having on me, the bastard!
“There!” I said.
He stood gazing at me long enough for me to fidget before stepping back. He straightened and turned toward me, holding out an arm.
“Mrs. Montague?”
My brow instantly furrowed and my mouth dropped open long before I could speak. “Mrs. Montague?” I repeated, clearly at a loss. Why was he calling me by his last name?
“Of course,” Drake answered confidently. “What do you think will happen if someone sees us leaving this room together? What do you think they will instantly assume?”
He had me there. Wild flings in unnamed hotel rooms between unmarried people weren’t as common in 1910 as they were in modern times. My mind slapped me back to the concept that, at some point, we had to find hotel accommodations. Maybe we would somehow solve this thing in one day, but more likely, we would be spending the night together. As a married couple, it would have been weird to ask for separate rooms. That meant…
We would be spending the night together.
“And besides,” he continued while tucking my hand into the crook of his other arm and gently pulling me toward the door. “It will be fun.”
“Fun?” I started.
He waved his hand as if he were dismissing all the extra trouble we could avoid by posing as man and wife. Of course, he was totally unaware of the thoughts that ran through my head. “People in my time are not like the people of yours. A single man and woman spending too much time together will generate suspicion.”
Trying to refocus myself, I intended to at least appear to shrug it off. After hearing what Drake was proposing, I cleared my throat and tugged at the monstrous hat on my head. “Sounds reasonable.”
Drake drew me nearer to him as he closed his other hand over mine.
He stared down into my eyes, obliterating any possible attempts to keep my cool and making my heart pound against my chest. “I am elated in this moment with you, ma minette. Blissful even,” he murmured.
Before I could utter my reply, he gently pulled open the door. Without letting my hand go for a moment, he leaned out into the hallway. “It is clear,” he whispered as he opened the door all the way.
We stepped out into the hall, and my skirt and my long coat rustled.
I lifted my chin as we walked. It was time to start simmering Drake’s zeal for making me squirm. We had to get down to business. I pulled my hand from Drake’s arm so that I could get the map of New York out of my handbag. After looking it over countless times before, and memorizing it, I checked the time jotted down next to the dot on the map that represented Dorothy’s house. It was the first place she would be seen today on the walk she would never return from. “First line of business is to figure out what time it is. Let’s hope everything jives and we haven’t missed Dorothy…”
“I am sure we are not late, mon chaton. Look. People have not even picked up their morning newspapers yet. She won’t be leaving for her walk until two in the afternoon.”
He was right. Several papers lay on the floor next to the doors. I stooped down and picked one up, noting the date. “And we got the day right, that’s for sure.”
We continued down the hallway until we reached an archaic elevator. In style, it looked archaic, but also very new. A shiny replica of an old Otis elevator cage. Except this wasn’t any replica. I admired the ornate brass embellishment while we waited. I could feel Drake watching me, and heard his breathing.
“Surreal, is it not?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I barely whispered.
The elevator arrived, and we stepped inside the cage and Drake shut the gate behind us. A flutter of nerves bothered me and I wondered how stable an elevator like this could be, but as the car began to smoothly glide down the long cables, I relaxed and admired the fancy trimmings around me. It didn’t seem old at all. It even seemed sturdier than some modern elevators I’d been in.
A hint of Drake’s cologne reminded me we were in close quarters. I shifted on my feet as I watched the floors light up that we passed, wondering how Drake’s spirit could manifest into a physical being so completely. His signature cologne was an unexpected thrill. It brought back memories of dreamscapes and the times when he would appear before me, shirtless, or fully clothed in a luxurious robe, and even dressed to the nines in an expensive suit. He was always testing my resolve, daring me to keep my distance. And the unfairness of it all? He could feel everything I felt, knowing which tactic twisted me up the most inside.
“So how does it feel to be back, after getting so used to modern conveniences?” I asked in my effort to distract myself from being so aware of him. He was standing right next to me and all those memories of him shirtless kept flashing in my brain. At least, he couldn’t read my mind or know what I was feeling now.
