Time Passage: A Time Travel Novel, page 8
I waited, in an agony of dread, wondering what in the hell was going on.
He lowered into his chair, turned his head, and stared out the windows with an air of bewilderment. When he said, “You may go, Miss Adams,” he didn’t look at me.
My eyes flickered. Go? I thought. Had I heard him clearly?
I sat for a moment, confused, and then flinched when, in a more forceful voice, he barked, “I said, you may go. Now!”
I shot to my feet, trembling, turned, went to the door, opened it, and swept out of the room, closing the door. I stood in the hallway, my mind completely befuddled, unsure where I was, where my room was, what had just happened, and what I was supposed to do.
A moment later, Mr. Hopkins appeared, his ice-gray eyes lowering on me. “I will escort you back to your room, Miss Adams. Please follow me.”
At the door of my room, Mr. Hopkins said, “Will you prefer dining in your room this evening or in the private dining room?”
I felt the irrational impulse to tell him to go to hell, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to eat alone in my room. At least in the dining room, some person would serve me.
“I’ll eat in the dining room. Will I be eating alone?”
“That is correct, Miss Adams.”
And then he glided off.
Inside my room, I didn’t know what to do, so I paced and stared at the trunk, and I thought about the money, and I wondered if I could take that money and the jewels and make a run for it. But run where? Back to the train? How would I get to the train? No idea.
Okay. I’d figure something out. I was smart enough to figure something out, wasn’t I? Surely, there was enough money in that purse to get me to New York. It would be 1880 in New York, of course, but so what? It might be fun. It would be scary, and I would have to adjust, but, again, I’d figure something out, even how to make a living, and I’d have to make a living. The money and the jewels wouldn’t last forever.
I moved to the windows and gazed out. In the distance, I saw Thomas Dayton leading a team of horses toward the carriage house. I wondered, if I paid him enough, would he take me to the train?
I had to do something. Standing around waiting for John Gannon to pull the strings was not going to work. Maybe it worked for women in 1880, but not for me. I couldn’t just sit around and wait… for what? Who knew what John Gannon was thinking or what he’d do?
And then I had the exciting thought that he’d told me to leave his office because he was going to send me away. Maybe I looked too much like the woman in that portrait. His wife? Did I look more like her than Nellie did in her photograph? Is that why Gannon was so surprised, and so troubled? I hated it when there were just too many damned questions. My head couldn’t process them all. My thoughts kept getting tangled up.
Just as I turned from the windows, there was a knock on the door.
“Yes…”
“It’s Mr. Hopkins, Miss Adams. May I come in?”
I sighed. Now, what did he want? “Just a minute,” I said, walking to the door.
The door opened, and he took two steps into the room. “If you please, Miss Adams, Mr. Gannon would like to see you.”
“See me? I just saw him, and he told me to leave. I did leave and here I am. So, in answer to your question, maybe I don’t please.”
Mr. Hopkins’ face betrayed nothing. Not impatience. Not irritation. Not interest. “I will escort you.”
The bustle dress was hot and uncomfortable, and I hated feeling trapped and treated like a servant. Childish emotions bubbled up. “You can tell Mr. Gannon that if he wants to see me, he can come here,” I said with defiance.
Mr. Hopkins’ eyes flicked about, and for the first time since I’d met him, his calm, confident authority melted into disbelief. “I beg your pardon, Miss Adams?”
I didn’t even try to stop my sassy mouth. “Tell him he was rude, and that if he wants to see me, I’ll be here, waiting.”
Mr. Hopkins’ mouth twitched into scorn. “Miss Adams, perhaps you do not understand. Mr. Gannon is the master of this house. It will be in your best interests to understand that, and then to comply with his wishes.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Hopkins. I will not comply, but I’ll be waiting here,” I said, stubbornly. “In case he wants to apologize for his rude manner.”
Mr. Hopkins’ frosty eyes focused on me. “Are you certain of this, Miss Adams?”
