“Please stop crying,” Mr. Powell pleaded, rifling his pockets for another handkerchief. “You’ll drown us both.”
“Good!” I croaked. “Good riddance!” We sat in the carriage as I bawled like a child. After getting an earful from my aunt, my uncle joined in the fracas and threw us out. Before we left, I took the photograph of my aunt’s house and tore it to bits. I flung them in her face before swearing my mother would haunt her until the day she died.
My aunt looked as if she couldn’t care less.
“I hate her!” I sobbed, blowing my nose with a wet honk. I hadn’t had a good cry in ages, so I might as well indulge myself. Mr. Powell could have left me as he went about inquiring about hotel rooms, but bless his heart, he endured the storm and came out better for it in the end. “Thank you,” I mumbled, horribly embarrassed by my behavior. I held out the sodden handkerchiefs. “I’ll wash and press them for you.”
“Uh… you may keep them. I’ve got more in my bag.”
“That’s good.”
“Miss Gibson,” he said, back to using formal names. “This will not do. That hippopotamus isn’t worth it. Kindly stop weeping so that we may check into the hotel and have our supper.”
“I’m not hungry,” I sniffed, my nose completely blocked. “I wish to starve.”
“No, you don’t.” He climbed out and donned his hat. “I’ll see if they have separate rooms. It may be inappropriate to ask for an adjoining since we are traveling together.”
“And if they don’t have separate rooms?”
“Er… then we shall have to improvise.” He closed the door and tapped on the glass. I pulled down the window. “There may not be adjoining either.”
“Then what?”
“I was thinking of a folding bed,” he said, coloring slightly. “I could always say my back pains me and I need a firm mattress.”
“Mr. Powell,” I admonished, blushing profusely. “This is hardly the place to discuss mattresses!”
“There’s no avoiding it, Miss Gibson,” he replied, sounding annoyed. “Might as well jump in with both feet.”
“Are you always this plain-spoken?”
“When I want to eat and go to bed, yes.”
“I see your point.” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “How about this? If we must share a room, we sleep fully clothed. And we leave a candle burning.”
He arched a questioning brow. “You make it sound as if I have designs on your person, Miss Gibson. Rest assured, I do not.”
“I believe you.”
“Oh…?’’
“It’s just, well… we are unmarried, sir.”
“And your point is?”
I held up my hand. “There is no ring, Mr. Powell. Think of my reputation.”
“Yours?” he cried. “What about mine? My father would have a fit if I compromised a young lady.”
“See?”
Mr. Powell let out a heavy sigh. “Very well. I shall say you are in the family way and do not wish to share our bed.” He winked. “You simply must have more room… for the child.”
My cheeks blazing, I opened my mouth to let him have it and was rewarded with another handkerchief. He balled it up and flung it at me. “I thought you said you were out!” I shouted after him as he turned to leave. “Mr. Powell!”
“Wait there, Miss Gibson!” he called over his shoulder. “I shall return!”
“I don’t doubt it,” I said to the encroaching darkness. We had driven around for hours until Mr. Powell said it simply wouldn’t do to take the train back to New York until we bathed and had a decent meal. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose he was right. I could bear a long soak in a hot bath and maybe down a roll or two.
Maybe three.
When I was upset, I tended to nibble. So, I was feeling quite peckish and beset with a primitive urge to gnaw on a steak. I also craved a curry. I hadn’t indulged in my favorite cuisine since arriving in New York and sensed Anjuli’s resentment.
“It cannot be helped,” I said to Mr. Powell’s empty seat.
I doubt she understood, instead getting the impression she was not only annoyed but disappointed as well.
“So am I,” I sighed, twiddling my thumbs. I, too, was disappointed in my restraint. If I didn’t think doing so would be a detriment to my health, I’d remove the sari from its hiding place. But I was terrified of the shadows. They lurked under my bed, in empty corners of Mr. Perez’s laundry, and sat across from me now as I argued with myself over whether I should hate Aunt Cecilia for the rest of her wretched life.
