Chapter 31
That afternoon, Eva sat by the kitchen window, drumming her finger on a cold cup of tea. She pensively tapped her foot on the ground. Usually, her tapping would accompany the sound of music, but today there was none. Her mind was solely occupied with ugly thoughts. She had not spoken to either Lottie or Elias of the conversation she had had with Henry, but judging by their passing glances, they had an idea that something had happened.
“Eva, darling.” Lottie’s warm hand fell on hers. “I wish for you to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry,” Eva said.
She watched as the streets of London sprawled alive outside the window. People went about their day’s business. A crow landed by a puddle on the cobblestones and flew off as a child in a black dress ran by with delighted shrieks.
It was such an ordinary day and yet, the concept of time eluded her.
Elias sat across from her at the table. His unblinking stare filled her with the urge to explain her thoughts, but he spoke first. “William has given me word that there is to be an event today at the Grosvenor Hotel at seven pm. It involves society’s most prominent families: the Ashefords, Rileys, Lancashires, Astleys and Davenports.”
Eva had known that the Davenport name would eventually come up again. There was no mistaking the courtship she had seen at Asheford Hall between Henry and Fanny. Could this be another event for the sake of courtship or was it something worse, like a potential proposal or engagement announcement?
She took in a deep breath to ease the pain in her chest. “Do you know what the event is for?”
“I do not,” Elias said.
“My brother would not deliberately go to such a party unless explicitly forced,” Lottie said quickly. “I am afraid it is as we thought. Father is holding something against him.”
“Is there any way it could be an engagement announcement?” Eva said, her voice sounding faint.
“Do you … do you believe he would with Fa—” Lottie paused and then grimaced. “No, it cannot be.”
Eva lowered her gaze. “I don’t know, and quite frankly, I shouldn’t care.” She stood from the table. “If you would excuse me, I think I’ll go lie down and sleep. I didn’t manage to get much rest last night.”
She made her way to the bedroom, where the servant had prepared fresh water and towels by the washing stand. She dipped a cloth into the water and brought it to her face. She froze as she caught her sad hazel eyes in the mirror.
If you decide to chase after me, so help me God, I will personally deliver you to my father.
Her heart stopped at the memory of his words.
A flame of anger scorched her nerves. She dropped the cloth into the washing bowl and went to her trunk. She retrieved the black satin pouch, removed the time-travelling device and looked at it. There it was. The thing that she and Henry had both searched for. It was her ticket home. With the turn of a key, she would return to everything she once knew. All her troubles would be erased; no more Jane Edwards, no more organized crime, no more dresses and corsets, no more cold baths, no more Lottie and Henry. From one second to the next, their existence would be reduced to vague memories and words found in some obscure historical document. The only thing that wouldn’t change was the heartache. Whether she stayed here or travelled to the future, that pain would persist, beating hard against her ribcage as a reminder of the people she once loved and the things that could have been but never were.
Her chest constricted. The tears came heavy. How the hell was she supposed to return and live her life free of guilt? The Eva she once was had died the day she landed in 1881. The woman she had become cared for people and had learned how to rely on a partner. Most of all, she now understood what it was like to love someone with such heart-wrenching devotion that she would quite literally sacrifice herself…
She froze.
Sacrifice.
She tucked the time-travelling device back into the satin pouch and buried it beneath a mound of clothes within her trunk. She slammed the trunk shut, locked it with the key on a chain around her neck and promptly stood.
What we shared was only lust.
“I don’t believe you, Henry Asheford,” she said.
Maybe it was stupid to dismiss his behaviour, but she couldn’t help but feel that he wanted her to be angry. To rage and quit. Although he had tried to push her away, she still felt how reluctant he was, how he struggled between what was right and wrong, how adamant he was to keep her away from … this event.
Something bad would happen tonight.
She put on her jacket, fixed her hair and gave herself a final nod in the mirror. She had never been the type of girl to sit around waiting for something to happen. No, she made things happen and if she needed to make the decision to stay in 1881 for his sake, she would. It would be her last stupid attempt at bringing him back from the brink of destruction.
A few minutes later, unbeknownst to Lottie and Elias, Eva strode out the front door, hiked up her skirts and ran to the Grosvenor Hotel.
***
“Excuse me, sir, could you please direct me to Westminster Bridge?” Eva said.
