“I still don’t like it,” David said. “I don’t like it at all.”
He had been trying ever since they left the house to talk her out of going alone; she was afraid now that he would not relent, would insist that he go with her or, worse, that he go in her place.
“David, you know what I’ll say if I’m discovered. There’s no reason anyone should disbelieve that.” She longed to tell him the truth—that unless she had her way he was doomed tonight to die—but there was no way she could tell him how she knew.
“What if Hubbard overhears you talking to Ames?” he said.
“I’ll be very, very careful to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
The road was widening here; they were approaching the outskirts of town. The hedgerows gave way to lawns on either side, huge trees shading houses set back away from the road. They passed a boy coming from town, in kneepants and suspenders, pulling a little wagon in which sat a sack of feed and a pail of milk.
“I still don’t like the thought of you anywhere near Matthew Hubbard.”
“He won’t know who I am even if he does see me. It’s very simple—the valise is mine, I’ve come to the wrong place, I’m very sorry, goodbye. And I’ll get back in the cab and leave.”
He grinned momentarily, as if at the image of her dealing so brusquely with Matthew Hubbard. They angled through the elongated shade of the first tall buildings, then turned onto the wide expanse of Broad Street. It was the dinner hour; the streets were nearly deserted. Flags flew from the pillared porches of the Ben Franklin. A white van labeled CHESAPEQUA ICE went past in a clatter of hooves on cobbles. Jennie tried to etch each building on her mind, as if that would earn her the right to return here and remain.
David reined into the side street across from the Henry Hudson Hotel and brought the buggy to a halt at the curb. The sun had just set, leaving a luminous blue sky above the horizon. Across the street, a row of horse-cabs waited in a row along the side entrance of the hotel. He wound the reins around the whipstock, dismounted and came around to her side of the buggy.
“I should never have agreed to it,” he said.
“You gave your word, David. You owe it to Rachel, and to me, to let me go alone.”
“And I suppose there’s nothing more I can say.”
“No, there’s nothing more you can say.”
“You,” he said with a grudging smile, “are a stubborn woman.” He helped her down from the buggy, pressed into her hand some money for the cab. “Well, what cannot be cured must be endured. But be very careful.”
“Promise me you won’t worry.”
“That I can’t promise you. Let me get you a cab.”
“No, I’ll get my own.” She pulled him down into a quick kiss. “Now go. Willis will be waiting for you.”
And without looking back, she crossed the street to the row of waiting cabs.
She selected a driver, a beefy broad-built man in a plug hat, and directed him out of town, toward the Hubbard place. The road wound along a deep cutbank through rolling hills. The sky still glowed with the aftermath of the sun, but the blue haze of evening already tinged the hillsides, and there was a touch of chill in the air. Wisps of strong-smelling smoke drifted back from the driver’s stub of a cigar; with his unshaven face and plug hat he had a faintly sinister look—but that was why she had chosen him.
When they were well out of town, she tapped on the back of his seat and asked his name.
He glanced over his shoulder, the cigar in his teeth. “O’Donnelly, Ma’am. Arthur O’Donnelly.”
“Mr. O’Donnelly, I wonder if you would do something for me. Something I would pay you for.”
“Depends,” he said, and flicked the ash from the cigar. “Depends on how much you’re paying and what the job is.”
“It’s very simple, Mr. O’Donnelly. I want you to transport a young woman to the train station some time tonight. There’s nothing dangerous about it, but it has to be done secretly and quickly.” Surely, she thought, Hubbard would not harm a simple hireling like O’Donnelly.
He eyed her over his shoulder. “Not yourself, I trust.”
“No, not myself. I’ll tell you more later, if you agree.”
“I’d come nearer agreeing if you’d explain why it has to be so secret and quick.” He grinned around the cigar. “Since you did say there wasn’t nothing dangerous about it.”
“It has to be done secretly and quickly, Mr. O’Donnelly, because someone doesn’t want her to leave. More than that I don’t think you need to know.”