“Switzerland!” I repeated, thinking of the irony. I had once longed to teach there. I wondered if my sister hadn’t mentioned it to my aunt and, out of some malicious need to punish me, had chosen the very school I admired to send Eileen.
It wouldn’t have been the first time my aunt did something like this.
She once invited an old school chum over to tea, only to wait until the woman arrived to inform her the invitation had been sent to the wrong address. My mother related the story, so I cannot vouch for accuracy. But from what I gathered, my aunt had always resented the woman’s beauty and success and sought to diminish her by sending the invitation and waiting until the poor thing was sitting in a room full of people to let her have it.
My mother said the woman’s husband was livid and threatened to rearrange my uncle’s face.
“He should have,” I sighed, wishing Mr. Powell would return. I did not like being alone with my shadows. They tended to resemble people who had hurt Anjuli. This shadow took the form of a swarthy young man with a turban and a gold ring in his ear. Anjuli never told me who they were, instead giving me impressions of who they once were in this life. Whoever he was, he had not been a nice man and often tormented Anjuli. “Go away,” I snapped, not caring for the evil smile he flashed my way. “Leave!”
“No…” he hissed, inching closer until I could feel the clammy coldness of his hand. “Sari…”
So, he knew about that too.
I couldn’t wait for Mr. Powell and fumbled with the door latch, nearly pitching face first onto the pavement. I grabbed my bag and scuttled across the street to the hotel. A well-dressed gentleman held the door open for me. I thanked him in a shaky voice and plopped myself down in the lobby, trying to come to terms with the fact I was being stalked.
“Miss Gibson!”
I glanced up helplessly, receiving no comfort in Mr. Powell’s handsome countenance. “I thought I told you to wait in the carriage.”
“I was… cold,” I said, unable to shake the lingering chill. I cleared my throat. “Did you manage to procure accommodations?”
He sat down beside me. “Yes, and no.”
“You sound annoyed, Mr. Powell.”
“That’s because I am.” He tapped his foot, a gesture I was growing familiar with as one he used when agitated. “They are full,” he informed me quietly. “No adjoining rooms. And no separate suites, either.”
“What can we do?”
“Well,” he said, sounding uncertain. “There is another alternative, but one a refined young lady such as yourself will not relish.”
“Get to the point.”
He hung his head. “I phoned just now. They have a room. A single.” He rubbed his eyes, as if the very thought of sharing a room with me was repugnant. “I can sleep on the floor.”
“Where is it?”
“Across town. In an area I wouldn’t leave a dog at night.”
“But it’s only for one night,” I said, as if to reassure him. “Or do we go without a bath and change of clothes?”
“Or dinner.” His head snapped up. “And I’m going to be late for my meeting.”
“Then we should make our way across town.”
Turning to me, he said with some surprise, “You don’t mind?”
“Mr. Powell,” I said, fearing the man would be my undoing. “After what I’ve just experienced, sharing a room with you would be…” I could not find the exact word. “Well, I am not averse to it.”
“Neither am I.”
I stood.
“Shall we?”
“Why not?” He rose to his full height, looking as if he had just slayed a dragon.
And, in a way, perhaps he had.
* * *
The hotel room was clean enough, but I found dead flies by the handful littering the floor below the only window. It was stifling. We took one look at the bed and came to a decision. “We eat, have a bath, and get the bloody hell out of Dodge.” Mr. Powell flung his valise on the bed. “Are these terms acceptable, Miss Gibson?”
I nodded, having no intention of crawling into that bed. The bedspread was faded, and the mattress caving in. Perhaps the previous occupant had been… overly fond of dinner. “Where is the bath?”
“Down the hall,” Mr. Powell answered tiredly, flinging his hat on a table. He sat down, loosening his cravat. “There’s a restaurant across the street. I don’t know if the food is edible.”
Placing my bag on the floor, I sat on the edge of the bed, hearing the coils protest loudly beneath me. They sounded as if they could go any time. “When is your meeting?”
