The Time Travelers, Volume 1

by Caroline B. Cooney

  “You’re not coming, Walk,” said Strat. “You are no longer welcome in our house.”

  Walk stared at his friend. “You cannot think more of an Irish maid than of me!”

  “I can.”

  “Strat, I’m your best friend! This will blow over. We’ll forget about it.”

  “I won’t forget about it. There has been too much lying. A servant in my house is helpless, and instead of protecting her in her helplessness, we use it against her. And call ourselves gentlemen.”

  You are a gentleman, thought Annie. How she loved him, ready to do the right thing for the right reasons!

  “But Strat, I have no money,” said Walk desperately. “I have no place to go.”

  But Strat did not believe him, because Strat did not know worlds without money, could not imagine worlds without money, and assumed Walker Walkley would simply blend into another mansion with another heir and never even miss an evening bath.

  Strat got into the carriage with his sister and the girl he loved, and closed the door on the whining desperation of his best friend.

  “Good riddance,” said Devonny. She yanked the gold cords that closed the drapes, and the sight of Walker Walkley standing in the dust was hidden forever.

  But horses are slow, and time, which has such power, went on without them.

  “Harriett, my dear,” said Clarence Rowwells, “the papers are signed. Your guardian signed them for you. Although you do not have a will, you are affianced to me. In the event of your sad demise, your money will come to me anyway.” How he smiled. How his mustache crawled down into his mouth, as if it were growing longer this very minute, and taking root.

  “This will actually work better, Harriett. I will have the fortune without the bother of marriage.”

  Harriett pressed her back against the glass window walls of the tower. “Why? I cannot understand. Why kill Matthew? Why kill me?”

  “My dear Miss Ranleigh, I made a fortune in lumber, and I purchased a vast house and a fine yacht, and I lost the rest gambling. I cannot keep up pretenses much longer, especially not in front of a man so keen as Hiram Stratton. Ada and I agreed we would prevent your marriage to young Stratton so that I might have you instead. We, after all, would enjoy your money so much more than young Stratton would. I paid Ada, of course. Ada’s task was simply not to chaperon you.”

  So Harriett had been right, down on the veranda asking for lemonade and wondering about the truth. Ada had become independent. I could have given her money, thought Harriett. I could have paid her a salary. Why did I never think of such a thing?

  Harriett had detested having Ada around all the time, but it had not crossed her mind how much Ada must detest being around Harriett all the time.

  Mr. Rowwells was afraid but proud of himself. There was a great deal at stake here; Harriett could see the gambler in him. Everything on one throw. But the throw was her own life.

  “Ada and I planned that I would compromise your virtue, if necessary, so you would be forced to wed me. Oh, we had many plans. But none were needed. You poor, plain, bucktoothed, mousy-haired fool, you listened when I told you that the moonlight made you pretty.”

  Even through her terror, the description hurt. She guessed that he had told Ada she was attractive too, and such is the desire of women to be beautiful that toothless, wrinkled, despairing Ada had warmed to him also.

  Tears spilled from Harriett’s eyes. I don’t want to be plain! I didn’t want to live out my life plain, and I don’t want to die plain.

  “And then Miss Lockwood fell from the sky, as it were. Where did she come from? It was most mysterious, her coming and her going. But so useful. She removed young Stratton from the scene in one evening and you were mine instead.” He seemed regretful, all those fine plans for nothing.

  “Did you kill Miss Lockwood too?” said Harriett. “Is that how she vanished so completely? Did you or Ada drown her in the pond?”

  “You would have liked that, wouldn’t you? Jealous, weren’t you?” said Mr. Rowwells. “No, I don’t know what happened to the beautiful little Lockwood. But I didn’t mind that young Stratton went insane over her loss. Any Stratton loss is a gain of mine.”

  She had begun trembling, and he could certainly see it. Her body, face, mouth, all were shivering. She was ashamed of the extent of her fear. I cannot die a coward, she thought. I must think of a way to fight back.

  She tried to stave him off. “But where does Matthew come into it?”

