Page 18 of The Gods Time Forgot

Eighteen

Rua didn’t remember getting home; she only knew that she couldn’t have done it without Finn.

Her head was an absolute wreck. She stood by her bed, wearing another ruined gown, and stared at the wall.

Terrible flashes of darkness and the blurred memory of another victim, intermixing with the man she’d killed at Greene Street, left her reeling. Not from regret but because what she’d just done appeared to have unlocked something deep within her.

No details, only the distinct feeling of profound loss and a desperate wish to undo it. Incapable of remembering, she fell to her knees, burying her face in her bloodied hands.

Undo what? she wanted to scream.

Her answers were there, trapped inside her wretched mind, if only she could break through the wall.

But the loss was with her now, unfathomable and ravenous, clinging to her soul and shredding it to pieces. So fresh and raw, every breath a serrated strike to her hollow chest.

Unable to stomach the pain, Rua crawled over to the wastebasket and vomited once more.

When she was finished, she went to the washbasin to clean her face. She stared in the mirror at her reflection, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were not her own. Flecked with gold, they belonged to someone she didn’t recognize. A monster.

She plunged her hands into the ceramic washbowl and splashed the cold water onto her face. It did nothing to rinse away the guilt. She splashed and scrubbed, again and again, until she’d done nothing but reopen the cut on her forehead.

As the blood trickled down her face, a malevolent calm settled around her. This was who she was. A cold-blooded killer.

She slumped to the floor and lay on her back. She stared up at the ceiling and hoped it would collapse on top of her.

When word got out about what she’d done, she’d be tried for murder. There’d be nowhere she could run. She’d missed her chance to flee.

There was a knock on her door.

Rua jumped upright, noting all possible exits. The window. The servants’ entrance by her closet. If she had to, she could charge past whoever was opening the door, possibly catching them off guard. Imprisonment was not where her story ended.

“Emma, my goodness, are you all right?” Mara asked, taking in Rua’s defensive stance.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She might’ve missed her chance to run, but that didn’t mean she’d go without a fight.

Mara sat down beside her. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“I can’t,” Rua said, the adrenaline leaving her, making room for the heavy weight of her consequences. She’d killed a man in broad daylight. There was nowhere to go from here.

“You can tell me anything, you know that,” Mara said.

Rua shook her head, hugging her knees into her chest. She was exhausted, physically and mentally drained. Everything had spun so wildly out of her control.

Mara’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Rua began to cry. “I should have gone with you,” Mara said.

She didn’t know how long they sat like that, but when she woke, she was in her bed in her nightdress.

The faint light of the day slipped through the curtains, but Rua didn’t want the light. She turned over and fell back to sleep.

“What do you mean, she’s still in bed? I’ve had enough of this. It’s been two weeks.” Flossie burst through her bedroom door. “Get up, Emma! Get up!”

“I’m up,” Rua groaned as she shook off her covers and sat up. She had convinced Flossie that she was ill while she wallowed in her guilt and waited for news of Greene Street.

“The Lord of Donore invited us to use his opera box this evening, and I told him it was—oh, good heavens!”

“What’s wrong?” Rua looked around the room.

“Your face! Your beautiful face! What happened?” Flossie shouted. “That’s it. We’re ruined!”

Rua assumed she was talking about the cut that still lingered on her forehead, but she didn’t care to look in the mirror. This was the first time Flossie had seen her since the incident. She’d said she had too many social engagements to risk coming down with whatever sickness her daughter had. But the truth of it was, everyone was better off when Rua stayed home.

“So help me, you will tell me what happened this instant!”

“Well …” Rua tried to think of something. “The other night, while you were out …”

“Yes, I am aware of the general time frame,” Flossie snapped.

Rua gave a quick glance toward Mara, who’d just entered her bedchamber, and continued trying to come up with something that Flossie would believe. “I was in the gold room, and I tripped. I tripped on my skirt and smashed my face against the little golden lion next to the fireplace. Perhaps it’s why I’ve been so out of sorts.”