I wasn’t certain, of course. Maybe Gannon would have me beaten or thrown out into the snow. Maybe he’d threaten to kill me, but I stiffened my spine. “I’ll wait for him.”
Mr. Hopkins’ mouth formed a bitter frown, but even in his utter disdain for me, he offered a little bow, turned, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
“Stupid!” I said aloud, and then kept hearing my voice repeating, “Stupid!”
The waiting was hell. It seemed an hour before I heard another knock on the door, and by then I was trembling and sweating. “Yes, come in.”
The door opened and, to my astonishment, John Gannon stood there, staring at me, silent, yet imposing.
I was going to say something—anything—like, Would you like to come in? But my tongue felt stuck, and my lips were numb. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or confused or what. I hadn’t been able to read these people’s faces. They all seemed to be holding something back, suppressing, hiding. They all had poker faces. What did they know that I didn’t? A lot, it turned out.
Mr. Gannon tugged down his vest and cleared his throat. “Miss Adams, would you please join me in my office? I think it would be a more appropriate venue for what I have to say to you.”
I heard my unsteady voice. “Yes… Sure. Of course.”
He turned and made a gesture toward the hallway. “If you please?”
I started forward, left the room, and entered the hallway, following close behind him until we, once again, entered his private office. With a gesture, he invited me to sit in the same chair, and as I did so, he rounded his desk and sat, placing his folded hands on the desktop.
He lifted his gaze toward the ceiling as if to gather his thoughts, and then he slowly lowered his eyes, resting them on me.
“You are not the woman in the photograph, Miss Adams.”
I turned cold. He knew I was an imposter. Of course he did. Nellie and I didn’t look that much alike. I’d have to tell him the truth.
I was about to speak when he did. “Let me be clear, Miss Adams. The photograph does not capture you. Not in the eyes. Not in the shape of the mouth. It is apparent you are not the same woman. So, perhaps you will pardon my earlier behavior, as I was somewhat lost in surprise and reflection.”
His gaze slid away toward the portrait of the young woman hanging above the mantel. “Marie was my dear wife, and I think you can see for yourself that you favor her in some distinctive ways. Not in all ways, of course, but in many ways. You can see that, can’t you?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He looked directly at me and continued. “I did not expect that. I was… well, I was a bit overcome, and I needed to compose myself. First, because of the photographic image, and second, because…”
He sighed and lifted a hand toward the portrait. “… You see, Miss Adams, Marie was only twenty-seven years old when she was thrown from a horse and killed.”
“Oh… I’m sorry, Mr. Gannon.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. “When I saw you walk into my office looking as you do, well…” and then his voice trailed off into silence.
In that awkward silence, I didn’t know what to say.
Mr. Gannon reached for the photograph and held it up, his expression troubled.
“This woman does not favor you or my deceased wife, Miss Adams. That is blatantly obvious. The woman in this photograph has neither warmth nor a genteel nature. One can see that plainly in the depth of the eyes, and in the pert set of the mouth. I sense a hungry materialist; a woman seeking any means and prospect to rise in station. I have seen such a look many times in the eyes of miners and miners’ ladies panning for gold. So, I ask you, in all candor, how is it that you are here… appearing as you do? Appearing with the ghost of a face that favors my dear, deceased wife?”
I fumbled about, searching for words. First of all, if Gannon thought so negatively of Nellie, then why did he send for her and spend ten thousand dollars with an offer of marriage?
My jaded, suspicious little mind tossed out a possible reason: maybe he wanted someone who didn’t remind him of his wife. Maybe he didn’t truly want a “genteel” woman at all, but a miner’s-lady-type, panning for gold in the figurative sense, a soulmate, someone ruthless like himself. Obviously, my showing up, reminding him of his wife, completely freaked him out.
How much should I tell? How much should I not tell? Nellie had told me he was ruthless.
I inhaled a little breath, deciding to tell him the truth—not the time travel truth, of course, but the truth about Nellie and Percy and what had happened on the train.