The older gentleman halted on the sidewalk. He wiggled his moustache as he squinted at her through a thick pair of glasses. “Westminster Bridge? I do believe we are quite near, quite near indeed.” He pointed his cane to her right. “Follow this street until you reach Belvedere Road, turn left, and follow that road until you reach the bridge on your right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Eva hitched up her skirt again and began to run in the direction he had pointed.
Once the bridge came into view, she briefly stopped to catch her breath. She recalled that from where she stood, the London Eye would be visible in her time. It was a sobering thought. So much of this city had changed, and yet, so little. She took a few deep breaths and charged toward the bridge.
It was busy. The road was filled with carriages, horses, carts and people on foot. There were no street rules or lights. People darted in and out of traffic.
As she ran through the crowd, fragmented memories came to her mind. She had crossed this bridge with her dad before. They had taken a photo in the very spot that she was passing. He had commented on the beauty of Big Ben and remarked how the clock was renowned for its precision in telling time.
The hands of that clock now read 6:34 pm.
Would she reach Henry in time?
All she had to do was tell him of her decision to stay in 1881 and she was sure that it would give him hope. It would be the ultimate sacrifice – her life for his. It was an epiphany that brought tears to her eyes and she could hardly run fast enough to keep up with her desire to reach him.
By Westminster Palace, she stopped again. A palm against the iron fence, she gulped in wheezy breaths. Her constricted chest ached, and her legs burned.
Keep going.
She propped her hands on her hips and walked along the perimeter of the fence. This was not an area she was familiar with.
She asked another passerby, who directed her down Victoria Street. The woman claimed that the hotel would be on the left of Buckingham Palace Road. Eva promptly thanked her and forced herself to continue.
The rest of the way to the hotel was not pleasant. Eva had to stop multiple times on account of being so out of breath that she thought she would faint. She also considered removing her damned shoes. Victorian-era boots were not made for sprinting around like an Olympic athlete. Pain radiated along the sides of her feet and behind her heels. But when Big Ben struck seven, she ignored the agony and hurried on.
As soon as she reached the hotel lobby, she was struck by the richness of the decor. The lobby was a two-storey masterpiece with decadent white-and-yellow marble columns along the second-floor railing. The white and black checkered floor tiles shone brightly beneath a grand crystal chandelier. By the wide, red-carpeted staircase, a sign pointed to the event in the Orient Suite.
Her stomach churned. She wiped the sweat from her brow, held up her skirts and took the stairs two at a time.
The gentle chatter of a party echoed from behind closed doors. A waiter passed her with a tray of champagne, and she followed him into the room where a large crowd of people were gathered, dressed to the nines.
The Orient Suite was a breathtaking room with stained-glass windows set into the high-ceilinged white walls. A dozen chandeliers hung from the decorative roof. Across the room from where she stood, a magnificent fireplace sat as the centrepiece. Arrangements of pink roses decorated the white-clothed tables where groups of people mingled.
Eva was suddenly very aware of how out of place she was. Sweat beaded and trickled down her forehead. Her face felt hot and was probably as red as a tomato. Her shoes were caked in mud, and goodness knows what else from the streets. Her hair had fallen into a messy bun of pins around the base of her neck.
A flash of fuchsia crossed her path.
Eva and Fanny’s eyes met.
Judging by the snarl of disgust on Fanny’s face, it was clear that Eva was not welcome. “What is the whore doing here?”
Eva narrowed her eyes. Was she talking to me?
“Yes, you.” Fanny stepped forward. “Did he invite you?”
“Who?”
Her snarl took on a more obvious frown. “You are dumber than I thought if you did not think I would find out about your love affair.”
Eva shook her head. “Miss Davenport, I do not understand what you mean.”
“You fornicated with my fiancé on the piano in his parlour.”
How did she know? The servant! The mousy-looking servant girl. And wait a minute? Henry was her fiancé?
“He never loved you,” Fanny said, sneering. “You were nothing but an easy American whore. I’ll have you know that we are passionately in love.”
If Eva were not speechless by the flying accusations, she would have laughed out loud.
“To think that you would show up here, well, you should be ashamed. If it were not for the crowd, I would have my men bludgeon you this instant for disrespecting my event like this,” Fanny said.
A flare of anger went off in Eva’s chest. Who the hell did Fanny think she was?
“Yeah? Well, unlike you, I don’t need my men to punch you around.” Eva leaned closer to Fanny’s face. She couldn’t stop the words from coming. “Look at you, shorter than a fifth-grader and spouting bullshit like you’re the cock of the walk. Let’s face it, Fanny, you would cry from a firm slap to the wrist. So, go ahead and try me.”