  Rowwells shrugged. How massive his shoulders were. How fat, like sausages, were his fingers. The corset, tied so tightly by Ada herself this morning, hardly gave Harriett enough breath to cry out with, let alone hit and fight, and rush down the stairs, and not get caught.

  “Prior to Miss Lockwood’s arrival, prior to young Stratton’s feverish excitement that blinded him to you, Matthew overheard us planning what I would do to you in the carriage. The details would only distress you, and one scrap of me is a gentleman still, so I shall omit the details. Ada, however, felt it would be quite easy to make you believe you had to marry quickly, or else have a child out of wedlock.”

  She closed her eyes. What rage, what hate Ada must have felt in order to make such plans. Toward me, thought Harriett, unable to believe it. But I am a nice person!

  “Matthew, unfortunately, was not willing to accept money.” Clarence Rowwells was still incredulous. What human being would choose anything other than money? “Matthew,” said Mr. Rowwells, as if it still angered him, as if he, Rowwells, had been in the right, “Matthew said he would go straight to Mr. Stratton with the conversation.” Mr. Rowwells actually looked to Harriett for understanding. “What could I do?” he said, as if he, a rich, articulate man, had been helpless.

  “I had to stop Matthew. I chased after him, arguing, offering him more money, and there he was, stalking down the stairs as if he were the gentleman!”

  Clarence Rowwells was outraged. Matthew had dared to act as if he knew best! “Matthew was taking the tray back to the kitchen,” said Mr. Rowwells, “and he would not stop when I instructed him to. I grabbed him and slammed him against the stair tread and that was that.” He dusted himself, as if Matthew had been lint on his jacket.

  Well, thought Harriett, I know one thing. I would actually rather be dead than be married to Clarence Rowwells. And I know, too, why Ada feels independent. What could Clarence Rowwells do now except pay her forever? All she need do is stay away from stairwells and towers.

  The man’s chest was rising and falling as he nervously sucked in air. He does not want to hurt me, she thought. How can I talk him out of this? How can I convince him to let me go? “Nobody will believe there could be two violent deaths in as many weeks,” she said. “They will know I could not have fallen by accident.”

  “This is true,” he agreed. His hands, like wood blocks, shifted from her throat to her waist, and placed her solidly on the rosebud carved stool in front of the tiny desk. “It was no accident, though,” he said. “Poor Harriett. So in love with young Mr. Stratton, heartsick at finding herself about to wed a man she does not love. A fiancé,” he said almost bitterly, “that she does not even like to look at.”

  So he too had feelings which had been hurt. He too had wanted to be told he was attractive. But that hardly gave him the right to do away with her.

  With a giddy sarcasm, he went on. “This sweet young woman chooses to hurl herself off the tower instead. What a wrenching letter she leaves behind! How guilty young Strat feels. How people weep at the funeral.” He dipped the pen in the inkwell and handed it to her.

  “You cannot make me write!” cried Harriett.

  He shrugged. “Then I will pen it myself. I write a fine hand, Miss Ranleigh. Prepare to meet your Maker.”

  The glass broke.

  A thousand shards leaped into the air, like rainbows splintering from the heat of the sun.

  CHAPTER 14

  The gun smoked.

  “Really, I feel quite faint,” said Florind
a. “Harriett, you must never go unchaperoned. Look at the sort of things that happen. Men try to throw you out of towers.” Florinda’s lavender silk gown was hardly ruffled, and her hair was still coiled in perfect rolls. Her lace glove was covered with gunpowder. Florinda said, “Mr. Rowwells, I suggest you sit on the window seat before you bleed to death. Harriett, I suggest you descend the stairs. Mind your skirt as you pass me. Use the telephone. You have my permission. Summon the police.”

  “I miss all the good stuff!” moaned Devonny. “Florinda shoots a murderer and I’m not even here! Life is so unfair.”

  “I could shoot him again for you,” said Florinda. “I didn’t hit him in a fatal place the first time.”

  The young people collapsed laughing. Mr. Stratton did not. Discovering that he was married to a woman who shot people when they got in the way was quite appalling.