Would he believe me? Would I believe myself if the roles were reversed?
CHAPTER 15
When I completed my story, Mr. Gannon sat frozen, and the room fell into a cave-like silence. While I was talking, he didn’t stir, but his eyes were fastened on me, his expression moving from curiosity to disbelief to anger. Finally, he gazed at me as if he were struggling to comprehend my words.
When I finished, I stared down at the floor and waited, my heart thrumming.
It seemed a good minute before Mr. Gannon responded in a controlled, somber tone.
“So, your name is Cynthia Downing and not Rosamond Adams?”
I didn’t look up. “Yes.”
He slowly got to his feet and began pacing from the window back to his desk. When he spoke, I heard the seething resentment in his voice. “Well, I suppose it makes perfect sense, since you are not the woman in that photograph. It would seem that the actual Miss Adams is not particularly blessed with even average intelligence if she believed that her silly plot would succeed, and I would be fooled. Although you, Miss Downing, and Miss Adams have some slight similarities in appearance, as I said before, it is obvious to anyone with a discriminating eye that you and she are not the same woman.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets as if a final decision had been made. “All right, then. So be it. I will deal with the woman in due course.”
I raised my eyes. “She was afraid you would send men to search for her.”
“And so I shall search for the conniving vixen, and I will find her, and so she should be afraid. I am not a man to be trifled with. If this little scheme of hers was to be made public, I would be the target of jokes and ridicule, from the mining camps to the ranches to Denver society, and beyond. And so, yes, I will indeed search for her, and I will locate her. She will then pay a steep price for her clumsy and misguided deception. And I will demand the return of the fee which I paid to that useless and poorly managed New York agency.”
He faced me squarely. “Do I have your word that you will keep this deceitful and sordid business confidential, an exclusive secret held only between the two of us?”
I nodded. “Yes, Mr. Gannon. I will keep it a secret.”
He ran a finger along his lower lip as he pondered the situation anew. “And you were traveling alone, Miss Downing? Is that correct? No lady friend? No sibling? No chaperone?”
“No… I was alone.”
I saw it in his face. He wasn’t entirely convinced that I wasn’t part of Nellie’s plot.
“Where did you begin your journey, Miss Downing, and where is your final destination?”
I readjusted myself in the chair, my mind wrestling about for any believable answer. “I left from New York and, I too, was traveling to San Francisco.”
“Miss Downing, it is unusual for a lady to travel so far a distance without a companion, is it not?”
What could I say? Gannon was smart, suspicious and perceptive, and he was waiting for my response.
The survivor in me lifted her head; the street-smart girl who’d learned about lying in jail, also knew I needed to mix in a little truth to help support the lie.
“I wanted a new life, Mr. Gannon. I traveled by myself because there was no one else to travel with. I have no family and none of my girlfriends wanted to leave New York for San Francisco. I’m going because I want a fresh start. Am I scared? Yes. Could I have ever imagined meeting Nellie, or Rosamond, and Percy, and being forced into this situation at gunpoint? No. So, perhaps your point is a good one, Mr. Gannon. Maybe I shouldn’t have been traveling alone, but I was, and I am.”
I was surprised by my conviction and strong voice. I think he was a bit surprised too.
Considering my words, he sat down, pulling his gold pocket watch from his vest pocket. He clicked it open, checked the time, snapped it closed, and replaced it. And then he reached for a carved wooden box, lifted the lid and removed a cigar. He twirled it between his fingers while his mind worked, finally placing the cigar between his lips. He struck a long wooden match against the box striker and lit the cigar, puffing gray smoke toward the ceiling.
Finally, he looked at me, his penetrating eyes boring into me, and his voice held a warning. “I will only ask you once, Miss Downing. Did you and Miss Adams dream up this little scheme because she had a change of mind, and you saw an opportunity for, as you put it, a fresh start and a new life?”