Fanny feigned a dramatic gasp. “You absolute savage,” she exclaimed. With one last steaming look, she turned on her heels and marched through the crowd toward the front of the room.
A horrible thought started to form. Maybe I shouldn’t have antagonized a wealthy socialite at a party. Regardless of what Fanny was about to do, she had to find Henry before it was too late. Cautiously, Eva made her way through the crowd in search of him.
At the front of the room, Eva spotted Fanny whispering into a man’s ear. He was short, with a black eye and a jutting jaw. They both flashed a poignant glare in Eva’s direction.
Eva stilled. Would she be kicked out? Or worse, beaten? Wait … was Fanny serious when she claimed she would have her men bludgeon her? Oh God. Were they another organized-crime family?
Fanny picked up a champagne glass, waltzed to the centre of the room before the fireplace and tapped the rim of the glass with a knife. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?”
The murmurs of the crowd quieted.
“There is an announcement to be made,” Fanny said. “Between Mr. Asheford and I.”
Eva’s stomach dropped.
Some people in the crowd gasped. Fanny gestured to the small group of musicians in the corner of the room. Eager to please, they launched their string instruments into a rendition of Pachelbel’s Canon in D.
Eva blinked. That was a classical piece of music used for weddings.
Oh, God, no.
Fanny went to a man dressed in black. He stood in the far corner of the room by a table of liquor with his back to the crowd. The light from the chandeliers brought out glimmers of auburn in his hair. Fanny hooked her arm into the crook of his elbow and dragged him away.
Henry turned quickly. With a scowl, he detached his arm from her and flattened his jacket.
“Would you do the honours, my love?” Fanny said.
Henry flashed her a look of death, then he looked at the crowd. Dark rings marked his startling blue eyes. In this bright light, he looked all the more grim.
It took everything in Eva not to run to him.
His nose crinkled as he stuttered out the words, “Miss Davenport and I are … are to be married in a month.”
The melody rose in pitch, the beauty of the music distorted amongst the crowd’s applause.
An older man with long silvery sideburns came forward. With a steely expression, he placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder, who visibly winced at the touch. “Hear, hear, may God bless the union with as much health and virtue that can be bestowed upon a couple in holy matrimony. I am proud that my son would choose such a handsome bride. I welcome you to the family, Miss Davenport. May your marriage bring forth a dozen hearty children!”
While the crowd laughed, the song rose into its famous dramatic melody. Everything in the room came to a halt.
Eva remained frozen, her eyes firmly fixed on the man she presumed to be the infamous Edwin Asheford.
Tall and thin-faced with a brooding expression, Edwin had predatory ashen eyes with no trace of a human soul. Empty. Distant. Dead. It was truly the gaze of a psychopath.
A shiver ran down Eva’s spine.
This was the evil prick who had taken everything from her – her dad, her life and now Henry. How much further would Edwin be willing to go? How much more could she take? Then it dawned on her. What if Lottie was right that God had placed her here for a reason? What if it were not a coincidence that there was a large cake knife an arm’s reach away and Edwin’s back was now turned to her? What if she killed him? Would that somehow bring back her father in the future and simultaneously free Edwin’s children from their chains?
What if…
She bared her teeth, grabbed hold of the cake knife, placed it firmly against her palm and rushed forward through the crowd toward Edwin. As she broke through the threshold of people, she halted in her tracks.
No one but Henry noticed her approaching. His blue eyes were wide with terror, his mouth was clamped shut and a thick vein protruded from his forehead. Slowly, he glanced at her knife-wielding hand. With a furrowed brow, his head swivelled back and forth, pleading with her not to do it.
She trembled so hard that the knife slipped from her fingers.
It fell against the marbled floor with a metallic clang.
God, what was I thinking?
Her moment of vengeance-fuelled rage frightened her. With a choked sob, she whirled around and forced her way through the crowd of people toward the door.
***
Aside from the sound of evening traffic, a mocking rendition of Canon in D played slowly in Eva’s head as she wandered toward Elias’s house. Dusk was fast approaching. Except for a few sputtering gas lamps, the London streets were fading into a dull grey, made even more sombre by the blurry filter through which she was seeing the world.