“You tripped and fell on the little golden lion,” Flossie repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“Is this true?” Mrs. Harrington looked to Mara.

“Yes, Mrs. Harrington,” Mara answered.

Flossie shook her head. “Do you feel as though you’re not getting enough attention these days? Or is it your intention to single-handedly fuel the scandal sheets for the entirety of the year?”

“I’m sorry,” Rua said.

“I’m sure,” Mrs. Harrington said, and turned back to Mara. “You’ve got a tremendous amount of work to do. We’re leaving for the opera in six hours, and that face needs to be covered completely. Perhaps Madame Malvina has thought to fashion you a face cover to go with one of your gowns?”

“A face cover?”

“We are so fortunate to have a seamstress of her caliber designing your gowns.” Mrs. Harrington riffled through the closet and pulled out a gown the color of fuchsia. “A small fortune but well worth it. I’ve heard it’s near impossible to get an appointment with her now. She’s booked through December! All thanks to us.”

Rua rolled her eyes. The idea that the seamstress’s massive success was all due to Flossie, who hadn’t been welcomed through the doors prior to this summer, was nonsense.

“It’s true. They might despise you, but they adore your wardrobe. Madame Webster’s started a new trend with you at the helm. I can’t tell you how many girls I saw with an exact copy of your riding habit.”

“But I didn’t even ride that day.”

“No, but they did see you with the Lord of Donore,” Flossie said. “I’m not sure you’re grasping the kind of impression he’s left on the ladies of Manhattan. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you.” This time Flossie rolled her eyes. “He’s the one they all want to marry. And certainly it’s not your charm that’s gotten his attention, so it must be the dresses. Simple as that.”

Rua didn’t have the energy to be offended.

“Yes, this is the one,” Flossie said, pointing to a gown. “No one will look at your face if you remove the d é colletage.”

“Are you sure?” Even for Rua’s tastes, it was a bit much.

“They’re already primed to talk about you. Better your chest than a battered face, hmm? I imagine the Lord of Donore will appreciate it nonetheless.”

Rua took a deep breath.

Flossie appraised her as she headed for the door. “You should get ill more often, my dear. You’ve lost some weight,” she said, as though she were paying her a compliment.

Rua wanted to throw a shoe at her.

“I’m so glad to see you up and about,” Mara said, once Flossie had left.

Rua turned to Mara. “I don’t have much of a choice. Finn invited us to his opera box. It’s all that woman’s ever wanted.”

“Speaking of the Lord of Donore. He’s been checking on you regularly,” Mara said.

“He has?” Rua asked, surprised.

She nodded. “He’s quite concerned. I’ve never seen him around the house more than I have these last couple of weeks.”

Rua lifted the gold-plated hairbrush from her vanity and ran it through her hair. She needed to find him and make sure he hadn’t told anyone. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he did.

“Are you ready to tell me what happened? I’ve been so worried,” Mara said.

She couldn’t tell Mara the truth of why she was hiding in her room. Not the whole truth anyway.

“Lily Stevens tricked me. There was no event.”

Mara gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “I can’t believe it. How cruel. Is that why you won’t leave your bedchamber?” she asked.

“I can’t bear the thought of my mother finding out. She’ll send me away.”

“She doesn’t know! I promise you. Not a word has been uttered,” Mara assured her.

Rua couldn’t imagine Flossie not using Lily’s invitation as a talking point. The Stevenses were the cr è me de la cr è me of the social set. Flossie would want everyone to know that her mangy daughter was mingling with one, if only to prove the Harringtons were worthy. Perhaps she hadn’t been to any of the same events and that’s why word hadn’t gotten back to Flossie that Lily had tricked Rua.

But why had Lily and Annette not said anything yet? Clearly, their plan was to humiliate Rua. What reason could they have to delay, other than to prolong Rua’s torment? If that was their plan, it was working. Her days were fraught with worry, waiting for the moment Flossie burst through the doors and declared she’d been so thoroughly embarrassed that enough was enough.