Drake gave me a soft smile as the elevator began to slow down. “I think you will be delightfully surprised. There are more practical amenities than you could imagine in my time, ma minette.”
I had to admit, after studying the delicate craftsmanship and finely-tuned engineering of the elevator alone, we wouldn’t be roughing it. It wasn’t like being in a third world country or anything.
Once we reached the ground level, the elevator shuddered to a stop and we got out. Piano music serenaded us, but I hardly heard it. I was too busy observing everything around me. People walked by dressed in early twentieth century clothing; and the women wore floor-length, full-skirted dresses with ruffled blouses. They were topped off with flowered monstrosities like the one I was wearing. Men’s coats almost reached the floor as well, but they were black or gray in contrast to the rich colors of the women’s attire. Putting on the ancient clothing before we left the modern era made me feel overdressed; but now that I was looking around, I wondered if anyone considered my dress dated. I didn’t focus on it too long though. I couldn’t. It was too fascinating, and wonderfully bizarre to see people walking around like it was just a normal day. I supposed for them, it was.
The dated decor was splendidly so, and just like the room we arrived in, everything looked so real and alive. The meticulously carved woodwork at the entrances of buildings and the crown molding in all of the rooms boasted the quality. God, it was beautiful.
“It is ten o’clock. We have some time to kill, as you are so fond of saying,” Drake said as he looked up and eyed the enormous clock in the lobby.
Drake pulled me through the hotel, and when we opened an enormous, revolving door, the chilly air hurt my face. We stepped out into Times Square. It was December 12, 1910. I stopped, virtually rooted in place as I absorbed the scene before me. Even though it was cold, the smell of manure and animals wafted up my nostrils as I looked around. Model T cars puttered by us in slow motion. Actual Model Ts. An electric cable car pulled up to the side of the road, and dozens of people dressed in early twentieth century garb unloaded. A horse-drawn carriage passed, and the clopping of horse hooves echoed against the tall buildings.
Where there should have been flashing electronic billboards and eye-catching, high definition graphics, I only saw the sides of buildings plastered in billboards with antiquated fonts. It was like being on a movie set. I half expected the director to yell “Cut!” before every person in the scene paused and waited for their next direction.
Drake’s breath tickled my ear, sending goosebumps down my arms and snapping me back to reality. “You are blocking the door, ma minette.”
“Oh!” I stepped to the side without missing the annoyed glances of a man and woman. Early twentieth century New Yorkers for you.
“Shall we find a place to have brunch perhaps?” Drake tapped my hand with one finger. “You should set your timepiece to the correct time.”
“Yes,” I said, still looking around at everything, and not quite over the initial shock of it all. Shaking my head, I withdrew the handsomely decorated pocket watch. I spun the knob to set it, and my hands began shaking slightly. Once I put it away, Drake started t
o pull me along again.
“I am cerain we can find something on Fifth Avenue, and we will be that much closer to our two o’clock rendezvous.”
We walked along, my hand still looped in Drake’s arm, his hand closed over mine. Happily immersed in the intriguing world around me, I let Drake guide me while I gawked, especially at the people. For the most part, they paid no attention to us, but some, especially women, looked at me curiously. A couple whispered to their companions, who looked up at me as well. I wondered what they noticed about me, but I had an idea. At five-foot-ten, few women could approach my height.
“Have you ever been to New York before today?” Drake asked.
With my eyes fastened on the bustling streets in front of me, I replied, “Yes. I took a trip once in college.” I scanned the buildings, comparing them to what I remembered one hundred years into the future. The streets were still bursting with buildings that provided a framework around the cloudy, gray December sky. But they weren’t nearly as tall as I remembered. The noise from Model Ts was different too; the engines clattered and whistled as they passed us, and I detected the distinct clopping of horse hooves coming from the carriages that shared the street with them.