He grinned again. “Generally, I like to know the particulars of anything I’m engaged in. But then you get what you pays for, don’t you? How much did you have in mind?”
She hesitated. She still had nearly half the money from the pawned jewelry, but she would need some of that to give to Rachel. And she had no real idea of the value of money in this time, how much would be appropriate for something like this. “I thought twenty dollars.”
“Ah, now, twenty dollars. It’s a bit on the scant side, wouldn’t you say? To be sure, you’re claiming there’s no danger involved, but with all that secrecy and haste . . . I’d say it’d take a wee bit more, don’t you know?”
She allowed him to talk her up to forty dollars. It was surely too much; possibly even her first offer had been too much, betraying her ignorance and leading him to believe he could ask an unreasonable price. But it didn’t matter. If her plan failed, money was the last thing she would regret losing.
Twilight was setting in when they reached the Hubbard place. She directed O’Donnelly a short distance past the drive and asked him to wait for her. Then she walked back to the two stone gateposts in the hedge fronting the road, slipped through the gate and into the trees to the left of the drive, where Rachel had said her maid would be waiting.
No one was there. The house stood a hundred yards up the sloping drive, light already showing in the windows. To her left, beyond the brush of a dismantled fencerow, was the edge of an apple orchard, stretching away into the shadows. From the gate on her right the roadside hedge ran behind her to join the fencerow at a right angle, creating a small corner in which she had the uneasy feeling of being trapped. A shed of some sort stood halfway between her and the house. She hugged the trunk of a tree, scanning the area, but could see no one on either side of the drive.
Had something gone wrong? Suddenly she was frightened, for the first time realizing one alarming possibility: If her intervention into the events of this time was succeeding, nothing she had learned from Mrs. Bates held true anymore. She had put herself in David’s place. Was she drawing on herself the danger meant for him? And was that why she was here? To save his life, did she have to sacrifice her own? She could see no one from her hiding place, but Hubbard could be lurking behind any tree.
Then, from off to the left, she heard footsteps approaching through the apple orchard. Not the maid; they sounded like the slow, careful footsteps of a man. She felt a chill pass across the roots of her hair. Holding to the trunk, she slowly circled the tree till it was between her and the orchard. The footsteps stopped. Came toward her again. Stopped again. There was no sign of movement; whoever it was was in the orchard, out of sight beyond the brush of the dismantled fencerow. Watching her?
Leaving the shelter of the tree was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to investigate before Ames arrived; she could not risk the maid’s blurting out something incriminating before she could be warned. She scanned the area along the drive one last time. Then, trying to look innocent and unconcerned, she moved through the dusk from tree to tree until she reached the brush of the fencerow.
It seemed darker here. She paused behind a clump of brush, listening; surely her approach should have caused whoever it was to react, to show himself, but there was nothing. That frightened her even more—the silence, and the uncertainty, the sense of unknown eyes observing her from hiding. It was better to move than to be caught, better to act through her fear than to wa
it helplessly within it. She stepped through an opening in the brushrow, into the dim shadowy expanse of the orchard.
She could see nothing. Row on row of trees receded in ordered ranks into the twilight; the brushrow stretched away on either side, seeming to hug the ground and creating along its flanks an area of darkness large enough to hide a man. Nothing moved in the dimness. Then she started, recoiled, hearing the footsteps directly ahead of her.
It was a deer. Twenty yards into the orchard, the deer stepped out from behind a tree and paced sedately across to another row, head erect, slim and delicate in the fading light. It was the same sound, the same slow careful steps, like those of a man. She watched it reach up to wrench an apple from an overhanging branch, a length of leafy twig revolving in its jaws as it chewed. She moved, and the deer saw her. It froze, white tail up like a flag, then crouched and gathered and bounded away, long light leaps that carried it into the tall brush on the other side of the orchard. She breathed again and made her way back to the tree at the edge of the drive.
Still no sign of the maid. Had Hubbard discovered Ames trying to sneak out of the house? She had a sudden vision of Hubbard confronting the maid with the valise, ferreting out the information that she was here, under the trees, waiting. From the orchard came the slow approach of footsteps again. Another deer?
