The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (18 page)

Eve put on a hard face, her eyes avoiding his.  “Well, it sounds like your grandparents spent a lot of time sitting in the parlor working hard at being clever.”

He laughed out loud and it surprised her.  He was amused by her.  Was he mocking her?

“So are you following me?” she repeated, with force.

His laughter faded and he folded his newspaper, leveling his eyes on her.  “I should have been following you a long time ago, I think.”

Eve felt the rise of heat again.  It was unnerving how her impulsive attraction to this guy threw her off-balance.  “Well okay, then, whoever you are,” Eve said, hearing her voice tremble, “I just want to tell you that…”

He cut her off in mid-sentence.  “My name is Detective Sergeant Patrick Gantly and you have friends in high places.  Aren’t you the fortunate one, madam?”

Eve didn’t speak.  She wasn’t sure what he meant. 

“You’re a policeman?”

“I’m a Detective Sergeant, but you don’t have to call me that.  But then, why not call me that since that is what I am.”

He stood watching her, completely at ease.  His face was half in shadow and half in sun.

“Then you
are
following me?”

He offered a little bow and tipped his hat.  “Observing, madam.  Merely observing and making sure you do not get into any harm.”

“Who?” was all she could force out.  Then she consciously closed her mouth.

“Who what, madam?”

“Hired you?  Who hired you?”

Patrick tucked the newspaper under his arm and regarded her with a lifted eyebrow. 

“Well, as my old Da used to say, ‘Be kind to your enemies and lie to your friends, and pray that the one never meets the other in the local pub.’”

Eve considered it.  “I’m sorry.  I have no idea what that means.”

He grinned that sexy grin again.  “I never did either, but he said it frequently, especially after a long night at Clancy’s Pub.  I suspect he had some personal experience that doesn’t quite translate.  You probably had to be there.”

Detective Gantly glanced toward the coffee house.  “It’s a bit cold out today.  Would you care to have a coffee with me then?  Am I being too bold?  After all, here we are on a public street and we weren’t properly introduced.  But although we’ve just met, we are not strangers, are we, Miss Kennedy?”

So he knew her name.  Did she like that?  Eve was confused and aroused, and she didn’t know what to say.

“Too bold?” he asked, crossing his arms.

She heard herself say, “No… not too bold.  Not where I come from.”

Detective Gantly looked her over, suddenly serious.  “And where is that, Miss Kennedy?  Where do you come from?”

Eve drew in a breath to calm her nerves.  “As a girlfriend of mine used to say, ‘A woman is not what she says she is, she is what she hides.’”

Gantly grinned, broadly.  “You, Miss Kennedy, are quite the unwrapped secret.  That is for sure.”

He gestured toward the street.  “Shall we, then?”

There was a break in the carriage traffic and they hurried through, heading toward the Coffee House.

CHAPTER 15

Zarcone’s Tea & Coffee House was a narrow, cheerful room.  On the back wall sat shelves of small, wooden square boxes containing a variety of loose, exotic teas.  The proprietor, standing behind the long gray marbled countertop, was a busy, fussy man with a drooping mustache, a proud Roman nose and beady eyes always in motion.  Eve saw enamelware & pewter gooseneck coffee pots and tea pots with decorative Italian castle scenes.  There were China mugs and porcelain cups, hand painted with roses and gold trim.  There was a variety of round, heavy glass jars that contained spices, some of which Eve had never heard of.  The shop itself smelled predominantly of rose, clove and cinnamon.

They sat near the front window across from each other at a white marble tabletop, on chairs with brown padded cushions.  Natural light came through the plate glass window, though gaslight chandeliers hung from the ceiling.  Two lavishly dressed women sat in the back of the room, sipping tea and speaking in breathy whispers, their feathery hats nodding as their conversation grew animated.

Eve glanced about the shop, avoiding Gantly’s eyes.  But she felt it—a strange fascination, a feeling of rising emotion moving past the static of her thoughts.  Meeting Detective Sergeant Gantly had been a surprising encounter, its outcome completely unexpected.  He had removed his hat and was fingering his long, thick hair back off his broad forehead.

Eve’s attraction to him had been immediate.  Her first impression was of a firm-jawed man of action: forceful, resolute and decisive, with a wry sense of humor.  He was unabashedly masculine, tantalizingly mysterious and certainly clever, or at least he seemed to be so.  He was entirely different from modern day men, but she had yet to put her finger on why. 