“Seven. Though I daresay I am not looking forward to it.”
“Why?”
He arched a brow. “Really, Miss Gibson?’
“Sorry,” I mumbled, removing my gloves. “When does the train leave in the morning?”
Mr. Powell shook his head. “Not until noon, I’m afraid. We’re stuck in this dreadful place until then.” He leaned his head back. “I should have stayed in England.” His cravat tore in his haste to remove the offending item. “Bloody hell!”
“Don’t mind me,” I said, used to Colonel Havelock’s frequent use of colorful vernacular. “But a little restraint would be appreciated.”
“Forgive me.” He flung his torn cravat aside and looked contrite. “For some reason I cannot fathom, I am comfortable swearing in front of you, Miss Gibson.” He looked confused. “And I rarely swear in front of women.”
“I am not offended.”
“Well, you should be,” he snorted. “It’s undignified, not to mention dishonorable.”
I smoothed my skirts. “I am not unused to such, Mr. Powell.”
“Oh…?”
Nodding, I confided in him about my job at Briarwood Hall. “He swore every minute of the day. I’m afraid to look in the dictionary if you must know.”
He chuckled. “And where is Colonel Havelock now?”
“I don’t know. I fled like a thief in the night.” I held up my scarred hand. “He nearly crushed it. I had to leave.”
“Abusive, was he?”
“Yes. And prone to fits of violence. He liked to throw his bedpans at me.”
“I don’t blame you for leaving.”
“No? But it was wrong of me to do so without procuring a replacement. You don’t know how it pains me.”
“Your conscience will be the end of you, Miss Gibson.”
“You think so?”
He grinned. “I know so.”
Frowning, I thought he sounded confident for a man who barely knew me. “Mr. Powell, you say you feel comfortable swearing in front of me.”
“I do.”
“Then by the same token, I feel I as though I may confide in you.”
“Confide?” he repeated, his eyes flaring with interest. “Like a secret?’
My hands shook, and I clasped them together. “I—I’ve just got to tell someone. And I suppose you’re as good as any.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly. “I think.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know.” He leaned forward. “So, what is this dreadful secret you harbor, Miss Gibson? Do you forget to brush your teeth at night?”
“Don’t be silly.” I glanced about the room, wondering if I was as mad as Colonel Havelock for confiding in him. “I—I took something. Something that did not belong to me.”
“Oh…?” His smile faded. “What could you possibly have taken to make you look so tragic?”
Tears filled my eyes. “I have only told one other person,” I said. “And she’s dead.”
“Miss Gibson,” he began nervously. “If this is your way of getting back at me for my—”
“It isn’t. Please listen,” I pleaded. “Before I lose what nerve I have left.”
“Listen? How long is this story?”
“Um… you may not believe me after I’ve told you.”
Mr. Powell doffed his jacket and lit a cigarette. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Now?”
“I always smoke when I’m nervous,” he said, striking the match. He drew deeply, exhaled, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “I never smoke the whole thing. Just enough to get my bearings.” He clasped his hands together, and I noticed they were trembling. “Why do you say I won’t believe you?”
I felt like leaping from the window, suddenly uncertain I should confide in him. “If I tell you, you must promise not to tell anyone.”
“Me? I’m no snitch.”
“But you are a man—a gentleman,” I pointed out. “And you have a conscience.”
“I do?” His mustache twitched. “Thank you for saying so. I was wondering where it had gotten to.”
“Please, Mr. Powell. This is not the time for levity.”
“I’m sorry. But a little levity is sometimes required in cases like these.”
Suddenly annoyed with him, I lashed out. “Do you wish to hear the story or not?” I jumped to my feet. “Forget it. I want something to drink.”
He grabbed my hand. “Did I say I didn’t want to hear it? Please sit and tell me your story.”
“I don’t think I want to now.”
“Why not?”
“You won’t believe me.”
Mr. Powell rose to his full height and bent close, so I was not mistaken when I heard his reply.
“Try me.”