I sat up, hoping I was projecting an honest, mild outrage. “No, Mr. Gannon. No way… I mean, no, I didn’t. I’d never met Nellie or Rosamond before or spoken to her before. Never.”
He puffed the cigar, pulled it from his mouth, and stared at it. “I’m not a fool, Miss Downing,” Gannon persisted. “Perhaps you learned, by some devious means, that you favor my late wife in appearance, and you saw an opportunity to play on my wounded affections and become the wife of a wealthy man. Is that true, Miss Downing?”
“No. It’s not true! I’d never seen that portrait before today. I had no idea she and I looked alike, and I definitely do not want to be anyone’s wife.”
I rose. “Look… if someone will take me back to that train station, I’ll leave on the next train to San Francisco, Mr. Gannon, and you’ll never see me again.”
His face was impassive. “I presume you have friends in San Francisco?”
My mind went into overdrive. “Yes. I have a friend. A girlfriend who lives with a respectable family.”
Mr. Gannon straightened, giving me a sharp, searching look. “Are you running away from something, Miss Downing? I continue to believe that your flight, all alone, from New York to San Francisco, is the exceptional act of a frightened woman, or a desperate one.”
I seized on that, beginning to feel like I was on the witness stand being accused of something I was innocent of. It wasn’t the first time.
A light in my head blinked on. “Frankly, yes, I am running away,” I said, telling a slice of the truth. “I’ve had some bad luck lately. I left a man… a gentleman in New York, and he doesn’t know I left for San Francisco.”
Mr. Gannon’s forehead lifted, and his self-satisfied smile said it all. “I thought as much. An attractive woman like yourself would surely not be traveling alone unless, as you just said, you had some bad luck, or you were forced to flee for reasons that involved the law. And what will you do in San Francisco?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out, and my friend and her family will help me.”
Did Gannon believe me? I couldn’t read him. He leaned back in his chair and studied me.
“You do not have to leave, Miss Downing. I am not throwing you out. Surely, you must consider my point of view in this matter. You appear from out of the night, and you are not the woman who was expected. And then you enter my office, and I am astounded by your close resemblance to my late wife, whom I loved with all my heart. You did not reveal the truth of your situation until after I had confronted you. Do you not understand the reasons for my many suspicions, Miss Downing?”
Our eyes made contact, and, in that moment, I saw his attraction to me—or was it for his wife? I didn’t like it, and I shrugged off a shiver. Could things possibly get any weirder? If this was a nightmare, then it was the most real and strangest I’d ever had. At least now I knew why everyone in that house was giving me the poker face. For whatever bizarre reason, Marie Gannon and I did look somewhat alike.
“Let me put it another way, Miss Downing. May I request that you stay here, at least for a few days, for a complete recovery from your ordeal? Will you consider it?”
Leave? Stay? If I left, or more accurately, when I left, where would I go? And I was still tired from my ordeal with time travel and with Nellie. If I stayed, at least I could rest, buy some time, and come up with a realistic plan. Thanks to Nellie, I had cash, jewels to hock, and some clothes. Those gave me a sense of safety and comfort, and I was relieved now that Gannon knew the truth, or at least enough truth that I didn’t feel the immediate pressure to run for it.
Mr. Gannon waited for my answer.
“Thank you, Mr. Gannon. I accept your invitation to stay, but only for a few days, and I promise not to be a bother.”
“I’m sure you will not be a bother, Miss Downing. We haven’t had a guest in this house since the death of Marie. It will be pleasant.”
“If I may ask, when did your wife pass away?”
“It has been nearly a year.”
Gannon rose. “Now, Miss Downing, you must contact your friend in San Francisco. There is a Western Union Telegraph office in Denver.”
That startled me. I hadn’t thought of it. Ignorant-about-history me, I didn’t even know people could send telegrams in 1880. “Oh, I don’t want to trouble you, Mr. Gannon. I’ll just send her a letter, then I can explain everything in more detail.”
“But she must be frantic with worry, mustn’t she, since you didn’t arrive at your appointed time?”