“Did you ever go to New York?” I asked.
“Yes.” That was all he said.
We walked along until Drake slowed down in front of what I realized was a café. I was so busy people watching, I failed to notice we’d arrived at a place to eat.
“Would you be satisfied to order exactly what you want for once?” Drake asked me, his lips drawn up in a smile.
I smiled back. “And you can order what you want for once.”
NINE
I checked my pocket watch again. “It’s two,” I said.
We’d enjoyed a leisurely early lunch at the café, then picked up some mints for me and cigars for Drake at a little stand we saw along the way to the Arnold residence. So far, everything was going well. No one balked at the counterfeit money, and we made it in time to catch Dorothy as she left the house. My retro clothes very much looked like the antiques they were but I was grateful they received only a few double-takes from one or two women. For the most part, no one seemed to notice or care.
But now I was feeling nervous. So far, this had all been way too easy.
Drake stood at the base of the steps to a townhouse, calmly watching the house across the street with a cigar in his mouth.
“Do you think,” I lowered my voice as a couple strolled past us, “we missed them?”
“Non. I doubt it.” He casually puffed his cigar, but his gaze never left the townhouse. “Here she is,” he said, the expression on his face unchanging. One of quiet intensity.
I glanced up in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner. Drake was right! There Dorothy was and I easily recognized her. She looked so much like the photo Jill showed me of Alice. I felt like I was watching an old movie of her.
Dorothy stepped lightly down her front steps, and true to the articles that I read, she appeared to be in good health. My eyes dropped to her midsection, but the winter coat she was wearing made it impossible to detect whether she was pregnant or not. Just when she reached the bottom of the stairs, an older woman approached her.
“Her mother,” I said.
“Oui,” Drake exhaled a puff of smoke that dissipated quickly in the chilly December air.
The women chatted before going in opposite directions. Dorothy headed toward Fifth Avenue while her mother ascended the steps to go back into the house.
Drake’s eyes briefly dropped to mine, and I could see the eagerness of the chase in them. “Shall we, mon chaton?” He held out his arm and I tucked my hand in the crook of it, the gesture now a little too familiar.
I couldn’t dwell on my ease in being physically close to Drake; there wasn’t any time. Instead, I tried my best to appear casual as we strolled down the street. But I was nervous that Dorothy would somehow try to evade us.
As we walked, my mind wandered in a million different directions. This was it. We could finally discover what happened to Dorothy Arnold. Watching her walk down the street, it hit me with a wallop that this was so much more than just an unexplained mystery. Dorothy was alive at this moment. She was alive, yes, but soon, she wouldn’t be.
We followed her for over an hour as she walked down Fifth Avenue, stopping to chat with people she knew here and there before going into various stores and coming out with more and more bags.
We finally made it to the corner of Fifth and Twenty-Seventh, where Dorothy would stop at the corner bookstore. Sure enough, she disappeared inside.
Drake rubbed his hands together, then blew into them, his warm breath creating wispy clouds of fog around his fists. “I think I’ll get a newspaper.” He stepped over to the stand next to us to purchase a paper while I stared at magazine covers from 1910. “Do you see anything you want, darling?” Drake asked.
“Um.” The “darling” tripped me up. That’s a new one. And what’s more, he said it exactly the way I would have expected any man to address his wife. It brought an instant smile to my face, one that reached my eyes. For that moment, I forgot what we were doing and I liked pretending to be Drake’s wife. But when he registered the smile on my face, seeming to read my mind, and an answering smile blossomed on his face that told me he felt the same way, it didn’t seem like we were pretending anymore.
Caught in the moment, I barely had enough time to think. I just let my heart flutter beneath my chest as the warm elation rose to my cheeks in a flush. It felt good to me and right but my smile faded when I remembered that I couldn’t allow myself to indulge the feeling. After my initial jolt of seeing his physical body—and I don’t think any amount of time could manage to normalize that—being with Drake felt like the most natural thing in the world.