She stirred real cream into her coffee and watched it turn light brown.  She tasted it:  strong and bold, warming her chest.  Her mouth twisted up in surprise.

“Wow, this is good,” she said, forgetting herself.  “Wow.”

“Wow?” Gantly asked, amused.  “What a word.  It sounds a bit like the Bow Wow verse I heard as a boy.”

“And how does it go?” Eve asked.

Gantly looked toward the ceiling to recall the words.  “Well, let me see now… ‘Bow Wow he barked to his lady love.  Bow Wow said she to her turtle dove.  He bowed and wowed her with his wail, and…” he stopped, suddenly recalling the final, sexually suggestive line.

Eve looked at him.  “Well, go on, finish.”

He hesitated a moment.  “Miss Kennedy, it is not meant to be recited in mixed company.”

Eve looked at him, directly.  “I’m sure I can take it.  Go ahead.  Finish it.  I assure you I am a very modern woman.”

Gantly exhaled.  “Okay, but remember, you asked.”  He licked his lips.  “He bowed and wowed her with his wail and she, impressed, did wag her tail.”

Eve laughed a little.  “And how old were you when you first learned that little poem?”

“Oh, ten or eleven, I suppose.  My older sister taught it to me.”

Patrick scratched his ear, a bit embarrassed.  “I do apologize, Miss Kennedy.  Wow,” he repeated with a little shake of his head.  “Where did you hear such a word?” 

Eve thought fast.  “It’s something I heard in the Bowery.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right, you were in the Bowery.  Yes, well, people hear all sorts of things in the Bowery, don’t they?”

She glanced up.  “So you were following me?”

“Not following.  Observing.  If I’d been following you, you would have never seen me.”

Eve turned toward the window.  “Snow,” she said excitedly.  “Snow in late October.”

Patrick turned and, sure enough, a few flakes were sprinkled in with a light rain, melting instantly against the window as they struck and slid down.

“Ah yes, the weather in New York.  One minute there’s sun and the next snow, and it’s not even November yet.  As changeable as a weathercock.”

Eve’s eyes drifted back to Patrick’s face, and she felt a sudden impulse. 

“Sergeant Detective Gantly, are you a good policeman or a bad one?”

He shrugged a shoulder.  “Depends on the day.  I shot a couple of burglars over on 11
^th
and Broadway last week.  I helped capture and convict Mrs. James a while back.”

“Mrs. James?” Eve asked.

“Mrs. James used to induce young girls to immigrate, and when they landed at Castle Garden, she took possession of them, body and soul.  Well, I’m sure you get the picture.”

“So you were a kind of hero,” Eve said.

“No, Miss Kennedy, not a hero.  But I do rescue damsels in distress from time to time.  It is my specialty.  Are you in any distress, Miss Kennedy?”

She grinned, thinly, at his flirtation.  “How is it that you can just follow me around all day?  Don’t you have other more important duties to attend to?”

He shook his head.  “No.  You see, Miss Kennedy, I was handpicked for this job by Albert Harringshaw himself, and he knows people in high places and he knows how to get what he wants from those people in high places, if you get my meaning.”

“No, I am not sure I
do
get your meaning.”

“Shall I be direct, Miss Kennedy?”

Eve looked at him, dubiously.  “Yes, be direct.”

Gantly leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and whispered.  “Money helps to grease wagon wheels, frying pans and greasy hands, Miss Kennedy,” he said, rubbing two fingers together.  “Mr. Harringshaw has a lot of money and power in this city.  I dare say he also offers some very good stock tips to those who, shall I say, have an interest in such things.”

Eve understood, and nodded.  “So why were you handpicked?”

Patrick sat back in his chair, sighing, showing some frustration.  “The Harringshaw family is famous for its costume balls, Miss Kennedy.  Perhaps you have heard of them?  In 1883, their fancy dress ball was the talk of the town.  The invitations were hand delivered by servants in livery.  The young socialites practiced quadrilles day and…”

“Quadrilles?” Eve asked.  After she interrupted, she realized she’d just reverted to a 21st century New York conversation style, with its impatient demand for information.

“You surprise me, Miss Kennedy,” Gantly said. “It is quite popular among the elite society.”

Eve looked at him coolly.  “Not the elite society I’m familiar with, Detective Sergeant.”