  “He was about to throw me off the tower,” said Harriett. “He thought I knew that he was the murderer. Of course I didn’t know. I just thought his lies were because—” she caught herself in time. She didn’t want Mr. Stratton to know she had thought he was the murderer.

  “I,” said Florinda, “had thought of nothing else since I realized it could not be Bridget. The only odd thing I could come up with was that Ada never chaperoned Harriett when she was with Mr. Rowwells. What a strange decision on her part. Then I noticed that Ada had new clothes. She hasn’t worn them. They are maroon and wine silk instead of black. She was celebrating something. Going somewhere. I decided to sit on the stairs beneath the tower and be Harriett’s chaperon. Luckily, Mr. Rowwells wasted time telling Harriett why he killed Matthew. Time enough for me to fly to the gun room and get the pistol.”

  Annie was awestruck. She herself would have used the telephone, summoning professional rescuers. She would have dialed 911, saying, Please! Come! Help! Save me!

  “Call the newspapers!” said Devonny. “We want to brag about Florinda. Nobody else has a stepmother who gets rid of evil fiancées.”

  “We will not call the papers,” said Mr. Stratton. What was the world coming to? His women were behaving like men. He chomped cigars and sipped brandy, but neither helped. “The doctor has removed the bullet and bandaged the arm. Mr. Rowwells will recover.”

  “What a shame,” said Devonny, meaning it. “Florinda, we should take up target practice.”

  “Why? Who are you planning to shoot?” said Florinda.

  “Stop this!” shouted Mr. Stratton. “I am beside myself!”

  Beside myself, thought Annie. Now that I’m a century changer, I hear more. Is Mr. Stratton really beside himself? Is he a second person now, standing next to the flesh of the real person, but no longer living in it?

  It is Ada who is beside herself, she thought. Poor, poor Ada. Living a dark and loveless life, swathed in black thoughts, willing to do anything to rescue herself. And now she has done anything, and life is even worse. She has Bridget’s cell; she has inherited the rats and the filth.

  She found herself aching for Ada. If time had trapped anybody, it was Ada. What might she have done, with a car and a college degree and a chance?

  “We must try to lessen the scandal,” said Mr. Stratton severely. “I require that joking about these matters cease.”

  But his requirements were not of interest to his son, daughter and wife, and after a few more minutes of confusion, he retreated to his library before the next round of giggles began.

  Mr. Stratton would never understand females. He had generously had Robert collect Bridget and bring her back to the Mansion. But the maid was at this moment in her attic room packing. Now that he’d given her back her position, what was she doing? Going to Texas! On money Florinda had demanded he give the girl!

  Why Texas? Devonny had asked.

  Because Jeb’s taken California, said the girl.

  Whereupon Florinda commanded Hiram to allow Matthew’s wife and five children to remain in the stable apartment! Hiram Stratton was very uncomfortable with the way Florinda was making things happen. It wasn’t ladylike.

  But the vision he would keep forever would be the sight of Ada, spitting, shrieking obscenities, kicking and biting. The lady he had kept in his home to teach Harriett and Devonny how to be ladies was a primitive animal.

  I had no money, she kept screaming, what did you think I would do in old age? I had to have money!

  In the quiet smoky dark of his library, Mr. Stratton thought that perhaps Harriett and Devonny should go to college after all. Perhaps women—and education—and money—

  But it was too difficult a thought to get hold of, so Mr. Stratton had a brandy instead.

  * * *

  Time was also the subject elsewhere in the Mansion.

  “Let’s all hold hands and time travel together,” said Devonny. “I want to visit the court of Queen Elizabeth the First.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” said Annie. She did not want them joking about it. It was too intense, too terrifying, too private, for jokes.

  “How does it work?” asked Harriett. She was astonished to find that Strat was holding her hand. She wore no gloves, nor did he, and the warmth and tightness of his grip was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her. Harriett knew he was just reassuring himself that she really was all right. She tried not to let herself slip into believing that he loved her after all. The worst punishment, she thought, will be leaving my heart in his hands, when his heart is elsewhere. “I don’t know how it works,” said Annie. “It must take a terrible toll on your body to fall a hundred years,” said Devonny.