But since killing that man, Rua hadn’t had the energy to do anything about it. She’d been plunged into the cold depths of sorrow with no reasonable explanation for her feelings. Flossie’s indignation felt secondary.

She didn’t care about the man she’d murdered. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. But she wondered if he belonged to anyone. Did the bastard have an unknowing wife waiting at home who would alert the police? Was that what Lily and Annette were waiting for? The police?

Her life had gone to pieces; she had no business going to the opera. She should be planning her escape, but instead she was trapped in this gilded cage like a rat begging for its next meal. She gripped the base of the hairbrush tighter.

She couldn’t take it any longer. She was tired of not knowing anything and living at the whims of Flossie Harrington. Tired of living a life that was not her own.

Letting out a frustrated cry, she fired the gold brush at her mirror. It shattered instantly, thousands of little pieces raining to the floor.

“Emma!”

Rua scowled at Mara. She wanted to scream that Emma was not her name, but she held her tongue.

“What has gotten into you?” Mara asked.

Rua let out a harsh breath and sat on the settee, her head hanging low. “I’m sorry, Mara. I think I’m losing my mind.”

Mara came over and sat beside her. “It’s going to be okay. Your mother isn’t going to send you away. She doesn’t know about Lily Stevens; she thinks you still met her, and she’s delighted that the lord has been about the house.”

“I feel terrible about the mess.” Rua gestured toward the mirror.

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell Mrs. Smith it was knocked over. Come along, we must begin setting your curls.”

Layer upon layer of powder went onto her face before she was permitted to leave her bedroom. Her hair was pinned in the front to help conceal the cut.

Rua turned back to a mirror that she hadn’t shattered and added a little black to her eye shadow. She wasn’t in the mood to be lighthearted.

“There now,” Mara said as she clipped the front of Rua’s shawl. “Although Mrs. Harrington will probably make you take this off.”

“Thank you.”

“A word of advice? Cheer up. Your mother has been looking forward to the opera box, and in truth, it wouldn’t have happened without you. Enjoy the evening. You deserve it.”

Rua nodded as she closed her eyes, allowing herself to fill the role she was supposed to play. “All right, I’m ready,” she said, holding her head up high as she made her way downstairs.

She gripped the railing as she rounded the last staircase.

Standing at the base of the stairs was Finn, in full evening dress, wreaking havoc on her heart rate.

They locked eyes, and she felt the color rush to her cheeks. Even after everything that had happened, the sight of him filled her with happiness. An odd sensation, considering she’d spent the last two weeks ignoring one very specific detail from her memory. The only way to get him back, to undo what she’d done. There was no reason for her to think that version of herself was referring to Finn, but what if she was? What if that explained the strange pull when she was around him? The sense of familiarity and ease?

“What are you doing here?” Rua asked in a bid to hide her excitement, almost forgetting that he had borne witness to the brutal murder she’d committed.

“Emma, don’t be rude!” Flossie shouted.

“I wasn’t being rude,” she protested.

“I understood perfectly what your daughter was asking, Mrs. Harrington. Please don’t worry, and, might I add, you are looking wonderful this evening,” Finn said, distracting Flossie.

Three long seconds passed before Flossie stopped fluttering her lashes and spoke. “Be that as it may, I will need to borrow my daughter a moment.”

Finn gave Rua a wink.

Flossie took her by the arm and dragged her into Mr. Harrington’s study. “What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing.” Rua shrugged.

“For the love of god, stop shrugging,” Flossie said as she swiped her finger along the shelf and checked it for dust. “You’ve been so difficult, and I had hoped things would have picked up by now.”

Rua said nothing, knowing that things had, in fact, gotten significantly worse.

“We would not have been permitted into a box without the Lord of Donore’s invitation. And who knows how much longer he will tolerate you. I can’t imagine very long, what with your fragile physical condition. I mean, really, too ill to get out of bed and have breakfast? No doubt he’s written you off for breeding.” Rua gaped. Flossie continued, “We must take the opportunities where they come. Thank the heavens, there has been no announcement in the papers. There’s still time for you to delight him.”