When the grief became too much, she darted into an alley and pressed a hand against the dusty brick wall. A cry of agony escaped her lips. Her heart pounded unsteadily against her ribs. Despite knowing that Edwin had a hand in this arrangement, she guessed it was safe to assume that part of it was Henry’s doing.
Henry Asheford had betrayed her after all.
And that was it.
She would return to Elias and Lottie, say goodbye and travel back to her time, where she would try to live as normal a life as possible.
“Excuse me, miss.” A gentleman pressed a hand against her shoulder. “Are you in need of help?”
“I’m fine,” she sniffed. She swerved around and stumbled onward.
“You are in great distress.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “I’m fine, I can assure you.”
“These alleys are not safe, miss. It’s best that you return to the main street.”
The last place she wanted to be was on the main street while she cried her eyes out. Ignoring the man’s warning, she stumbled on. She just needed to make it to the Thames. From there, she knew her way back to Elias’s place. But the road here was narrower, the cobblestone ground was thick with black mud, and the crowds had disappeared. She was utterly alone. To make matters worse, her thoughts were confusing, and her emotions made her lose her sense of coordination.
A man smoking a cigarette rounded the corner before her. He wore a bowler hat atop his trimmed black hair, was clean-shaven and had a fat lower lip above a jutting jaw.
Eva’s stomach sank.
He was the man with the black eye whom Fanny had spoken to at the hotel.
He approached. “There’s two ways to go about this. The first is that you act as a respectable lady and do as I say. The second is that you become another Jane Doe in this filthy excuse of a city.”
She should have guessed it would come to this.
“Do you work for Edwin Asheford?” she said.
He scoffed. “Do I look or sound like a Limey to you?”
“You’re with the Davenports?”
“Jeez, lady, it don’t matter.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “I’m only doing business here, not small talk.”
“I will scream.”
He gestured with his hands as if to say, so what. “There’s a coach waitin’ around the corner. Try anything funny and I’ll slit your throat.”
“Where are you taking me?” Her voice was losing power.
He shrugged.
Her gaze slid past him. She wished desperately for anyone to appear and help her, but she knew no one would. She was alone, as she always had been and always would be. Alone.
As if reading her mind, he casually brushed aside his jacket to flash the butt-end of a pistol.
She clenched her teeth hard. The rush of adrenaline coursing through her body slowed everything down. Every nerve prickled with anticipation. As she walked next to him, the hair on her arms stood up. She briefly considered fighting him, but he had a gun. Maybe she could make a run for it, but how far could she get on blistered feet in the mud? Maybe it was best to go along with it and fight at the first opportunity.
Before she could make any decision, he punched her in the gut.
She doubled over with a gasp.
He grabbed her hair, dragged her around a corner and into the darkness of a carriage. She fell face-first into the lap of another man. The door slammed shut. With a shriek, her arms flailed around, but she was quickly restrained by two large hands around her wrists.
“This the lady that’s been causing trouble?” the other man said. With his crooked brown eyes, he greedily studied her body. “I can see why the missus wants her gone.”
“The missus? You mean that bitch, Fanny?” Eva spat.
Cigarette Breath grabbed her jaw and tilted her head back. “With a dirty mouth like that, we could sell her to the whorehouse.”
“What are Limey coins to us?”
“No, you idiot, I mean in Five Points.”
“How would we manage that?”
“Stuff her in a crate and ship her across the sea.” Cigarette Breath laughed. “She’s not like the Italian and Irish whores back home, that’s for sure. She’d bring the gang good coin with that dirty, cock-suckin’ mouth—”
“Fuck you,” she said, slamming her head back against his groin.
Crooked Eyes laughed and leaned forward. “Feisty girls are my favourite. C’mon, give Papi a little smooch—”
She brought her forehead to his nose.
A fist slammed against her jaw and she fell against the side of the carriage. Within seconds, a burlap bag was placed over her head and her hands were bound in her lap.
“You stay on the floor like the bitch you are,” one of the men said.
The carriage jerked forward.
“What are we to do with her?”
“The missus and her fiancé want her dead. We’ll stick to the script.”
“Aw, c’mon, Vic. Let me have a little fun, why don’t ya?”
Something inside her soul snapped.
The missus and her fiancé want her dead.
Henry Asheford had not only lied to her, he had ripped out her heart with his bare hands, set it on fire and crushed it to dust. A painful lump formed in her throat. She no longer cared to fight for her life. As far as she was concerned, she had been left for dead and there was nothing she could do about it.