I wished I had an on/off switch so I could turn off my attraction to him. I would gladly have preferred that my feelings for him evaporated into thin air; at least, I wouldn’t have to spend so much energy fighting my desire. And fighting my guilt over subsequent desire because as soon as I felt the stirrings of passion for Drake, it was Ryan’s face I saw.
Surely my attraction to Drake was only natural right? He was a handsome man, to be sure, and I couldn’t argue with simple biology and chemistry. But I had to admit it was much more than that, and my connection with Drake was rooted in something so much deeper and more profound. The longing in my chest when I was near him, and the urge to touch him and be with him and finally know him intimately and completely were undeniable. It wasn’t something attainable for either of us, I needed to remind myself of that, and that instantly made me think of Ryan with pangs of guilt. Now, however, while standing next to him, I couldn’t imagine a world beyond this, where I was anything other than Drake’s “darling.” What’s even more astonishing, I didn’t want to!
All at once, I remembered why we were here and what we were supposed to be doing. I pictured my physical body lying unconscious while Ryan watched over me. I visualized him reading something to distract himself, and checking on me every few minutes. I knew he was wondering what I was doing and where I was. Honestly, it was the first time that Ryan crossed my mind since our leap back in time. That realization quickly sobered me and left me with a dark cloud hovering in the space around my head.
“A copy of Time magazine, please?” I said.
“Time, please. For the missus,” Drake said to the man tending the newsstand. If Drake were aware of my shift in mood, he didn’t show it. He handed the man a bill, and the man gave him our purchases as he winked to me.
I responded with a subdued smile this time.
Drake smoothly reached for my hand without any hesitation and placed it back in the crook of his arm. “Would you like to sit down?”
I nodded, trying to ignore how acutely aware I was of Drake’s solid arm beneath my hand. I reminded myself (again) that we were here for Dorothy, and we couldn’t lose track of her. We were so close now to witnessing the last ti
me Dorothy Arnold was ever seen alive.
Without waiting for my reply, Drake led me over to a bench, which allowed us a perfect view of the front of the bookstore. Once seated, I had my first reprieve from being hopelessly fixated on Drake. I brushed a gloved hand over the shiny new cover of the magazine that bore the date: December 1910. If not for my deep foreboding regarding Dorothy’s fate, I would have been giddy with excitement.
It was every history lover’s dream, the manifestation of all the images of another era perfectly represented, and in this case, perfectly accurate. Once I opened the magazine, However, I had a hard time concentrating on the words. I failed at reading, and obsessively checked the front of the store as well as the watch in my hands.
“Read your magazine, mon chaton,” Drake said, his voice hushed. “You are making me anxious.”
I blew out a puff of air and settled in, determined to try and make sense of at least one paragraph in front of me. That didn’t go well, so I resigned myself to flipping through the pages and reading the captions beneath the photographs.
“I think it might be time to, ahem,” a pause for emphasis, “get going,” Drake said as he leisurely folded up his newspaper.
Before I knew it, I looked up from the magazine toward the front of the bookstore. Sure enough, Dorothy was standing there, chatting with another friend. It looked like they were in the process of saying goodbye.
“Remember, mon chaton,” he said, his voice low, “whatever happens, we must not intervene.”
As if he were still in my head, Drake sensed my nervousness about what was going to happen. I intended to ask how long she’d been standing out there, but only managed to say, “Oh!” as I scrambled to my feet.
Drake rose off the bench much more gracefully, taking my arm with a smirk and staring at me for a beat longer than necessary.
“What?” I asked.
“Later, ma minette.”
With that, we were off again. I recalled the article we read about Dorothy’s friend; she had just been talking with the last person who saw her before she disappeared. And now she continued down Twenty-Seventh Street, moving further away from Fifth Avenue, and away from her home.
Brown Eyed Ghoul: A Ghostly Paranormal Romance Series (The Peyton Clark Series Book 3) Page 14