Then she caught sight of something beyond the far side of the drive, something small and low to the ground, bobbing along the inner edge of the hedgerow toward her. The bobbing form began to rise, became the head, shoulders, figure of a girl in the cap and apron of a maid, ascending the slope of ground along the hedgerow as if she had worked her way around from the back of the house. She stopped at the drive, darted a glance toward the house, then hurried across to the tree where Jennie waited.
She was young, pretty, and out of breath. “I was afraid you’d gone. I couldn’t get away until Mr. Hubbard left the house.”
“He’s left the house?”
“He went to hitch up the carriage. We haven’t much time. They’re to leave for the McIvers’ very soon.”
“Where’s the valise? You were supposed to bring Rachel’s valise.”
“I hid it in the gardener’s toolshed up there, after dark last night. I meant to retrieve it, but—” she flushed “—I was afraid.”
“Never mind. We’ll retrieve it together. You know what to say if we’re seen. If that happens before we get the valise, it’ll just have to be left.” She moved up out of the trees, keeping the shed between them and the lights of the house. “So they’re going to the McIvers’ again.”
“Just to pick up Miss Emily. Then they’re going to the band concert by the lake. The concert starts at nine and lasts till ten-thirty. I’m to tell you Mr. Reynolds should have the buggy waiting at the rear of the bandshell—that’s on Elder Street, he’ll know where it is. At nine-forty-five, Miss Rachel will pretend to be ill. Miss Emily will assist her toward the Ladies’ Room in the building behind the bandshell, then she’ll slip away to the buggy. Miss Rachel says they should make the nine-fifty-seven train just before it pulls out, so she’ll be away and gone before her father even knows she’s missing.”
Jennie felt gooseflesh prickle her arms. Here, in simple words, was the plan that without her intervention would have led to David’s murder this very night. The detail about the band concert confirmed it.
They had reached the shed. Jennie stood watch while Ames unlatched the door and slipped inside. The house seemed very near from here, massive and dark; she could even see details of the rooms through the windows. A woman descended a wide staircase and passed beyond one of the windows; Jennie shrank back, anxious and impatient: Ames seemed to be taking a very long time.
There was a clatter and clash inside the shed, and the maid emerged with the valise, her face very pale. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I knocked over some tools. It was hard to find in the dark.”
Jennie took the valise, glanced at the lighted windows, the area around the house. “Now listen carefully. I want you to tell Miss Rachel there’s been a change of plans. Tell her I’ve persuaded Mr. Reynolds this is too dangerous for him to do himself. We’ve hired a cab to drive Rachel to the station.”
“A cab? But Miss Rachel said—”
“She’ll understand. She doesn’t want to place him in danger any more than I do. The cabman’s name is O’Donnelly, a stocky man who wears a bowler. He’ll be waiting at the rear of the bandshell, and he’ll drive Rachel to the station. Tell her we’ll send the valise on a later train. That way if she’s discovered she can tell her father she felt too ill to return to the concert and decided to take a convenient cab home. Without the valise, that might convince him. Can you remember that?”
“I suppose, if that’s the way it’s to be done.”
“That’s the way it’s to be done.” She gave the girl a handful of bills. “That’s for the train ticket and anything else Rachel might need. The cab fare has already been taken care of. You’re sure she’ll go through with it? She’s not having second thoughts?”
“Oh, no. She’s a mind of her own, Miss Rachel does. If she won’t, she won’t, and that’s the end of it. But if she will, she will, and you may depend on it.”
“Good. Now go quickly.”
When the girl had disappeared into the dark, Jennie took one last look around, then started with the valise down the drive. All the way to the gate she had to resist the impulse to run, unbearably aware of those lighted windows at her back.