Rua was happy that Finn wasn’t engaged to Annette, but Rua was never going to be the one he proposed to. She was leaving. If it wasn’t this week, it would be the next.

But Flossie’s inability to see how humiliating her behavior was made Rua sick. She was no better than the beggars she’d so quickly mock and turn away.

“Money is not enough when you have a daughter like you.” Flossie reached for the doorknob.

Rua felt the sting as though Mrs. Harrington’s hand had just left her face.

“Come along. Don’t forget your gloves,” Flossie said, walking through the door.

Finn waited by the front door while Mrs. Harrington presumably scolded Rua.

Rua looked wonderful, all things considered. But he saw where they had tried to hide her cut. Her face was gaunt, but it was her eyes that gave her away. They shone with the indelible knowledge that only comes when taking a life.

She had killed a man, and that wasn’t something that could be disguised with clever makeup. It was a mark that would last forever.

He paused, wondering how he thought he could know that. He’d never killed anyone, not in this world anyway. He shook his head. Dreams were not to be mistaken for truth.

Mrs. Harrington walked toward him, Rua following close behind. “Will you be riding in our carriage, my lord?”

“No, but I will meet you before the doors open. I have something I need to take care of.” He checked his watch. He needed to meet a man on Mulberry Street.

“Very well, my lord. We will see you shortly.”

Finn walked into the Lower East Side Five Points slum, where thousands upon thousands of the city’s residents were packed into tenement housing. The conditions were so horrific and overcrowded that the people overflowed onto the streets, living in shanties and back alleys.

These roads were narrow and dirty, veering off to the right and left, filled with rubbish and refuse. The sidewalks were cramped with vendors selling rotten food, beggars, and all kinds of folk just trying to survive.

The homes were no better, falling apart at the seams, with broken windows and rotting wood, and small to the point of being unlivable. If the poor conditions weren’t bad enough, the neighborhoods themselves were swarming with criminals and run by gangs.

His heart broke at the sight of two young boys playing about and splashing in a dirty puddle. No doubt the water was infested with bacteria. But there was nothing he could do about it now. He had something he needed to take care of.

Finn approached the infamous Mulberry Street bend where the gangsters convened. The Whyos were in charge down here. Hardened criminals and violent offenders, they backed the politicians, forcing votes to make sure they won their elections, and in turn they were allowed to run the districts as they saw fit.

St. Patrick’s was on his left, and he was meeting a man in the churchyard.

“Oy,” someone shouted as he came upon the gate.

“I’m here to see Connolly,” Finn said to the man lounging against a headstone. He had a bowler hat in his lap and looked to be no more than eighteen.

“Who’s asking?” the man grumbled.

“I know him,” Connolly said, stepping out from behind an elm tree.

He was a young Irish American man, clean shaven and just as desperate for money as he was to prove he was a big gun. Wearing a bowling hat and a dirty day coat, he sauntered up to the spiked iron gate.

The Whyos had a laundry list of crimes they would commit for a fee. “The Big One” was murder for a hundred dollars. Finn only needed him to cop to a murder, not actually commit one, but somehow that was costing him triple.

“Here’s the rest. That’s three hundred, like we agreed upon.” Finn handed the man an envelope.

He had given the man all the details—date, time, and location—but he’d left Rua’s name out of it. If anyone came looking, Connolly was going to claim he was the one who had slit the man’s throat on Greene Street.

It wouldn’t be too hard to believe, based on the other murders he had committed. As far as Finn knew, the man Rua killed was new in town, just started work at a lumberyard. It wouldn’t be the first time a transplant wandered into the wrong part of town or found himself caught in a brawl over a lover. No one was looking for him yet, and if anyone did try to claim him, they’d never connect it to Rua.

“Are we good?” Finn asked. The young man gave a nod.

He wasn’t sure it would work, but it was the best he could think of in the moment. It hadn’t yet reached the papers, and, at this point, he doubted it would. All he needed to do now was confirm Annette and Lily hadn’t mentioned their trick to anyone else.