  Miss Lockwood’s body looked fine to Harriett.

  “Did you touch something?” said Devonny. “Perhaps we should try to touch everything in the whole Mansion and make wishes at the same time.”

  Miss Lockwood shook her head. “No, because remember, the second time I traveled, we weren’t in the Mansion, we were out on the road, you were in the carriage.”

  “Was it true love that brought you through?” cried Florinda, clasping her hands together romantically. “Strat, was your heart crying out? Or Anna Sophia, was yours?”

  My heart was the one crying out for true love, thought Harriett. It’s still crying out. It will always cry out.

  Harriett too saw Ada as she had been when the police took her away. In the midst of the obscenities and the drooling fury at being caught Ada had the very same heart that all women had. Ada had cried out for decades trying to get love. She had settled for money. She had had time to buy a few dresses and dream of a rail ticket. But it was Bridget, after all, who would take the journey.

  “Mr. Rowwells told his attorney that he and Ada actually wondered if they had summoned you from another world, Miss Lockwood,” said Florinda.

  “I wondered that too. Did somebody summon me? Did somebody need me for something special? But if they did, I failed them and it,” said Miss Lockwood.

  Harriett could admire Miss Lockwood as simply a creature of beauty. She could see how much more easily all things would come to a girl who looked like that. Including love. How cruel, how viciously cruel, then, to let a woman be born plain.

  “As for Ada,” said Devonny, “I cannot believe Ada has special powers. If she did, she would have used them to get money years ago, or time travel herself to a better place, or fly away from the police when they took her this afternoon.”

  This afternoon.

  It was still this same afternoon.

  Truly, time was awesome. So much could be packed into such a tiny space! Lives could change forever in such short splinters of time.

  Bridget came up timidly, her possessions packed in canvas drawstring, like the laundry bags in Strat’s boarding school.

  Florinda hugged her. “I apologize for the men in my household, Bridget.”

  “I accept your apology,” said Bridget. She had lovely new clothes that had been Miss Devonny’s, and the heavy weight of silver pulled her skirt pocket down. More than anything, she was glad to be clean, glad to have spen
t an hour in Miss Florinda’s bath.

  “Texas!” said Florinda. “I’m so excited for you.”

  Florinda is trapped, thought Bridget, by her husband and fashions and society. Florinda can only dream of the adventures that I will have.

  “Go and be brave,” whispered Florinda, and Bridget saw that behind the vapors and the fashion, the veils and perfumes, was a strong woman with no place in which to be strong.

  But it was Harriett who muffled a sob. Florinda swept Harriett up, hiding the weeping face inside her own lacy sleeves.

  What have I done! thought Annie Lockwood, so ashamed she wanted to hide her own face. I’ve waltzed into these people’s lives, literally—I waltzed in the ruined ballroom, waltzed down the century, waltzed in Strat’s arms—and I destroyed them. I took their lives and wrenched them apart. For the person who needs to go and be brave is Harriett, and I don’t think she can. Not without Strat.

  Bridget swung her canvas bag onto her shoulder. Poor Harriett. Bridget had never attended school, but she’d walked into the village school a few times, when there were special events. It looked like such fun. You and your friends, sitting in rows and learning and laughing, singing and spelling.

  Bridget could spell nothing.

  And what good had it done Harriett to be able to spell everything? To read everything and write everything? She was just another desperate woman weeping because she had no man’s loving arms to hold her.

  But Strat, being a man, was too thick to know that he was the cause of the tears. “You are exhausted, Harriett,” he said immediately. “You must rest. There has been too much emotion in this day for you.”

  The ladies smiled gently, forgiving him for being a man and too dense to understand.

  “Write to me, Bridget,” whispered Florinda over Harriett’s bowed head.

  Bridget smiled. Of course she could not write to Florinda. She could not write.

  “Good-bye,” she said, and Bridget went, and was brave.