He grinned.  “At any rate, a quadrille is a dance performed with four couples in a rectangular formation.  Not a good old Irish jig, mind you, but a spectacle to behold nonetheless.”

“And you beheld?” Eve asked.

“I did.  I was part of the plain clothes detectives assigned to keep out the curious, the pickpockets, the polished thieves and the party crashers, all who might want to spoil what turned out to be a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar affair.”

Eve did some quick calculating.  In 21st century currency, she guessed that would be in the millions. 

“And that’s when you met Mr. Harringshaw?” Eve asked.

“In a manner of speaking.  I stopped a jealous man from shooting him.  It was over a woman, of course.”

Eve sat up.  “You stopped the man from shooting Albert Harringshaw?”

Patrick eyed her with pleasure, admiring the flutter of her very long lashes.  She had shiny, lush blonde hair under that pill box hat, and a tender, generous mouth.

“It didn’t appear in the papers.  No one knew about the incident except Mr. Harringshaw, his brother John Allister, who was standing by, the jealous man, and two ladies, one who fainted dead away.”

“How did you stop him from shooting Mr. Harringshaw?”

“As soon as the jealous man raised the gun to fire at Mr. Harringshaw’s chest, I dove for the jealous lover’s legs.  We hit the floor hard.  The gun went off and the bullet shattered a piece of the glittering electric chandelier.  Electric you will note, because only the Harringshaws, the Astors and the Vanderbilts have electric lights in their mansions.  I assure you, Miss Kennedy, it was the stuff of melodrama.”

Eve lifted her cup and drank the remaining coffee, while imagining the scene.  “So Mr. Harringshaw owes you his life?”

“We have never discussed it.  I doubt we ever shall.  But I felt it quite fitting that Mr. Harringshaw was dressed as the Count of Monte Cristo that evening.”  He took a sip of coffee.  “Perhaps you have heard that the Harringshaws are hosting another costumed ball on December 4
^th
?  All of society will be there…and I, of course, will also be there.  Working.”

Eve looked at Patrick with speculation.  “Will you continue to follow…to observe me, Detective Sergeant Gantly?”

He gave her a shrewd, measured look.  “You are my assignment, Miss Kennedy.  As long as I am assigned, I will do my duty.”

“And if you are reassigned?” Eve asked, staring into her empty cup.  She was gently flirting, and enjoying herself, and she knew Detective Gantly knew.

The Detective’s voice dropped to a serious tone.  “Miss Kennedy, I have not been able to learn anything about you—where you came from, who your family is, nothing.”

She glanced away.

“I am very good at what I do, Miss Kennedy.  I have located some Kennedys here in the City and they have never heard of you.  I have checked past directories and government documents, including marriage licenses, and I have found nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  It is as if you don’t really exist and yet, here you are, sitting there across from me.  By the way, Miss Kennedy, are you married?”

She slanted a coy look at him.  “No, I am not.”

Eve was sure she saw his shoulders settle a bit.  He blinked twice and almost—that is almost—imperceptibly, smiled.

Patrick gave a quick firm nod and continued.  “I have made inquiries about you within various layers of society, both high and low, and no one—not one—knows of you or has had the whiff of a scent about you.  Now that, Miss Kennedy, is highly unusual and patently suspect.”

“Suspect?” Eve said, finally looking at him.  “I think I like the sound of that.  Why suspect?”

“Who are you, Miss Kennedy?” he said, directly.  “There is something about you that I cannot quite understand—no, that is not the word.  Not understand, apprehend.  Your walk is unusual, your language and patterns of speech are unique, and your overall manner is one I have never observed and, I can assure you, Miss Kennedy, I have observed many and various types of people from many walks of life and various lands.  You puzzle me, Miss Kennedy.  You intrigue me.  I may be bolder than I should be by saying this, but you fascinate me, and I am not easily fascinated.”

Detective Sergeant Gantly folded his hands on the table top and bored into her with his eyes.  “So who are you, Miss Eve Kennedy, if that is even your real name?”

Eve was rattled and astounded by his shrewd and swift observations.  Was she that transparent?  Was she still that different, despite her attempts to fit in? 

She shot up, hoping to throw him off with an expression of offense.  “Who I am is nobody’s business, Mr. Gantly or Detective Gantly or whatever name you’re supposed to be called.”