On the trip back to town, she arranged with O’Donnelly to be at the appointed place at the appointed time and explained what he was to do. Then she paid him his price and sank back into the seat, weak with exhaustion. The night air was cool on her face; the small lamps at the ends of the driver’s box created a weak pool of light in which she could see the road fleeing past. O’Donnelly’s dark bulk in front of her was almost comforting, but she knew the ordeal was not over yet. David would be angry when he learned what she had done. But she would be able to handle that, secure in the knowledge that she had saved his life. And once Rachel was safely away, he would have no real cause to be angry with her. As the cab approached town, she laid her head back against the seat, seeing a sky alive with stars, trying to let the gentle rhythm of hoofbeats lull her anxiety.
When she entered the restaurant, she saw that David and Willis had finished dinner and were lingering over brandy. They were seated at a corner table, beyond a roomful of murmuring customers. She felt very conspicuous carrying the valise across the room.
David kissed her, relief evident in his smile, and stowed the valise in the corner. “You shouldn’t have brought it here,” he said.
“There was no place I could leave it.”
After greetings had been exchanged, Willis seemed to sense that they wanted to be alone. “Time for me to be off,” he said, removing an elegant notecase from his jacket. “No, no, David, let me get it. I consider it a duty to artists less successful than myself.”
When Willis was safely out of earshot, talking to the proprietor on the other side of the room, David said, “I thought you’d never come. I was more worried than if I’d gone myself.”
“You needn’t have been. There was no trouble at all. They’re going to the band concert.”
“By the lake?”
“Yes. It lasts till ten-thirty, and they plan a late supper in the Henry Hudson afterward. You’re to have the buggy waiting on Spring Street, near the back garden entrance to the hotel. At eleven-thirty, Rachel will leave the table pretending to be ill and slip away to meet you. Emily McIver will cover for her. She says she should be out of town before her father even suspects she’s missing.” Jennie held her breath, hoping this would sound plausible as a plan Rachel might have devised.
“Yes,” David said, “if we leave the hotel from the Spring Street entrance at eleven-forty, say, we should just make the eleven-fifty-two train.”
Relieved, Jennie relaxed. She hadn’t dared tell him what she ha
d arranged with O’Donnelly. He would have refused to let it be done that way, would have insisted on doing it himself.
“David?” It was Willis, reaching across to gather up his hat and cane. “I’ll make my goodbyes, if I may. I’m leaving for New York tomorrow. Look me up any time you’re in town. Miss Logan, I hope to see you again.” He saluted with his cane and threaded his way through the tables to the door.
David grinned. “This idea of yours, I want you to know, was service above and beyond the call of duty. Jamie Willis is not my idea of a pleasant dinner companion.”
“Service in a good cause, though, you must admit.”
“I suppose so. Was that Rachel’s entire message?”
“Yes, but I told Ames to say you’ll take the valise home first and send it on tomorrow. If Hubbard discovers Rachel with you, she might be able to convince him it’s just an illicit meeting between friends. The valise would give everything away.”
“A good idea. But in that case we’d better go. It’s already late.”
Outside, streetlamps flickered along the sidewalks. Couples passed arm-in-arm, and there was a constant flow of carriages—the lively stir of a summer resort. The valise stowed in the buggy, David started the mare at a slow walk along the street. Jennie gazed at the passing parade, the slow pace of the carriages, the strolling couples, the Ben Franklin hotel lit up like a giant ship in the night. Inside, she could see chandeliers receding along a seemingly endless ceiling; chamber music drifted through an open window. She was torn between looking and closing her eyes to all this, unable to bear the thought that she might be seeing it for the last time.
“You’ll have to leave me near the hotel,” she said. “I can’t stay. He—he’s coming back from New York tonight.”
“For once I’m glad,” David said. “At least then you’ll be out of harm’s way.”
She laid her head against his shoulder and held tightly to his arm. This was her last attempt to alter the past, her last effort to ensure that Mrs. Bates’ story would not come true. The story said she was suspected of killing him; if she was back in her own time when it was to have happened, how could she kill him even accidentally? The story said she was seen leaving the scene of the crime; if she removed her presence, how could the story come true at all?
Second Sight Page 19